(Aubrey POV)

My left eye's twitching, and there's an acidic taste in the back of my throat. My head is pounding to the beat of an erratic drum, and I can't hear what anyone's saying anymore. It's like I'm floating in the ocean, my head just below the surface, and everyone's words come out muffled, dampened by the sloshing waves. I can see their lips moving, read their lips if I concentrate hard enough, but the sloshing water drowns out the sounds. When I speak, I can't hear myself; it sounds like white noise has replaced my voice, and only the vibrations inside my chest confirm that I'm talking. I'm not sure what I'm saying anymore, my body moving on its own accord as I march like a mindless zombie toward the entrance to the Union HQ.

The ringing in my head and the pressure in my ears are getting to be too much. My chest is tightening, and I'm acutely aware of every single part of myself. The way the fabric of my clothes feels against my skin, the drops of sweat going down my forehead, the tightness of my jeans, the constriction of my socks around my ankles. I'm overstimulated, breathing is almost a chore, and I don't feel steady. It's getting to be too overwhelming. Everything is hitting me all at once. The realization that Jean-Luc is dead. Just like Marcus. I stumble forward, and it's only Rafael's arm that saves me from falling. Rafael says something softly, but I can't even hear him. My body is like bags of cement; I don't have the strength to hold myself up anymore. I can't do this. Swaying side to side, I pass out.

I don't remember what happened after I passed out, but as I wake up, I see that I'm inside my dorm room. It feels like my brain has been replaced with rocks. Thankfully, the blinds are drawn closed, because I don't know if I could handle any light right now. I'm hungover as shit. I'm thirstier than I've ever been, and my mouth has an off taste. Rafael must've brought me back here after that meeting. Tears trail down my cheeks, and I curl up into a ball. My heart hurts. He's dead. Jean-Luc is gone forever, and I'll never hear his voice again. His stupid jokes, that shit-eating grin when he knows he got under someone's skin, the kindness he showed to everyone, all things I took for granted. My breath hitches in my throat as I try to fight through the choking sobs.

The events of last night flash in my mind like colorless vignettes of violence. The erratic spasms his body made after she hit him hard enough to cause a seizure. The screaming, the raised voices, the burning all encompassing anger that blazes inside me like a dwarf star. I can't take this; I can't handle losing two of my best friends before I'm even eighteen. How much suffering am I expected to take? Why God? Why did you take them from me? What did I do? Why me? I can't get a grip on my feelings. I smother my face in my pillow, letting out a scream of anguish.

"WHY? WHAT DID HE DO? WHY HIM? WHY MARCUS? WHY ME?" I roared into my pillow.

He'd still be around if he hadn't gone to the party. If I hadn't invited him. If I hadn't been so desperate to be a Cape, to be a hero. It's my fault he's dead. Nausea is building inside my stomach, bile rising to the surface as I shake back and forth. It's my fault. It's my fault. It's my fault. It's my fault. It's my fault. It's my fault. It's my fault. It's my fault. It's my fault. You caused him to die. Violet might've killed him, but it's my fault he died. My tear ducts are dried up, my head feels like someone shoved an icepick into it, and I'm exhausting what little energy I have left. I'm having a panic attack.

It's been five days since Friendsgiving. Violet hasn't come back to the dorm, and I haven't left it. Every call I decline, every text I ignore; Rafael comes by once a day, bringing food and talking to me through the door. I don't respond to him, but that hasn't stopped him. I'm not sure what he's been bringing to me; I haven't eaten since that night. The thought of food disgusts me. Lying in bed, sleeping all day, and grieving the loss of my friend. Losing my memory was a blessing in disguise; I can't imagine what it felt like right after Marcus died.

My whole body aches. I'm so tired, I feel hollowed out. I can't go on like this. It hurts. It hurts more than any injury I've ever had. It feels like someone scooped out my chest like a jack-o'-lantern, leaving a gaping hole where my heart should be. Every day that passes without information about Jean-Luc or Violet is killing me. It shouldn't take this long for a decision to be made. Nine people witnessed Violet kill my friend, but they haven't arrested her. There's been no news, no updates, nothing but silence from Phoenix and the Union. I don't know what to think about it. A knock at my door jolts me out of my spiraling thoughts. It's too early for Raf to be bringing dinner.

"Hey, Aubrey. Do you mind if I come in? I know you want to be alone, and I understand, but I heard from Phoenix today. The Heroes' Union finished its investigation," Raf said.

I scramble out of my bed, rushing for the door. Unlocking the door, I let him into the pitch-dark room. The light from the hallway is almost blinding, but I can see Rafael look at me and grimace. I'm aware that I look like a fucking mess, but I just don't have the energy to care about appearances anymore. Even my lightning scars are on display, which at one point would have mortified me. But things like crushes, my physical appearance, and love just don't seem important anymore.

"Tell me," I begged, my voice hoarse from disuse. "Please, tell me."

"Do you want to sit down first?" Raf asked.

That's not good.

"Just tell me."

"The investigation concluded that it was an accident. It's being ruled an involuntary manslaughter," Raf said.

"W-what?" I asked.

"She's going to take mandated anger management courses and won't be able to join the Union for another four years. She's forbidden from engaging in any Cape activities for two years. She has to pay a settlement to Jean-Luc's family, and she can no longer operate in Quinstin or the state. Supposedly, she's going to relocate to Buffalo, New York.

His words hit me like artillery shells, shattering any hope I had in the system punishing Violet. My worst fears have come to fruition; the Heroes' Union isn't the champion of fairness I perceived it as. Something inside me shatters into pieces. Maybe it's the hope that justice is real, or maybe it's the faith that I had in Capes. Regardless, it dies inside me. Violet Graves murdered my friend, and she's going to get away with it.

"WHAT? Her family is loaded; no settlement amount would even faze them. What about all of our testimonies? How the fuck are they calling it involuntary? She murdered him, and no one even cares. I know her parents are Capes, Raf. Are they sweeping this under the rug? How is Phoenix allowing this?" I shouted at him.

Raf flinches at my volume and tone. It isn't his fault that she's getting away with it. He's the messenger, and I'm shooting him for no reason. I can't calm down, I can't relax or think clearly. She killed him and is getting away with it scot-free. She killed him. She killed Jean-Luc. She killed Jean-Luc. She killed Jean-Luc. She killed Jean-Luc. She killed Jean-Luc. She killed Jean-Luc. She killed Jean-Luc. She killed Jean-Luc. She killed Jean-Luc. She killed Jean-Luc. She killed Jean-Luc. She killed Jean-Luc. She killed Jean-Luc. She killed Jean-Luc. She killed Jean-Luc. She killed Jean-Luc. She killed Jean-Luc. She killed Jean-Luc. She killed Jean-Luc. She killed Jean-Luc. She killed Jean-Luc. She killed Jean-Luc. She killed Jean-Luc. She killed Jean-Luc. She killed Jean-Luc. She killed Jean-Luc. She killed Jean-Luc. She killed Jean-Luc. She killed Jean-Luc. She killed Jean-Luc. She killed Jean-Luc. She killed Jean-Luc. She killed Jean-Luc. She killed Jean-Luc. She killed Jean-Luc. She killed Jean-Luc. She killed Jean-Luc. She killed Jean-Luc. She killed Jean-Luc. She killed Jean-Luc. She killed Jean-Luc. She killed Jean-Luc. She killed Jean-Luc. She killed Jean-Luc. She killed Jean-Luc. She killed Jean-Luc. She killed Jean-Luc. She killed Jean-Luc. She killed Jean-Luc. She killed Jean-Luc. She killed Jean-Luc. But she won't get away with it.

"Okay," I said as calmly as I could, holding back the tidal wave of rage threatening to drown me.

"Okay? Aubrey, it's not okay; you're not okay. You're not doing well, and I'm worried about you. You aren't eating, you aren't taking care of yourself," Raf began to say.

"Rafael Mendez, I appreciate your concern, but right now, I'd like to be alone. Please leave," I said robotically.

Before Raf can protest, I move toward him and shove him out of the room. He lands on his back, shock and betrayal on his face at me pushing him. Where before I would feel sadness at seeing him look at me that way, now nothing moves within me. Violet killed Jean-Luc, forced herself on Eryk, and thinks she can just get away with it. The door swings shut in Raf's face as he tries to say something to me, and I lock it. I don't have time for distractions. I said that Violet would pay the butcher's price, but the Heroes' Union let me down. She has everything and has had everything handed to her from the moment she was born. She has never known how cold a winter can be on a single parent's income. She never experienced butter sandwiches and doing homework by the light of a candle to save electricity.

Wealth, status, looks, and even powers were given to her without a single bit of effort. I almost died awakening my ability, and then almost died my first night as a Cape. Violet was born untouchable and awakening powers that made her invincible. There is no punishment that she could not buy her way out of. Capes are taught that with great power comes great responsibility, but she was never taught the great responsibility of having great power. I can't let her get away with this. I won't let her.

I look over to her side of the room, to where the girl I once called a friend slept. She was the strongest Neuvohuman I have ever seen, but lacked the moral fiber required to be a symbol of hope for everyone. No matter how long it takes me, I will make her choke on that silver spoon she was born with. Memories of that night at the docks flash in my mind. A giant Korean Bruiser threatening me, a weasely addict jeering me, and the hatred I have for those who abuse their gifts.

"You've both been given extraordinary gifts that most could never dream of. And you WASTE IT. Instead of helping people or making a difference, you choose to participate in this petty crime power struggle in some backwater city. People like you don't deserve powers. People like you don't deserve anything."

The memory hits me like a freight train. It's more vivid than the ones I recalled when I visited the docks. Something about the way I'm feeling right now is resonating with how I felt that night. Violet is a virus, a cancer, a blight upon society that only leeches from everyone. A head-to-head faceoff isn't something I could win at. At least not yet. But I am a Tinkerer, and Tinkerers don't need to face their enemies head-on to fight. I grab my sunglasses off my nightstand and unplug my laptop from its charger.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

"Aubrey! Let me in. You don't have to face this alone. Let me help you; let me be there for you," Raf shouted, hammering at my door.

I put some headphones on and start blaring music as I get to work. I designed my sunglasses as a way to memorialize special events and moments. It has cameras built in to take snapshot pictures, but it also has a recording function. And it recorded everything that happened that night, including everything that fucking bitch did. I use a USB-C cord and start downloading the files from the glasses to my computer. There are a lot of people's personal details that I don't want to expose. I'm going to go through every minute of footage and splice together a video showing what Violet did, no matter how long it takes.

It takes hours to get to the moment where Violet snaps and loses it, but it's worth it. I feel more awake and alive than I have since Jean-Luc died. My rage is fueling me like an endless source of energy, and it's three in the morning by the time I get to the moment where everything went to shit. I can't help myself, I replay the moment where Violet shoves him over and over again. Watching the exact moment of impact in slow-mo, where my friend was killed, is morbidly fascinating. I cut and bring the snippets over to my Adobe video editing software. Adding a blur to my friend's faces is easy enough, and I even do it to the fucking traitors Doug and Sydney. They'll pay too.

I leave the entire segment where she kills him and he starts seizing in one piece, unedited except for the facial blur on everyone except for Violet and Jean-Luc. There can't be any doubt about what she did, no questions about clipping or possible editing hoaxes. Everyone needs to see her cold-blooded murder in uninterrupted 4k. I go over the footage with a fine-tooth comb, making sure I don't miss anything, and I notice something odd. There's a bulge in Eryk's back pocket, something that isn't there at the beginning of Friendsgiving, but is there at the end. It looks like folded paper sticking out of the top of his pants' pocket. I slow down the footage, focusing on it. It feels weird checking out my friend's ass, but I can't shake the feeling that it's important. Why am I wasting time on this?

The type of paper looks familiar, and it takes me a bit, but I figure out why. It's sketch paper, specifically the brand that I use. I look around my room, and my sketchbook is gone. Where the hell is it? And where's the drawing I did of the black masked man? I continue watching the footage, but this time I pay attention to Eryk the entire time. THERE! After he helps me up off the ground from Sydney's attack, the next time my glasses catch his back, he doesn't have the bulge in his back pocket. Maybe it's the lack of rest, or some other chemical reaction occurring in my brain, but this feels important. I continue to watch with a focused intensity that would scare anyone who might be watching me. Right before Phoenix escorted us out, my glasses noticed the folded-up paper on the floor. I dial up Raf and wait for him to pick up.

"Hey, Aubrey. I'm so happy you called me. Do you want me to come over? How are you doing?"

"I'm fine. I have a question, Raf. Do you know where my sketchbook is?" I asked.

"What?"

"DO. YOU. KNOW. WHERE. MY. SKETCHBOOK. IS," I spelled out for him.

"Uhh, I think it should still be at Violet's. Jean-Luc packed it by accident. Why?" Raf asked, his voice oozing concern.

"Did you two see what was inside it?"

"The drawing? Yeah, we did. And so did Eryk actually," he answered.

I hang up. I don't have time to think about him or his feelings right now. I need to get to Violet's place. I need to break into her house. Reaching under my bed, I pull out my Cape box, revealing the costume and helmet I use as Stinger. Maybe it's because I just don't give a fuck anymore, but there isn't a single part of me balking at breaking and entering. Checking on the video file, it's still rendering, and it has another hour or two before it'll be finished. Once it does, it'll automatically upload it to the internet. And expose that bitch for the murdering fraud she truly is. I suit up and get ready; I have to commit a crime tonight. Something is off here, and I will find out why.

Breaking into the Graves' property is easier than I assumed. I thought maybe there would be guards or police, but when I remember what the Union's verdict is, I realize that no one even knows that a crime was committed here. Not yet, anyway. It's a good thing that my glasses recorded the code Violet put in the elevator to get it to go to her floor, or I'd have to find some other way in. Instead, I punch in her code and ride the elevator up.

I activate my helmet, enclosing it around my head. I doubt I'll run into any resistance, but you never know what kind of shitshow you might be walking into. Better safe than sorry. Floor after floor passes, the butterflies in my stomach threatening to escape from me at any moment. Doing all of this on a whim is incredibly dangerous, but so is releasing the video I made. When it releases, any hope or chance of me joining the Heroes' Union dies. At one point in my life, that would be too high a cost to pay, but now, it just seems like chump change. Who cares about joining an organization that prides itself on nepotism and favoritism instead of truth and justice?

The elevator dings, opening its door to the lobby of the Graves' property, and it isn't empty like I thought it would be. The front door is open, the lights are on, and there are two men in suits going around the room dumping gasoline on things. No, I can't let them do this. One man sees me, turning to alert his buddy, and I send out a shock from my helmet's antennas without even thinking. It drops the first man, but the second pulls a pistol out of his holster and fires it at me. My helmet predicts the trajectories in real time, and I dodge out of the way as he fires. I didn't mean to electrocute that man, but I did, and now I might have to do it a second time.

"C'mon out, little bumblebee. I promise I won't hurt ya. You're trespassing on private property, and you've now assaulted a man. The people who live here are very rich and very powerful. Not the type you wanna be on the bad side of. Just surrender, and we don't even have to call the cops," the man said.

Something about the way he's condescendingly talking to me unlodges more of my locked memories of that night in Crimton. The Korean Brusier, Dynax, was his name, spoke to me the same way. He spoke like I wasn't a person but a thing. Hatred and anger ignite inside my chest, filling the hollowness left by the loss of my friend, and I see red. More people wielding privilege and authority like a weapon to be used on the less fortunate. No more. I crank the voltage up as I step up from behind the spot I was hiding and let off a blast of electricity, striking him dead center in the chest and burning the front of his suit. He convulses, and instead of pity or regret, I'm just angry that he forced me to do that.

I step over the man and head inside, almost slipping on the puddles of alcohol and gasoline all over the floor. They were planning on burning the place down. Why? What's the point in destroying this place? I shake those thoughts from my head and continue on, going through the lounge area to where I believe Eryk dropped the paper. It isn't there. Did I go all the way over here for nothing? Where the hell could it be? I'm positive that this is where Eryk and I were when everything went to shit. Still, I check everywhere else, but come back empty-handed. Navigating all the furniture is a bitch, since Sydney's power blew everything around.

That's it. I drop down onto the floor, looking under the nearby furniture to see if maybe all the wind blew the paper underneath it. There! I reach under one of the sofas and grab the folder up page I spotted. As soon as I see it in the light, I realize my thoughts were correct. It feels and looks like my sketch paper because it is. Instead of excitement, there's a growing pit in my stomach. Carefully, I start unfolding the paper, hoping more than anything that it won't be what I think it is. I let out an involuntary gasp. It is my drawing of the man in the black mask.

Why did he have this? Eryk doesn't care about Capes and Cowls. It doesn't make any sense. Something impacts my head, hard, and I fall to the ground. The first man I shocked is back and holding a chair. He brings it down on my helmet, sending shockwaves of force through my head and into the floor. I let off a shock, and he blocks it with his makeshift furniture weapon. White goose feathers explode out of the cushion from my attack, but he brings it down again, smashing my head against the floor. My helmet cracks, one of the large black lenses I use for the wasp's eyes shattering. The metal dents from his hit, but my actual head is protected. I roll out of the way as he tries to crush my skull. I crank the voltage up, firing just as the chair hits me again. I hear something snap in my helmet, and then pain surges through me as an electrical current ravages my body. I scream, but so does the man, letting me know that both of us were electrocuted. Good, you fucking rich shit lackeys.

The pain of having so much electricity coursing through you is one that no one is prepared to deal with, the man included. Me though? This is the second time I've experienced something like this. This first time was at the docks, with Lee Daeshim, and that means I'm more prepared to deal with it than he is. My helmet is in disrepair, and most systems aren't working anymore. Without the prediction software, I'm less effective and coordinated in combat. Still, I kick out at his knee, dropping him to the ground as I yank the helmet off my head. A sharp piece of glass or maybe twisted metal cuts my face as I remove it, but I'm already in so much agony I can't feel it. I slam the broken helmet against the man's face, bouncing his head off the ground, and knocking him unconscious.

Turning my creation over in my hand, I recognize that it's too damaged to repair. There are exposed wires sparking, and now that I think about it, it's about time I made a new one. The blazing rage within me hasn't petered out. It hasn't diminished in the slightest, and as I look around at this monument to privilege and overindulgence, I feel even angrier. Fuck you people. I whip the wasp head at one of the large puddles of gasoline, and it ignites the floor. The fire spreads quickly, climbing over chairs, tables, counters, and coffee tables. The thought of dragging the two men out of the home doesn't even cross my mind. The only way to root out corruption is to burn it down.

I enter the elevator, pressing the ground floor button, as the flames become an inferno of orange, red, and yellow. The doors close as the heat lapped at my face like a dog welcoming their owner home. My thoughts are racing, and not because of what I went through, but because of what I remembered. What were flickers of fragments have solidified. The electrical shock seems to have helped clear up the clouds that were obscuring my memories.

"Because, Aubrey, you haven't even let me finish. There's a second aspect to my power. The reason I'm telling you any of this instead of keeping it to myself. Aubrey, I can give you Davis Allen's ability. I can make you a Cape."

"Crimton? Aubrey, that place is a fucking shithole. I get that you want to go out and fight bad guys, but maybe start smaller? Reedham is closer and won't end in either of us getting stabbed."

"Oh god. I, I, I had to. He was going to kill us."

"Should we call the cops? There's a chance they might be able to save both of them."

"We'll have to go slowly and be on the lookout for anything or anyone. But Aubrey, let's get out of here without any more blood on our hands."

"I do. I just might've made a mistake. Regardless, we can just sneak by them. No one's going to notice us with everything going on."

"Are you insane? They are wielding literal elements, and you want to try to fight that? Do you not remember how the last fight we had went? And that was against some street-level thugs."

"It's not about stomaching it, Aubrey. I'll stay hidden, but I'm running away if shit starts going bad. I'm sorry, but I can't die here. I won't do that to my dad and Maria."

I don't know what to do, what to say, what to think. Eryk is a Neuvohuman. Eryk was the one who gave me this power. Eryk was there the night I got hurt and kept it from me. I need to understand why. Why did he lie to me this whole time? Why is pretending not to have powers? I'm not sure if it's the shock, the grief, or the recent trauma that's making it so hard for me to wrap my brain around this. Even with the memory of the power transfer, the night at the docks, and everything else, I still don't believe it. The last friend I have alive anymore is the man in the black mask? My best friend is Violet's boogieman, a dangerous Cowl, and the supposed mastermind of the new Quinstin Cowls and a long list of murders? It can't be. Eryk's not the type. He's a normal guy, a nice person, a regular dude. He's nobody.

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