Then:

Betrayal rarely sat well with Anastasia. Not as the victim nor as the perpetrator. Fortunately, in this case she was neither. Though, even if it was not her own word that she was breaking, she couldn't help but feel disgusted at the necessity of the act. There was an inherent wrongness in it that left a bad taste in her mouth. It was nothing unexpected. The inevitable result of politics and humanity and time and power. How sad that events had come to this; this extermination of those she'd once counted as allies. Because it would come to that, no matter what her peers had deluded themselves into believing. The People would not meekly submit. They were like her in that way.

"The Champion will see you now, Mrs. Summers," a man's voice said, bringing Anastasia's musing to an end. She sat in the packed lobby of a doctor's office; a public clinic open to all in need of healing. The orderly speaking to her was one of many, a volunteer, giving his time back to the community that had raised him. The clinic was sustained entirely by private donations, and seen as a hallmark of the city. That the Champion of Chicago was known to frequent it, offering both assistance and protection, only deepened its allure. This was the People's fortress, their castle, their place of power.

And Anastasia was here to break some very bad news.

She would have felt afraid if she was anyone but herself. There was a certain undeniable security in being the most powerful person in the room. An invisible shield and sword, a promise of violence that spared more than it smited. It was why she'd come personally. That, and she owed the People. They should hear it from familiar lips when their hopes were turned to ash.

She had arrived in Chicago by rocket sledge, one of her husband's more insane designs. Little more than a steel tube strapped to a jet engine, its ludicrous speed well outpaced any rumors from Washington. The first of what politicians were calling the Vigilante acts should be on Nixon's desk by now, ready to be signed into law. The culmination of her husband's labor, years in the making. The leeches in the press room would have it in hours, and the papers would be printing the details by morning. Her work here would be finished by then.

Still, she couldn't discount the People's resources. They would almost certainly find out beforehand, word being slipped to them through sympathizers or fools or plain bad luck. It was better that they hear it from her first. While Champion's reaction to the news would largely determine what comes next, she was prepared for rogue action. He held his organization in a velvet glove but lacked an iron fist to back it up. The man was too pacifistic to engage in the methods needed to secure his rule. It was admirable in a way, if foolish. Now, America would likely suffer the consequences of his naivete.

She had never thought to be in a position to determine the future of a country. Was this what her father had imagined for her, when he'd sent her sailing across the dying waters of the Golden Horn Bay, in the hands of strangers? She had walked a strange path, this last decade and a half, from the poisoned sky of Vladivostok, all the way to the steps of Chicago's most powerful vigilante.

She followed the orderly through clean hallways, down deep in to the heart of the clinic. It was a sprawling building, of size with those massive shopping malls that had sprung up across the city, with multiple stories and built to last. It cost a small fortune in rent alone, to say nothing of maintaining such an extravagant building. Less a clinic than a modern hospital. Not the first of its kind, but by far one of the most outrageously expensive. On the surface, it was ludicrous.

For those in the know, it made perfect sense. The People used it as a staging ground, and for good reason. Only the most brazen of villains would dare to attack a hospital, certainly none of the gangster scum that made up the majority of the Natural crime population. The fact that it was built like a modern fortress only added to the difficulty of a siege. No one sane would voluntarily pick a fight with the People here. Not, at least, from without.

The orderly brought Anastasia to a stately conference room. Glass windows revealed its occupants: Champion, still wearing his signature tweed, and his two closest lieutenants. The first was Kyoma, a man encased entirely in a flowing silvery metal. His body extruded the stuff, thick globs of super-heated liquid that he could launch with the force of a cannon. The second was a young man in a thing domino mask. Square-jawed and handsome, he radiated the passive charisma of a politician, steadfast and self-assured. His costume was a more elaborate version of Champion's, an embroidered swallow-tailed coat and a frilly regency shirt, perfectly cut to fit his lean proportions. He called himself Echo, and could mimic the effects of other Natural's powers. A poor imitation, but an imitation nonetheless.

The man was a social chameleon, a schemer, and a fanatic. He was utterly devoted to the idea that Naturals would advance humanity. He likened the process of incarnating a power to unlocking a person's potential. If he had it his way, he'd dose the entire continent in radiation, the social and political consequences be damned. They'd had dealings in the past, he and Anastasia, the two of them working to smooth over the rough edges of Champion's idealism. She had a great respect for the man's competence, if not his ideals, and dearly hoped he would give her an excuse to kill him. It would make things much simpler in the long run.

The door was opened by the orderly, and Anastasia stepped in with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Champion," she greeted, giving the man a respectful nod. "We need to talk."

"Ana, my friend!" the gregarious hero—vigilante, she reminded herself viciously—greeted. "You look spellbinding as always!"

Anastasia was not dressed for beauty, but for practicality. Skirts had never been her preference, instead wearing flared trousers and heavy boots. Her blouse was nothing special, though it hung low across her shoulders. She was a beautiful woman, and was perfectly happy to exploit the stupidity that attribute tended to induce in others. Champion in particular, though no philanderer, had a pronounced appreciation for her charm.

"And you're a flatterer, as always," she bantered back, though her heart wasn't in it. She took a seat on the opposite side of the large conference table, clasping her hands across each other and placing them before her. She acknowledged the two Lieutenants, "Echo. Kyoma."

The metal man simply nodded, staying silent.

"Anastasia," Echo replied, sketching a formal bow. "What a wonderful surprise! You've come with good news, I hope?"

Already stirring the pot, the bastard. Anastasia kept her expression still, a placid smile smeared across her face.

"I've just come from D.C.," she answered. "The vote is in."

The mood of the room turned serious. Champion leaned forward, eagerly, hopefully.

"And?" he pressed. "Are we in the clear?"

Her smile turned sad, her voice apologetic. "No. I'm afraid not. The Vigilante Act passed."

The silence after her remark spoke for itself.

Champion's hand slowly clenched into a fist. The creaking sound of his leather gloves going taut punctuated his next words. "How is that possible?"

With great difficulty. Her husband had spent more money and favors than she felt was truly wise in order to bring about this decision. Influencing politics was never a cheap endeavor, even when the majority party was in agreement.

"Nixon had more votes than expected," Anastasia replied, spreading her hands helplessly. "The count was off. He campaigned on this, after all. I warned you this might happen. The president warned you himself."

"He told us this bill was a warning shot! A political ploy!" Champion exclaimed, slamming his fist down on the wooden desk. "He said that he expected it to fail! We were told that we'd face moderation, not extinction! This thing wasn't even supposed to make it to the floor intact! It should've died in committee!"

"It didn't," Anastasia said simply. The news was like removing a band-aid, better to rip away all delusions as fast and cleanly as possible.

"What about a veto?" Champion asked, turning to Echo. "If we can pressure the president—"

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Echo shook his head, a grim look on his handsome features. "He won't veto his own bill, Champion."

Champion turned to Kyoma, who repeated the negative motion. The steel man's expression, normally so stoic, was filled with anguish.

"There has to be something we can do," Champion said, whirling back to Anastasia.

"It's done, Champion," Anastasia corrected. "It's over. Tomorrow, the news will spread. The People's charter is now in violation of Federal law. You've still got options, but not as a vigilante."

"We are heroes!" Champion said with something approaching a snarl. "We—" He paused, closing his eyes and breathing deep. When they reopened, she saw steel in his gaze. "The People of Chicago will not accept this. Illinois will not accept this. The country will not accept this. We are not alone."

"Nixon'll just pull an Eisenhower on any state that fails to fall in line," Anastasia commented with a shrug, "but I doubt it'll come to that. Nobody wants a bloodbath."

Her mention of the possible consequences seemed to deflate the man. His shoulders bowed, and he settled back into his chair. For a long moment, he stared at the wooden table.

"Then my only option is an appeal," he stated softly. His eyes met hers. "The Supreme Court will not uphold this decision. We still have allies." Anastasia could see the plan forming in his mind, a passionate speech writing itself in real time.

His back straightened. He stood, resuming the mantle of Champion. He smiled.

"Thank you, Ana, for this warning. If this had caught us by surprise, we might have done something... drastic." He looked to his lieutenants. "We have a day to plan. It will have to be enough."

Anastasia returned his smile. "I see. A pleasure, as always, Champion."

His plan was much as Stanley had expected. He'd continue business as usual, performing good deeds and fighting crime until he was forced to stop. He'd be confronted, and he'd stand down peacefully. Arrested, clapped in irons, paraded before the people. He was banking on public opinion to carry him forward, all the way to federal court.

It was a credit to the man that he hadn't, not once, attempted to use his power on her. In theory, he could have questioned her, demanded knowledge that she was forbidden to pass on. He could have given himself an advantage then ordered her to forget. That would have ended poorly for him, but he couldn't know that. She would miss a man of his moral character. If every person shared his convictions, the Vigilante Act, and the ones to follow, would be unnecessary.

Alas, humanity at large was simply incapable of being civilized. If the past decade had taught her anything, it was that. She and Stanley had discussed it at length. The fifties had been filled with compromises and half-measures, looking to stem the tide of Natural powers and the chaos that they brought. The upgrades were a good start, but a significant cultural shift was needed. The tide was already turning against vigilantism, this last election had proven that. It was a narrow victory, but Kennedy's offers of cooperation and integration had not swayed the hearts and minds of Americans. The next few years would be filled with frantic propaganda, with laws and meetings and money changing hands. It was important that the citizens were exposed to the right message.

Champion would never see the light of a court room. A Natural who could order anyone to do anything, it was laughable to think he'd be allowed to speak in his own defense. An accident would be arranged, something large and loud that could be blamed on an obvious enemy. His own people, most likely. Splinter factions were such a convenient scapegoat, and there were plenty of fanatics that would leap at the chance to claim credit. They'd call his surrender a betrayal, and his death a punishment.

These events, this future, played out in her mind as she was escorted away from the People's headquarters. She could see beyond and before herself, the long and winding path that had lead her to this moment, and the two choices beyond her. She could stop, she could turn around, she could warn the good man behind her of his fate, of what his choices might bring. She could fight; she had the power to make a difference here. Her very presence was a deterrent. She could change the course of history, and follow the ideals that she'd held when she first began her journey. That powerful, naive belief that Stanley had once sold her on. That humanity had greatness within them. That all it needed was a guiding light, to show them the way.

Or she could follow the plan. Follow her husband, a man whose conviction easily matched the Champion behind her. She could listen to her heart, to the truth that she knew deep within her bones. The truth that was only learned through bloody experience. People were savages, and civilization would only come if you forced it. The genius upgrades were the first step. A vaccine for future generations. Anastasia was the antibiotic, the iron fist that would crush down the disease and filth and rot. She would build a better world for her family, for the tiny spark of life she could feel growing in her womb. She'd carve out a peaceful home for herself and those that she loved, even if it was built on a foundation of corpses.

The decision tasted like ashes in her mouth, but she pressed onward. This was nowhere near the worst thing she'd ever done. There would be even worse acts in the days to come. All for the future. So that her children might know peace.

This was who she was, now, and there was no going back.

Now:

Anastasia idly scrolled past dozens of emails, expense reports, intelligence briefings, and business offers, her eyes flicking through titles as she searched for the latest news from Austin. She shouldn't be spending time on this. A team was already in play. Fairbanks was being watched and, once she made contact with Bartholomew, he would be too. They were rats in a cage; no escape would be found.

She was damned curious as to what Abigail's little fling would do, though. The revelations about his power had been surprising, though ultimately worthless. Parallel worlds were interesting from a philosophical point of view, but so long as she couldn't access them, they were useless to her.

Perhaps it was worth contacting Mercury once more. He'd undoubtedly figured out the trick by now. Whatever her qualms with the man, she couldn't question his resourcefulness. He was every bit as obsessive as Stanley had been, when in pursuit of a mystery. If only he had the determination to match it.

No, she wouldn't reach out to him. That bridge was well burnt. He had fled from his problems, fled to the outer edges of existence, fled in shame at what he'd brought about. That kind of cowardice could not be relied on. She'd wait for him to approach her, if there was to be any contact between them. Otherwise, she was satisfied with the situation. Let him have his little haven, out there, barely touched by the sun. Let him fester until he found his manhood once more. She would finish what they'd started.

Her thoughts turned to Abby, her beautiful, brave granddaughter. She'd inherited more than Anastasia's looks. Her love burned bright and fierce and true. The older woman had been surprised at how quickly she'd latched on to Newman, but she should have remembered. It had been so long since Anastasia had loved in that way. She had forgotten what it was like, that first, foolish, loyal love. When it hit, it hit the hardest. It would be years before it cooled. Especially for a girl as sheltered as Abigail.

It would hurt the girl so deeply if Newman proved to be a fool and got himself killed. Better to happen now, rather than later, Anastasia knew. Better that he died quickly, before he became entrenched in Abby's life. Before he became a cornerstone of her existence. She could move on, find someone strong and stable.

Or maybe she'd misjudged the boy. It had happened on occasion, especially when her power was involved. People responded differently to pressure, to that mental push she applied, when drowning them in her presence. She had yet to discover any kind of pattern to it. A momentary lapse of judgement could be excused, so long as his next actions were reasonable.

Alternatively, he could go along with the suicidal plan she'd outlined for him. Anastasia would be amused at that, though Abigail would hate her for her part in it. That was fine. Anastasia did not need to be loved to love. So few of her family was left. A useless pack of in-laws, and two precious grandchildren. What she wouldn't give for a time machine.

Best not to wallow in the past. The future had yet to be secured. The last remnants of the People needed to be rooted out and destroyed. That was her priority. That was her mission, not yet completed. Her heart howled for blood, even after all these years.

But still, she was damned curious. Almost curious enough to crack open the audio logs and take a listen. She'd promised herself that she'd wait, though. She'd give them a few days to think, to come up with something better than what she'd offered. A head start. It was only fair. Anastasia was willing to extend that much courtesy to her granddaughter, before she dug through her private conversations with a fine-toothed comb.

Her cursor hovered over a recent email. A report from the FBI field office in Austin, flagged for her attention. It was unusual enough to stand out; her contacts in the organization were rarely so forward. It didn't necessarily have to do with Newman's test. It might actually demand her attention.

She opened it, and read.

Unidentified suspect, it said. Anonymous information to be verified, it continued. Dossier on the People, it concluded.

Someone had dropped off the information she'd gathered to the FBI. Her background report on Matilda Fairbanks, the photos she'd gathered, and a little extra. Something new, something important. A list of People sympathizers. A few names that she recognized, scientists that she'd kept under watch for years. The list corresponded enough with her own suspicions that she almost immediately deemed it real.

Where had he found it? He couldn't have gotten it from Fairbanks, nor Bartholomew. Anastasia's own people would have reported that contact. Had it been in his home, hidden this entire time? Had he kept it from her, even after her power had pressed down on him? Had his submission been fake, an elaborate ruse for some unknown purpose?

Or was it something else?

A new email appeared, forwarded from the same contact. An FBI report filed mere minutes after the first. Every federal installation had a specific sensor in it, an old holdover from the fifties when Naturals were springing up across the country at the drop of a hat. They were like carbon monoxide detectors, old things that were shoved in a corner and forgotten about until they rang. Cosmic energy sensors. The one at the Austin field office was ringing. The documents were the source.

Something pinged in Anastasia's memory. Her conversation with Newman, his explanation of his power, and Mercury's theory of what he called the Gap Between Worlds. Connections played out in her mind, like a beautiful tapestry.

Where had Newman found a list of People contacts?

Where would the People hide such a thing?

Why, the same place they hid everything else.