The Renegades had not come, but he had. Maybe not soon enough to save her family, but still, he had come. He had saved her.
“You’re dwelling,” said Phobia, his voice almost a taunt.
Nova squared her shoulders. “Am not.”
Phobia didn’t respond, but she could feel a haughty response in his silence.
“It’s all right, Nightmare,” said Detonator. “We’re doing this for Ace, aren’t we? Use that anger. Use it to avenge him.”
Nova didn’t respond. The world became still. Serene. Black and white.
She looked through the scope, lining up the sights.
It had to be in the eye. Anywhere else on his body and the tip of the dart would snap on the layer of chrome beneath his skin, and the poison would never make its way into his system.
Her aim had to be perfect.
And it would be.
She’d been preparing for this moment for years.
Use that anger.
It wasn’t just to avenge Ace, though that might have been enough all on its own. It was to avenge her family, too, who the Council could have saved, but hadn’t.
It was to revitalize Ace’s vision. His dream of freedom for all prodigies, not just those who were willing to pander to the self-appointed Council and their autocratic laws.
It was because Nova knew that the Council was failing the people—was failing them even now—but no one was brave enough to say it.
Society would be better off without them.
The street below seemed to fall silent, blanketed by the purpose drumming inside her head. The Captain’s eye came into focus. Shocking blue and bearing faint wrinkles in the corner as he smiled. He wasn’t young anymore, like when he’d first formed the Renegades. The Council were getting older, passing their legacy on to a new generation.
“Pull the trigger,” she whispered to herself. Inhale. The trigger pressed against her finger.
They were getting older, but they still held all the power. All the control. More, perhaps, than they ever had when they’d prowled the streets at night, searching for criminals and villains.
More than when he’d taken that helmet from its rightful owner.
Exhale.
“Pull the trigger, Nova.”
The Renegades will come.
Nova flinched.
“What’s wrong?” asked Detonator.
“Nothing.” Nova licked her lips. Lined up the sights again. The float was turning the corner now. Soon it would pass out of sight. Soon he would turn away from her, his smile and charm greeting the next street of worshipers.
This was the best opportunity they would have to take down the Captain, and soon, the rest of the Council would follow.
While the Renegades scrambled to replace the Council, the Anarchists would rise again. Without the villain gangs interfering this time, they would show the people of this city what anarchy was meant to look like. True freedom. True independence. For everyone.
All she had to do was pull the trigger.
A bug fluttered in the corner of her vision. Nova shooed it away.
She found her target again.
The Captain shifted, turning his head slightly in her direction.
It was the best shot she would have.
Nova started to squeeze.
Something landed on the end of the rifle. Nova lifted her eyes, focusing on the gold-and-black butterfly, its wings opening and closing as it perched on the barrel.
Nova’s gaze lifted skyward.
A swarm of monarch butterflies clouded overhead—hundreds, perhaps thousands of vibrant wings fluttering as they clustered above her.
“We have company.”
A beat of silence was followed by, “Renegades?”
She didn’t respond. The float was turning. Five seconds, maybe less.
Nova looked through the sights and found the Captain, found his perfect hair, his perfect smile, his perfect blue eyes—
A bundle of balloons passed between them, each emblazoned with the iconic Renegade R.
She waited, frozen in time, sweat dripping down her neck.
The balloons passed.
Captain Chromium shifted his gaze upward, looking almost right at her.
She fired.
The Captain turned, just a hair.
The dart struck him in the temple. The needle tip snapped off.
Captain Chromium jerked to attention, searching the rooftops, signaling the others. Nova let out a stream of curses as she ducked behind the ledge.
A red hook flew from the side of her vision, attached to a thin wire. It wrapped around the gun and snatched it away.
Nova leaped to her feet.
A teenage girl, pale and freckled, stood at the corner of the roof, holding Nova’s gun in one hand and the glittering hook in the other. She wore the Renegade uniform—form-fitting charcoal-gray Lycra from her neck to her boots, piped in red and emblazoned with a small R over her heart. Her hair was a mix of bleached white and pitch-black, pulled into a shaggy ponytail.
The butterflies swarmed beside her, cycloning until their wings became a blur, then solidified into the body of a second girl, wearing an identical gray bodysuit, with long blonde dreadlocks framing her face.
Red Assassin and Monarch.
Nova had met them once before, when they tried to stop her from robbing a small pharmacy for supplies Leroy needed, but there were more of them that time.
Nova lifted an eyebrow. “Where’s everyone else? Living it up in the beer garden?”
As soon as she said it, she heard a ding, and the metal grate over the utility elevator squealed open.
A third Renegade emerged from the elevator—a boy with light brown skin and thick dark hair. He walked with a slight limp and a cane, faint tendrils of smoke following in his wake.
Smokescreen.
The corner of Nova’s mouth curled upward. “That’s a bit more like it.”
Detonator’s voice crackled in her ear. “What’s happening up there?”
Nova ignored her.
“Nightmare,” said Smokescreen, with a subtle incline of his head. “Long time, no see.”
“You’re about to wish it had been longer.” Nova reached for her belt and unclipped two of her heat-seeking throwing stars, an invention she had worked all last summer to perfect.
She threw them both at Red Assassin, knowing how dangerous she could be with that hook of hers. Red dodged. Monarch burst again into a swarm of butterflies.
A bolt of black smoke struck Nova in the face. She stumbled back, blinded.
“Nightmare, report,” said Ingrid.
Snarling, Nova reached for the transmitter behind her earlobe and shut it off.
She forced her burning eyes open and saw a blur of yellow, then Monarch was beside her. A knee collided with Nova’s side and she fell to the concrete, rolling from the force of the blow. Nova used the momentum to jump back to her feet, shutting out the pain in her ribs, blinking through the stinging tears that blurred her vision.
Something hooked beneath her chin, pulling tight against her throat—Smokescreen’s cane. He yanked her against him. Though he wasn’t a big guy by any means, his arms felt like iron as his cheek pressed against the side of her hood. “Your days of villainy are over, Nightmare.”
She scoffed. “You sound like you’ve read too many comics.”
“You sound like you think that’s a bad thing,” he retorted.
She felt around for his hands on either end of the cane, but the gloves of his uniform overlapped with his sleeves, leaving no vulnerable skin exposed.
Smokescreen’s hold on her tightened. “Are you working alone?”
In front of her, Red Assassin caught one of the throwing stars on her wire, flinging it at a heat vent. It stuck with a metallic clang. The second star boomeranged over the alleyway and zipped back toward her. She pinwheeled the ruby hook in front of her and stabbed the star into the concrete with the gem’s point before it could rise again.
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Red Assassin wrenched her gem free and turned to face Nova and Smokescreen, panting. She started to twirl the wire-tethered ruby like a lasso over her head.
Nova scowled. So much work, wasted.
Monarch formed again, arms crossed over her chest. “I believe Smokescreen asked you a question.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” said Nova. “I was busy daydreaming about your funerals.”
She grabbed the cane and kicked back her hips, launching Smokescreen over her head. He landed on his back with a grunt.
Snagging the cane from his hands, Nova struck the backs of Monarch’s knees, knocking her off her feet.
Red Assassin threw the gem at Nova. The wire wound around her ankle, yanking her to the ground and dragging her across the gritty rooftop. Nova tried to dislodge another throwing star from her belt, but before she could get ahold of it, Red pulled a dagger cut from the same red crystal as her hook and pressed her knee on top of Nova’s chest. She dug the point of the dagger against Nova’s jugular.
“Who,” said Red Assassin, with careful enunciation, “are you working for?”
Sensing her own heartbeat against the gemstone, Nova couldn’t help smiling behind her mask. “Your worst nightmare,” she said, jamming her fingertips into the cuff of Red’s boot and finding the skin of her ankle. Her power rolled through her. The blade dug into her throat, but then Red Assassin’s eyes closed and she collapsed beside her.
A wave of hazy white mist rolled across the rooftop. Nova looked around, but the mist was already too thick to see Smokescreen. Sitting up, she unwound the wire from her leg and grabbed the dagger. It was lighter than any knife she’d ever held and looked like it had been cut from a single ruby, though she knew a real gemstone would have been much heavier.
Whatever material Red Assassin used for her specialized weaponry, it was sharp, and that’s all Nova cared about.
On her feet again, she peered into the shroud of odorless smoke, listening for any sign of Smokescreen or Monarch. Her senses felt dulled in the fog. Infrared goggles would have helped. She would have to work on those next.
She spotted a dark shape—her duffel bag. With one more glance around, she bolted for the bag and threaded her elbow through the handles.
Monarch appeared from nowhere, her dreadlocks whipping behind her as she aimed a jab for Nova’s head. Nova ducked and rammed her shoulder into Monarch’s abdomen. The Renegade bent forward and Nova stabbed upward with the dagger, but the moment she felt the blade pierce the flesh of her upper leg, Monarch exploded into fluttering wings.
The smoke was beginning to clear, and Nova spotted a rickety fire escape on the next building. Tucking the dagger into her belt, she sprinted toward the edge of the roof and jumped. Catching the fire-escape rail, she vaulted herself over it and onto metal stairs that shuddered and clanged beneath her.
Smokescreen’s voice cut through the fog. “Monarch!”
Nova paused long enough to look back and see Monarch reappear, though she immediately collapsed and pressed a palm over the cut in her thigh. The gray fabric of her uniform was darkening with blood.
Nova swung the duffel bag over her shoulder and hauled herself up the winding stairs, taking the risers two at a time.
She reached the roof and ran for the far side.
She was halfway across when a large figure leaped up from the street below, clearing the rooftop by a good twenty feet. Nova skidded to a stop, her panting breaths warming the inside of her mask.
The form landed in front of her with a clang.
Rather than a charcoal-gray bodysuit, he was dressed in something akin to armor—every limb protected, every muscle sculpted into the rigid shell, his face disguised behind a helmet and dark-tinted visor. The Renegade R was emblazoned on his chest, but the armor wasn’t like any Renegade uniform she’d ever seen.
Though she couldn’t see his eyes, she could feel them watching her. Nova took half a step back, scanning the figure from head to toe. There was no skin to be seen, only narrow seams between the armored plates that might be vulnerable to more traditional attacks.
“You must be new around here,” she said.
His head tilted. “I’ve been around long enough to know who you are … Nightmare.”
Nova’s fingers skimmed along the top of her belt, though she wasn’t confident any of her weapons would be effective. “Should I be flattered?”
Before the figure could answer, a bout of high-pitched laughter echoed off the high-rise buildings, pealing through the streets and alleys of downtown Gatlon. The sound was grating, shrill, and far too familiar.
Nova grimaced. “What is that idiot doing here?”
CHAPTER THREE
THE ARMORED STRANGER turned his head toward the laughter, just as the curve of a hot-air balloon rose into view over the parade. The balloon was decorated in black-and-white harlequin, with an enormous acid-green Anarchist symbol painted over it. Its wicker basket carried one occupant—a man with wild orange hair, painted red cheeks, and deep lines drawn from the corners of his mouth down his chin in mimicry of a marionette.
The Puppeteer stood on the rim of the basket in a checkered suit, gripping the upright bars as it bounced and swayed beneath him.
“Oh, Reeeeenegades,” he shouted in a singsong voice. “Doesn’t anyone want to play with me?”
The cheers below turned to screams of fright, and he cackled again, holding one hand out over the crowd, tilting so far forward it seemed he would topple from the basket. “Eeny, meeny, miny … mo!”
Eight shimmering gold strings cascaded from his fingertips into the crowd, and though Nova couldn’t see where they landed, she knew he would be seeking out children in the chaos below. Those who were touched by his strings would turn into puppets he could control. After all these years, she still wasn’t sure if his power only worked on children, or if he just preferred them because a mindless, rabid four-year-old was so damned creepy.
“Tag!” the Puppeteer bellowed. “You’re it!”
The screams grew louder.
“Friend of yours?”
Nova glanced sideways at the armored figure. “Not exactly.”
The Puppeteer laughed again, and the stranger’s fists tightened. Nova couldn’t fault him for his irritation. She wasn’t exactly Winston Pratt’s biggest fan, either, and she’d been technically on the same side as him since she was six.
In one movement, Nova pulled the duffel bag around to her front and reached inside for the netting gun she’d engineered from a toy bazooka when she was eleven. The figure turned toward her at the same moment she lifted the gun and pulled the trigger, sending a net of nylon ropes soaring toward him. Its eight points spread out like an octopus. The stranger stumbled back in surprise, lifting a hand to defend himself as the net descended.
He dropped to one knee. The net wrapped around him, tangling around his limbs. The helmet twisted from side to side as he struggled to pull the ropes away, but every movement only drew them tighter.
“It was nice to meet you,” said Nova, tossing the bazooka back into the bag. She jogged past him, scouting out the next rooftop before making the easy jump.
“We’re not done.”
She glanced back. The stranger’s shoulders were hunched. He wrapped his gloved fingers around the knotted ropes, and smoke started to wisp between his fingertips.
The ropes caught fire. Flames licked along the nylon, blackening the net until whole portions of it crumbled away into ash.
When enough of the netting had been burned off, he tore a hole in it and stepped out of the bindings, leaving the rest to smolder on the concrete roof.
He walked to the edge and peered down at Nova.
She smirked, unimpressed. “Another fire elemental. How quaint. Not exactly a rare breed, but it’s hard to criticize a classic.”
He bent his knees, lowering himself into a slight crouch, then sprang upward, lobbing his body clean over her head. Nova followed his trajectory through the air, a full arc
that carried him onto the rooftop behind her. Though his landing was graceful, the weight of his armor made the floor shake beneath them.
Nova’s smile faded.
A fire elemental with a fancy anti-gravity suit … or a prodigy with superior speed and strength, who just happened to also be able to burn things … or, a superhero with both powers? She’d never heard of such a combination before.
“You can’t escape me, Nightmare,” he said. “I’m taking you into custody, and you will answer for your crimes.”
“Lovely as that sounds, I actually had other plans for this afternoon.”
A shadow passed over them—monarch butterflies slowly merging into a girl’s shape.
As Monarch took form, Nova looked between her and the stranger. She was trapped between them.
She didn’t like being trapped.
Monarch frowned at the armored man. A hasty bandage had been wrapped around the wound in her thigh, cut from gray cloth. “Who are you?”
The stranger didn’t speak for a moment, and Nova was sure his voice deepened when he responded, taking on an air of righteousness. “I am the Sentinel.”
Nova laughed. “Seriously?”
The Sentinel angled his head in her direction, and she couldn’t tell whether she imagined the way his chest expanded defensively.
“Friend of yours?” Monarch said, glancing at Nova.
She tightened her hands around the strap of the duffel bag. “I’m really not that friendly. Besides, he’s wearing your trademark.”
Monarch’s eyes narrowed as she took in the R on the Sentinel’s chest.
Losing interest in Monarch’s confusion, Nova heaved the bag at the Sentinel’s head, then reached behind her for the red dagger. She swung the blade toward Monarch’s abdomen but hit only air as she dispersed again into the swarm. Snarling in frustration, Nova swung again and again—finally slicing a single butterfly in half.
She let out a breath and glanced down at the faint brush of wing dust on the blade.
Two arms wrapped around her, securing her elbows at her sides. If Smokescreen had been strong, this guy was iron and steel.
Or perhaps it was the suit.