“And so, without further preamble, let me introduce New Wave’s latest member.”

  Lady Photon stepped aside from the pulpit that had been set up in the gym of a local school, clapping her hands. She was joined by the audience of thirty or so people, most of them press. At least, Gallant figured they were press. He didn’t have the optical enhancements of his old helmet, so it wasn’t easy to see from this distance, or in the glare of the lights.

  Taking a deep breath, Gallant stepped out on stage, putting his best smile on his face. The new costume fit well, but didn’t feel like it was his quite yet. Spandex with lightweight armoured plates, commissioned from SuperFabrique, blue and white and bearing New Wave’s logo on the front. He had a domino mask on his face, but after today it wouldn’t be worn for effect.

  “Good afternoon,” Gallant said in his best ‘hero’ voice, a little rusty from lack of use. “Many of you might know me already. I was a member of the Brockton Bay Wards for many years, and lead them up until the summer of last year. You know me as Gallant, and I’ll still protect you with that name, but I want you to know who I really am.” With shaking hands, he pulled off his mask and held it over his head. “I’m Dean Stansfield, and I’m proud to be back home to help.” He paused briefly as a scattering of applause echoed through the audience, then held up a hand to stop it.

  “Thank you,” he continued. “You might be wondering: why New Wave? It’s because I’ve been on the inside of things, seen what gets hidden for reasons I don’t necessarily agree with. Moreover, I’ve been someone that’s hidden things, told lies. This is about change, a change in how we do things, a change in how we have to do them. I hope, going forward, I can be someone you know you can trust.” He stepped back from the pulpit and replaced his mask as people applauded his speech.

  It wasn’t one of his best, he reflected as Lady Photon stepped back up to talk about the future of New Wave. The reveal was a little cliché, he hadn’t kept his voice level, and it had all been a little too personal. It certainly had touched some nerves, judging by how Glory Girl shot him a glare as he headed off stage.

  “We need to talk,” Victoria said as he approached, her voice cold.

  “Sure,” Dean replied, offering her a smile. “What about?”

  “Not here,” she said, shaking her head and turning.

  As she headed off, Dean trotted after her to catch up. Though he maintained his smile, he felt his stomach tightening. Vicky wasn’t happy that he was here, wasn’t happy he was joining her team, and probably figured there was some ulterior motive to this. Of course there wasn’t, Dean meant every single word he said on the stage; though of course working with Victoria was a bonus of joining New Wave.

  “Here’s fine,” Victoria said, stopping in an empty hallway. “Why are you here Dean?”

  “What do you mean?” Dean asked, confused.

  “I mean why here,” she repeated. “Why Brockton Bay, why New Wave? If you think I’m going to get back together with you then you—”

  “That’s not it,” he said quickly, cutting her off. “I don’t— Look, Victoria, you were clear that we weren’t together anymore and weren’t going to be. I came back to Brockton Bay because it’s my home, I joined New Wave…” He swallowed and took a deep breath. “I joined New Wave not because of you, but because of what I did to you. I joined because New Wave won’t let me live a lie anymore, but I can still be a hero. It’s not about you Vicky it’s...it’s all me.” She studied him quietly for a moment.

  “Fine,” she said at last. “But you’d better not try anything, or else.”

  “I promise,” Dean said solemnly, lowering his gaze. “For whatever it’s worth, I’m sorry, but I’m not here for you.”

  “Good,” Vicky said, in a tone that made his heard ache. But her expression softened ever so slightly. “I’m glad you’re alright, Dean, and I’m glad you still want to be a hero.”

  “I’d never be anything else,” he said quietly.

  As she nodded and walked away, he wondered whether he’d made the right choice.

  He still didn’t have an answer months later.

  Not that Dean didn’t do a damn good job in his new role. No he threw himself into his work, making as many public appearances as actual patrols. As the first new member of New Wave since its inception, besides the kids born into it, there were a lot of eyes on him. On his first few patrols, he’d been approached for questions by the public and the press. After that, he’d started making more and more appearances for the purpose of talking to people, so it didn’t interfere with his actual job.

  By all accounts, it went well. Gallant was a successful hero, as much as he had been back in the Wards. He and Flashbang often teamed up, leading to more than a few jokes online about the guys throwing their ‘balls’ around the battlefield. Meanwhile, Dean Stansfield was a bit of a media darling at first, and he used every ounce of his years dealing with the public to project the right image.

  Still, it didn’t help him figure out whether this was the right way to do things. There was no doubt it was better than the PRT, at least in his estimation, but something still felt...off. It was almost like he was intruding somewhere private he wasn’t invited, or more rightly had been cast out of. The Dallon parents had been perfectly pleasant, as had Carol’s sister, but Vicky was still giving him the cold shoulder and Crystal wasn’t much better.

  That was his fault of course, and he hadn’t expected to be welcome with open arms, but it was starting to get to him. There was another piece missing though. Amy had come over to her parent’s place for dinner a couple times, and those dinners had felt colder than any he’d been to before. Last summer really had broken New Wave, and he wasn’t sure him being here was helping.

  But today Dean had a day off, and he was spending it hunting for a present for Vicky. Her birthday was coming up, and though he was sure she didn’t want one from him he was determined to get something. It didn’t have to have his name on it, it would be better if he didn’t, he just...wanted to do something for her.

  So far it had been a bust, the reconstructed Boardwalk not offering him any idea of what to get for his ex. She’d changed so much that anything he thought of just seemed...childish almost. She didn’t seem to be much of a fashionista, though she still dressed well it wasn’t quite the same. Dean was reaching the point of frustration when his phone buzzed in his pocket.

  “Dean Stansfield,” he answered it, pausing and leaning against the railing of the Boardwalk, staring out at the chilly September sea. “May I ask who’s calling?”

  “Hey Dean,” Amy’s voice came over the line, sounding tired and afraid. “Are you busy today? Mom said it was your day off, but I don’t want to bother you if you have plans.”

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  “No, no I’m not doing anything important,” Dean replied, a little curious, a little more worried. “Something the matter?”

  “Can you come over?” she asked hesitantly. “I need your help.” He frowned.

  Amy wasn’t one to ask for help, certainly not from him. Something must be deeply wrong if she was reaching out, and that worried him. After all, she had faced down the Slaughterhouse Nine; if this was a problem that made someone who could survive that afraid, he needed to take this seriously.

  “What’s your address?” Dean asked, pulling his phone away from his ear and opening the map. She rattled it off and he punched it in, nodding slowly. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes at most. Is that okay?”

  “It’s fine,” Amy said quickly. “Um...thanks Dean.” The line clicked and she was gone.

  He sighed and started towards the nearest bus stop, worry gnawing at his stomach.

  “Thanks for coming,” Amy said, answering the door and stepping aside. “Come in, please.”

  “No problem,” Dean replied, stepping inside and looking around.

  It was a nice place, though sparingly decorated. A sewing machine sat on a table by the window of the living room Amy led him into. They sat on the couch across from each other, Amy knitting her fingers together and pressing them until her knuckles were white. Her aura was awash with fear, tinged with no small part of guilt.

  “So, something’s wrong,” Dean began after a few minutes of tense silence. “Are you in danger?”

  “The city’s in danger,” Amy said, chewing her lip. “Heartbreaker’s in town.” Dean’s eyes widened and he felt the sinking pit in his stomach grow deeper. “Tattletale grabbed me last night and told me. One of her gang members was hurt really bad, and I fixed him up as best I could but…” She sighed. “I don’t know what to do. Tattletale is a villain, but Heartbreaker is worse, isn’t he?”

  “He is,” he agreed quickly. Heartbreaker was only an A-class threat by the PRT’s standards, but that was only because he rarely made forays outside his compound. “And if he’s here, then we should definitely tell the PRT so we can set up a truce.”

  “She said she would,” Amy replied. “But I don’t know what I can do about Heartbreaker. Tattletale said I could probably figure out a way to make people immune, but that would involve tampering with the brain which is right out. I just…” She trailed off, chewing her lip til a scarlet bead of blood appeared.

  “I don’t think you should touch brains,” Dean said, fighting to keep his tone level. “But I don’t know that much about powers Amy. You’d be better off asking Vicky, you know that.”

  “I can’t,” she mumbled. “You know that.” They were silent for a moment, then Amy spoke again. “I need to figure out something. What do you know about Heartbreaker? Probably more than me at least.”

  “Why not ask Tattletale?” Dean said, arching a brow and getting a withering glare in response. “Okay, point taken. Heartbreaker, a Master from Quebec. Line-of-sight emotional manipulation that is practically absolute, if you’re a not Master like him.” Not that he wanted to push his luck against a monster like that.

  “Say that again.”

  “His manipulation is absolute if you’re not a Master?” She snapped her fingers and reached out a hand, making Dean yank his away. “Whoa, what are you planning?”

  “I’m not going to do anything,” Amy explained quickly, reaching her hand out further. “But you said it, his manipulation isn’t absolute on capes like you. I just want to look Dean, that’s it. I don’t know powers but...I could.” She had a worried smile on her face. Her aura was tinged with trepidation, but notes of eagerness, and genuine belief in what she was saying.

  “You’ll just look,” Dean said firmly, gingerly reaching out his hand.

  Amy took it in a light grasp, and he felt a shiver run up his spine. At this point, he was pretty much at her mercy. Dean kept a careful eye on her aura, watching for any flicker of emotion that would indicate her strike. But there was nothing, only a glowing curiosity that mirrored the expression on her face.

  “I never thought to look at how these things are laid out before,” Amy said thoughtfully. “Well, not before...Lia.”

  “What do you mean?” Dean asked, frowning.

  “You know her power is...weird,” she said, giving him a knowing look.

  “You mean the...the loop?”

  “Mhm.” She nodded, looking down at his hand. “Her coronas were bizarre, to say the least, not in a way that’s important here. But I still knew what hers looked like, and yours isn’t the same.” He waited expectantly for an explanation as she continued staring, eyes glossy. “God, how has no one ever looked at these? Yours looks completely different than hers, different than Vicky’s too, and Dad’s.”

  “You know what all their brains look like?”

  “That’s a really stupid question Dean.”

  “Okay, yeah, fair.” He grimaced. “But how do you remember what just the gemma and pollentia look like?”

  “I don’t really forget stuff like that,” Amy replied with a frown. “If I really try to remember, it comes to mind pretty easily. Probably part of my power, if I had to guess. Still, the microstructure is pretty subtle, maybe it blends with regular neurons on brain scans, but it’s obvious to me. There’s these little branches down through the limbic system, especially near the amygdala.”

  “The emotional center of the brain,” Dean said, struggling to recall old biology lessons.

  “And other things, but that’s probably the important part,” she said with a nod. “Interesting...a couple of the branches are identical to ones in Vicky’s head.”

  “By identical you mean…”

  “I mean by every measurement they could have been taken out of your brain and put in hers, just in a little bit of a different place.” Amy stared at him, eyes widening. “No, that’s not...Dean, were you there when she got powers?” He grimaced and nodded.

  “I never talked about it with anyone but her,” Dean said quietly. “My parents sponsored the opposing team and sent me along as the family representative. It was before we’d actually met, I didn’t know who she was. When she told me about how she got powers, I realized I’d been in the bleachers that day.” And then he’d gone and made up his own story of a trigger event that never was, and for what? Because he was an idiot kid that wanted to lose his virginity. Amy definitely didn’t need to know that though.

  “They’re connected,” Amy murmured. “Networked. When she triggered, somehow her corona pollentia scanned yours and transposed these; maybe for her aura or something.”

  “That’s a bit of a leap,” he said, even as a pit opened in his stomach.

  “Dean these are micrometer scale structures,” she countered. “There’s no way they would grow like this naturally, that doesn’t make sense.”

  “So why doesn’t her power work like mine?” he asked.

  “Like I said, same structure, different place,” Amy said. “That must be enough to change it. Look, I’m no expert, I’m hypothesizing as I go because I’m trying to figure out some fucking way to stop the scariest Master on the planet and I still don’t have any ideas.” Dean took a deep breath as panic wormed into Amy’s aura. He squeezed her hand tight and offered a nervous smile.

  “Well keep looking,” Dean said. “You’ll figure something out.”

  He hoped, he prayed.

  An hour later Amy was done, and frankly so was Dean.

  “Well,” Dean said, rising from the couch and stretching his limbs. “That was...something.”

  “Sorry,” Amy said, staring down at the hand Dean had been holding. “I could have put on the TV, I just didn’t think about it.”

  “You were busy, don’t worry,” he said, shaking his head. “Come up with anything?”

  “Maybe,” she said tentatively. “Would you...no, sorry, you’ve already done enough.”

  “What is it?” he asked. In for a penny…

  “Would you come with me to meet Tattletale?”

  Dean grit his teeth. Now that was a dicey proposition, and probably a terrible idea. Truce conditions or not, actively cooperating with villains outside a life-or-death fight was bad optics. At the same time, if Amy was going, it was better she didn’t go alone. It was obvious she hadn’t wanted to ask either, judging by the guilt colouring her aura right now.

  Optics be damned, there was a dangerous villain on the loose and Amy needed his help.

  “Okay,” Dean said, getting a look of surprise from Amy. “The fact that you’re willing to work with her tells me this is pretty desperate. And if she’s lying, I might be able to tell before you get pulled in too deep.” Relief coloured over the guilt, though the guilt remained below the surface, and Amy smiled.

  “Thank you,” Amy said, shutting her eyes and taking a deep breath. “Okay, okay, I’m going to call her. We should probably act sooner than later.”

  “Agreed,” he said. “I should call Carol, get some reinforcements.”

  “No,” she said quickly, terror quickly taking over her aura. “Dean, she’d kill me, and Vicky would never forgive me.”

  “And what about me?”

  “You’re the new star,” Amy said, shaking her head. “And you could explain it in a way that doesn’t lead to a shouting match. But...I hope we don’t need their help at all, I hope my idea works.”

  “And what exactly is that?” Dean asked, feeling lost.

  “Tell you later,” she said, taking out her phone.

  He sighed and headed to the bathroom. When Amy got like this, there wasn’t much arguing. She had it in her head that she needed to take care of this herself, or with the Undersiders anyway. He wasn’t sure why she would ever agree to such a thing, but she’d talked to Tattletale. And that was it. Lia had done the same thing, and it lead to her destroying herself. Dean couldn’t let that happen again.

  So he’d go along with this, and when it turned into a disaster he’d do his best to save her from herself.