Misto headed into the stairwell first. Gadget reactivated Augmented Reality Mode, once again took on the form of his Avatar, Gadgorak Prime, and drew his phantom Ray Gun from its imaginary holster, just in case he needed it. He filed in last after Zoë, the door clicking closed behind him, leaving behind the perpetual traveling room-party of the hallway. He realized he probably looked stupid to any outside observer — stalking forward with an invisible gun drawn and ready at his shoulder, like a cop ready to break down a door and start shooting, but hey, the way he saw it, when you were a “psionic warrior” — as Zoë had dubbed him — about to go head-to-head with a supervillain possessed by a hostile alien, you were allowed to look a little eccentric. Carefully they crept up the stairs to the next floor up.

“How many flights until we reach the roof?” he asked Misto.

“Well,” said the wolfen creature, “we’re on the second floor now. The building is twenty-three stories tall. So eighteen.”

“Well when we get to ten tell me,” said Gadget. “I’m gonna throw up.”

“Exactly how many times,” said Zoë, “have you and Mystikite watched Ghostbusters?”

“One hundred and sixty three, last count,” said Gadget, as they ascended.

“You’re joking, right?”

“Yeah, I am,” said Gadget. “It’s probably been a couple more than that.”

Zoë shook her head.

“Oh like you haven’t worn out your Firefly discs!” he said, and laughed.

“Touche,” she said. “Zoë is my hero. I mean, duh. Her name gives it away. But it’s better than my name any day of the week.”

“If you say so,” he said. “I think your name is awesome, though.”

“Ugh, no thanks,” she said. “By the way. That was great, what you did for that girl, back there. That took real courage.”

“Not really,” he said. He sighed. “I didn’t like how doing it made me feel. I . . . I enjoyed hurting that guy way too much. I . . . I actually . . . I actually got off on it, Zoë. For a minute there, I was every supervillain ever.”

“Well, maybe. But you were doing it for the right reasons.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I was. But are the right reasons enough?” he said, asking it of her as much as he did himself. “Does that really justify what I was did? Does righteousness always justify violence? I mean, what I was doing . . . that almost makes me just as bad as him. Picking on someone weaker than me, and enjoying it.”

“Whatever,” said Zoë. “He had it coming.”

“But did he have it coming from me, is the question. Just because I have the power, does that give me the right to use it like that? What makes my definition of justice any better or more right than anybody else’s?”

“I’m sure Batman asks himself that question on a daily basis,” offered Misto.

“Yeah, exactly,” said Gadget. “But has anybody else ever stopped to think that what Batman is doing is also morally shady?”

“Sure,” said Misto. “The Gotham Police ask that all the time.”

“Yeah,” said Gadget, “and they’re always portrayed as being incompetent, weak, and ineffective. But what if they’re right? What if Batman — what if the vigilante — is just as much a criminal as the criminals he stops? What if Alan Moore had a point with Watchmen? I really don’t want to be a Frank Miller hero. I really don’t. Frank Miller is fucking crazy.”

“Yeah, but he’s crazy in a cool way,” said Misto.

“No, he’s not,” said Gadget.

“Yes, he is,” insisted Misto. “Frank Miller is fucking crazy in a really cool way.”

“No,” said Gadget. “He’s really not. And I don’t mean to say he’s personally insane, either. Just that as an artist, Frank Miller is batshit insane, dude. For real. Have ya seen any of his recent work? It’s . . . not cool.”

“Is,” retorted Misto. He stopped their ascent and turned around. “It is cool, and that’s final.”

Zoë rolled her eyes and sighed.

“Dude, did you even see The Spirit?” laughed Gadget. “I guess not.”

“Er, well, yes,” admitted Misto. “I did.”

“Well then you know it’s not crazy in a ‘cool’ way,” said Gadget. “It’s crazy in a fucked up way. Samuel L. Jackson in a Nazi uniform shouting “Achtung, baby!’ Melting cute little cats with only the eyeballs left! I rest my fucking case!”

Misto opened his large wolfen mouth, showing off his massive fangs. Then he closed it. Then he said: “He was having an off year. So, I retort with: Sin City and A Dame To Kill For. Two of the coolest movies ever. I rest my case.”

“Hey guys — ” said Zoë, and sighed.

“Sin City?” cried Gadget, in disbelief. “A Dame To Kill For? Okay, first of all, yes, those movies were cool. I admit it. But they’re also two of the most misogynist films ever! I mean, come on. Yeah, they were cool and all, and yes, I fist-pumped when Bruce Willis cock-punched the Yellow Bastard right in the yellow-gunk nut-sack, but c’mon . . . admit it: Those movies’re full of the most ridiculous alpha male fantasies, absurd amounts of male privilege, and suffered from the worst case of testosterone poisoning ever put on film — !”

“No, no, no. You’ve got it all wrong. You have to understand the films in their proper context,” said Misto, heaving a sigh, as if he’d heard this argument a million times. “It’s noir fiction. And an experiment in surrealism, and specifically, an exploration of the meaning of masculinity in the postmodern era. It’s supposed to be hard-boiled, over the top, and exaggerated in terms of its hyper-masculinity and shit. Besides, haven't you ever heard of German expressionism as meis en scene, and the use of metaphorical hyperbole?”

“Oh yeah, right!” said Gadget, snorting laughter. “Frank Miller’s not that sophisticated as an artist — ”

“Is too!”

“Is not!”

“C’mon, admit it, Mr. Male Feminist. You jerked off to all of Eva Green’s nude scenes in A Dame To Kill For.”

“Well, uh, okay, yeah maybe, but that doesn’t mean — ”

“Guys,” said Zoë, pinching her nostrils together.

“And just how would you know how ’sophisticated’ Frank Miller is as an artist anyway?” said Misto. “You’re not him.”

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“Well I know he’s not fucking Frederico Felini!”

“Well I think he’s a damned fine artist. He gave us The Dark Knight Returns, and that’s proof enough for me of his genius.”

“Genius!” shrieked Gadget, unable to believe his ears. “He had Batman defeating Superman in a fight!”

“So?”

“So! So? SO? BATMAN DOESN’T JUST DEFEAT SUPERMAN IN A FIGHT!”

“It’s a celebration of the human will triumphing over — ”

“It’s fucking Nietzschean, is what it is! He — !”

“GUYS!” shouted Zoë, her voice ringing throughout the starwell, an incredibly loud tintinnabulation. Her entire body and costume lit up with an ethereal blue glow that Gadget instantly knew meant danger. The azure flames licked up her arms, failing to burn either her or her clothing, but flickering and writhing in the air and crackling nonetheless. Gadget and Misto both backed away a step or two. “Now then,” she said, turning to each of them. “Can you two please stop fucking arguing? Because first of all, yes, those movies were fucking cool as fuck and incredibly awesome. I love Sin City. And A Dame to Kill For. And second of all, sorry Misto, but yes, Frank Miller is fucking batshit insane. And third of all, Gadget — I love ya, hon, but you wouldn’t know ‘feminism’ if it bit you on the dick. Now then. Can we please continue onwards and upwards? Without you two bickering like two old women arguing over who’s cheating at poker?”

“But — but — ” began Gadget, after a moment’s silence had passed, “don’t you see? We’re only doing this to take our minds off of Dizzy. And what Ravenkroft might be doing to her.”

“Yeah,” said Misto. “It’s — it’s our way of coping. Right Gadget?”

“Right,” he said. And it was true. It was so, so true.

You’ll never rescue her, whispered the Beast. You know that. You’ll get to her, and she’ll be dead, flayed open like a fish to be gutted. And it’ll be your fault. YOUR FAULT.

Gadget swallowed, and tried to ignore it.

Zoë sighed. The flames retreated into her skin and clothes, and she breathed in and out slowly. “Look. I have a . . . thing with people arguing when I’m stressed. Gadget knows this, dammit. He should know better.”

“Uh, yeah,” said Gadget, looking at Misto. “Er, she does. That’s right, I forgot. Your parents, when you were younger, right? I forgot that kinda scarred you. You get upset when Mystikite and I argue too, even though he and I . . .” He sighed. Damn Mystikite for leaving them. “Even though we sorta enjoyed arguing about stuff.”

“I know you do. Did, rather,” she corrected herself. She put a hand on his hand, on the railing. “Which is why I try to not overreact most of the time. But I’m stressed out here, too. My boyfriend just almost died, then I gave permission to a Vampire to turn him into a Vampire, then he left me for a bunch of Vampires. One of my friends turned into a werewolf — no offense, Misto — ”

“None taken,” he said.

“ — And my new friend — and my new boss, I guess — ” she continued, “is being held prisoner by a crazy person who’s in league with an alien who wants to take over the planet and destroy all of humankind. And — ”

“Uh oh,” said Gadget. “Zoë. Misto. Turn around.”

Since Misto and Zoë were both standing above him on the stairwell, and both had their backs to the stairs above them, Gadget saw the creatures first: Seven of the Teenage Mutant Cybermechazoid Samurai were on the landing above them: Two with enormous goat-heads, two with giant raven-heads, one with an overlarge fox’s head, two with bears’ heads. Their ferocious teeth gleamed in the light and their muscles bulged beneath their Napoleonic uniforms; their cybernetic appendages and implants — a hodgepodge of electromechanical parts — whirred and whined and gurgled as they lifted their weapons and took aim.

“Shit, look out!” he cried. He yanked out his etheric Ray Gun from its holster, quickly dialed in Cap’s Shield, and projected a force-field around himself — then dialed in Project Cap’s Shield, and shot the beam at Zoë and Misto, and protected them, as well, as the Cybermechazoids advanced on them and fired their Disruptophazers at them. The force-fields absorbed the blasts — for now — but they backed their way down the stairs until they got to the landing anyway, with the Cybermechazoids advancing on them, coming down the stairs toward them. If they could just get them on the landing; maybe then they stood a chance. Gadget quickly dialed the Ray Gun to Avada Kedavra, and fired at one of the Cybermechazoids; he missed — God his aim was terrible! — and the beam went slamming into the wall of the landing above them, knocking a hole into the concrete there.

He concentrated on the Cybermechazoid now in the lead — the fox-headed one — and two wispy tendrils of energy floated out from the sides of his Helm and writhed through the air until they found the creature, then wrapped around its body . . . And then lifted it into the air. It started yipping, its barking howls like those of a hound dog on helium; its snuffly growling noises would’ve been cute had they been coming from an actual fox . . . But never from this monstrosity of vivisection and human hybridization. Gadget held it there in the air and then slammed it into the wall. He heard its bones break as he used the telekinesis beams to crush it, the way he had almost crushed the bully in the hallway earlier — only this time, he went through with it. The dead, lifeless body of the thing fell to the steps below with a loud crisp thudding noise.

The realization sunk in: He had done it. He had used his powers to take a life. But oh well. He didn’t have time for that right now. He watched as Zoë sucked in a breath and her skin began to glow a soft blue color. Then she caught fire again, the same etheric sapphire flames engulfing her body and clothing, twisting and flickering around her. She reached out with her arms. Twin serpents of orange fire erupted from them, and soared through the air, writhing. They twisted their way around Misto, doding him completely, and plunged through the chests of two of the advancing Cybermechazoids. The creatures roared and squealed and ululated in agony as the flames burned through them — -damn, just like the Nazis at the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark! Gadget thought — and caught their outfits on fire. Sparks flew from their cybernetic implants and their electromechanical parts, fluid bursting from the tubing implanted in their necks and arms. They stumbled and fell down the stairs, toppling and falling face-first and hitting the concrete steps with a wet, smacking “splat.” Two down. The others continued to fire at them — thank God the force-fields held! — as they stepped up onto the corpses of their fallen comrades, up and over them, and down onto the next step below.

Gadget tried again with his telekinetic wisps. He used them to grapple around one of the Cybermechazoids, and lifted it off the stairs in mid-step. It growled at him with its ferocious grizzly-hear head — all out of proportion to its humanoid body — and fired its weapon at him — thankfully it missed, since it was in motion as it fired — and Gadget began again to crush the life out of it. Goddamn he hated this. As much as these things wanted to kill him — and as grotesque and malformed as they were — it was hard. Fuck if didn’t hate using his powers this way. To wound. To kill. He heard — and felt, through the telekinetic feelers — the thing’s spinal cord break, and in his head, he heard the stream of its consciousness just . . . Terminate. The incoherent babble of its brainwaves just . . . Ceased. Out, like a lightbulb burning the last of its filaments. Jesus Christ, what had he become? The Cybermechazoid dropped to the stairs and crumpled into a dead, grizzly-head heap.

Misto growled, and leapt forward onto all fours, and bounded up the stairs toward the next of the Cybermechazoids, heedless of the danger — he barely missed getting shot — and tackled one of them. They went slamming down onto the steps, sliding down and banging the Cybermech’s head onto the concrete stairs one by one, with Misto’s weight on top of it, and knocking the Disruptophazer out of its hands. The other two did not stop their descent, nor did they stop firing; Gadget and Zoë wound their way around on the landing below and began descending the next — and second-to-last — flight of stairs as the Cybermechazoids reached the landing, going around Misto wrestling — and now mauling, blood and entrails covering his snout and mouth — the first Cybermechazoid. His teeth flashed in the fluorescent lights, his swiping claws a quick gleam; his powerfully-muscled slashes through the goat-headed Cybermechazoid with ease and efficiency. But whoa shit; the others weren’t stopping. They were closer now. Gadget fired his Ray Gun at them again. There was no way he could miss.

The Avada Kedavra beam hit the goat-headed Cybermechazoid right in the chest . . . and deflected off a soap-bubble-like gleam surrounding the creature. Oh no. They had force-fields, too. As they closed in on them, the two Cybermechazoids stopped firing at them. They stowed their guns in holsters, and each reached for one of the twin katana swords they carried on their backs, drawing the blade out with a metal-on-metal shrieking noise. The blades shined in the fluorescent lights, as the raven-headed monstrosity let out a blood-curdling kaw-kaw at him, its black eyes fixed upon him; the goat-headed creature had its eyes on Zoë. They lowered their swords at them, and continued to advance. His force-fields would not stop those blades.

Gadget looked into Zoë’s eyes. She had the same idea as he did: Run.

His hand in Zoë’s, he flew down the last flight of stairs — down to the first floor — and then a rough, snarling growl came from behind him. He spun around just as Misto leapt onto the two creatures from behind, his claws outstretched to either side, one clawed hand aimed at each of the Cybermechazoids’ heads. One struck feathers; the other, a coat of fur. But: Four more Cybermechazoids were approaching him from behind, their guns stowed; each of them had two katanas in hand — eight swords in total.

“Misto!” cried Gadget. “Look out!”