=== KARI ===

I was back in the city, and it felt so good. I love Ren and enjoyed being at the dojo, but I had started to go stir-crazy after a while. There's just so little to do there outside of training. And a lot of people missed me. I had tons of well-wishes on Twitter, Tak-tik, YouTube, and Twitch. And my ban was lifted. I don't think I can ever forgive Buck Cherry for almost nuking my channel like that. There was a slight pang in my chest at the thought of that fight. And the subsequent one. I know that Curt is a bad guy. A petty criminal and thief, but it still hurts to see him look at me like that. To rage at me like that. To have to attack him like that.

  I tried not to focus on that. Instead, I just enjoyed being back. Fully back. After visiting Chuck, I went on patrol, and it was an easy day. I helped a woman cross the street and a man get his groceries upstairs. I helped the same girl get her cat out of the same tree. It was nice. Everything was peaceful for a while. From somewhere downtown, I heard an explosion and people screaming. I blasted off the building I was sitting on as I took a break and found chaos. Bion and his automatons were battling other robots. Similar ones. One launched a missile at Bion. He blasted out of the way with jets on his feet and his back. The rocket went careening towards a building. I sped up and caught it before it could do any damage and sent it up into the sky, where it exploded far away from anyone it could hurt.

  "NICE JOB, ROOKIE!" Bion called out in his distorted voice. He was wearing his trademark face mask and his roboticized suit, and suit was right. It was a navy blue and cream-colored metal shell designed to look like a sports jacket and slacks with a cream white turtleneck underneath. He charged forward and started blasting through the automatons that weren't his with ease. He slammed one through a car and fired a rocket at another that was trying to sneak up on him. The car exploded into a ball of flame. His other enemy dodged out of the way, and the missile sped straight into the wall of a building, exploding and causing glass and debris to fly everywhere. Screams echoed out of the building. I had to do something.

  I flew forward and tackled the robot that had dodged. It twisted and slammed a robotic fist down into my face, and I went flying. But I held it tight and slammed it into the ground, grinding the machine's head into the asphalt. I tore its head off and threw it into another one of the machines, which went flying. I sped forward and caught it before it flew into a car, instantly grabbing it and ripping it apart. Gears and sprockets and oil sprayed forth from it. The car behind me honked a few times angrily. I just looked back at the driver, who shrunk back into his seat.

  Bion was dealing with several more that had destroyed his own robot army. These things were vicious. In a flurry of lasers, missiles, and gunshots from both sides, the two sides were missing as often as they were hitting. I grimaced. It reminded me of Curt's point. And Bion looked to be tiring out. Which made sense. I slammed into action. And by action, I mean I slammed straight into one of the robots. They turned their lasers and gunfire and even missiles onto me. I could have dodged; it would have been easy after all my training. But these guys couldn't hurt me. They might get lucky with Bion and hit a spot not covered by his armor. But I am my armor. And dodging would have meant damaging something less sturdy than I am. So I took the brunt of their attack as I punched straight through steel, iron, and rubber. I took one and used it as a bat, slamming another into the sky, and then sped after it. I didn't even bother really attacking it. I just flew through it. Gears and assorted pieces rained down.

Bion finished off the other two and collapsed down to the ground, coughing. I charged down next to him. "Are you okay, Mr. Wan?"

  "G-good job, rookie," he said weakly. He took several deep breaths from his respirator and started to get back up. I lifted him effortlessly. "It's good that you're here. I wanted to talk to you about something."

=== CURT ===

"Ow."

  "Quit whining," Des responded absently as they dug into my innards and removed a bullet.

  "Give me anesthesia, then. This fucking hurts."

  "Then maybe you'll learn to stop getting shot."

  "I'll have you know that I get shot very little for the number of people shooting at me. Relatively speaking."

  "And yet, here I am. Digging out four bullets from you. Who was it this time? A crazy criminal kingpin? A vigilante who hates you for being a petty criminal?"

  "It was . . . It was Cindi's wife." Des stopped and met my eyes. I started to look away, but they looked over their shoulder to Cindi, who was reviewing the wedding plans I had tried to finish during her sabbatical. She looked back at Des. I couldn't read her expression.

  "So, you are trying out for the Jerry Springer Show, then," Des responded, going back to digging in my guts, presumably to twist them into knots and cause me as much pain as possible. I took a deep breath and tried to collect my thoughts.

  "Well, you know how we are. It just wouldn't be exciting enough for either of us if we weren't being shot at in some grand, melodramatic, life-or-death caper," Cindi said in her best bad theater voice. She came over, pressed herself into me, and wrapped her arms tight around my neck. Des watched her for a moment, then looked at me. I tried to suppress the grimace, but I don't think I managed it.

  "Curt, how do you feel?" They asked.

  "I was shot, and my doctor isn't giving me any painkillers. So, not great."

  "About Cindi being married. Did you know?" Des blew straight through my sarcastic deflection.

  "I . . . I didn't. It's no surprise. Who wouldn't want to marry Cindi?"

  "It's no surprise that your fiancée was married?"

  "I still am, technically," Cindi interjected.

  "What!?" Des demanded.

  "Hope wasn't exactly willing to let Cindi go. Understandable. She won't sign the divorce papers."

  "What are you going to do?"

  "It's not an issue?"

  "You can't marry her if she's already married, that's ille-" Des stopped themself.

  "You forgot we're international criminals for a minute, didn't you?"

  "Shut up! It's not normal!" Des exclaimed. "So, how are you going to handle it?"

  "Cindi Drei, legally, is not Cindi Lesslier. She can marry whoever she wants," Cindi responded, gripping me tightly.

  "And she decided that I made the cut. Terrible mistake, really." Cindi pinched me, and Des poked me hard with their forceps. "Ow. I'm injured!"

  "You'll be fine," Des said, pulling out the last bullet and putting it into the little pan. Then they started sewing me up. "So, everything is just going to go on like before? Nothing's changed?"

  "Why would it?" Cindi asked. "Hope doesn't own me. She tried to, and as with everyone who has ever tried before, she failed. As Curt pointed out, I own me. I get to decide. She's not a part of my life anymore. And Curt is."

  "And you're just okay with that, Curt?"

  "I . . ." I shifted a bit up as Des cut the line. "I wish I had known before. But she has a point. We talked about it, and it was basically a shotgun wedding. Cindi would have married her anyway, but Hope forced it on her."

  Cindi shifted uncomfortably against me and rested her head on my shoulder; I grabbed her hand and squeezed it. Des considered both of us. "Cin, can I get a word alone with Curt for a moment?"

  I felt her shift and watched Des' jaw tighten. Cindi got up and stretched languidly, and sauntered off. She was trying to play it off as aloof, but she was pissed. Fuck! I don't need this right now. Des grabbed my hand. "Curt, are you sure about this? Are you sure you're okay with all of this?"

I patted their hand and smiled at them. "Des, it was never going to be an easy romance. Buck Cherry is the most eligible so-called super-villainess in the world. Everyone wants her. And you don't become a thief like her unless you have some baggage."

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  "Do you have that much?"

  "I mean, my first girlfriend tried to kill my then-girlfriend, now-fiancee, causing me to go berserk and try to murder the most powerful woman in the world and come pretty fucking close. And as you're so fond of pointing out, I'm a moron who is wasting his talents stealing things instead of doing good for the world. A reckless wretch with abandonment issues, anger issues, and major problems with authority. So, yeah. I'd say so."

  "I-is that what you think I think of you?" Des asked. They looked hurt.

  "Isn't it?"

  "It's. . . Those are jokes, Curt. It's just how I thought you communicated. Do you believe those things about yourself?"

  "Yes and no."

  "What does that mean?"

  "It means that even if they're jokes, they're also a little true. That's why they're funny. At least a little. Maybe more than a little," I responded, not meeting Des' eye. "I am an idiot. I am wasting whatever potential I have to have fun stealing things. I could find a healthy outlet for my desire to complete complex puzzles and build things for some firm and probably do more good than I am right now. But I'm selfish. I'm a petty thief who goes around and steals things and justifies it by giving some of it away."

  Des slapped me. Hard. My head rocked back, and I fell onto the bed. "What the fuck is wrong with you!?"

  I winced and shook my head, trying to clear my vision. I rubbed my cheek and looked up at them. There were tears in their eyes. Their chest was heaving up and down as they tried to stop themself from crying. "I-I don't know, Des."

  "You're such a fucking jerk!"

  "I'll add it to the list," I muttered, looking away. It was hard watching my best friend . . . My only friend cry. It was worse to be the cause of it. I didn't know what I had done, but I knew it was my fault.

  "How can you hate yourself that fucking much?" Des asked in a small voice. "How can you think I hate you that much? Do you also think that Cindi thinks that, too?"

  "I-I don't know. I try not to think about it."

  "But you do. You think we hate you."

  "I think I've convinced you to not hate me, and that's just another lie, and I live in fear every day that you'll both wise up and leave me. Which you both should."

  "I . . . You . . ." Des couldn't hold it back any longer. Tears were coming out in shuddering jolts, and they balled their fists, and I thought she might swing on me again. Instead, they threw their arms around me and hugged me tightly. Really tight. I felt my ribs creak. I returned the hug and patted them on the back. After a moment, they broke the hug and looked at me. Their eyes were puffy and swollen; I couldn't meet their gaze for more than a moment. Cindi came back into the room.

  "Curt." I looked up at her and made some noise in response. "You know that I'm not going anywhere, right? And neither is Des."

  "Of course," I lied. I avoided looking directly at them when I said it and got up. "How are the wedding plans? Didn't fuck anything up too badly, did I?"

  Cindi and Des exchanged looks, and then Cindi made her way to the table. She shuffled a few papers. "Well, I'm not satisfied with the napkins you chose, but you did manage to get a good floral arrangement, so I'll give you half marks."

  "I'll take it."

=== KARI ===

I sat in the nicest office I had ever seen. The floor was white marble, polished to a ridiculous sheen. The gigantic dark wooden desk sat in front of a massive window with a view of the city that I can only get when I'm soaring through the air. There was a couch with a coffee table in front of it.   There was another table that was very low to the ground with several pillows surrounding it. There was also some art. I think it might have been from China, but I'm hardly an art history expert. Andrew Wan came in, no longer in his power suit but in a matching design. He was wearing a navy blue jacket over a sweater. Up close, I could see how gaunt he looked. He usually looked a little more lively on television or when fighting a terrible threat to the city. Or the world.

  But he looked frail with him in front of me, not wearing any armor or fighting an existential threat to society. He had deep shadows under his dark brown eyes. His cheekbones strained the tight skin around him. His hair had become increasingly salt and pepper in the last few years. His hands were thin, and his fingers were nothing but skin and bones; it looked like anything could break him. He sat across from me and steepled his fingers. Despite everything, I never got the impression that his focus was anything but razor-sharp. He watched me for a few minutes, and I shifted, uncomfortable.

  "Um, Mr. Wan. You said you wanted to talk to me about something."

  "I do." He watched me for another moment. "I wanted to invite you onto a task force temporarily."

  "A task force? What would we be doing?"

  "You're friends with Curtis Reese, correct?"

  "I-I was. I don't think we're friends anymore."

  "Mm. Yes. You two have had quite the fights. And yet he always escaped. Despite all of your . . . physical capabilities." The way he said physical made me uncomfortable. As though I had done something wrong by having superpowers. "Why do you think that is?"

  "Well," I swallowed for a moment. Then something occurred to me. "Are you implying that I let him go?"

  "Yes, I am," he said without hesitation.

  "Why the fuck would I do that!?"

  "How else do you explain him even surviving your fights? As far as I can tell, he's just a normal person. Compared to you."

  "Normal? Curt? No, he's far from that. And you should know better than anyone else." I couldn't keep the heat out of my tone. He raised an eyebrow.

  "Oh?"

  "Yeah. He's robbed you and everyone else. Could a normal person do that?" I put air quotes around the word. "And I heard you fought him. So, I guess I should ask the same thing. Did you let him go?"

  Wan considered me for another moment before responding. He nodded. "I . . . I had fought him. He almost died. But he did get away. I underestimated him."

  "Yeah. So did I. At first."

  "And now?"

  "I think he's dangerous. He almost killed me. I didn't let him get away. He got away because of who he is."

  "What do you mean by that?"

  "Curt . . . Curt is special. Not like me. But if he wants something or believes something, he is singularly devoted to accomplishing it. Whatever it is. And nothing can stand in his way. He's always been that way."

  "And he believes that he's some kind of Robin Hood."

  "I-I don't know."

  "That's what he has said."

  "I don't know if he would frame it that way. But he does believe you're a bad person."

  "Oh?"

  "Curt would never have targeted you otherwise. He would have never called you out on Thrawn's program."

  "And what do you think?"

  "I think you're Bion," I said, unable to keep the awe out of my voice. "You were one of the first superheroes and one of the most . . . super."

Andrew smiled at that. It transformed his face. It was so warm that I almost forgot that he was sick for a moment. Sustained almost entirely by a super-suit he created when medicine failed him. "I must admit, Smash Gal. I'm rather impressed with you, too. You came on the scene barely six months ago, and yet you're as much of a household name as I am."

  "So, you don't think I let Curt go?"

  "I wasn't sure before talking to you, rookie. But now I am. I must admit, it seemed like the most probable answer. After all, you are Smash Gal, and he is a mere mortal."

  "There is little mere about that mortal. Curt's probably the smartest person I've ever known."

  "Do you really think that?"

  "Yeah. I mean. Okay. Maybe not more than you, but whatever he can do, he built himself."

  "I was afraid of that."

  "He's scary. And if you're taking him down, I want in. What's this task force?"

  "He and Buck Cherry are getting married in a few weeks. It is a big splashy event that they're apparently livestreaming. I want to make it a wedding to remember."

  "They're livestreaming the wedding? That's. . . so weird."

  "Perhaps, but we can use it to our advantage. Undoubtedly there are going to be a lot of other villains there. So, I've gotten the Cannoneer and a couple of others to agree to help me take them and anyone else we can get in."

  "We're going to crash their wedding and bust them?"

  "Essentially. And we could really use your help; you know Mr. Reese better than anyone else. And I want you on the team. So, are you in?"

  "Yeah," I didn't have to think about it. "Those two have been free too long. It's time Curt and Cherry paid their debt to society."

  "Excellent. I'm glad to hear it."