The waitress at Jory's stared somewhat doubtfully at the painfully pale man sitting in the corner booth of the restaurant. He was pleasantly tapping his feet, glancing around the room with a vacant smile. It was a bit late for just one man to be sitting all on his own in a place as ordinary as this, but a customer was a customer. With a mental shrug, she made her way over and asked, "You gettin' anything, hun?"

Looking up at her, the man nodded politely. "Yes, please. I'll have a single burger with pickles, ketchup, and mustard. And put a side of fries with it. I won't be needing a drink."

Nodding slowly, the waitress tentatively asked, "Can I get a name for that order?"

He reached up a hand to shake hers, and she did so reluctantly. "Leonard. My name is Leonard. Does this restaurant serve any desserts?"

With a direct question to answer, the waitress retrieved her menu from underneath her arm. "We got chocolate chip cookies, a birthday cake if it's yer birthday, and pie."

Contemplating his options, Leonard told her, "I'll take a slice of pie. I'm in a truly excellent mood." As she headed away with his order, Leonard reflected on the events of the past few weeks.

Leonard's plan had failed. Well, one of them, at least.

He didn't care.

Lance's truest form had gone done in a literal blaze of glory, but had most assuredly died.

That was fine.

Leonard leaned forward, steepling his hands under his chin and staring off into the distance dreamily. From a distance, and later on from the view of a hundred different cellphones' cameras, he had seen the very pinnacle of monsterdom. A gorgeous centipede of incalculable length and power, plated with a shining carapace and shimmering legs waving in the sky.

He had made his decision. Nahma was by far the most deathly beautiful thing Leonard had ever witnessed in his life.

A disturbing smirk spread across the Homemade Surgeon's face. With all of that power, that grace, that speed, Nahma had decided to become a hero? One of those infamous hypocrites of justice? It was laughable. It was hilarious.

It was humiliating.

Leonard's fist curled up to the point where his knuckles turned white, his expression souring. How could Nahma descend himself to the same level as the mere mortals who claimed to be the protagonists? Who upheld the laws that empowered them? He was above that. He was far above all of that. At least he would have an equal in Leonard.

For of course he would find Leonard to be an equal. Leonard was devastatingly intelligent, mercilessly brutal, and followed only his own rules when it came to how the world should be run. Just like Nahma. The divine centipede had not bothered to consider the safety of anyone when he had destroyed Lance. He had not considered economic damage, or architectural damage, or anything aside from the absolute annihilation of his enemy.

It was only natural that Nahma would have viewed Lance as an enemy. Something as hideous as Lance's unruly, unfocused form crawling all over Nahma's city? It was absurd. Lance was almost ashamed that he had produced such a filthy creature, but such were the machinations of a genius. Mistakes were made, but it was important to learn from them.

The waitress returned with a platter of his food, and Leonard smiled graciously at her. "Many thanks, kind human. Perhaps you will be spared."

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She gave him a strange look, but left with a mere shake of the head. Leonard gazed after her, amused at her ignorance as to how the world worked. She should have been kissing his feet for the mere opportunity to speak to him... and yet she charged him for a meal that should have been freely given.

What kind of monster would she be, Leonard wondered. Would she have elongated arms, razor claws dragging across the floor? Would she have a sloping forehead, reinforced with thick plates of flexible bone to protect that sad excuse for a brain? Would she be covered in fur? Scales? A carapace, not unlike Nahma's child?

Taking a bite of the burger, Leonard took a moment to think about the monster known as Bain. The monster was incredible. Multiple eyes, a bully form, nearly unequaled regenerative properties, and of course superior strength and speed. According to Leonard's underground contact, Bain had supposedly breathed fire at one point, but those days were long gone. Bain hadn't repeated the feat since, and so Leonard assumed that the monster had found the feature unnecessary and got rid of it.

Leonard had long known of Nahma's existence, but had never once seen so much as a picture for himself. It was because of that reason that Leonard had never truly appreciated the absolute scale and breadth of the centipede. Not for the first time, he cursed himself for not having inspected the rumors of an insectoid ruler of the darkness, with eyes in every corner and ears under every eave.

A slight flush crept into Leonard's cheeks, and he glanced around breathlessly. Was Nahma perhaps watching him even now? Observing his every move? Were there hundreds of invisible eyes, gazing upon his bare skin and clothing? He felt hot just thinking about it.

Four men entered the restaurant and made their way over to a booth near Leonard, lounging about and talking in low voices about something. Due to the placement that they sat in, they obstructed the view from Leonard to the street. Or rather, the other way around.

A wave of righteous fury rose in Leonard's mind. How dare they? How dare they block Nahma's view of Leonard? The centipede was permitted to watch him whenever and wherever he wished!

Standing, the pale man walked over to the group and folded his arms, waiting for them to notice him. One of them did, and squinted hard. "Leonard? What are you doing here?"

Leonard blinked, thrown by the stranger's recognition. Had he met this human before?

The other three glared at him, and the largest one out of the bunch growled, "Why th' heck didn't you show up to John's funeral?"

Frowning, Leonard asked hesitantly, "John's dead?" Who was John?

Their expressions softened. "Oh. I take it you didn't know. Yeah, I suppose everything got a bit mixed up, what with the monsters on Washington and all. He died from the Meatbag attack. One of the first to go."

A flash of recognition struck Leonard's face. That's who it was! John had been Leonard's former manager. An utterly inept man, if Leonard remembered him correctly. Whose idea had it been to put someone in charge of Leonard? He should have been the one running the show. Well, at least Lance had served some purpose in his death.

Oh right, he was supposed to be sad.

A grieving expression made its way to Leonard's face, and he carefully made his shoulders slump. Sadness, he understood, was portrayed more in the body language of a human than it was by their words. Irritatingly, words were still required.

It was the tough part of blending in with the inane sacks of flesh and blood claiming to be intelligent. To have feelings. It was ridiculous. To feel something other than the satisfaction of a flawlessly executed experiment, the thrill of witnessing true beauty - to love anything aside from science and the most genuine form of survival of the fittest was stupidity incarnate.

Nahma, he was sure, was far above such trivial matters. He knew why the centipede kept Bain around - sheddings were mere cast-offs. Nothing more than dry skin rubbed off of one's arm. One had to keep their very greatest fanatics close at hand, in case they were required for something or another. Perhaps a snack? Leonard had to admit, he wasn't entirely sure of Nahma's intentions.

He was shocked out of his reverie as one of the men tapped him on the shoulder, saying sympathetically, "It's gonna be fine, Leonard. He was a good man, but he'd want us to keep going."

He's dead, thought Leonard. He can't want anything. On the outside, he answered sadly, "Yes, he was taken too soon. It's such a shame." That his body was not recovered, the Surgeon thought. What a waste of materials.

He was no longer in the mood to eat.

But he supposed his greatest plan of all could use some work. No theater was without its stagehands, and no play was without some choreography.

I wonder, Leonard thought.

Can a monster evolve further past its state of perfection?

One thing was for sure. If it was possible, there was no greater subject for the process than Nahma's son.

After all, if Bain was worthy of Nahma's presence, how much more worthy would he be after some improvements?