3.5

“Today, I… summoned something. It calls itself Beelzebub, a name I am painfully aware is a vague reference to a creature described often in demonology, and occasionally in biblical works. It’s a thing of flies and rot, and speaks with a voice more similar to the stirring of insects than any actual speech.

The implications of this development are more than a little concerning. Does this thing call itself Beelzebub because I learned the name some time ago, and it is drawing from my subconscious? Or does my power allow me to access a legitimate plane of fire and brimstone, where creatures bear names identical to that of biblical monsters?

Or is there another explanation?

If nothing else, the creature has an appetite. It’s cleared my entire fridge by now, and I’ve yet to leave it alone for more than ten minutes.”

— Vincent Hall, Encoded Notebook; Section 6, page 14

We meet back up with the crew the next day, in order to discuss the plan. We need a way to convince a large number of people of the validity of the service, transport those people to me as discretely as possible, somehow ensure their safety after the procedure is complete, all while avoiding detection from the leader of one of the city’s largest gangs.

Already a tall order, but the main issue is logistics, and by extension, protection.

I have a couple ideas, but I’m far from being an expert, so I want the input of the people actually affected. And this way, I’ll be able to complete the procedure on the rest of them as well.

Everyone ended up opting for it, especially after hearing Gordon’s glowing testimony, and I’m more than willing to oblige.

Chloe and I stroll into the house sometime in the evening, after the others have already arrived. They seem to be deep in a tense silence, shooting the occasional glance at Mikey.

I’d considered ejecting him from the operation on the grounds that he’s a likely security risk, but it’s his house, and it’ll probably be better to keep him close by, anyway. For now, we’ll just have to deal with the blow to morale.

“So Mikey,” I start off casually, “got any snacks around here?”

He groans. “Check the pantry.”

Maybe I will. While Chloe settles onto the couch in the living room and starts chatting up the other visitors, I wander over to the kitchen and start digging through the closets.

It’s a lot of junk food, which is fine for me since I usually end up converting the calories directly into the material I need, but I’ll have to remember to pick up something more filling next time. Maybe I can get Chloe to give me some tips on grocery store theft.

I grab some bags of whatever and wander back to the sitting area.

“…casings on the ATMs over there, it’s a huge pain in the ass!” Chloe’s in the middle of saying, apparently regaling Sarah with our little adventure yesterday. Sarah looks a little disturbed actually, with the admittedly kind of visceral descriptions of crime coming out of Chloe’s mouth.

I sit down next to her, and distribute the bags onto the living room table.

“…and then Claire just winds up and then out of nowhere there’s this woosh —“

“As entertaining as this is,” Ava interrupts, “we’re here for business, aren’t we?”

Chloe pouts.

“Yeah, we are,” I acknowledge. “Sorta. The goal is to detox as many people in Cook’s sphere of influence as possible. I think requiring payment would be counterproductive.”

Ava nods, a little hesitantly. “I understand the reasoning, but it’s gonna be a hard sell. ‘Free procedures’ around here are usually just a euphemism for mad scientist guinea pig jobs.”

I grimace. “Hopefully, as we get the ball rolling, we’ll become more credible by way of word of mouth. The first ones should be the hardest.”

“The first ones might not be as hard as you’re expecting, y’know,” Gordon comments, snagging a chip from a nearby bag. “People are desperate. Desperate people do stupid things. It’s why mad scientists put out offers like that anyways.”

Ava snaps her fingers, pointing in his direction. “Good point. Might be a good idea to lean into that, as well. People will be less suspicious if they think they know what’s going on.”

“Good to know,” I comment. “Ah, do any of you have a notebook or something…?”

“I do,” Chloe announces, pulling a sketchpad from a pocket behind her. She pats around for a pen, and yanks out a worn-down black one from her jacket pocket. “Want me to take notes, right?”

“Please,” I reply.

“As for the actual process…” Ava mutters. “It might be better to take you to the… patients, I suppose, rather than taking them to you. What do you need in order to do it?”

“Nothing, if I stock up beforehand.”

“Good. We can arrange a time and place in person, and have you come out to their house, or somewhere they feel safe. It should help receptiveness, as well as obfuscate our operations to an extent.”

“Scheduling is gonna be a pain,” Gordon comments.

“We should have a coordinator,” Ava determines. She turns to look at me.

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I blink. “Do you want to do it, Ava?”

She adopts a confused expression. “I — ? No, I was deferring to the leader of the operation. You should make the decision, or coordinate yourself if you’d like.”

“Mm. That’s not how I’m seeing it,” I scowl, shaking my head. “I’m the distributor — the product. I don’t have any experience in micromanagement.”

“Want me to write that down,” Chloe murmurs, a sarcastic lilt coloring her voice.

“Please don’t.”

Ava pauses for a beat, almost like she’s expecting me to retract my statement.

“…I can handle coordination and scheduling. It’ll give me something to do, anyway.”

“Perfect,” I smile.

She sighs. “The next issue, I believe, is protection. How are we going to guard the, ah, patients?”

“…Actually,” I say, hesitantly, “we might not have to.”

Chloe gives me a look. “Claire.”

“Let me clarify — I’m not saying we shouldn’t take measures to ensure we’re prepared for combat, I’m just saying maybe combat shouldn’t be our priority.”

Ava crosses her arms. “Mhm. A direct confrontation likely wouldn’t go well.”

“Then what’s your plan?” Gordon asks.

“The lower a profile we keep,” I explain, “the less we’ll have to put into weapons, or defensive personnel. A militia isn’t feasible at the moment, so instead, if we have the patients return to their normal duties, we can detox people without raising suspicion.”

Gordon makes a face. “We’ll have repeat patients. A lot of them.”

“How often did you check whether anyone else the cell took the drug, when you were distributing,” I ask.

His expression turns slightly thoughtful. “…Never, I don’t think.”

I nod. “The only real issue is that people will still end up distributing. If we manage to expand operations effectively, at some point there won’t be anyone to distribute to, and the issue will solve itself.”

Chloe snorts.

“Bit optimistic,” Gordon comments.

I scowl. “…Maybe. Still, it works as an initial defense that doesn’t require so much manpower.”

I brush back my hair, stretching my arms and being careful to avoid hitting Chloe beside me. Maybe I should go on a walk or something.

Across the coffee table, I catch sight of Ava staring at me.

“What?”

“It’s just —“ she starts, stops. Starts again. “You really think we’re doing this.”

“What do you mean ‘think’?” I frown.

She’s silent for a moment.

“You know, most supers in this city start a gang for the money, or the power or whatever.”

“Not a gang,” I protest.

“Never heard of a gang that does charity work,” she continues, ignoring me. “It doesn’t seem sustainable. Gangs in the city survive by eating each other. How are you gonna do that while you’re trying to help people?”

“That’s why it’s not a gang.”

Ava chuckles, and rubs her hand against her temples. “I need a smoke. Back in five.”

She hauls herself off the couch and heads out onto the porch.

I huff. “Okay. Anyone want, I dunno, coffee? Tea? A glass of water?”

I get a couple of responses in the affirmative, and get up to start preparing some drinks.

—

I’m in the middle of putting on a kettle I found collecting dust in the back of a cabinet somewhere when Sarah approaches me.

“Yo. What’s up?”

She leans over the counter and puts her chin in her hands. “You’re, uh. Weirdly chill for a supervillain.”

“I’ve been a — a supervillain,” I say, trying not to stumble over the word, “for less than a week at this point. Plus, we’ve met before.”

She blinks. “Really? When?”

“I used to, uh. Distribute. I went by Alex?”

Sarah narrows her eyes. “You’re — you were — what? Is this superhero bullshit?”

I nod, digging around in another cabinet trying to find some teabags. “Basically.”

She hesitates for a moment. “Huh. Do you still go by Alex?”

“Nah,” I grunt, reaching farther back and snagging a box. “I prefer Claire.”

“Oh. Cool.”

A beat as I pull out the box and set it to the side for now. Next, I take to searching for some glasses. Does Mikey organize anything around here?

“…Claire,” I hear from behind me, and there’s a tone to Sarah’s voice that sets me on edge. “…I don’t know if I can do this whole gang thing.”

Not a gang. I just barely keep from blurting out my kneejerk reaction, mostly for one reason.

She sounds like she’s about to cry.

I stop reaching into the cabinet and turn to look at her.

Sarah’s head is bowed, and her hands are clasped over the countertop, trembling just slightly. I can’t make out her expression, but I can make an educated guess.

I have literally zero experience actually comforting people. Livvy never did like to tell me when anything was wrong, and Sera usually preferred journaling to any human contact. I feel a little like I’m flying blind.

Still. I think I can do something.

I take a moment to plan my approach. Then, I move around the counter to lean next to Sarah.

“Hey. Look at me, alright?” I say, voice deliberately softer.

Sarah turns to look. Her makeup’s running — I’ll have to grab her a tissue in a moment.

For now, I try to inject as much earnestness as I can into both my face and my voice.

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” I state honestly.

She sniffles. “…Are you sure…?”

I smile, sardonically. “I’m sure we’ll manage. You shouldn’t have to worry about it.”

Sarah huffs out a wet laugh. “That’s fair. Sorry…”

“Don’t apologize,” I tell her. “Here, let me go find a tissue box.”

—

“So, how are we handling funding?” Ava asks, all business once again.

Maybe the smoke break helped convince her.

“I dunno,” I answer. “I think it depends on the scale of theft Chloe thinks we can pull off.”

Chloe pauses her note-taking to crack her neck. “When it was just me, I made it a point to be sporadic about it. We’ll still need to keep a lower profile, which will be our main bottleneck, but the individual jobs could probably increase in scope. Might be able to hit somewhere closer to the industrial district…”

“How much are we thinking, for just one job?” Gordon asks, sipping on a hot mug of tea. He tries to hide it, but I can tell he’s burnt his tongue.

“Won’t know until we pull one, but on my own it was around 20K on the higher end.”

Silence.

“…Twenty thousand dollars?” I choke out. “Where did it all go?”

Chloe rolls her eyes. “You try getting your hands on that much in cash, you find ways to spend it quick.” She puts her pen to her lips.

“Can’t do more than one of those every few months, though, so more like 5k monthly.”

Ava seems to take a breath.

“I can work with that.”