Chapter Text
“…so,” Voyd finished, having spent the last half-hour helping to explain their mission in detail to Rick Dicker, “that’s how we managed to escape.” Flushing a little as she recalled her own uselessness during the battle, she admitted, “I wasn’t much help with that, though. As you can probably tell.”
She looked at her friends, suddenly struck with gratefulness that they’d come back for her, and also with guilt that she’d taken this long to thank them for it. “Thanks, guys. I owe you.”
“It was nothing. You’d have done the same,” He-Lectrix said dismissively.
Rick stood at the head of the common room of the SJP, in his usual position next to the television. The suit-wearing NSA agent’s face was a frowning mask of deep thought and worry. “Struck with uncertainty, you say?”
Voyd wasn’t sure she’d done an adequate job of explaining the terrible wave Queen of Hearts had inflicted upon her. “Yeah. That’s the best way I can describe it.”
“So severe that you couldn’t move…” Rick’s scowl deepened. “I’m advising you to exercise extreme care around these villains. Whatever level of caution you’ve been using so far—double it. Any one of you could fall victim. I’ve already ordered a team of NSA agents to station themselves around the Bowman mansion, but—”
“They won’t go back there,” Krushauer interrupted bluntly. “I see no reason why they would return to their home after they know for certain it was compromised. That would be a foolish move, and I don’t think we’re dealing with fools.”
“Neither do I,” Rick said. “The agents are just a precaution. I don’t think we’ll see the homeowners back there, either. Even so, there might be more valuable material waiting to be found within the house.”
“I don’t think so,” said He-Lectrix. “We tore that place apart. There was nothing.”
The NSA agent shrugged. “Can’t hurt to take a second look with a few fresh pairs of eyes. I’m not trying to insinuate you didn’t do a thorough job. On the contrary, I’d like to commend you. As far as I’m concerned, you supers did everything right.”
In another time, Voyd might’ve preened at these words. Right now, though, they rang hollow.
Rick glanced around the room at the supers who sat before him. “Some long faces in here, huh?”
Krushauer laughed; it was not a funny laugh. “How can you blame us?”
Rick Dicker’s lips pursed, and he shook his head. “I get how you’re feeling. You’re new, you’re green, you’ve got your lives ahead of you, you think everything is all sunshine. Don’t protest—it’s true, and you know it. Some assumptions were shattered today. Am I right?”
There were reluctant nods around the room. Voyd could barely look Rick in the eyes.
“Well, as someone who’s been around the block quite a few times, let me give you some advice. Supers aren’t perfect. Never have been, never will be, never claimed to be. Now—” He lifted a cautioning hand. “Don’t get me wrong, the vast majority are decent human beings. But there are a few bad apples. I find that’s true for every profession. I know you’re bothered, but try not to take it to heart.” He chuckled slightly. “I know this may sound corny, and I apologize in advance. But—try to be the best yous that you can be. Don’t focus on mistakes of the past. That’s over and done with. You can't do anything about it, but you can change what happens today.”
Though Voyd didn’t really want to speak, the question had been eating her alive, and she was forced to raise her hand timidly. “Um… Mr. Dicker, will Mr. Incredible get in any trouble for what he did?”
Rick shook his head. “I wouldn’t worry about that. After sixteen years, it likely can’t be proven beyond a reasonable doubt. Besides, I think the torture he’s going to put himself through is punishment enough on its own. Mr. Incredible’s a good guy, and I consider him a friend. And… well, there’s no excuse for what he’s accused of doing, but I lived through those times, and they were dark days. Supers were pariahs. Incredible went through his trials, and he probably went through ’em harder than anyone else in the business. Now, again—it’s not an excuse. Just something to consider before you judge him too harshly.”
Voyd wasn’t sure which would’ve been the worse answer—learning that Mr. Incredible was likely to get away scot-free, or learning that he’d face a harsh punishment. Either answer would’ve wracked her with guilt. She quickly decided that the answer she’d been given was the worse one. Apparently, not only could superheroes stand by and laugh while civilians were being threatened, but they could easily get away with it, too. She didn’t want to be part of an institution like that. That wasn’t what she wanted to stand for.
She felt no personal hatred for Mr. Incredible—in her mind, Voyd still saw that kind, caring father and devoted husband and daring hero, rather than a callous, mean criminal who had happily abused his position and who was little better than a murderer. She knew that Mr. Incredible had only been driven to his actions by a very bleak time in his life, a pit of darkness the likes of which Voyd could hardly imagine. And she felt nothing against him, could muster no hatred for him—just sadness and confusion.
No, it wasn’t about him, it was about supers. And it was about what supers could do and couldn’t do. Would do and wouldn’t do. What they were capable of. What they stood for. What the reality was.
Rick’s sharp eyes noticed the look of conflict on her face. The NSA agent spoke again, his gruff voice becoming somewhat gentler. “It’s always been that way, kid. Mr. Incredible isn’t the worst of ’em, trust me. Back in my day, some of ’em did much worse things than that—Christ, I’ve seen things that’d make your stomach heave. Some people can handle having superpowers, in my experience, and then there are the ones who don’t handle it so well. There are always some who commit abuses. When that kinda thing happened, the cover-up job occasionally fell to me—I mean, the job of cleaning up their messes and making sure the general public never heard about it.”
He stopped himself, looking somewhat sheepish as he realized his words were only serving the purpose of making the Soaring Six even more upset. “Sorry. I know you all don’t want to hear my war stories. Just trust me, kid. Mr. Incredible wasn’t hardly the worst out there. That’s all.”
This did not help matters whatsoever, but Voyd tried to put on her bravest face. “Thanks, Mr. Dicker.”
Rick heaved a sigh. “Well, it’s been a productive day. We’re still investigating thoroughly at the NSA, and we’ll follow up with you sooner rather than later. In the meantime, I’d better get back to my office.” Rick hoisted his briefcase, which had been sitting beside him, and made to leave.
Screech coughed, stopping Dicker in his tracks. “Ahem. If you wouldn’t mind, Mr. Dicker, I have an item which requires your attention before you leave us.”
Everyone turned toward the owlish superhero in surprise. Voyd had no clue what he was talking about.
Screech was sitting by the window; outside, the sun was going down, causing the back of his head to be illuminated by a ring of fire. He reached down beside him on the couch and produced a small object, lifting it up so that it was lit by the sunset's glow.
“I must confess, it was a reflex. As we fled, I simply snatched this shiny object from the villainess’s table. I’ve no explanation for why I did so, but it may assist our endeavor in the long run. I have no inkling of what it may represent, and so I turn to your expertise, Mr. Dicker. Can you shed any light on this subject?”
The object which Screech was holding into the light looked like a small spotlight. It was a sleek, cylindrical silver object with two slender “feet” on which it could be stood, and though it looked like it should be awfully dense and heavy, Screech hefted it with surprising ease. Rick approached, eyebrows meeting as he stared down at the spotlight.
After a few moments, Rick finally stated, “Can’t help you. Then again, I’m not a tech guy. If you can’t figure it out, send it over to NSA headquarters and our guys’ll run some tests.” As he once again turned around and headed towards the doors, Rick called over his shoulder, “Better ask that Fishel fella first, though. He knows everything.”
“Mmmnope. Sorry. No clue what that is.”
It was now dark outside, and the skinny form of Artie Fishel was hunched over the spotlight, which now rested on a small coffee table in the common room of the SJP. He’d been squinting at the thing for probably half an hour, poking and prodding with miniature screwdrivers and wrenches, gently removing the outer casing from the object and peering at the multicolored jumble of wires within. After so long of poring over the spotlight-like thing, Artie had finally leaned back and admitted defeat.
“That’s okay,” said Voyd encouragingly, who was standing over his shoulder (her legs cramping from doing so for so long). “You tried.”
“Really? No clue at all?” He-Lectrix, who was standing over his other shoulder, asked with a frown. “Like, not even a tiny inkling, or anything?”
“Wellllll…” Artie waffled with a wince and a shrug. “It’s not a spotlight, that’s for sure. I can tell ya that. I doubt this thing could project any light at all. It lacks any of the relevant components.”
“Great. That’s helpful,” He-Lectrix said sarcastically; Voyd suspected he was still on edge from that day’s earlier events. “Can you tell us some other things that it’s not? Like, say, a horse? A celery stalk? A pair of Marilyn Monroe’s underpants?”
Voyd elbowed him, shooting a disapproving look in his direction.
“Hey, I’m trying my best here,” Artie insisted, twisting to look at the supers behind him and raising his hands defensively, one still clutching a small wrench. “This tech is pretty similar to some certain DevTech designs, but I honestly can’t tell you what it’s for. Really.”
“Best guess?” Voyd hopefully inquired.
“Um.” Artie scratched his head, lost in thought for a moment. “If I had to throw out a wild guess… I’d say this thing has something to do with energy.”
The two superheroes blinked down at him.
“Energy,” said Krushauer, who was sitting in a chair on the other side of the room. “That is all you can give us.”
“Give me a chance here, willya?! Yes, energy! The thing isn’t designed to use energy—say, to emit light, like a spotlight might do. If I had to throw out my wildest guess, I’d say this object is designed to absorb energy. Maybe it’s got something to do with solar power, although this isn’t a solar design I’ve come across before, and if it is, it’s innovative on a level I haven’t seen.” He lifted his hands in surrender. “Seriously, that’s all I’ve got. Please don’t tear my head off.”
If anyone in the room had had the desire to tear off Artie Fishel’s head, they were sadly interrupted by the creak of the front door. Winston Deavor practically pranced into the room like an out-of-place beam of sunshine, dressed in casual clothes, jeans and a button-down shirt. He smiled ear-to-ear when he saw the Soaring Six and Artie gathered in the common area. “Guys, sorry to barge in like this, but great news! The party I told you about? It’s a go. Next Saturday. Everything’s organized, and you’re all invited. Isn’t that swell?”
Winston’s face fell as he watched the silent, long-faced supers barely react to his words. “Hey, don’t all go crazy on my account,” he tried to joke.
“That’s great, Winston,” Voyd—who was hardly in the mood for a party, and wasn’t sure a week’s passage would improve that fact—managed to say. “I’m sure it’ll be awesome. We’ll all be there.”
Winston wasn’t an idiot, and it certainly didn’t take a genius to tell that something was wrong with everyone—Voyd, especially. The last time he’d informed her there was to be a superhero party, she’d all but screamed in excitement. “Guys, what’s wrong? Mission not go well?” the billionaire asked with genuine concern, all traces of joy gone from his face.
Obviously—since Winston, despite all his contributions, was still a civilian—the NSA wouldn’t have shared the mission’s outcome with him, and honestly, Voyd couldn’t bear to tell him. Mr. Incredible was his hero, too. The rest of the Soaring Six seemed to feel the same, as none of them said a word.
“We’re just tired,” she lied, trying to plaster a friendly smile onto her face. “It was a long day. The mission went pretty well, though.” She gestured around the room, grinning awkwardly. “See? No one died! Yay!”
Winston was apparently fooled. “Oh, of course, I totally understand. You guys do such hard work to keep us all safe. You deserve a rest. Of course, I can’t tell you what to do, but if I could, I would tell ya to take the night off. I’m sure New Urbem will survive a night without you.”
His attention was caught by the shiny “spotlight” sitting on the wooden coffee table. “What’s that? Anything important?”
“We don’t know,” Voyd admitted. “We found it in the mansion, but we have no clue what it does.”
Winston’s suspicious eye fixed on Artie. “Really? Even my favorite prodigy here can’t tell you?”
“Sorry, Mr. Deavor,” said Artie with a shrug. “It’s beyond my knowledge.”
“Beyond your knowledge?” Winston looked genuinely shocked. “Wow! I thought you practically had a technological encyclopedia embedded in that brain of yours.”
Artie was on the defense again, rising to his feet. “I do, Mr. Deavor, honest. I could probably look at ten thousand pieces of obscure tech and tell you what they’re for within thirty seconds. This thing, though… I swear, Mr. Deavor, I messed around with this thing for thirty minutes and I still have no clue what’s going on with it.”
Winston waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t worry, Artie, I’m not going to fire you or anything. I’m just surprised. You’re one of the most brilliant minds I’ve ever come across.” (Artie turned bright red.) “If this thing is beyond you, it’s beyond anyone. Except…” He snapped his fingers. “Evelyn! We’ll take it to Evelyn! Problem solved!”
For Voyd, this did not solve the problem; it simply created ten new ones. She spoke up skittishly. “Uh, Mr. Deav—Winston, I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”
“Don’t worry! We’ll just show it to her, she’ll tell us what it is, and we’ll be on our way. It’ll be easy. There’s no danger involved, trust me—Evelyn’s been slapped with a ban on being around any tech more advanced than a lightbulb. There’s nothing in the house she could use to hurt us.” He chortled, seeming to retreat into memories for a moment. “And believe me, she can’t hurt us herself. Still weak as a beanpole.”
“Um. The house?” Voyd asked with trepidation, but He-Lectrix was already speaking over her. “What do you mean, in the house?” the electric super demanded with great suspicion.
“Oh! Didn’t you guys hear on the news? Wait, I’m an idiot, of course you didn’t—you’ve been away all day. There was a hearing this morning, and it went really well. Evelyn was released on house arrest.” Winston was smiling brightly. “A year’s good behavior, and she’ll be home free.”
Oh, god, another thing for Voyd to worry about. Great.
Winston noticed that no one in the room was particularly happy about his news. “Guys, I know you don’t trust her—and believe me, I don’t really trust her either," he admitted. "But c’mon, would you just trust me? Believe me, if anybody in the world can tell you exactly what that thing is for, it’s Evelyn. If you want an easy way to find the answers you need, she can help you. Of course, I don’t want to force you into anything—if you’re uncomfortable with it, we don’t have to visit her. I just want to help you guys as much as I can. However I can.”
If Winston—kind, generous and helpful though he was—had one flaw, it was, Voyd supposed, his blind faith in his sister. Voyd was petrified of Evelyn, and every time Winston brought his sibling’s name up, she couldn’t help but get a chill. Then again, Voyd had to admit, one of her own flaws was her inability to let go of the past. Maybe the hearing had gone well for a reason. Maybe a visit to Evelyn would be harmless, even productive.
Maybe.
Voyd did trust Winston—that was a fact. She knew her friends did, too. She knew Winston wouldn’t have promised their safety unless he was sure he could guarantee it. And if a visit to Evelyn could help decode the nature of the “spotlight” and shed some light on the villains’ endgame—if a simple visit to Evelyn could save lives—then Voyd couldn’t chicken out just because of her own stupid fears. She just couldn’t. And even if she was feeling more unsure than she’d ever felt in her life, even if she wanted to leave the whole institution of superherohood behind, she couldn’t abandon her duties before she helped finish this job and stop these villains once and for all. Period. If she did, she knew she would never, ever forgive herself.
“Okay,” she said firmly, surprising everyone, including herself. “Let’s go see Evelyn.”