Glimmer 1.3

I glanced up when I heard the oncoming motors. I'd been reclining against the wall of the shop, not dozing, but resting.

It seemed the PRT had arrived.

Not just the PRT, at that. I blinked, and suddenly there was someone standing in front of me. His costume was red, and stripes intersected on his chest to form a "V". Velocity, Brockton Bay's very own speedster.

I smiled at him. "Hello," I said.

He smiled back, his lower face visible under the mask. "Hey," he responded. "Annatar, right?"

I nodded. "These four were about to rob this place," I said, jerking my head back at the noodle shop. "I stopped them."

"I can see that," Velocity said, gesturing to the PRT troopers just now getting out of their patrol vans. The men came forward and began to load the unconscious bodies onto the vehicles. Then he turned back to me. "So, Annatar," he said. "Is this your first night out?"

I nodded. "I only got my gear into working condition today," I said. "I mean, my spear isn't done, but I didn't intend to be stabbing anyone today anyway."

"That's good," Velocity said with a chuckle. "Killing someone is usually a bad way to start a heroic career. I assume you are going to be a hero?"

"I'd like to be," I replied, watching as the PRT troopers gathered the ABB members' guns. I handed one of them the magazine I'd been idly playing with while I waited.

"Well, I'd say you're off to a good start," he said. "What happened here, exactly?"

"I was on the rooftops," I said, "and I saw these guys coming out of the alley. Heard them, too. They were saying that the shopkeeper—Toshi, I guess—hadn't paid the ABB his protection money."

"So they decided to take it from him."

"Guess so. I dropped down behind them and told them to stop. They shot at me; that didn't work. I told them to drop the guns, and they did, but then someone else got involved."

"Someone else?" Velocity's voice sharpened slightly.

I nodded. "Capes—four of them," I said. "Tattletale, Grue, and… Bitch, I think? And one more."

"The Undersiders," the Protectorate cape said grimly. "Small-time villain team. I guess 'Bitch' is another name for Hellhound. The fourth guy: was he wearing a white costume with a jester's mask?"

I nodded.

"His name's Regent," Velocity explained. "He's a Master, can control a person's body. It apparently takes him a while to get full control, though. Bitch is another Master—she can enhance and control dogs."

"I saw them," I said. "Those big mutant things. Those are dogs?"

He nodded. "She touches them and they grow. I think it wears off after a while. Grue creates big dark clouds which mute sounds and blind you. Apparently, he can sense people on the inside. Tattletale's a Thinker. We don't know the details, but she loves picking out people's secrets and taunting them with them."

I can't get a read on this girl. It seemed Concealment was for more than just hiding from mutant hounds.

"Grue put one of his clouds over us," I remembered. "I tried to get out of the way, and got out of the cloud, then snuck up on the others. I guess I spooked them; they called Grue back and ran without finishing the shoplift."

"Impressive," Velocity praised. "You're not hurt?"

I shook my head. "Bitch—uh, Hellhound—tried to set her dogs on me, but I got away."

"Nicely done," he said. "Not many people could drive off four supervillains without a scratch. Uh, you're… Wards-age, I'm guessing?"

"I am," I said slowly, watching him.

"Then, have you considered joining up?" Velocity asked carefully. "It's dangerous for an independent hero out here. You must know that."

"I do," I answered. "And I have. I still am, as a matter of fact. Considering, that is."

"Well, I don't want to rush you," he told me. "Just… be careful while you're deciding, all right? We don't get new heroes often, Wards or not, and I'd hate for you to die because you were going it alone. The Undersiders are just the start—there's far worse things out here."

"I'll be careful," I promised. "Thank you, Velocity."

He nodded. "Do you have a phone?" he asked. "I can give you a number for Protectorate consulting. We offer it to independent heroes. And, if you want, I can put your number into the system as an independent we can work with."

"Sorry," I said, grimacing. "No cell phone. Maybe I should get one."

"Probably a good idea," he agreed. "If only so you can call for help if you need it."

The irony struck me: I'd been denied a cell phone because one had gotten my mother killed, and if I wasn't careful, its absence might do the same to me.

"I'll do that," I said. "I'll probably get in touch with the Protectorate pretty soon about joining the Wards, if only to let you know I've decided not to."

"Fair enough," Velocity said. "Door's open, though. Good luck."

I grinned at him. "Same to you," I said.

With that, we parted ways.

-x-x-x-

I returned home unmolested. I took off my armor and deposited it in my closet, stored the haft I was working on, and crossed over to my desk, pulling off Nenya as I went.

I sighed at the feeling of loss that came with removing the Ring. I really didn't enjoy being without one anymore. I pulled open my drawer, placed it in, and then stopped.

Why not?

I shrugged, took up the last ring—gold, and embedded with a sapphire. I turned it over in my fingers for a moment. "Vilya," I murmured.

I slipped it onto my fingers, and suddenly felt light as a feather. A cool wind gusted across my skin, caressing me gently, cooling and tempering my aching muscles. My hair billowed slightly around me, and I found my eyes closing serenely. Vilya, the Ring of Air.

I smiled and, Vilya still firmly on my finger, went to bed.

-x-x-x-

Running was not especially fun on three hours of sleep. I'd done it twice now. But Vilya kept me aware and alert, and even soothed the soreness and the aches that came with the exertion.

Breakfast with Dad was much the same as it always was; simple, calm, and lacking in real conversation. For months, I'd been upset with him for how little he understood, how badly he knew me, and then I'd felt guilty about it because how could he hope to know me, when I told him nothing?

Now, I had distance, and strength. I could stand on my own two feet, and didn't need to lean on him, so it didn't hurt when he wasn't there to catch me.

But I still wasn't telling him.

I hammered away at the last parts of my leggings that day. The gauntlets, and the rest of my weapon, I'd finish over the course of the week. Then I did my homework—with Vilya keeping my thoughts clear and sharp, it was actually very fast—and by that time it was dinner.

Over dinner, I thought about whether I should go out that night. Vilya hadn't really been tested yet; I could get that out of the way tonight and then go to school tomorrow with whichever Ring I thought most suitable.

On the other hand, I kind of wanted to stay cautious. My armor was mostly done—all I needed now was gauntlets—but my weapon still wasn't, and I had no support. Independents had a bad habit of dying quickly in Brockton Bay, and dying didn't sound good, not when I had so much more to build.

I'd had a close shave with the Undersiders last night. What if, next time, it was Kaiser? Or Lung?

Also, the scrap-metal I was transmuting into mithril really wasn't cutting it. I could transmute any metal into mithril, but purer, stronger ones were easier to work and took less time. I had a feeling the mithril I'd make that way was stronger, too. If I had a steady supply of steel, I could build twice as much in the same span of time, and it'd all be much higher-quality.

But on the other hand, I didn't really need to finish my spear to go out. The haft was enough for everything I'd be doing with it. I wasn't about to skewer people, even villains. And the gauntlets, while I'd like to have them, weren't actually that important a component to my armor.

I'd had a taste of heroism, last night. It had been good. The rush of adrenaline that came with combat, short-lived as it was, and the pride that came with knowing I'd prevented a theft… I wanted that. I wanted more of that.

"Hey, kiddo, you all right?" Dad asked, interrupting my thoughts. He was looking at me, concerned, over our chicken and rice. "You've been awfully quiet today. Thinking about school tomorrow?"

"No," I said honestly, stabbing a piece of chicken with my fork and taking a bite, thinking.

Do I tell him?

"I was thinking about the Protectorate, actually," I said. It wasn't even a lie.

He blinked at that. "Oh? What about them?" he asked.

"I was just thinking," I said. "The Triumvirate; they're basically three of the most powerful people in the country, right?"

Dad shrugged and nodded. "Yeah, probably," he agreed.

"No," I said, shaking my head. "Not where it counts. Because they're still Protectorate; they still answer to the PRT, and to the government through them. Alexandria could crush the president's head like an egg, but she still has to listen to them."

"That's all about limiting people, isn't it?" Dad asked, frowning at me. "If we just let people run things because they could beat up anyone who got in their way, it'd be anarchy."

"No, I know that," I said. "But… well, look. Capes have to go into the Protectorate if they want to be heroes. I mean, they don't have to—they can try to go it as independents, but I've never heard of an independent lasting longer than a couple weeks without getting folded into another group."

"There's New Wave," Dad argued. "An independent could join them."

I snorted. "New Wave is a family team," I said, "and everyone knows it."

"I suppose someone could make a new hero team," Dad said. "Build it from the ground up."

"And how do you think the Protectorate would react?" I asked caustically. "They'd see it as an attack on their authority. No matter how good the new guys were, the Protectorate would find dirt on them, bury them in bad PR, bit by bit, until they had to either accept status as rogues or villains or join the fold."

Dad sighed. "All right, so say the Protectorate has a monopoly," he said. "What's so bad about that? It's not like they can charge more for being heroes."

I sighed. "Say a cape wants to do something else," I said. "Like politics. Problem is, they're either Protectorate, which means they can't be in the federal government because they're answerable to it, or they're villains, which means the Protectorate won't let them run."

Dad frowned. "I'm not sure I'm comfortable with the idea of capes running the country, anyway," he said slowly. "What if they decided, I don't know, that normal people were somehow less than them?"

I snorted. "Then they'd get shut down," I said. "The other capes and the normal people wouldn't stand for it."

"Empire 88's still around," Dad reminded me.

I blinked. That was a good point. I shook my head. "Fair enough," I said. "That wasn't my point anyway. My point is, why does the Protectorate keep that system in place? Surely they could change things around if they wanted to. Why are the Triumvirate content to just run around in costumes rescuing kittens when they could easily be running the place?"

"Maybe they don't want to?" Dad shrugged.

"Power," I said, "always wants more power. Doesn't it?"

"I don't know," Dad said with a huffed laugh. "I've never really had enough power to know, kiddo."

After dinner, I considered my gear, running my thumb over Vilya on my left hand.

Power always wants more power, I thought. Right now, this city was in the grip of men for whom power was the end unto itself; people who would happily crush people like my dad under their feet if it meant even a tiny speck more power for them. And for years, they'd been running a campaign of aggression against the heroes and the innocent of this city.

Not one day more.

Look out, Brockton Bay. Annatar was coming. Maybe I'd run into Kaiser or Lung, but with Vilya I'd see them well before they saw me. I was done being afraid of bullies.

Tonight, I paid this city's scum back a bit for the hell they'd put me through. I knew for a fact there were villains in this city who were well within my weight class. I'd focus on them, avoid their betters, and get to work.