Of Heroes And Villains: The Ties That Bind An assassin. A fallen hero. An unlikely meeting. The road to redemption is long and hard and filled with explosives.

PsyKick’s hand was shaking as he signed the release form, leaving the name Stephen Smith scrawled in the messy handwriting of a preschooler. The nurse accepted it with an indulgent smile, which only served to make him feel worse. Like she’d expected nothing better of him.

He was brainwashed, not mentally deficient.

PsyKick – Stephen, he had to get used to thinking of himself as Stephen again – lowered his hands and willed himself to stop shaking. He anxiously twisted the power suppressor cuff on his wrist.

They’d taken out the implants. Today was the day he was finally getting out of here.

Why had they done that, he wasn’t ready, he should just stay locked up in his tiny room where he couldn’t hurt anyone.

PsyKick exhaled, closing his eyes.

If he never saw that fucking room again, it would be too soon.

And it wasn’t like they were releasing him without supervision.

So he summoned a smile for the nurse and adjusted the bag slung over his shoulder, holding his meager worldly belongings.

What did one say to the nurse one had once tried to choke in an escape attempt when one was being released from a mental institution? They just didn’t make etiquette guides for this. A gross oversight, really.

“It… was nice meeting you…?” he tried tentatively.

The nurse laughed softly.

“We will always have that moment where you brought me a food tray and I kept banging my head against the wall.”

Her smile softened. “You’re stalling, Mister Smith.”

“Am I?”

“Yes. The door is that way.” Her voice was kind. “You don’t belong here anymore.”

If only he could actually believe that.

“Right.” He turned toward the wide doors, the sun streaming in through the glass. Then he promptly turned back to the receptionist desk. “No, but seriously, your restraining technique was superb.”

“Go!”

He went.

PsyKick stepped outside and raised his face toward the sun, closing his eyes.

“Stephen!” A familiar voice called to him, excited and happy, and he could not have ignored it if he had wanted to. He opened his eyes, gazing at the woman waiting for him.

Diane was beaming at him, the flowers in her hair fully unfurled in what he now realized was a display of happiness. She’d worn actual clothes today, albeit skimpy ones, and her long golden hair practically glowed in the afternoon sun.

She held her arms out wide for him, as if inviting him to hug her. So he strode toward her, wrapping his arms around his Mistr – Diane, and burying his face in her shoulder.

Just being in her presence was so calming.

He couldn’t help but resent it a little.

PsyKick loved and hated her. Loved her, now that he realized what she’d done for him, and hated her for still feeling the urge to kneel and kiss her feet. He understood why she had set herself up to be his Mistress, but that didn’t make it any easier to bear now that he was mostly lucid.

The most insidious part of his brainwashing was that it was not external; there was no programming that could be easily removed. No, Cinder Snow had used PsyKick’s own mind and powers to twist themselves to fulfill the simple directive she had implanted, bypassing his psychic defenses completely. Removing the implant had not, and never could, remove the damage it had wrought.

And now PsyKick just had to live with it.

“Hey,” he murmured, not trusting himself to speak any further, lest he blurt out something incredibly stupid like Please tell me to stop shaking, Mistress, it’s getting annoying.

Diane squeezed him in response, and then took a step back to smile brightly at him.

He smiled back, and she tugged at his hand.

“There’s someone I want you to meet!”

And before PsyKick quite knew what had happened, she’d dragged him outside the gate, outside the hospital grounds, which he hadn’t left in what he now knew to be three long years.

Permission to panic? whimpered a small part of his mind.

Denied.

PsyKick had once stoically faced a mad demi-god without flinching. Surely he could handle this?

Diane skidded to a halt not far from the gate, where a tall, short-haired woman was casually leaning against a sleek silver car. Her pale eyes fixed first on Diane, and then she turned her head to meet PsyKick’s gaze.

The woman uncrossed her arms and Diane immediately bounded up to her, wrapping an arm around her waist.

“Stephen, this is Kara.”

PsyKick absently twisted the cuff on his wrist. Once, at the height of his power, he’d been able to see the ties that bound people together, almost like a physical presence in his vision.

He was able discern relationships at a glance, and had put the power to good use, exploiting weak spots where he saw them. A member of a villain team feeling underappreciated? A whisper of doubt planted in their minds would escalate it to disloyalty. A mild touch of dislike? Nurtured into anger and hatred at a critical moment. Villains were ever so eager to turn on each other. Likewise, he had kept the friction in his own superhero team to a minimum, mediating conflicts before they truly began.

He couldn’t see that now. His vision was dulled, painting a mundane world filled with nothing but what was physically there.

But he didn’t need it to see what was plainly obvious in that small touch. The two women would be bound by deceptively delicate strands of red, thin as hairs, and strong as steel. Love. Perhaps there would also be lust, those fleeting, writhing wisps, and most definitely friendship, a glowing chain that few things could break.

“It’s good to see you again, PsyKick” Kara said in a low voice, extending a hand, and he automatically shook it.

“Thanks,” he said, brows furrowing together. “Have we met?”

Her lips curled into a small smile. “In costume.”

PsyKick squinted, trying to place her. It shouldn’t be hard, really; heroine or not, few women stood as tall as he did. So he took a random guess. “Crimson Crystal?” A heroine who could turn her skin into diamond; her armored body was famously tall and indestructible.

Kara shook her head, biting her lip to keep from grinning as if there was a joke he was not in on. “No, I’m..:”

“Shhh. Don’t tell me. I’ll figure it out.”

“You won’t,” Diane interjected cheerfully.

“Challenge accepted.”

Kara’s lips were twitching in amusement, and Diane grinned. Then she let go off her girlfriend to reach for PsyKick, taking his hand in hers.

“Kara has agreed that you can stay with us, as long as you need or want.”

He shifted uncomfortably. Diane had offered him to stay with her so he could finally leave that damn room, and he’d not thought twice about imposing on her. Of course he should live where his Mistress lived. Only now that he realized there would be another person in the household did he realize how utterly insane his reasoning was.

Catching himself like that was always disorienting. The worst part of being insane was the habit of his insane thoughts to masquerade themselves as rational ones.

“I… hope I’m not inconveniencing you.”

“No,” Kara said instantly. “The house is large enough for three.”

“Understatement. I have prepared a map for you, Stephen, so you don’t get lost.” Diane nodded sagely.

“Not everybody shares your terrible sense of direction,” Kara murmured under her breath.

“The house has wings, Kara. Wings!”

Kara stared blankly, as if she didn’t get what Diane was trying to say. Then she shook her head and fished keys out of her pocket. “And this is why I don’t let you drive. That, and the Ferrari incident.”

“Oh, come on, it was one car. How long are you going to lord this over me, hero? I’ve changed. I’ve redeemed myself!”

“It was last week.”

Diane pouted and Kara ruffled her hair as she turned toward the car.

PsyKick truly paid attention to their ride for the first time and felt his jaw slacken. It was a beautiful vintage car he recognized as a Mercedes Benz. Kara seemed to have noticed his look, for the keys were suddenly sailing through the air. PsyKick barely caught them in time.

“Do you want to drive?”

“I wouldn’t know where.”

“It has GPS.”

His eyes shone. “Deal.”


***


“Mighty Maiden?”

“No.”

“Cassiopeia?”

“No.”

Kara’s lips were curled into a small smile as PsyKick struggled to think of other Amazonian heroines he knew.

“You’re not even close, you know.”

“Hush, Mistress, I’m thinking.”

Kara tensed, the smile gone, and PsyKick felt his cheeks burn as he realized his slip. His knuckles turned white on the steering wheel.

“Stephen,” Diane crooned. “Don’t make Kara jealous. She thinks she’s the only one who should be allowed to call me Mistress.”

“Diane!” And now Kara was the one blushing.

PsyKick slowly relaxed again.

“…Ghost Current?”

Of Heroes And Villains: The Ties That Bind An assassin. A fallen hero. An unlikely meeting. The road to redemption is long and hard and filled with explosives.

PsyKick smiled as the henchmen slumped to the floor, dozens defeated with just one psychic pulse wave. Their leaders stood frozen as he approached, then seemed to recover their composure. They drew their Gatling guns, opening fire on him.

The bullets froze and hovered midair before they could even touch him.

“And that’s why you shouldn’t cut corners when arming your minions,” PsyKick taunted.

PsyBlockers were, sadly for him, becoming more commercially available, but thankfully were still mostly restricted to those who could afford them. Like mobster bosses. These days he had to rely more and more on his telekinesis rather than his mind-bending, which, while somewhat inconvenient, suited PsyKick just fine. Villainous minds were not pleasant places to be.

The hero flicked his wrist and the bullets reversed their path, oh-so-slowly inching toward the villains who’d fired them. Scared, they backed away, one of them stumbling over the unconscious body of a fallen henchman.

A sarcastic clap echoed through the halls and PsyKick turned his head with a small frown.

His eyes widened, a shiver running down his spine.

Cinder Snow.

She was slowly walking toward the confrontation, her armored hands now clutched together as she gazed directly at PsyKick. He’d never seen her not wear her signature goggles and wished she was wearing them now – there was an intent in her gaze which struck him as highly unsettling.

Tentacles of hatred were curled around her, straining toward him.

PsyKick took a step backward.

Entire taskforces had tried and failed to take her down. And he was alone, and an 8, while she was a 10. He couldn’t hope to defeat her without backup.

She swept her arm and ice shot out from her palm in an arc, freezing the two remaining gangsters into solid blocks.

“PsyKick.” Her eyes gleamed and he took another step back. How did she know him? Why did she loathe him? He’d never been part of the taskforces dispatched to defeat her, had never faced her before this moment. “I have been looking for you.”

“Why?” Despite his escalating worry, his voice was calm and strong.

“You’ll see.”

He dimly heard the sound of an energy beam being charged behind him and dodged to the side – yet it was too late. It grazed his shoulder, and his vision went black.


***


PsyKick’s mind was a fortress. He had built his defenses to be impenetrable, visualizing them as insurmountable walls. And as he wandered the dreamscape of his mind, he could feel something tearing at the outer bulwarks.

He smiled in his sleep, secure in the knowledge that nothing could break them.


***


“Your defenses are excellent,” a female voice said coldly. It sounded familiar. PsyKick blinked blearily, only to squeeze his eyes shut as light blinded him.

“Constance?” he rasped, voice hoarse.

“Not quite.”

PsyKick groaned as he struggled to regain his sense. His head was pounding as if he’d thought it would be a good idea to repeatedly slam it against hard surfaces. And yet, it wasn’t what was bothering him.

His skin was itching.

It didn’t hurt. But it was unpleasant in a way that seemed to get worse every second he was aware of it. Like a thousand tiny insects crawling beneath his skin.

Finally he opened his eyes, even though the light hurt. He blinked against the shadow looming over him

Cinder Snow.

He tried to jerk away, only to become aware that his wrists and feet were bound.

She cocked her head and watched him with mild curiosity.

“Don’t move.”

He gritted his teeth and yanked at the straps holding him down.

The inside of his skull caught fire.

It was unbearable, each fraction of a second somehow worse than the one before. He grew completely still, breathing shallowly.

As soon as he stopped moving, pleasure flooded his senses. It washed away the pain until there was only euphoria, his veins sizzling with ecstasy. He moaned.

“What…?” His voice failed him as he shuddered.

What is this?

Cinder Snow was smiling at him, and he could see such malice swirling around her, like a thick cloud choking him. But he couldn’t look away; if he so much as thought of moving, his skin started itching.

“Yes, your defenses were quite strong indeed. But then I thought – why break them, when they could work just as well to my advantage? So instead of taking away, I added a little something. Can you feel it?”

“What did you do to me?” he whispered. She looked so familiar. But he had never seen her face before.

“Simple operant conditioning. I believe the common term for it is…carrot and a stick.” She leaned forward. “Obey me and you’ll be rewarded. Disobey me and you’ll feel… well, not quite pain. More like… an itch. A need to obey that claws and strips away rational thought until you feel nothing but the urge to make it go away. Isn’t it brilliant?” She smiled brightly. “The only time you’ll ever feel like yourself is when you obeyed me. Every second you disobey is a second you descend into madness.”

His eyes were wide and his breaths shallow. No, no, no, this wasn’t happening, why would she even choose him, this made no sense.

“You can start moving again.”

The tension he hadn’t realized had been running through him disappeared – only to be replaced by another wave of pleasure. He gritted his teeth, striving to ignore it.

“You will never attack me.”

Never.

The itch started clawing at him. She undid the straps, and he didn’t move. He was trying to will himself to lunge at her, but nothing was happening.

“Stand up.”

He closed his eyes and turned his head away, shivering with the strain of remaining exactly where he was. The itch plucked at his nerve endings, playing them like harp strings as PsyKick tried to ignore the sensation, to think of something, anything else but it was growing unbearable, this need, do what she said or it would just keep getting worse and worse and he couldn’t stand it and now there was only the agony spearing his mind, and why was he disobeying her anyway he couldn’t remember he had to had to had to do what she says

PsyKick rolled off the gurney and stood on shaking knees – and then the ecstasy engulfed his body. He moaned deeply. To his shame, he could feel himself growing hard.

“Good.”

She had praised him, and for just a moment, he felt a flare of pride. He stomped it out with growing horror.

“On your knees.”

The itch barely even pricked at him before his knees gave way. He made no sound as pure pleasure burned inside his veins like fire.

“Listen well, PsyKick. From now on you will desire nothing more than to serve me. To be a villain will be your purpose in life. You will not even want to subvert my orders.”

He whimpered, her voice echoing in his mind as the itch started burning again.

“Is that understood?”

He said nothing, his knuckles turning white as he desperately erected mental barrier after mental barrier, trying to compartmentalize his mind. It wasn’t helping; it wasn’t a mental assault. It was a physical one.

“Answer me.”

His back arched as the insects under his skin buzzed and crawled until he couldn’t think, couldn’t even remember his own name, nor who that woman in front of him was or why it was important for him to resist her words.

There was only the itch clawing at his insides.

No, not an itch. His Purpose. Reminding him of his place.

“Yes,” he grated at length. “Yes, Mistress.”


***


PsyKick kneeled at his Mistress’ feet as she modified the weapons of her armor’s right glove, tinkering with the delicate machinery. He watched with mild interest. PsyKick was somewhat talented with technology but he couldn’t even begin to understand what she was doing there. His Mistress was quite brilliant, and he was fortunate to be allowed to Serve her.

His Purpose had finally quieted down, now that he had learned its lessons. For days it had ravaged his body, punishing him for every misstep. PsyKick wasn’t very good at Serving, yet, but he would learn. Had learned. Now he sat and waited for orders so that he might once more feel the joy that came only with doing as his Mistress bid him.

“Amelia!”

He turned his head toward the familiar voice, tilting his head. A woman was striding toward them, and his heart contracted painfully at the sight. What was Constance doing here? She shouldn’t be here, it was dangerous.

His thoughts tripped over themselves, and his brows drew together in a frown.

PsyKick would certainly never hurt Constance. And his Mistress was wise, so surely she wouldn’t either. So there really was nothing dangerous for Constance here at all, was there?

Then Constance’s gaze locked on his and she cried out, running toward him to throw her arms around him in a tight embrace. He smiled and lovingly kissed her cheek, stroking her long black hair to soothe whatever had upset her.

“Stephen,” she whispered. “Are you okay? Did she hurt you?”

“I’m fine,” he murmured and she shuddered in his arms.

And then he noticed it.

Love. Affection. Anger. A familial bond deeper and stronger than friendship running from Constance to his Mistress.

And the part of him that had still been screaming and raging and fighting against what was happening to him just broke.


***


PsyKick woke up drenched in sweat, eyes wide.

There was a scream.

It took him a moment to realize it was coming from him, and he clamped his mouth shut, rolling out of the too-soft bed and slumping on the floor. It took him a long moment to even recognize the spacious bedroom he was in.

He should not be here.

He should be Serving and fulfilling his Purpose somewhere out there.

No, he should be back in his hospital bed, strapped and caged where he could harm no one.

The door to his bedroom flew open and then a blond woman was leaning down to gently cup his face, her red eyes wide with worry. He leaned into the touch with a moan.

“Mistress.”

“Stephen,” she whispered. “You know better than to call me that.”

“But it’s what you are,” he insisted, voice hoarse.

“No,” she said softly. “I’m your friend, remember?”

He laughed bitterly at that. “If you were my friend I would not want to crawl before you like I do. I wouldn’t be waiting for the moment you give me an order. This is never going to go away. I’m…” He choked. “I’m always going to be like this. You should have left me in that hospital.”

Of Heroes And Villains: The Ties That Bind An assassin. A fallen hero. An unlikely meeting. The road to redemption is long and hard and filled with explosives.

PsyKick gazed at his morning coffee, trying to put last night out of his mind.

It had been a long time since he dreamed of his old Mistress. Most of the time he tried not to think about her. His new one was so much better; she never asked him to do things that horrified him.

He knew he wasn’t thinking right, that he should be calling them something else, but he couldn’t even find the mental energy to do that.

“Morning.”

The voice was low, yet feminine, and he watched Kara out of the corner of his eyes as she slid into the seat next to him. They were sitting in an opulent kitchen. Mistress had been right; the mansion was absolutely huge, and he could easily see himself getting turned around. As they’d entered the foyer, Kara had gestured vaguely. Pick a room, any room.

“Where’s Mistress Diane?” There. Compromise.

Kara’s pale eyes lingered on him for a long moment, and she said nothing. Strangely, despite her jealousy yesterday her face was remarkably stoic, no judgment in her gaze. He still could not figure out where he’d met her before.

“She’s at work.” Her lips twitched in wry amusement. “She had a little rant about how they make her go in even when it inconveniences her. I think the concept offends her.”

PsyKick smiled weakly, trying to imagine Mistress working anywhere.

“So I’ll be keeping you company until she’s back.”

“Keeping an eye on the crazy hero?”

“Yes.”

He blinked at her bluntness.

Kara took a sip from her own coffee. “Know that as long as I’m around, you will never have opportunity to follow your programming, because I can, and will, kick your ass.” She met his gaze and her voice softened. “You are safe here, okay?”

And others were safe from him.

Maybe it should have bothered him, but instead it gave him peace.

How could he not remember this woman? A personality and appearance like hers ought to be extremely distinctive.

Oh.

He was an idiot not to have considered it before. She was probably a reformed villain like Diane, and the last time he’d met her they’d been on opposite sides. He squinted at her.

“…Eldritch Eclipse?”

Kara spat out her coffee, and then stared at him with extreme outrage written on her face.


***


PsyKick thought he knew the meaning of awkward.

That was until he spent an afternoon with Kara. The woman was incredibly taciturn, never saying more than a few words at a time. She didn’t seem to know how to initiate conversation either, because he caught her opening and closing her mouth soundlessly a few times.

His own social skills were rusty, to say the least, so he really wasn’t any better.

But then Kara had found the magic words.

“So, uh, you were pretty taken with the Mercedes. Do you like cars?”

And now Stephen was in heaven.

Kara had led him to a garage filled with rows and rows of vintage cars.

“My dad’s collection,” she’d said with a small shrug, in a tone that told him she did not particularly care for the beauties spread out before them. Still, after she’d gruffly invited him to do whatever the hell you want, she rose high on PsyKick’s list of favorite people in the world.

It was a bit of a short list at the moment. It mostly consisted of Mistress Diane.

And his old teammates…

He shook his head at that thought, putting them out of his mind, and concentrated on the engine in front of him. Unlike the other cars which, while somewhat dusty, were in perfect condition, this 1964 Shelby Cobra appeared to have been abandoned mid-restoration. He poked around the wires with curiosity.

Stephen had worked summers at a mechanic’s. When his powers manifested, he couldn’t even hope to shut out the voices of everyone around him. It wasn’t easy hearing every catty and unkind thought that never left anyone’s lips. So he’d fled into solitude as best as he could, tinkering with every bit of machinery he could find just so he had something other than people to think about.

He had been going to university on a scholarship, studying to be an engineer. And met Constance.

PsyKick pushed that thought aside.

After three years of being institutionalized, that scholarship was likely gone now. There was no way he could afford higher education without it.

He pushed that thought aside, too.

“So with some tools and spare parts, I’m pretty sure I could fix this.”

“Knock yourself out,” Kara said dryly.


***


Texplosion groaned in misery as he materialized in the med bay of Founder’s Creek hospital. Okay, so charging those mobsters head-on may not have been his brightest idea, but they usually never shot to kill a hero.

One of them had to have had bad aim.

“God, he’s bleeding all over the pod, get the healer!”

Healer.

At Founder’s Creek?

God, no, not her.

He blacked out, and woke to red eyes staring down at him. Tex hissed and scrambled away from her. The bitch smirked at him.

“Pro-tip: Try to avoid the bullets next time. If something is flying at you with high velocity, that is not your cue to hug it.”

Tex was generally fairly relaxed when it came to villains; unlike many of his teammates, he had no deep-seated hatred toward them. No childhood trauma. No cataclysmic event that made him don a cape. He fought them because it was the right thing to do – and, if he was being honest, because of the fangirls – and not out of some personal vendetta. What else was he gonna do with the power to blow shit up?

He never had a problem with reformed villains either. In fact, there were few people Tex did not get along with.

Her, though. He hated her.

Cinder Snow.

Dionaea.

Everyone had seen the footage of the infamous mad scientist saving the woman in front of him. And Dionaea, despite her supposed change of heart, had never renounced their association; never spoke a bad word about her creator. Everyone just welcomed her with open arms anyway, because she was a healer, and healers couldn’t possibly be evil.

Even Shade, that hateful psychopath who probably jerked himself off at night to the thought of maiming villains, was fooled by her act. Not that Shade was physically capable of jerking off these days. Magical accident, yeah, right. Dawn had told him what had led to their breakup.

Well, Tex was not fooled. He knew that a good power did not make a good person. And a villain created by Cinder Snow, who had murdered his best friend in all but body, could never be good.

“Fuck off,” he growled, and Dionaea tilted her head, her smirk widening.

“Oh, Tex, no need for such profuse gratitude. You may express it with a Thank You note or a gift basket or your Firstborn.” She struck a heroic pose. “It’s all in a day’s work.”

Lord, but he hated her.

He swung his legs off the gurney and looked around for his iconic Stetson.

A bright light flashed in front of his eyes and he blinked rapidly. Dionaea was happily tapping on her smartphone.

“What are you doing?” he said through gritted teeth.

“Taking your picture. Sending it to the Oxford dictionary people so they can put it right next to ingrate and wanker and bad friend.”

Was she delusional?

“I am not your friend,” he hissed.

“I’m aware. Alas, other people are not so lucky.” Her red eyes glowed and he realized with a start that she was angry. He’d never seen her angry before; she always maintained a carefree smile that only infuriated him more.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

She turned to leave as if she had nothing more to say.

Texplosion stared after her, his brows creased in a frown.


***


Diane wrapped her arms tightly around Kara, resting her forehead on her shoulder as shadows enveloped them.

Diane did not carpool. She commuted to work entirely via violating the laws of physics with the help of a certain heroine. Diane grinned at that thought, even as vertigo hit hard, as it always did.

She swayed a little and Kara steadied her.

Diane fell onto the lavish bed they shared at night and grinned up at her lover. “So, how’d it go?”

Kara shrugged noncommittally, prompting a sigh from Diane.

Letting PsyKick leave the hospital with minimal supervision was a risk; he could relapse and try to seek out a villain again. In fact, all the doctors had strongly advised her against this course of action, but then, they’d been shit at treating him while she was making progress, so Diane had overruled their objections.

He needed this.

It was painfully obvious that she had hit a wall with Stephen. The very thing that had allowed her to get through to him in the first place – pretending to be a villain and becoming the focal point of his programming – was now standing in the way of his recovery. He had a hard time relating to her as anything but his Mistress.

PsyKick needed someone else to relate to.

Someone he saw as an equal.

A friend.

Kara had informed her that he’d once been best friends with Texplosion, but as far as Diane knew, no one but her had ever visited him in recent months. Not even Constance. Hadn’t they been epically in love?

Diane wasn’t quite sure when she had become invested in his happiness.

She peered up at Kara, who’d been quite supportive of her efforts to rehabilitate Stephen. Diane nursed the hope that Kara might be the friend he needed.

But Kara didn’t actually like him. She only agreed to help him because she approved of Diane being interested in helping someone, something Diane had been quite happy to exploit to get Stephen into the mansion.

Apparently there had been bad blood between them at some point, the nature of which Kara refused to elaborate upon. She’d hoped that leaving them alone would give them time to bond.

Though if PsyKick had been BFFs with Texplosion, Diane could almost imagine it.

Or maybe not.

She just had a hard time picturing Stephen being anything like that jackass.


***


“Hey, Shade,” the hero drawled in a mocking lilt.

Shade ignored him, dispatching two more henchmen with ruthless efficiency.

“Magical accident, huh?”

Darkness whirled and her blades cut down one more.

“So I heard you have a craving for cock these days.”

The shadows flowed and Kara pressed her blade against his spine.

“Hey Texplosion, I heard you have a craving for my sword up your ass.”

---

Author's Note: So, I don't want to be one of those authors who guilttrips their readers into reviews, buuuut... that's exactly what I'm doing! If you enjoy this story, please do consider leaving a little note; every comment I get makes me smile. It doesn't matter if it's positive or negative, I thrive on feedback and use it to improve myself. When I get almost no comments on a chapter, it makes me wonder if I did something horrifically wrong.

Of Heroes And Villains: The Ties That Bind An assassin. A fallen hero. An unlikely meeting. The road to redemption is long and hard and filled with explosives.

“That would work better if you took the cuff off.”

PsyKick jumped, startled, and raised his head, his hand instantly reaching to clutch the metal band around his wrist. He could never take it off; he couldn’t be trusted with power.

Kara was gazing down at him, an eyebrow arched. Her gaze dropped to the phone in his hand, and then back to him.

“I mean, you’re free to keep trying to dial it by staring really hard, but I doubt it will work.”

He just averted his gaze, chagrined that she’d caught him.

Mistress Diane left for work every single day, leaving him alone with Kara, whose identity continued to elude PsyKick, just as social competence continued to elude her. Sometimes it felt like they were almost friends, but then she’d go inexplicably cold on him.

He thought he might actually grow to like the aloof heroine, if he didn’t get the strong vibe that she didn’t like him. PsyKick had the distinct feeling of being tolerated for his Mistress’ sake.

PsyKick wasn’t even trying not to call her Mistress anymore. It made Kara’s eye twitch, and some immature part of him reveled in pissing her off just so she’d show him a face other than pity. The knowledge that he was being a burden chafed at him, doing nothing to help his frayed temper.

“I wasn’t trying to dial anyone,” he murmured under his breath.

He’d dialed the number 20 minutes ago and still couldn’t bring himself to press the final button.

What was there to say?

Hi, Tex, how have you been, by the way, I’m only moderately crazy now, let’s hang out. Sorry for the things I said. Meet you at the E?

The last time he’d seen Tex, his friend had been sitting at his bedside, trying to talk to him as if he was still Stephen. And PsyKick had begged the hero to help him escape this prison, trying to explain how his Purpose was getting worse, how he needed to Serve before it eroded everything. And when Tex had refused, as he always did, PsyKick had snapped.

To be psychic was to know one’s friends intimately well.

And to know which words inflicted the most damage.

He wasn’t sure how long ago exactly that had been. Time blurred together in that hospital room, endless days of staring at nothing while his Purpose gnawed away the tattered shreds of his sanity.

PsyKick thought it had to be months. Maybe a year, even. It felt like a really long time.

Tex had lasted the longest. The others had stopped visiting long before that.

“I see,” Kara said. Then she leaned forward and picked up the phone. “Then I guess you won’t mind if I do this?”

She hit the dial button.

His eyes went wide and he lunged, but she evaded skillfully, holding up the phone while the dial tone rang out. “Stop,” he snarled and she gave him a long look. Then she threw the phone back to him.

“Just follow your heart. Call your boyfriend. I can’t take this pining anymore.”

“Fuck off, Kara.” The skin on the back of his neck was burning and he was about to slam the red button to hang up when an automated female voice faintly rang out.

“The number you are trying to reach is no longer in service.”

He blinked down at the small device, numb.

What?

He stared for a long moment, and then redialed, the woman standing beside him forgotten.

“The number you are trying to reach…”

With shaking fingers he dialed Constance’s number.

“The number…”

PsyKick threw the phone against the wall. It shattered on impact.

Silence reigned for an agonizingly long time.

“I’m sure I could get you Tex’ contact info from the hero network,” Kara said hesitantly. Her voice was gentle and soft in a way he had never heard it before.

“…no.”

Long pause.

“Three years.”

She said nothing, and he ran his fingers through his black hair.

“People move on. I don’t even know why I’m surprised.”

That number had still been listed as his emergency contact. PsyKick had seen it when he’d signed the release form.

Tex hadn’t bothered keeping it up to date.

PsyKick could have died in that hospital, or escaped, or been cured and released, and Tex didn’t even care to be informed of that.

Kara was still gazing at him, seemingly struggling with what to say.

So he broke the tense silence.

“…I’m sorry I broke your phone.”

“Yes, however shall I afford a new one?” Her customary dryness was back, and yet, her voice retained its newfound warmth. There was a long pause once more. “…I’m terrible at this,” she admitted. “Do you drink scotch?”

His brows furrowed. “No.”

“You do now.”

And then Kara disappeared in a swirl of shadows. A swirl PsyKick recognized. His eyes widened with realization.

She – he? A stunned part of his mind asked – returned moments later, holding a decanter and two glasses, calmly setting them on the table while PsyKick stared.

Shade silently poured them two glasses.

Then she held one out to him.

He took it, and kept staring.

She sighed. “Magical accident.”

“Right.”

Silence.

“I really feel like this whole guessing game was rigged.”

She smirked, pale blue eyes meeting his as she took a sip. “You were the one who wanted to guess.”

And PsyKick laughed. A chuckle at first, escalating into deep, reverberating laughter.

So this was his life.

He was clinically insane, had villainous urges, was voluntarily depowered, wanted nothing more than to be someone’s slave, had destroyed every friendship he ever had and was now drinking scotch with an obscenely wealthy Shade. Who was a woman.

Shade, of all people.

PsyKick had never liked Shade.

In fact, he was almost singlehandedly responsible for nobody in his team liking him either. When Dawn had first dragged her new boyfriend to their supergroup meeting, PsyKick had felt nauseous at the sight. To his eyes, Shade had been a highly strung mess of seething hatred, rage and confusion. Just being in his vicinity had given PsyKick a tension headache.

Shade’s love for Dawn had been genuine enough. A red glowing band wrapped tightly around PsyKick’s friend, all but screaming mine at anyone who cared to look. It was the only positive connection to another human being that PsyKick had seen from him. Shade had looked at Dawn like he worshipped the ground she hovered over. Dawn had looked at Shade like he was a very nice man she’d just met and kind of liked.

Love like that could so very easily turn destructive.

PsyKick had made his disapproval known, and his evaluation of Shade’s mental state had trickled through to the rest of the Tenacious Teens, who all, to varying degrees, encouraged Dawn to break it off.

Nobody wanted their friend to date a ticking time bomb.

What finally broke them up, in a last straw sort of way, had given him and Tex endless hours of amusement. Dawn had confided it to Tex, who’d told it to Psy, which turned out to be a mistake since Dawn ended up blowing a fuse and chewing both of them out, making sure nobody else ever found out.

The brooding vigilante had a fetish for wearing woman’s underwear.

And now he was a woman.

Accident, yeah right.

PsyKick brought the scotch to his lips – only to end up coughing it all up as it burned his throat.

Shade, the bastard, looked amused.

“I wasn’t even the legal drinking age when I was locked up,” he said defensively, and her expression softened. A little. Her eyes were definitely still laughing at him.

“Then we have a lot of catching up to do.”


***


“…with a laser?”

Shade nodded, lips curled into a wide grin.

“Let’s just say Fusion Flare walked a little bowlegged after that.”


***


“I don’t believe you.”

“It’s true.”

“You are making this up.”

“I swear.”

“There is no way you and Captain Patriot are friends.”

Shade chuckled softly. “It was an accident.”

“You’ve been having a lot of accidents.”

She precariously balanced her scotch glass on one finger. “I’m clumsy.”

“Admit it; you’re some sort of Good Twin cloned from an Alternate Dimension, aren’t you?”


***


“I’m sorry I dialed the number.”

PsyKick squirmed uncomfortably. “It’s okay.”

“No, I was an ass.” She exhaled and stared at the ceiling. “My least favorite day of the month is coming up tomorrow; it puts me in a bad mood.”

“I do not need to hear about your PMS, man.”

She blushed. Shade was blushing. “Not that! Corporate meeting!”

“Oh.”


***


“Okay, man, I have been wondering this for over five years, and I just have to ask…”

PsyKick peered at Shade over his glass, her outline slightly blurred.

“What are you?”

“You’ll have to be more specific.”

“Ethnicity-wise.”

Ah. He got that question a lot.

PsyKick had olive skin and black curly hair, currently barely curled at all since it was too short. His jaw was square and his nose aquiline, yet his brown eyes were subtly slanted. Overall, he was a tan blend that could pass for a lot of ethnicities if one squinted, and had confused many a bigot who wasn’t sure what stereotype to apply. Tex affectionately called him Hispasian, though it was likely he had some Native American ancestry as well, given his almost complete lack of body hair. Overall, women found him handsome, so he was fairly happy with his looks.

Granted, somewhat less so these days. After three years of extremely limited physical exercise he was leaning toward skinny twig, though he had started regaining some of his old muscle mass.

“Dunno,” he answered truthfully. “I was raised in foster care.”

And that was also why he bore the generic name of Smith. He vaguely remembered having some unresolved issues regarding his heritage. It was a common occurrence for children anonymously given up for adoption, but not even knowing his origins had given him a very special case of adolescent angst.

PsyKick would give anything to trade his current identity crisis back to that one.

Shade hummed thoughtfully.

“I’m an orphan, too.”

“…with a mansion.” PsyKick had left foster care with not a cent to his name. He’d spent his spring break working two jobs just to be able to afford basic necessities over the semester.

“With a mansion.”

“You’re bad at bonding, you know that?”

She laughed softly and refilled.

“I get better with more alcohol. It’s how I make all my friends. All being one. Sample size needs some work.”

PsyKick smiled sympathetically, and raised his glass to toast to her.


***


Shade was right. She really was a lot more pleasant to be around once she relaxed.

“Kara?” PsyKick slurred.

“Mhmmm?”

“Make it two.”

---

Author's Note: You guys are THE BEST! Thank you for the kind words of encouragement, I had a huge smile on my face yesterday all day long. I know there's a bit of a tonal switch from oHaV to tTtB, and along with the protagonist change I was a little worried I'd alienated some readers. I'm superglad to hear that appears to not be the case, and I hope you'll continue to enjoy the chapters to come! And yes, I promise the actual plot starts Soon (TM).

Of Heroes And Villains: The Ties That Bind An assassin. A fallen hero. An unlikely meeting. The road to redemption is long and hard and filled with explosives.

The elegant spire of the Millennial Tower reached high into the sky, its alien surface gleaming in the city lights. The tallest tower in the world had been augmented with extraterrestrial technology to be extra shiny, sparkling like it was studded with diamonds.

Beauty and glamor were, after all, everything in this world.

It was a hotel, its opulent and luxurious rooms housing state dignitaries from all over the world, as well as several other worlds. At the moment there was only one such extraterrestrial diplomat in residence, named R’lak, ambassador of the popular World Of Solid Gold And Also Improbably Large Mammals Whose Jaws Bit Through Metal.

But the extravagance drew shadier guests as well. Crime bosses. Warlords. Dictators. Taking a break from their power games to flaunt their wealth for all to see.

Of course, games of power never ended.

In a suite on the highest floor, overlooking the bustling metropolis beneath, lay the rapidly cooling body of a minor political figure.

The assassin calmly wiped the red stains from her dagger.

Her icy gaze swept the room, confirming that no evidence of her presence remained.

Then she dissolved in a swirl of radiant light.


***


“It’s done.”

Her client smiled. But then, she was always smiling, if she wasn’t staring off into space at nothing in particular. She called it being ‘precognitively disabled’. Radiance called it being fucking nuts.

Not that she minded. The woman was a regular, and Radiance never turned down one of her assignments. Her targets were always the same: crooks, liars and murderers, and not a single innocent among them. That was important – ever since she had gained some measure of independence, she chose her targets well, even while still fulfilling her duty to the Order.

“Delightful,” crooned her client. “There is another I need taken care of tomorrow, but I suppose you’ll be unavailable?”

Radiance paused.

She had indeed scheduled leisure time for tomorrow. A rare treat, one she didn’t want to miss. The white-haired woman was still smiling at her, yet her usually vacant gaze was now sharp and piercing.

Nobody was supposed to know.

“Everknowing, dear,” said her client, and calmly stirred her tea. They were sitting in a Mediterranean tea house, where her client usually preferred to meet.

“That’s private.” Radiance resisted the temptation to phrase it more rudely than that.

“I would not bring it up without reason.” She leaned forward, and an electric charge filled the air. “Look closely. Look very, very closely.”


***


PsyKick slept poorly, wandering his shattered mindscape and trying to stay clear of the memories threatening to roll over him. Why couldn’t they just stay nice and suppressed?

Surprisingly, he woke without a hangover, so there was that.

He was listlessly poking at his breakfast when a deep male voice spoke up behind him. “Morning.”

PsyKick nearly fell off his chair, whipping around to stare at the stranger.

Icy blue eyes met his, and the man raised an eyebrow as he absently finished tying his tie. “Tell me you made coffee.”

Hell, he knew that growling voice.

“…Shade?”

Shade grunted in what PsyKick assumed to be confirmation, already striding toward the espresso machine.

“…I can’t help but notice you’re looking very male today.”

“Illusion,” he (?) said curtly. Somehow, Shade was finding ways to condense her (his?) already not very loquacious communication into as few words as possible. At PsyKick’s confused look, he-slash-she amended, “Have to keep up civilian appearance. Can’t switch gender at the same time as Shade.”

“Ah. So you’re still Kara under there?”

She nodded, and seemed to relax a fraction at his statement. “Yes. I am.”

“Okay. Good to know.” PsyKick shrugged and went back to concentrating on skewering his own breakfast. Shade was radiating the old tension which had made her so uncomfortable to be around in the past and which had been entirely missing from Kara. It didn’t really take much for PsyKick to draw the obvious conclusion.

Shade hated having a male body. Much of the hatred PsyKick had seen must have been self-hatred.

He felt a little bad about laughing at her fetish now.

Mistress chose that moment to prance into the kitchen and to make a beeline for Kara, standing on her toes to kiss her gently. Shade immediately brightened, although brightened was relative – she was still scowling fiercely, only slightly less so than before.

“Good morning, various heroes and heroines!”

Shade didn’t answer, only pressing her lips to Diane’s hair.

“Good morning, Mistr– “ Kara clenched her fingers. “Diane. Good morning, Diane.” Kara relaxed.

Mistress rewarded him with a smile bright enough to rival the sun.

“Diane,” Kara rumbled. “Why was my magic pendant in your drawer?”

“Oh, I was using it.”

“…why.”

She smiled cheekily. “Because I have needs, Kara. I like looking at something pretty in the mirror when you’re out saving the world and I’m all alone.”

Shade sighed.

It took PsyKick a moment for her meaning to sink in, and then he nearly choked on his breakfast.


***


Radiance never worked in Paragon City.

The official reason was too many capes.

The unofficial reason was too many memories.

She watched the young man making his way toward the counter. He was tall and broad, the expensively tailored suit doing little to hide his muscles. Combined with a fierce scowl on his handsome face he struck a very intimidating figure, leading the other patrons of the bistro to keep a healthy distance.

He had so very little in common with the shy yet affectionate boy she remembered.

But then, he likely wouldn’t approve of what he’d see in her either.

Caroline leaned back, slouching deeper into her chair to make herself as unremarkable as possible, and adjusted her sunglasses.

Ian came here once a month, like clockwork, during lunch hour.

And she watched.

She was never very happy with what she saw. When she’d first seen him upon her return to Paragon, her gangly teenager of a brother had somehow turned into an adult. He’d grown up without her, into a man with cold eyes and an even colder demeanor.

And Caroline had realized there was no place for her in this stranger’s life.

But she still liked to watch, sometimes.

And, as her client had advised, she watched closely today. And what she saw took her breath away.

His gait was wrong. He lacked the cold detachment, trading it for unease. And when he spoke, there was a delay. It was barely noticeable, but when his lips moved, the words were just a fraction out of synch, as if they needed to be filtered in some way.

Radiance knew deception well.

That was an illusion.

Someone was impersonating Ian Reynolds.

Which begged the question of where the real Ian was.

Caroline’s fingers tightened around the table knife in her hand.

Whoever had the audacity to harm her baby brother would pay for it with their life.

Of Heroes And Villains: The Ties That Bind An assassin. A fallen hero. An unlikely meeting. The road to redemption is long and hard and filled with explosives.

Caroline had been sorely tempted to kill the imposter right there and then.

She hadn’t, of course.

A good assassin gathered information before striking. She needed to know where her brother was, and only then would she kill the imposter.

That was assuming Ian was still alive.

Her hands shook a little at that thought, and she set the glass down to hide the evidence of it. Caroline took deep, even breaths, closing her eyes.

Ian.

She didn’t know him, not anymore. For six years she had seen him once a month, from a distance, and that was the extent of their relationship. She didn’t know what he liked, or aspired to, or what kind of person he’d become, though just from what she’d observed, she would guess that he was neither a pleasant nor a happy one.

The thought of him being dead still cut like a knife.

Caroline calmly picked up her coffee again, hands steady, and watched the pretender with a sharp eye.

There were many reasons why someone might impersonate the young CEO of a multi-billion-dollar company. Money. Power. And all the things one could buy with that.

There weren’t many reasons to keep her brother alive after replacing him. Just one, really: information to perfect the mask. Assuming they hadn’t already perfected it.

Radiance’s objectives were clear.

She would find out who was replacing him and why.

Then she’d either find her brother and free him.

Or she’d find her brother gone, and then there would be a bloodbath.


***


At the conclusion of the monthly meeting Radiance watched him get into his car. He slammed the door with far more force than necessary. She dissolved into light and followed, materializing on rooftops near crossroads so she could follow his path, half-masking herself in light. Anyone who looked directly at her would be blinded – yet it also seemed to have a strange perception filter that made people think they caught the glare of the sun, even if the sun was occupying a different part of their sight entirely.

For obvious reason, this form of stealth was significantly less effective at night, so unlike many assassins, she operated during the day. It was also how she had earned her codename within the Order.

Radiance, the Day Killer.

It did not take her long to notice he was heading toward her old home. She gritted her teeth. She did not want to see that place, but now she’d have no choice. If whoever was behind this actually had the nerve to live there, she’d make their death painful.

Light shimmered as she materialized at the very edge of the property, hidden behind bushes she hoped were still there.

They were.

But they were no longer the elaborately styled statues they’d once been. Instead, they grew wild and uncontrolled.

She slowly turned to face the manor.

It was all overgrown, luscious plants escaping the confines of what had once been an orderly garden. The entire front of the mansion was covered with red curling vines, and there was something about them that made the entire estate look foreboding and eerie instead of grand and dignified.

Caroline did not approve.

More importantly, it worried her. Growth like this was the result of many years of neglect, and she was certain Ian would have maintained everything. Even as a child he insisted on everything looking neat and pretty. Sometimes, to Caroline’s horror at the time, he’d cleaned his own room. They had maids for that. Just how long ago had her brother been replaced?

Then she heard voices.

She flitted between the trees as a fine sparkling mist to the back of the house, and pressed herself against the wall, peering around the corner.

A guy in threadbare jeans was bent over the open hood of a rusty car, bits and pieces of what Caroline assumed to be the disassembled engine strewn around his feet. A blond woman wearing nothing but a bikini and sunglasses was leisurely draped over the driver’s seat, and her long legs swung over the closed car door.

She appeared to be sunbathing.

“…while trying to rob a bank vault.”

The man paused, turning his head, thereby showing Caroline his profile.

“And that ended with you living here instead of jail how?”

“Magical accident.”

“You two are suspiciously accident-prone. I’m starting to suspect you may not be telling me the whole truth.” His lips curved into a small smile, which transformed his face from gaunt into handsome.

“You must be psychic,” she said in awe, and he laughed, turning back to his work.

They fell silent at the sound of tires driving over gravel as the imposter’s car pulled up, having circled to the garage from the other side of the mansion. It came to a screeching halt in the middle of the driveway, the driver apparently raising his middle finger to the very concept of parking properly. The blond woman stretched and sat up as the car door opened and slammed, and then she hopped out as well, sauntering to meet the man wearing Ian’s face.

He roughly grabbed her jaw, drawing her in for a deep kiss.

Caroline saw his lips move, but his voice was too low for her to hear.

“Only one more,” responded the woman in a soothing voice. “Then you’ll be done with this body.” Caroline’s knuckles turned white. One more what? Day? Week? Month? Once they were done, they would definitely have no reason to keep her brother alive.

The man didn’t respond, so the blond woman smiled and tugged at his hand, leading him toward the house.

“Stephen, will you be all right on your own for a bit?”

“I’m an adult, Mistress,” responded the man still bent over the car engine, sounding distracted and completely absorbed in his work. “I think I’ll manage.”

The woman blew him a kiss, and then laughed as Not-Ian threw her over his shoulder and carried her into the house.

Caroline stood frozen, absorbing what little information she’d gleaned.

Only one more.

So she was working with a time limit, and she had no idea how long it was. Her plan for thorough recon went out the window. She needed to act fast.

Her gaze lingered on the lone man now utterly absorbed in repairing the car. He’d called the blond woman Mistress, which likely made him a henchman of some sort. Not Caroline’s first choice – minions were so rarely fully informed of the plans of their superiors – but it would have to do. If nothing else, it should make him easy to break and interrogate.

She materialized behind him, her arms swiftly closing around his throat in a Hadaka Jime hold.

The man went rigid, but then proved to be no stranger to battle. Instead of uselessly clawing at the arm choking him, as most people did, he instantly shifted his weight to unbalance her. Then he kicked behind himself, aiming for her shinbone.

Cute.

Her fingers found the nerve in his neck she was looking for and pinched.

His body went limp.


***


PsyKick woke up strapped to a gurney.

Not again.

He groaned and squeezed his eyes shut. Waking up to this had been a common occurrence for the last three years, but he thought he’d finally moved past that. He struggled to recall his last memory.

Had he had an episode…?

No, no, he hadn’t attacked anyone in so long, he was getting better. He wouldn’t betray Mistress’ trust like this.

Except he’d been backsliding into calling her his Mistress.

Diane. He would never disappoint Diane like this.

“Finally.”

PsyKick grew still at the sound of the unfamiliar voice. It was little more than a whisper, but he could still discern that the speaker was female. He turned his head as far as the restraints would allow.

A woman stepped into view, a gold-rimmed hood drawn over her face and her mouth and nose hidden beneath a veil. She wore something akin to a white trenchcoat rimmed with gold, the only splash of color a red sun emblazoned on her belt. He briefly saw the flash of metal strapped to her thigh, but then the long flowing garment concealed it.

Not that she was trying to hide that she was armed. No, she was suggestively twirling a curved dagger, the blade glittering in the dim light.

“Let’s talk.”

And with a start, PsyKick realized that he’d been kidnapped.

He laughed in relief.

The woman paused, clearly not having expected that reaction.

PsyKick smiled at her.

There was a villain apparently intent on cutting him to pieces.

And he didn’t feel the urge to do what she said at all.

“Let’s not,” he said, relishing his defiance. It would likely cost him later, but at the moment, he was just giddy to have confirmation that, yes, he really was getting better.

A sharp pain spread through his cheek, and he blinked, looking to the side out of the corner of his eyes. She’d thrown the dagger so fast he hadn’t even seen her move, and now the blade was imbedded just an inch from his face, having lightly grazed his skin.

She casually pulled it out, her pale eyes meeting his gaze.

“Do you think you have a choice?”

The stinging pain burned like pleasure at her words, the two forever entwined for him, and he closed his eyes in misery. There was his temporarily missing insanity. Was he now forever doomed to being attracted to morally questionable women?

He opened his eyes, blinking slowly.

PsyKick would not give up on his new defiance so quickly after finally having found it just because the pleasure center of his brain was a tasteless imbecile.

His smile widened.

“Lady, I have been through three years of hell. Do your worst.”

Of Heroes And Villains: The Ties That Bind An assassin. A fallen hero. An unlikely meeting. The road to redemption is long and hard and filled with explosives.

Radiance gazed at the man she had captured, her expression completely blank.

For a henchman, he certainly had nerves of steel. That, or a great poker face.

She had hoped she would have to do little more than intimidate.

But pain broke anyone, in the end. The only question was how long it would take her.

Caroline was a good student, always had been. And she had known pain. She had never passed the lessons on. She always went for clean kills.

Discomfort rolled in her belly, and it took her a moment to recognize the half-forgotten sensation for what it was: nausea. She was about to cross one of the few lines she had left.

But for her brother, she could do this.

She casually twirled her blade once more, as if to emphasize that it was there, but he paid it no attention. No, he was staring at her, with an unsettling scrutiny.

“Answer this question truthfully and to the full extent of your knowledge, and I will let you go unharmed.”

He tilted his head.

“Where is Ian Reynolds?”

“…who?”


***


The woman exhaled, and it sounded almost resigned, yet her face – what little he could see of it – was completely without emotion. She lowered her blade to rest against his cut cheek. The metal was so very cold.

“I don’t know anyone by that name,” he gritted out.

“I’m sure you don’t,” she said. “Just as I’m sure a little pain will help you with those memory issues.” Yet the dagger still had not pierced his skin. What was she waiting for?

PsyKick balled his right hand into a fist, trying to reach the thin band of metal around his wrist. If he could just get his power suppressor cuff off, he’d be able to defend himself. It was a custom model with an off switch, not like the cuff he used to slap on criminals he arrested – he wore it voluntarily, and could take it off at will. If his hands hadn’t been bound, anyway. The strap around his wrist was fastened with a clasp, and he futilely tried to hit the release switch with the small metal pin.

“Still waiting for that promised pain,” he drawled, bored, trying to distract her from the tiny movements.

Blood flowed. The cut was light and fleeting, as if she was reluctant to do more. Memories stirred. It had been just like this before. Villainess, pain, and… he bit his lip, groaning as pleasure flooded him. It didn’t come close to the pure ecstasy Cinder Snow had given him; that little device in his cerebral cortex had long since been removed from him. This was an echo.

It was still staggering in its intensity.

The woman paused again.

“… are you enjoying this?”

“Being tied up by a beautiful villainess?” he breathed. “I’m having a wonderful time. Please, continue.” He twisted his wrist again. Just… a little more…

“…the fuck is wrong with you?”

“So many things.”

“Enough!” Long strong fingers closed around his neck. Apparently she’d changed tactics, abandoning the knife. “Where is the real Ian?”

“I don’t know!” He could barely breathe through the enormous pressure on his windpipe let alone choke out the words; she looked small and delicate, yet her grip was like steel.

His fingernails scratched at the flat surface of the gurney, his hand twisting and turning as he madly scrambled to find the right angle to hit the switch.

And then he did.

The cuff clicked open.

Power flooded his senses, the world around him coming alive after the long and terrible silence. The woman was thrown away as a telekinetic pulse wave pulsed around him.

Voices.

Voices were filling his head.

They had to be somewhere in the city, one of the abandoned warehouses.

So many voices. Too many. Three years of tranquility had left him unequipped to handle the overwhelming volume.

He shut them out as best as he could, focused on the woman slowly getting up, narrowing pale eyes at him. She was a vortex of rage and grief and purpose, all focused around a brightly glowing strand running from her into the ether, connecting to someone far away. LoveAnxietyFear he read before giving up on trying to identify what exactly the strand was made of. It was too much, and too contradicting.

Instead, he aimed a crude psychic blast, trying to knock her out.

He hit a wall.

PsyBlockers. She was wearing PsyBlockers. He swore under his breath. Either they had become even more common in the last three years, or she was a higher, well-connected class of villain.

The thought of being in the position to take down a truly dangerous villain stirred some long-buried hope.

He could be a hero again.

The room started shaking.


***


What the fuck?

He was not supposed to have powers; she had scanned him for the subtle reality alteration field which surrounded mutants and magic users. The tech was a precursor to power suppressors, picking up on the external manifestation of power which the latter prevented.

His dark eyes were glowing with a pale golden light, a glow that slowly spread to the gurney she had strapped him to. The restraints undid themselves, floating in the air as if lifted by the glow surrounding them. The man slowly got to his feet, drawing himself up to his impressive full height.

And then the gurney behind him started floating, too. As did every loose object in the room, like gravity had simply been switched off.

That included the various sharp objects she’d spread out on the table next to him; they’d been meant to unnerve rather than see a practical application. And now they were all aimed at her.

And this was just their minion?

Radiance narrowed her eyes, her still crouching body tensing to dodge. Her breathing was calm and even. As surprising as this new development was, she did not allow it to fluster her.

She adapted. She survived. As she always did.

Her fingers tightened on the dagger strapped to her upper thigh.

“Surrender now.” His voice echoed. In her head. Her eyes widened when she realized he was peeling away her PsyBlockers. They were state of the art, but, like all technology, they had their limits. They were built more than anything to just alert their users to psychic assaults so they could never be taken unaware, yet, like natural mental barriers, they could not withstand a dedicated psychic chipping away at them forever.

She needed to break his concentration.

Radiance lunged, and three blades floating behind him instantaneously honed in on her. She dissolved into light mid-leap an instant before they’d have hit her, then rammed into him from behind, her dagger to his throat.

The walls to her mind broke.

And her vision went white.


***


PsyKick blinked, dazed and confused.

There was silence in his head.

There shouldn’t be silence.

There should be a cacophony of voices.

He groaned, and froze at the sound of his voice.

A dagger fell out of his hand, hitting the floor with a small clink that was unbearably loud in the silence that should not exist.

The last thing he remembered was her blade at his throat, about to kill him. She was so fast, and he was so out of practice. In his desperation, all he’d focused on was breaking those PsyBlockers and getting inside of her head.

PsyKick became dimly aware that he was straddling something warm. Something alive. A body. A man’s body.

His body.

“Oh god,” he said, in a woman’s voice.

Of Heroes And Villains: The Ties That Bind An assassin. A fallen hero. An unlikely meeting. The road to redemption is long and hard and filled with explosives.

Kara moaned as Diane rammed into her again and again, relishing the sensation of being filled. Her fingers tightened on the edges of the table, her sensitive nipples grinding against the smooth mahogany with each forceful thrust.

“Harder,” she breathed, and it almost sounding like she was begging. Probably because she was.

Diane, that wicked villainess, slowed down. She rolled her hips with a low moan, and oh yes, the angle of the strap-on was delicious, its thick length pushing against the inner walls of her slick pussy, but it wasn’t what Kara wanted, no, needed.

“Harder, please,” Diane corrected, and Kara could just hear the smirk.

“Please just fuck me, Diane,” she growled through gritted teeth, and thrust her ass in the air, practically impaling herself on the dildo. Kara moaned in relief. Yesyesyes!

“Is that what you want?” Diane’s voice was low. “To be bent over the table and fucked like the naughty girl you are?”

Kara shuddered, moaning deeply. “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, please. Like the naughty girl I am.”

The pendant was lying far away, flung carelessly into a corner.


***


Kara nuzzled Diane’s cheek, her lips lovingly tracing the outline of her jaw. They were lying entwined on the living room’s carpet, having not quite made it up to the bedroom.

Diane, in turn, was gently stroking Kara’s short hair. She’d tried growing it out, but had found the way it got into her eyes in battle simply much to annoying. So she was sticking with a stylish pixie cut.

As much as Kara had longed for the girliest shit when it was all still forbidden fruit, nowadays it held much less allure.

But she did love her lingerie. The more elaborate and delicate and dainty, the better.

And there were still moments she needed to be reassured of her femininity.

Diane, without fail, delivered.

“I love you,” Kara said, voice barely audible. Diane responded with something akin to a pleased purr, rubbing her sweat-slicked body against Kara’s.

They lay there in silence for a long while, basking in the afterglow. Kara listened to Diane’s slow, even breaths with a small smile curling at her lips.

“…we should probably check in on Psy.”

Kara had, at first, resented the way they’d had to rearrange their schedules to make sure the brainwashed hero was never without supervision. She and Diane used to have an understanding that worked well for them – Shade patrolled Paragon City at the same time as Diane worked in the hospital, leaving them to spend the remainder of their time together.

Now they only saw each other at night, which had not exactly endeared PsyKick to Kara. She had been happy when Diane had shown an interest in helping him, right up until the point helping him had actually required sacrifice on Kara’s part. She’d agreed to it anyway, of course – his fate had horrified her as much as the rest of the hero community after all, even if she hadn’t particularly liked him.

And maybe, just maybe, she was becoming a bit more personally invested in his well-being, too. Now that she’d discovered he wasn’t quite the judgmental ass she remembered.

“Stephen will be fine,” Diane murmured. “Trusting him to be alone is good for him.”

And then she pressed her lips to Kara’s mouth, silencing any objections Kara might have had.


***


“He’s not in the garage either.”

Kara stepped out of her shadows, movements jerky and agitated. Diane raised her head miserably.

“I told you we can’t take our eyes off him. You didn’t see what devastation he was capable of before he was captured.”

“He was getting better,” Diane said in a small voice.


***


Caroline squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her palms to her ear. Her fingernails dug into her short hair and the small voice that pointed out that there was something wrong with that drowned in a sea of deafening noise.

A deep, guttural groan of pain escaped her lips, and again she briefly felt that flare of wrong, before it, too, was buried.

The voices were inside her.

“Stop…” Her plea was barely above a whisper. She hated herself for her weakness, but the psychic assault was unbearable.

And a voice rose above the fray, ringing loud and clear as if its owner was shouting in her ear.

Fuckfuckfuck, what have I done?

Caroline cracked open her eyes, the dissonance receding slightly as she became more aware of the world around her. She stared down at her hand clutching the floor. Deep scratches marred the dusty tile where her fingernails had desperately clawed at it.

Her hand looked wrong.

Instead of her skin being the fair porcelain she knew, it was deeply tanned. And not covered in scars. And big. There was grease under her chipped fingernails.

“What…” She slammed her mouth shut.

The word had been spoken in a deep, pleasantly masculine voice.

Somewhere in the small, dimly lit room, something exploded, thrown against the wall by a golden glow.

Nonono, my powers, the voice in her head wailed.

Caroline became aware of a weight on her back. She slowly turned her head – to face herself. Her own face, hidden beneath a mask, staring at her with wide eyes.

“You,” she whispered, and the ground beneath them cracked, a golden glow suffusing the fissures. “What did you do?”

PsyKick – she did not know how she knew that was his name, but she did – just shook his head soundlessly.

“Undo it!” she bellowed, and hated the way her voice boomed.

I just wanted to get inside your head.

“I can’t,” he said, voice squeaky, which only infuriated Caroline more. Her voice was not supposed to sound like that, never like that, never weak.

The voices in her head became a roar and before she quite knew how, he’d been lifted off of her. He desperately clawed at his glowing throat. Her throat. With her hands. Which he stole from her.

She tightened her grip, not even aware of how she was doing it. It was like there was a new sense, an extension of herself she could direct at will. He wheezed, lips moving as if trying to form words. His feet weren’t touching the ground anymore.

Getawaygetawaygetaway

And then he dissolved into light, the small white wisps escaping her ethereal grasp.


***


PsyKick fell from several feet up in the air onto the hard floor with a thump, groaning in pain. He rubbed his aching throat, coughing and rolling over to rest on his forearms.

Deep breaths.

The skin under his fingertips was so soft. There was no stubble.

He slowly raised his head to see where he landed.

His room. In the mansion. He exhaled in relief, only to be gripped by panic. He’d left his body behind! He needed to get back, right now, while it was still there, even if it was inhabited by a villain with unstable psychic powers.

But he didn’t know how to control his new powers either.

PsyKick tried to will himself to teleport, but he had no idea how it worked.

He lay curled up on the floor for a long moment, breathing heavily.

Mistress.

Shade.

They’d know what to do.

He raised his head, his gaze falling on the mirror.

PsyKick slowly reached up and pulled back the hood, and then tugged away the veil.

Long black locks fell around his shoulders, framing a beautiful face. She had high cheekbones and full lips, looking to be in her late twenties at most. But her most stunning feature was her eyes. He hadn’t seen them clearly in the dimly lit interrogation room, but they were an incredibly pale shade of blue, almost like ice.

He’d seen eyes like these before.

Then those eyes focused on shadows gathering behind him. PsyKick whirled around.

Kara stepped out of the dark mist with her brows drawn together. Now that he knew her better, he could actually read the worry on her seemingly stoic face. She’d likely heard his less than dignified entrance. That, or he’d tripped some silent alarm.

Her gaze locked on him and she froze, lips parting.

God, how to explain himself before she decided to attack the heavily armed stranger in her home. PsyKick opened his mouth, but before he could get a word out, Kara spoke.

“Caroline,” she said, voice breaking. Her pale eyes were shining.

PsyKick grew still when he realized Shade looked like she was on the verge of crying.

And then she tackled him, wrapping strong arms around his slender body in a tight embrace.

Of Heroes And Villains: The Ties That Bind An assassin. A fallen hero. An unlikely meeting. The road to redemption is long and hard and filled with explosives.

Caroline.

CarolineCarolineCaroline, her heart sang and Kara squeezed her even tighter, never wanting to let go. She kept chanting the name like a mantra, maybe even out loud, she couldn’t tell. Everything paled in comparison to the knowledge that she was holding her sister.

The sister who was supposed to be dead.

The sister who had been missing from Kara’s life for ten long years.

She had questions, of course she did. Where have you been? How did you get in here? What are you doing here? Why did you not come back sooner?

But none of them mattered, not right now.

“Caroline,” she sobbed, and her throat burned with unshed tears.

Caroline wasn’t hugging her back.

The piercing pain at the realization that her sister probably didn’t even recognize her was unlike anything she’d ever felt before.


***


Kara grew still, her labored breaths evening out.

PsyKick remained frozen, feeling like a horrible voyeur intruding on a moment that was clearly not meant for him, and one that Kara would hate him for having witnessed. The prospect of confessing his identity at this point had moved from mild embarrassment at his predicament to pure mortification.

“Caroline,” Kara murmured, nuzzling his cheek. “It’s me, it’s Ian.”

Ian.

Where is the real Ian?

And suddenly PsyKick understood with perfect clarity what his interrogation had been about.

“Oh god,” he whispered, horrified. Had she not been a villain after all? But she’d seemed ready to torture him for information. Out of desperation?

Kara grew rigid. “I know, I know, I’m sorry, I can’t help being like this–“

PsyKick interrupted her by pushing her off, uncomfortable beyond belief. Shade’s normally emotionless face flashed with deep hurt, which only made him feel worse.

“Kara, stop. I’m not… I’m not who you think I am.”

She froze. Then her brows furrowed, a calculating gleam in her red-rimmed eyes.

“You have five seconds to explain who you are and why you decided to appear in that form.” Her voice was flat.

“…PsyKick,” he admitted in a small voice.

Kara hissed in a sharp breath, and her fingers clenched. He did not need his powers to know that she was currently imagining throttling him.

“You know,” she said slowly, cold fury suffusing every word. “I could ask you where the fuck you’ve been, but instead I’ll say this: First, get out of my head. Second, start running, because I am about to get my blades and then I’ll fucking eviscerate you for this stunt.”

“I’m not in your head,” he said defensively, offended that she would even think him capable of such cruelty. Yes, he and Tex had played the occasional prank on Shade just to see if it would break the brooding vigilante’s composure. He’d been young and stupid, but even then PsyKick did not go out of his way to break into other people’s minds to dredge up painful memories. “This isn’t what you think.”

“Isn’t it?” Her eyes glittered dangerously. “Because I see the same fucking asshole who told everyone I was psychotic just because I was grieving.”

“Look, I don’t know who exactly Caroline is to you, but she just kidnapped and interrogated me to get to you, so do not give me shit over this.”

“…what.”

“And for the record, you were psychotic. I know what grief looks like and what you had wasn’t it!” Uncalled for, maybe, but PsyKick’s mood had finally hit rock bottom. He had been kidnapped, almost tortured and now was one dick short. He did not need misdeeds of another life thrown at him.

Shade didn’t even seem to hear him. “What did you just say about Caroline?”

PsyKick exhaled, rubbing his temple, trying to ignore the long hair he had to brush aside to do that. “A woman kidnapped me. Held a knife to me face. Asked me where the real Ian Reynolds was.” Kara’s lips parted. “I panicked and deactivated my cuff. I…”

She was staring at him with wide eyes.

“…I haven’t used my powers in three years, Shade. I was trying to defend myself.”

Kara reached out, brushing her fingertips along his cheekbones.

“Are you telling me,” she said slowly. “You’re in my sister’s body?”

Sister.

At length, PsyKick nodded.

“Where is she?” Kara was blinking rapidly again. “Tell me!”

“I left her. In my body. I don’t know where, I teleported here.”

“Get back. Now.”

“I can’t! I don’t know how!”

Shadows swirled around Kara and she briefly dissolved into them only to reappear instantly. “Picture destination, focus, teleport,” she hissed.

“I tried! Don’t pretend you learned control of your powers instantly!”

Kara’s eye twitched. Then she grew still, focused on something else entirely.

She suddenly lunged forward, brushing aside his long hair to reveal his neck, pushing back the coat. PsyKick squirmed under her rough manhandling, and realized with a start that Kara was bigger and stronger than him.

Kara made a choked sound that sounded like a suppressed No.

A swirl of shadows later she was gone, leaving PsyKick dazed and confused.

He slowly drew his knees to his chest, not quite certain what he was supposed to do now. It felt wrong, his breasts pressing up against his arms, and he shuddered.

Where was his Mistress? Maybe she would…

Do what? Tell him what to do? Let him curl up at her feet until he calmed down?

Hadn’t he been reveling in defiance less than an hour ago?

And now he just wanted to crawl back to grovel.

Numb, he forced himself to stand up, mechanically turning toward the mirror.

A woman stared back at him. Now that he knew what to look for, the resemblance to Kara was uncanny. Granted, she did not have her sister’s build – she was small and slender, yet when he laid a hand on his flat stomach he met the hard resistance of lady abs. He pulled away the trenchcoat to see what had caused Kara to look so devastated.

He hissed in a sharp breath at the sight.

Tattooed between his neck and right shoulder blade was a small yet ornate infinity symbol. PsyKick recognized it, as any hero of the city would.

It was the mark of the Order of Oblivion.

Somewhere in the mansion he heard the sound of glass shattering, as if somebody was smashing furniture in a blind rage.


***


Caroline writhed on the floor, clutching her head in agony.

The noise.

It wouldn’t stop.

Panting heavily, she forced herself to roll on her belly, drawing herself up in a crouch. This was just pain. She could handle pain. Radiance inhaled sharply and then exhaled at length, calming herself.

Or tried to.

Meditation was somewhat challenging. Emptying one’s mind was nigh impossible when there were about a thousand voices in the way.

The fissures to her feet deepened, glowing brightly.

She had no time for this.

Ian needed her.

That thought brought clarity. The roar of voices faded to a faint murmur in the back of her head, no louder than a brook in the woods. Caroline sat up and stared down at herself. She raised a hand to her flat chest, pressing her palm against it.

Despite her impression of him as gaunt, there were well-defined pectoral muscles there. Not a hint of the soft, yielding flesh she was used to. Yet when her hand slid lower, she could feel ribs shifting beneath the skin.

He’d either lost a lot of weight recently or had just started building muscle mass.

She got to her feet with a not-quite-voluntary grunt, and swayed. Then she took a tentative step forward and grimaced, wondering just how the fuck men walked with that thing in the way.

After a few more strides and almost losing her balance, she figured it out.

That she had reason to feel accomplished just for walking in a straight line sobered her. She couldn’t fight like this; her size, her strength, her balance, everything was off. The foundation on which she had built her martial arts style was gone. Given time, she could certainly learn to fight in this body as well, especially given the utterly insane levels of power it was equipped with, but it was time she did not have.

Caroline still did not understand how her scan had not picked up on him being this powerful. Subtle powers like her own could slip under the radar of detection tech if not in use, but this… The walls were cracking with the force of her anger, and she couldn’t even feel it costing her energy.

The man wearing her skin would no doubt figure out how to get back to his Mistress, and they would know that she was onto them. Would they accelerate their plans in response? Dispose of her brother even sooner?

The walls crumbled, and the ground shook.

And Caroline realized with chagrin that she would need to call for help.


***


Diane followed the sound of smashing furniture, absently pressing her sharp fingernails into the palm of her hand, drawing blood. It sounded like there was a battle going on; if Stephen truly had a relapse, she would need to subdue him.

Though hopefully just an order would do. If he didn’t listen to her, she supposed that would be progress as well.

But she found only Kara standing in the midst of the living room. The table was overturned, its legs broken, and the china in the glass cabinets was smashed. She was currently gearing up for another sweeping kick, her foot connecting with a drawer and splintering the wood.

“Good thing you killed that drawer; it had a very sinister air about it. No longer will it plot evilly against us.”

Kara froze, and then turned her head toward Diane in an eerily slow motion. She was breathing heavily and her eyes were narrowed in an expression Diane had not seen from her in quite some time. Hatred. Pain. Confusion.

Diane tentatively held out her hands.

Kara stayed where she was.

“A villain,” she hissed. It sounded like an accusation.

“Not anymore,” Diane replied in a gentle voice, taking a step forward. “What’s wrong?”

Kara turned away and half-heartedly kicked the base of the last standing cabinet.

“Go ask your minion upstairs.”

A moment later only black smoke remained, slowly dissipating in the air.

Diane stood frozen, and then slowly raised her head to gaze at the ceiling. She absently rubbed her aching chest, biting her lower lip at the almost unfamiliar pain. She’d be lying if she said they never had fights – their personalities and values simply clashed too much – but this was a different scale entirely. Kara had not looked at her like that since she’d reformed.

She made her way up to Stephen’s room, tentatively pushing open the door.

A scantily clad woman was standing in front of the full-length mirror, a white coat lying discarded at her feet. She was poking her small breasts, cupping them with a quizzical expression on her face.

Diane laughed in disbelief at the sense of déjà vu enveloping her.

The woman turned around, dropping her hands as if she’d burned them. And Diane recognized the face, even though she’d only seen it in old photographs and grainy footage.

“Mistress,” she said miserably, almost apologetically, as if expecting a terrible reaction from her.

“Stephen,” Diane said, keeping her voice steady and gentle. “What did you do?”


***


PsyKick exhaled softly, breathing more easily as his Mistress ran her fingers through his long hair. The sensation was unfamiliar but not unpleasantly so. He was lying curled up on his bed, his head resting on her lap.

Mistress sighed. “I’ll never understand heroes. One would think Kara would be happy that Caroline is alive, even if you two started off on the wrong foot.”

“She threatened to torture me,” he murmured.

She waved her hand as if to say Details. Sometimes he forgot that Diane truly had been a villain, with all the lack of morality that entailed. Which was a little strange, considering the only reason she was his Mistress was that lack of morality.

His brows furrowed a little as he examined that thought process. That didn’t sound right.

He turned over, gazing up at her. He hadn’t wanted to do what the villainess said, but if Diane were to give him an order right now, he was certain he’d follow it. But if not because of her being a villainess, then why?

He examined her beautiful face as she absently chewed on her lower lip, and realized that she genuinely did not understand the gravity of what Caroline was. He tilted his head, exposing his neck, splaying his fingertips over the brand.

“Look.”

Her red eyes were blank as she gazed at his throat.

“That’s the symbol for The Order of Oblivion. A loose collective of assassins.”

She exhaled. “Villains can reform.”

“Not them. Even if they wanted to.”

Her brows furrowed. “Explain,” she demanded, and the urge to obey pricked his temper. Since when did orders from her bother him? He realized with a start that she hadn’t given him any in weeks, always taking great care to never outright tell him what to do.

“There was a heroine a couple of years ago. Crimson Lotus. Martial artist augmented with technology. Quite skilled. She became a 7 within months, saving countless lives. Despite the fame and admiration she quickly gathered, she avoided the spotlight. It turned out she did so for good reason – a reporter dug too deep and exposed her past as a member of the Order.”

He paused.

“Not three days after that, she was found dead in Atlas Square. The sword in her chest had the symbol of the Order engraved on it. A warning to those considering a similar path. Service in the Order is for life.”

PsyKick closed his eyes, absently tracing the black ink.

“Deserters are executed.”


***


Caroline growled low in her throat as she kept hitting the wrong numbers with her clumsy, too-big fingers, trying to dial her too-small phone. She punched in the last number and held the phone to her ear.

Radiance avoided contracts in Paragon City like the plague. True, she had personal reasons for that, but the Order also had the metropolis well covered and would have utilized a teleporter for more remote regions anyway.

The dial tone was cut off with the crackle of static.

“Radiance,” greeted a cold, flat voice.

If this PsyKick was just a minion, facing the people in charge in an unfamiliar body with power that she could barely control by herself was beyond foolish. While she disliked the top operative in the city, for her brother nothing but the best would do.

“Executioner,” she said as silkily as she could with her new deep voice. “I have a job for you.”

Of Heroes And Villains: The Ties That Bind An assassin. A fallen hero. An unlikely meeting. The road to redemption is long and hard and filled with explosives.

Kara buried her face in her hands.

“Why is it,” she whispered. “That the two people I love most in the world are villains?”

David awkwardly stroked her hair.

After a moment’s hesitation, he also wrapped an arm around her.

She leaned into the hug.


***


After the Executioner had finished chuckling dryly about her gender change, he made a cryptic remark about it going around. Caroline did not exactly keep track of Paragon’s caped community, but she had heard of the hero Executioner had something of a rivalry with. Apparently he’d had a good laugh about said hero having a magical accident that turned him into a woman, and Executioner had declared that he was now weak and no longer a challenge.

Then the newly female hero had kicked his ass.

And then the female half of the Order had a good laugh at Executioner’s expense, Caroline included.

Still, overconfidence and subsequent karma notwithstanding, Radiance knew him to be highly skilled, and after a little negotiation, he agreed to assist her.

For a price, of course. Nothing worth having was ever truly free in the Order.

“Ian Reynolds,” she said. “I want you to find out everything you can about him or any operations involving Reynolds Industries. You know the Paragon underworld. Rumors, hearsay, I don’t care. Everything.”

“Done.” And he hung up.

Radiance slowly lowered the phone, staring at it as she folded her hands in her lap.

She had rushed in, not knowing remotely enough about who she was facing, and paid for it dearly. She could not afford to make that mistake again. Executioner would contact her as soon as he found anything of interest. That could be hours, or days. Likely days. She knew the Order itself could not be involved; Ian was marked.

The Order of Oblivion never broke contracts, with one exception: every operative could enter a name upon joining, and then a new name for every 5 years of service thereafter. The people thus marked would never be targeted, every contract that would involve harming them turned down, and existing contracts of the same nature broken. It was an open secret that many skilled operatives were coerced into joining the Order using this system. Target a loved one, send assassin after assassin, until the potential recruit gave in and bought the target’s safety with their life.

Radiance had not been subject to that particular form of blackmail, but had entered Ian’s name as soon as she found out it was possible. As the sole heir to a billion-dollar company, enemies were inevitable, so Caroline had taken comfort in the knowledge that she’d made him a little safer. Of course, she kept him safe best by staying far away. Or so she’d thought.

As she kept staring at her lap, her gaze couldn’t help but stray. To her muscular thighs. To her tan arms. To the bulge that should not be there.

Well.

She curiously traced her fingertips along the length and shuddered at the sensation. Surprisingly, being aware of her own body seemed to push back the voices still screaming for attention, so she did it again. Her fingertips made the noise in her head fade to no more than whisper until awareness of the tingling sensation left in the wake of her touch dominated her senses.

Caroline blinked, dazed, and snapped back her hand when she realized she was growing hard.

Fuck, she was not going to experiment with her new dick while Ian was still in danger.

…she had time for that later.


***


PsyKick lay in bed, trying hard to ignore the feeling of his breasts rising and falling with each breath. Diane had left, presumably to look for Kara, telling him to stay here for now. It had been a command, and now he found himself resenting being treated like a child. By what right did she order him around?

Well, the right he had given her, time and again.

Knowing that the compulsion to serve evil had faded somewhat had shifted something deep inside of him. He couldn’t tell himself that he had to serve her anymore.

But he wanted to.

He gritted his teeth and rolled over, trying to put the matter out of his mind.

The only other topic that demanded his attention was the one he’d been studiously ignoring.

This body.

This very, very female body.

He peered down at himself, brushing aside his long curls to reveal his… cleavage. Caroline’s breasts were lovely. They weren’t very big, probably just barely filling out a B cup, but they were perfectly shaped. He reached out with a ridiculously dainty hand, circling one of the perky nipples. It immediately stood at attention, poking through the thin fabric of the white shirt, and he moaned softly at the sensation.

There was probably something seriously wrong with getting turned on by the sound of one’s own voice, but PsyKick hadn’t heard a sound like that from a woman in over three years.

Heat clenched in his belly in what was possibly the female equivalent of arousal.

He squeezed the soft flesh and it turned out lady boners could throb, too.

Feeling vaguely dirty for groping a body he definitely had no right to grope, he withdrew his hand and stared at the ceiling, wishing that there was something he could do.

He sat up when he realized there was.


***


Diane blinked sleepily when a hand gently brushed her shoulder, and she raised her head. Her neck protested the movement, feeling stiff and cold. She lay curled up against one of Kara’s training dummies, thinking that this was the place Kara would likely return to when trying to work out her issues. Kara’s first reaction when faced with an unknown emotion that was on the non-shallow side of the pool was still intense violence.

Diane realized she must have nodded off.

Pale blue eyes were gazing down at her.

“Hey,” Kara said in a soft voice.

Diane slowly reached out to curl her fingers around Kara’s hand.

“I’m sorry.”

“Not a villain.”

“I know.”

There was a long silence.

Kara slowly sank to her knees. She buried her face in Diane’s neck, breathing heavily.

“Caroline’s a murderer.”

“You don’t know that.”

Kara laughed humorlessly. “It’s in the job description.”

Diane said nothing.

“And the worst part is,” Kara continued. “I don’t even care. The only thing I keep thinking about…”

She curled up in Diane’s arms.

“She left me. She was alive all this time and she just… left me. Alone.”


***


PsyKick’s closed his eyes, blinking sleepily as he finally drifted off into the hazy twilight of dreams.

Except that dreams, for a psychic, were never hazy.

It didn’t matter that he currently could not access his powers, nor had it mattered in the hospital. His mind was permanently altered by what he, at his core, was. It was why, despite the power dampeners he’d once had implanted, no other psychic had managed to break into his mind to cure the damage. He had not let them; the power dampeners prevented external expression of his powers, but in his mindscape, he was king.

PsyKick was fairly certain he had given some of the psychic healers who’d tried to help him brain damage. He hoped it was of the non-permanent variety.

He raised his head, opening his eyes. Walls towered over him, reaching high into the non-existent sky and losing themselves in nothingness. He’d once visualized his mental defenses as an endless expanse of white marble, but now the walls loomed, sinister, like a prison, enclosing his barren and shattered mindscape.

The imaginary ground he was standing on was cracked and fractured. In the distance he could see deep and gaping canyons, as if something vast and powerful had ripped the very earth to shreds.

That had been him, carving away parts of his personality to shape himself into the kind of person Cinder Snow’s orders demanded he be.

She’d never been content to just order him to commit villainous acts. That, that would have been easy to recover from. He, better than most, knew just how little responsibility the mindcontrolled bore for their actions. But Cinder Snow didn’t order him to just do things, she ordered him to enjoy them. To want them.

And when given the choice between either molding himself to be as evil as she was, or just to crave following evil orders, he had made himself an all-too-eager slave. Submission, in its own weird way, had been his last act of defiance.

But now he couldn’t recover what he’d stripped away. It was just gone.

And whenever PsyKick dreamed of his mindscape, he was reminded of the loss, of knowing just how altered he was. He gazed at the bottomless pit stretching out in front of him, idly wondering just what part of his personality it used to hold. He couldn’t remember.

Part of why psychic surgery on one’s own self was a terrible idea: It lacked perspective. The memories of what, exactly, he’d done to himself were gone as well.

He shook his head, clearing the melancholy that always enveloped him when he visited his mindscape, and focused on why he was here.

He gazed down at himself. Here, in this world of his mind’s creation, he inhabited his proper body as he saw himself. Not Caroline’s body, not the skinny twig he was nowadays, but what he used to look like – lean, yet muscular.

And wearing his old costume.

He scowled.

With little more than a thought, it dissolved, leaving him standing in just a shirt and jeans.

For all his hopeful progress today, he did not have the right to wear that.

(Not yet, insisted a part of him.)

PsyKick raised his head, gaze faraway as he scanned the landscape for anomalies.

And there it was. A glimmer across the expanse.

He took a step forward and instantly found himself in front of the far away wall. Distance – or rather, the very concept of physics – had little meaning here.

His mental defenses had been breached. There was a gaping hole in the wall in front of him, a swirling vortex of silver light at its very center.

As he had hoped.

While PsyKick had never before performed a full body swap, he had taken control of other people’s bodies plenty of times, and there was one thing he knew: it required a continuous mental connection.

Outside his walls, inside that glowing portal, lay Caroline’s mindscape.

PsyKick took a deep breath, even though there was no air.

He stepped through.

And fell.

Of Heroes And Villains: The Ties That Bind By Minikisa An assassin. A fallen hero. An unlikely meeting. The road to redemption is long and hard and filled with explosives.

PsyKick was falling through the night sky, the black expanse studded with stars shining like diamonds within vast and glowing nebulae.

This did not especially worry him.

He simply enjoyed the stunning view, reaching out to brush his imaginary fingers through ethereal star dust. It was surprisingly warm, as if he’d tipped his hand into a pleasantly hot bath.

Fascinating.

And not what he’d expected from the mindscape of an assassin.

Despite the long fall, he landed softly, barely bending his knee at the impact, as if he’d just stepped off no more than a raised sidewalk. His feet sank into the soft earth, not even visible beneath the white glowing mist drifting above the ground.

PsyKick slowly raised his head, gazing around with interest.

Caroline’s mind bore little resemblance to his, but that was to be expected. Hers was the mind of someone without mental powers, wild and untamed. Small islands of light stretched out before him, each holding part of her personality and associated memories. There were no walls, only an endless expanse of black that likely looped back in on itself. He knew that he could take a step forward and end up somewhere far behind. Traveling through this landscape would follow all the logic of a dream, which was to say, none at all.

It was also one of the more beautiful minds he’d seen.

The minds of professional killers were usually cold and desolate wastes.

The light shining all around him was pleasantly warm.

He wasn’t sure what to make of it.

PsyKick wondered if he should tell Kara about this. It might ease some of the devastation he’d seen on her face. Then again, he wasn’t sure just how comforting she’d find the opinion that her sister’s mind was pretty.

Perhaps if he could bring back more substantial observations…

Generally, PsyKick respected privacy. Sometimes his powers made him perceive more than he truly wished to, but he simply pretended he’d never seen it, nor did he pry further. The only minds he’d ever deliberately spied on had been villains.

Caroline fit the bill, but he still wasn’t sure if it would be the right thing to do.

He had come here to talk to her, nothing more. Clear up her misconceptions, and then hopefully talk her into using his powers to switch bodies once more.

PsyKick took a step forward, gazing around. He was in a ghostly temple, of sorts, the transparent spires rising high above. The architecture appeared to be ancient Persian. An Order headquarters? Although their influence was global and their strongest presence was actually in East Asia, they had originated in the Middle East, many centuries ago.

He wondered if its real world counterpart was truly this gigantic, or if she simply remembered it as this ominously looming.

PsyKick slowly made his way up the stairs; it stretched and lengthened, making the ascent seemingly neverending, but he just kept putting one foot in front of the other, reminding himself that any exhaustion he thought he felt was just a figment of his imagination.

Finally, he arrived at the grand entrance, the heavy gates creaking open as he approached them. He stepped over the threshold and found himself in a small room, the ghostly glow of the exterior giving way to the solid walls of a dungeon, signaling this to be a very vivid memory. Every detail of the cell stood in sharp relief, and none more so than the man chained to the wall. He looked old, his every breath wheezing.

Caroline lay on the floor, curled up in a ball. Around her neck was a collar, one PsyKick recognized as a crude power suppressor; an old, bulky model from when the tech had still been in its infancy, quite different from the sleek, thin bracelet he had worn.

Her skeletal hand slowly, very slowly inched toward a dagger lying not far from her.

A man’s disembodied voice echoed through the room.

“Pick up the knife, and you can eat.” Her fingers closed around the handle. She slowly raised her head to gaze at the chained man. Her icy eyes burned with hatred.

A gunshot rang out, and PsyKick whirled around, only to realize it was another memory, another time, casting its shadow over this one. An unseen man roared, only to be silenced by a second gunshot.

He could hear Caroline getting up behind him, slowly and painstakingly, but he did not turn to watch. Instead, he walked toward the cell door, even as he heard her stumble and choke, and pushed it open, shading his eyes against the blinding light on the other side.

The door slammed shut behind him and he turned to blink at it, slightly dazed.

The dungeon door stood alone, connecting to nothing, at the very edge of one of the floating islands he’d seen. When his gaze strayed beyond, he could see the temple in the distance, hovering somewhere far beneath.

Tiny threads of light were fanning from the edges of the door and it took him a moment to recognize them for what they were.

Fractures.

Scars in the very fabric of her being.

Not the deep canyons of his own mindscape, but broken nonetheless.

Kindred.

The thought came unbidden and he pushed it away, turning on his heels, and then hissed in a sharp breath at the sight before him.

No, not like me at all.

He’d arrived at the center of her mind, her core, around which all the other islands aligned. And unlike the withered husk that stood at the center of his mindscape, this one burned bright in a multitude of prismatic colors.

PsyKick had never found the words to describe to others what a mind looked like to him. It was shaped like a human, yet also not at all, its form flowing and changing and still so very recognizable as the person it belonged to. PsyKick knew exactly what Willpower looked like, but could not hope to actually draw a picture of it.

Caroline’s core was the very essence of Willpower, mixed with Longing – for what? he wondered – all entwined with Love and Hatred, held together with adamant Determination.

Perhaps she’d yielded, but this was not the spirit of someone broken.

Above all, PsyKick thought she was beautiful, his rapt gaze on the swirling light for a long time. His fingers itched to touch it, even though he knew that such contact would be far too intimate, and that was something to say for someone currently inhabiting her body.

That thought brought him back to the purpose of his visit. Whatever he might have seen in passing, he was not here to spy. He thoughtfully gazed at the glowing isles studding the firmament.

He needed to find the conscious part of her and get its attention. Since she had his powers, theoretically she should sense his intrusion, but he doubted she understood the sensation she was feeling, let alone possessed the control to appear in her mindscape at will.

PsyKick would have to wait until she fell asleep as well, and hope she dreamt of the path he was on. Of course, there were ways in which he could increase the likelihood of running into her. He just had to choose a spot she was likely to think about.

In the distance, he saw a very familiar mansion hovering in the sky.

Where is the real Ian?

Bingo.

Now to figure out how to get there without his powers


***


Caroline paced the length of the abandoned warehouse with long strides, rubbing her temples. Just when she thought she had begun to figure out how to quiet the voices down, suddenly they’d become unbearable once more.

One voice kept surfacing, she was certain of it, but she couldn’t hear it over the others. Only once did the word beautiful ring loud and clear in her mind before it faded to a low murmur.

She slumped against the stained wall, exhausted.

Caroline didn’t even have an apartment in the city. She’d just counted on being able to teleport to one of the nice cozy cabins she kept sprinkled all over the world. To rent a hotel room was to leave a hint to her presence. Radiance never left a trail to follow. That, after all, was what made teleporters so desirable in her line of work – the ability to be untraceable, to skip borders and customs, to strike anywhere in the world while her headquarters were elsewhere.

But now she was trapped.

Even if she had somewhere to go, she couldn’t actually step foot outside. She’d tried and as soon as she got near the more populated areas, she’d all but passed out at the overwhelming mental feedback.

She drew her knees up to her chest, breathing calmly and evenly.

Radiance could go days without sleep if necessary, and would have refrained from it until she had more word on Ian, but… perhaps being rested would help her mental discipline. She was completely useless like this.

Her eyelids drooped and her head slumped. Sleep came to her within minutes.


***


The little boy pressed himself against the tree trunk, narrowing his eyes at his target. Then he darted to the next tree, hiding behind that one. Or trying, to, anyway. Using flailing somersaults and rolls into low crouches as a primary mode of transportation was really not all that stealthy.

Nonetheless, the young teenage girl did not appear to notice him – not until he tackled her from behind. Then she suddenly whipped around and caught him, prompting a child’s high-pitched shriek of protest.

“You fool!” she crowed. “You have walked right into my trap, oh mighty Captain Patriot! Now face the wrath… of my hug!”

“Ah! Curse you, villain!” the black-haired boy yelled, and failed to wiggle out of her tight embrace.

The future assassin laughed, and the boy who would become one of the most brutal vigilantes Paragon had ever known giggled in response.

“Three out of five?” Ian offered.

“You’ll never defeat me,” Caroline said smugly.

And PsyKick watched the two children fade away, only for the two of them – older, now – to run past him.

The mansion and the surrounding estate were filled with echoes of the two of them. PsyKick had yet to see their parents.

Their forms were slightly blurred and shiny; he was watching the memories dulled yet enhanced by the filter of nostalgia. PsyKick wondered if Shade had truly been that happy a child or if that, too, was just Caroline’s perception; watching the shy boy he had known mostly as a violently unstable hero was beyond surreal.

Getting here had taken some twists and turns in Caroline’s labyrinthine mind, stumbling upon more memories – some quite disturbing – but he’d finally found the way and was now whiling away the time.

The love that permeated this part of her mind was palpable.

And he’d reached the conclusion that whatever Caroline was, she was not evil.

But not good either.

A breeze rustled the estate’s trees – only to turn into a gale, ripping away the leaves until they were left skeletal and barren. The three sets of siblings that had still been playing in one form or another dissolved into nothingness.

PsyKick raised his head.

She was here.

The assassin stood not far from him, white hood drawn over her face. Unlike his mental projection, hers was not fully corporeal, flickering like the image of an old TV.

“You.”

He saw her lips move, yet that was not where her voice was coming from. It reverberated all around him, the very ground shaking at the low rumble.

“You don’t belong here.”

“I don’t,” he agreed, watching her with apprehension. He was not sure how sentient her dream-self would be, but hoped she would be rational enough for a conversation.

The gale became stronger until he had to shield his eyes against it.

“Get out.”

“Don’t you want your body back, Caroline?” he yelled over the howling wind.

The landscape froze. PsyKick saw one of the leaves tossed around by the wind hanging suspended in the air.

Caroline cocked her head and even though he could not see her eyes, he was certain they were narrowed.

“Did you pluck my name from my mind, PsyKick?” she hissed.

“Ian told me.”

The ground shook with the force of her anger.

“Well, look who suddenly knows Ian Reynolds after all.” Her voice was laced with contempt. “What did you do to him?”

“Nothing!”

“Liar!”

The wind started howling once more, and PsyKick had to yell over it to make himself heard.

“Your brother is not in the danger you think he’s in!”

The ground to his feet cracked, rocky pillars breaking through and encasing him in a makeshift prison.

“Nobody has replaced him!”

The pillars only grew higher.

“For god’s sake, you have my powers, you can tell when I’m lying!”

That gave her pause.

The wind died down.

And then something vast and powerful crashed against his walls, her inquisitive probing performed with all the skill of… something that wasn’t very good at mindreading. He would think of a better analogy when his mind wasn’t being assaulted.

“Not so hard,” he gritted out, and then reluctantly lowered one of his walls to confirm the truth of his statements as he repeated them. “Ian Reynolds is alive and well. I’m not involved in some sinister plot to replace him, nor are any of the people you saw in the mansion.” He had seen that particular memory while making his way here, freshly burned into her mind.

Caroline said nothing for a long moment.

“Someone was masquerading as him with an illusion.” And for the first time, he heard doubt in the booming voice.

“With Ian’s full consent and knowledge.”

Another slam against his walls and he struggled to draw them back up.

“There’s something you’re not telling me,” she hissed. “I can feel it.”

“Yes. Yes, there is. That’s Ian’s secret to tell you, not mine.” Between teleportation apparently running in the family and a sudden gender swap, the obvious conclusion was not far away. Whatever kind of person Caroline was, she was still a member of the Order, and he was not about to blithely reveal Shade’s secret identity to an assassin, sister or not. Kara could decide for herself if she wanted to take that risk.

There was another lengthy pause.

“…and who are you to my brother, then?”

The answer came to his lips with surprising ease. Despite their less than pleasant history and her harsh words today, Shade had taken him in when he had nowhere else to go, and helped him when everyone else had already given up.

“A friend.”


***


Caroline wondered if this was even real. Everything was slightly blurred, with that nonsensical dreamy quality to it, yet he stood out in sharp relief, like a live action character in an animated world.

She really hoped it wasn’t.

Yet something told her this was very real.

Which meant…

“Did Ian see you?” she whispered, eyes wide. “In my body?”

He gave a slow nod, and for a moment she saw double, a swirl of color she thought was emotion. But she couldn’t tell what they corresponded to.

“Did you tell him what I did to you?”

“Yes.” His voice was almost gentle, which made no sense, because she had been ready to torture him, Ian’s friend, and now Ian knew what kind of person she’d become.

She wrapped her arms tightly around herself, and that, too, felt real, as if she was back in her body.

Caroline averted her gaze and stared at the starry sky above instead. It was darkening, one light going out after the other.

Of Heroes And Villains: The Ties That Bind By Minikisa An assassin. A fallen hero. An unlikely meeting. The road to redemption is long and hard and filled with explosives.

INTERLUDE


Caroline is 5 years old when Ian is born.

Nothing really changes. Her parents make her look at the tiny thing that looks like a wrinkled prune, and then she goes on with her life. He gets his own nanny, so he doesn’t take the affection of hers away. Their parents go back to work and don’t pay attention to either of them.

But.

His screaming annoys her to no end. Their rooms are in different wings of their mansion but she can still hear him in the night.

She pulls her pillow over her head and tries to shut out the wailing.

It doesn’t work.

With a huff she gets up and tiny feet patter across the long and winding hallways to the source of the crying. Caroline is going to make him shut up, so she can sleep.

She gets on her toes and pushes open the heavy door, ready to face her adversary.

He quiets down when he sees her.

She takes a tentative step forward.

He smiles toothlessly.

And Caroline realizes she kind of loves that weird little thing.


***


Ian pushes open the door of his sister’s room, rubbing his eyes.

She’s bent over her desk, scribbling something, presumably her homework.

“Shouldn’t you be in bed, young man?”

Ian’s small face screws up in a ferocious baby scowl. She knows he hates it when she calls him that.

“Can’t sleep,” he murmurs.

Caroline lays down her pen and swivels around in her chair, steepling her fingers. There’s a mischievous gleam in her eyes that Ian knows heralds adventure.

“Well, that won’t do.”


***


Ian is 9 when Caroline is kidnapped for ransom.

She returns only two days later, save and unharmed. Ian cries when he sees her and sleeps in her bed that night. She promises not to tell anyone about that.

In the weeks to come, Ian follows her everywhere, like the world’s tiniest and angriest shadow.

Eventually, Caroline sighs and takes him aside.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

His childish face twists in a glare, his delicate jaw set in determination. His voice is extremely high-pitched when he declares, “Protecting you from bad men.”

Caroline realizes she may be biased, but it’s an undisputable fact that she has the most adorable little brother in the whole freaking world.


***


Puberty hits Ian like a truck, and he grows distant.

Caroline, remembering her own awkward hormonal stage, thinks little of it. She’ll give him space if that is what he wants. He’ll come to her with his problems eventually, as he always does.

Still, she can’t help but be a little concerned as she watches her shy yet affectionate baby brother turn into a cold and brooding teenager.


***


What am I doing?

Ian furtively glances around, even though he knows perfectly well that he is alone. His mother is at the office, his father is pretending to be at his office but is far more likely to be with his secretary, and Caroline is at college and only ever comes home during the weekends anymore, if that.

He is in her room.

And eyeing her closet, which he knows is filled to the brim with stylish designer clothes.

Stop it.

Ian tentatively takes a step forward, and then another, and then pulls the doors open with shaking fingers.

Go back.

His eyes linger on Caroline’s skirt collection for a long moment, and he swallows heavily.

It won’t even fit.

Ian has finally hit his growth spurt. He’s always been small for his age, thin and a little delicate looking, which was embarrassing as hell when his classmates all towered over him.

Except now Ian towers over everyone else, even his parents

His weight hasn’t quite caught up with his bones yet; he looks thin and gangly and kind of awkward, but his father approves anyway, saying he’ll fill out soon enough. And then he’ll be a younger copy of his father.

His father looks as handsome as a movie star.

The thought of looking like him makes Ian nauseous, and he doesn’t know why.

Maybe it’s just the thought of being like him.

His fingertips trail along the silky fabric of a gown, marveling at its smoothness. He wonders what it would feel like to wear it. Maybe… just for a few minutes…

No!

He flinches when he realizes he’s thinking about wearing a dress and god, what is wrong with him, why does he have to be like this, why can’t he be normal?

He slowly backs out of the closet, away from the gowns, and his back hits another cabinet. Ian glances down and swallows.

He’s found her lingerie drawer.

It’s stuffed to the brim. Ian’s hand reaches in without him consciously willing it.

Pretty.

He traces the shape of a delicate stich pattern, never having felt anything like it.

Ian glances around again with shifty eyes.

There’s so many. Surely Caroline won’t notice one pair of panties missing, right? Just one.

That’s Caroline’s!

That, more than anything, gives him pause. Ian slowly withdraws his hand as shame writhes in his belly.

He is standing in his sister’s room, thinking about taking things that belong to her. His sister, who is the only one in this cold family who ever showed affection, who hugged him, who told him she loved him.

And he is thinking about stealing from her to fuel this perverse obsession.

He darts out of the room and slams the door behind him.


***


“Everything’s going to be fine.”

Ian stares at the ransom demand in the form of a video message, eyes wide. He realizes his hands are shaking so he folds them over his muscular chest.

She is lying.

For him. His sister has a great poker face – something he knows from many, many rounds of lost card games – and she is using it there. Ian can tell.

He hadn’t handled her last kidnapping well, true, but he’d been a child then. He’s almost an adult now, he can handle this, she should worry about her own safety instead of putting on a show for him.

His vision is blurry and he quickly wipes a hand over his eyes before anyone sees.

He can handle this.

His parents are preparing the money.

Everything’s going to be just fine.


***


Ian’s eyes are distant as the lawyer talks at him about inheritance and legal guardians and grief counseling. He isn’t listening.

The only thing he hears is the howl of rage inside of him.

Ian is 15 years old when he learns what hatred is.

Of Heroes And Villains: The Ties That Bind By Minikisa An assassin. A fallen hero. An unlikely meeting. The road to redemption is long and hard and filled with explosives.

Something brushed her shoulder and Caroline jerked back. The man – PsyKick, why was her brother friends with people who kept codenames anyway? – had somehow crossed the distance between them and was now awkwardly patting her shoulder. It felt surreal, not like a real touch, but an echo of one. Her skin that wasn’t even real skin tingled where his image touched her.

She stared at him.

“I’ve asked this before, but what’s wrong with you? I had you strapped to a table and now you’re, what, trying to comfort the woman who threatened to scalp you?”

He shrugged, a small smile curving his lips. She realized he looked different, not as gaunt, but strong and broad. “And as I told you before, I was having a great time.”

She laughed, the sound choked and hollow, her voice distorted in this weird space. “Liar.”

“You think I’m bluffing, but I’m not.”

His face sobered as he gazed down at her.

“Ian was very happy to see you. Me. In your body.”

“Stop reading my mind,” she said flatly.

He spread his arms wide. “I’m in your mind. I can’t help it if you don’t guard your thoughts.”

“Then get out.” She turned away.

He caught her wrist. “There’s still the matter of our bodies.”

“Undo it.”

“I can’t. You have my powers.”

Her brows furrowed. “If you don’t have powers then how are you here?”

“Ah, well.” He made a vague gesture as he seemed to strain for words. “Body swaps require a…connection. A bridge. It’s how you entered my body after I accidentally pushed you out of yours, even though you don’t have psychic powers of your own. I used that to get here, but I can’t do anything more than that. You have to fix us.”

Caroline chewed on that for a long moment.

“I can’t even keep the voices out.”

His face fell somewhat. “I figured. You’ll have to learn.”

“Learn how?”

PsyKick shrugged, and then held out his hand. “I’ll teach you.”

Caroline eyed his hand, not understanding why he was speaking to her so kindly. She reviewed the possibilities and eventually settled on manipulation. He probably thought he’d get her to cooperate more easily if he was nice.

She supposed they could keep up a cordial relationship until this whole mess was behind them.

And then…

Ian knew what she was.

A cold breeze made her skin echo with goose bumps, running both hot and cold.

Ian was safe. He clearly had powerful friends who looked out for him. Her interference had achieved nothing but pain all around; she didn’t think she’d even be able to keep up her surveillance of him if he knew to look for her. How could she ever stand to look him in the eyes?

Once she had her body she’d leave Paragon and never look back.


***


PsyKick sat on the floating island, gazing out at the stunning firmament, and wondered if Caroline had any idea what she was doing to him. He would ask her to stop it, but if she didn’t know, then he’d be handing her a weapon.

The key to keeping out the thoughts of others was to build walls. To build walls one had to want to protect something. As such, it was best to focus on something positive in one’s mind, guard it, and then expand from there. It created a safe haven into which one could retreat and which would, in time, grow to encompass the entire mind.

Caroline was meditating in the midst of one of her little islands, the one that held her core, suffusing it with contentment and happiness as best as she could.

Upset as she was, she was clearly straining to find positive emotions to build her Happy Place with.

Because she was reaching for arousal.

There wasn’t really anything wrong with that strategy; physical stimulation was one of the sensations best suited to grounding oneself in one’s own mind and body. Clever of her to figure that out.

He just wished she had figured that out sometime when he wasn’t right next to her.

Looking at the beauty of her inner mind really wasn’t helping him dispel these thoughts.

She’s an assassin, he reminded himself. Villain. Evil.

Of course, his crazed mind only liked that all the more, responding with a pleased purr.

He shifted uncomfortably and crossed his legs, glad that he wasn’t actually here physically. That would be hard to hide – actually, it wouldn’t be, would it? Having spent his puberty around teenage girls with the ability to read their minds, he knew they could easily get as horny as their male counterparts did, except they could hide all evidence of it. As a teenager fighting to conceal an erection at the worst possible times, he’d been rather envious their ability to carry on normal conversations while thinking about how they were soaking their panties.

High School had been a special kind of hell for him. Not only did he have to contend with his own hormones, he’d lived everyone else’s puberty by proxy.

His thoughts drifted off as he became aware of what his body was doing, the warmth of Caroline’s mindscape fading into the background. He could feel the heavy fabric of a blanket rubbing up against his sensitive chest, his skin prickling with awareness of every light touch. He heard himself sigh in a voice that was definitely not his own, soft hands slowly gliding down his subtly curved belly…

“What are those colors?”

PsyKick jumped, whirling around, the mindscape sharpening as he slipped back into the dream.

Caroline was watching him with interest, standing so very close to him. Her concentration had succeeded in immersing her more deeply in this mental state – she was no longer flickering, and was now almost as solid and sentient as he was.

“…colors?” He knew his imaginary mouth could not possibly be dry, but it certainly felt like it.

“Around you. They weren’t there before.”

PsyKick checked his walls, which were solid as always. He really shouldn’t be projecting anything, not even when in the middle of her domain.

The connection. He groaned softly at the realization that she was theoretically capable of prying just as much as he was.

“Ah. Just emotions,” he said evasively, and she cocked her head, her gaze sliding past him entirely to the swirl only she could see. Her fingertips traced the invisible shape, even though he knew it to be as intangible as smoke. Caroline’s eyes glazed over in bliss and he shuddered.

“They feel…” she murmured, trailing off, and PsyKick tried very hard to look utterly innocent.

She dropped her hand.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Many things,” he repeated.

She frowned at him.

“But that’s not one of them,” he said, at length.

Her frown only deepened.

PsyKick weighed his words carefully. He had seen that flare of self-loathing, and he wasn’t quite sure why, but it bothered him. “You are beautiful. And I mean inside.” He raised his gaze to the firmament that still was not glowing nearly as brightly as it had when he had entered.

She chuckled humorlessly. “It’s just light. Far too many people confuse something being shiny with it being good.”

“I have seen many minds,” he said simply. “I know what I’m talking about when I say yours stands out.”

Her image flickered.

“Do you even understand what I am?”

“Order of Oblivion. I know.” He paused. “But I saw more than that.”

The pleasantly warm breeze turned freezing.

“I know I played a part in pushing you into breaking in here, but if you read intimate memories of mine again as if you have any right to see them, I will give you back your body in a condition you will not like.”

He exhaled. “Fair enough. But I saw what I saw.”

She said nothing, taking a step forward and ending up close to her shining core behind them to resume her meditation.

“I’m close to waking up,” he called after her. “So I’ll be leaving for now.”

She briefly met his gaze.

“Do not tell Ian what you saw,” she said through clenched teeth as the dream started splintering around him.


***


PsyKick woke up to a body aching with need. He groaned softly and it ended up a feminine whimper. He rolled over to bite the pillow, willing himself not to touch the body that was not his.

As she had made very clear, he had no right to it.

Of Heroes And Villains: The Ties That Bind By Minikisa An assassin. A fallen hero. An unlikely meeting. The road to redemption is long and hard and filled with explosives.

Waking up felt bizarre.

It wasn’t the slow drift into consciousness or a sudden awakening. It was like stepping from one room to another, yet she also felt strangely refreshed for it.

Caroline groaned when the voices instantly started whispering to her, and shook her head to clear it. Her neck felt stiff, and her muscles protested her every movement as she pushed herself to stand up, using the wall she’d been leaning against for balance.

Her pants felt painfully tight. Her gaze dropped down.

Wonderful.

She didn’t think abandoned factories came equipped with cold showers.

If she ignored it, surely it would go away on its own. Right? Right.

She half-stumbled to the small storage room she had used for interrogation, rubbing her forehead as she strove to ignore both the voices and the throbbing.

The voices were bearable today. Not an overwhelming roar, but a low murmur that nonetheless made it hard to think. Perhaps her meditation in that place with his instructions had helped, or perhaps she was cracking under the strain and it had all just been a really fucking weird dream.

One way to find out.

Caroline pushed open the door, meeting some resistance as she was pushing against the rubble and the various metal instruments strewn on the floor. She absently flipped the light switch, turning on a dim, flickering bulb, and then started searching the wreckage for the bracelet he’d worn.

It took her a few minutes to find it wedged between the gurney and a fissure in the floor, and she turned it over thoughtfully.

Then she closed it around her wrist. The metal instantly molded itself to her tan skin.

Silence.

Beautiful silence.

Caroline exhaled in relief, closing her eyes.

He had told her about the power suppressor in her dream, advising her to use it if she needed it, but keep it to a minimum since it would interfere with her learning control.

So the dream had been real.

She sat on the floor, leaning against the overturned gurney, and gazed at her sinewy arm, tracing the metal edges of the bracelet. It was a sleek, custom model she didn’t recognize as one of the commercially available power suppressors. So that was how he had evaded her scan.

Caroline wondered why he wore it.

It was not all that unusual – some mutants simply never learned to control their powers and went through life wearing a chain like this. Granted, the tech had been improving steadily to allow for mobility, but the early models had been true prisons. Yet if he had no control, he would not be so confident in his ability to teach it to someone else.

So did he wear it to evade power scans like hers, in order to take others by surprise?

That pointed to a highly devious nature.

Her lips thinned. She still had no idea just how much of what he told her was true. Yes, she had… felt like he told the truth, but he had the ability to manipulate minds, and she was highly unskilled with that selfsame power. Perhaps he knew exactly how to fool his own powers.

Perhaps Ian was not safe at all.

She examined what she knew from all angles.

What he told her about only her being able to undo the body swap rang true. It would explain why he’d approached her nicely. He needed her. Meaning he would be more or less reliable in teaching her control, since it was in his own self-interest, and she could use that.

As for Ian’s safety…

Caroline would wait and see. She still had Executioner with his ear to the ground, and she would leave it that way. It never hurt to cover all the bases; he might still uncover a plot of some sort.

Some might call Caroline paranoid.

Well, paranoia was entirely warranted when one worked for an organization in which people quite literally stabbed each other in the back when angling for promotions. When she looked back to her early career, before she had achieved what she now knew to be an entirely appropriate level of caution, she counted six separate occasions where misplaced trust would have killed her if dumb luck had not intervened. And that was assuming numbers weren’t an elaborate hoax perpetrated by mathematicians.

Caroline’s position in the Order was in the comfortable mid-range, and she worked hard to keep it that way. High enough to be mostly independent, yet low enough not to attract the attention of ambitious young assassins seeking to take her place.

To see true paranoia, one had to look to the highest strata of the Order.

There it was considered common courtesy to not make sudden movements.

Ever.

Radiance had once seen a man impaled with two dozen pikes just for sneezing in their presence.


***


People stared at Caroline as she passed through the streets.

The glances were fleeting, often accompanied by a mocking smirk, and she did not like them one bit. At first she thought it was because she was wearing yesterday’s clothes, which were rather dusty and worse for wear. But when she ducked into the first shop she passed and bought some plain, yet clean clothes, she still drew looks. Then she realized it was her posture.

Her hip was swaying.

With gritted teeth she forced herself to stand straighter and walk stiffly, and that seemed to do the trick. After that, the only glances she drew were the occasional appreciative gazes from women.

Caroline had never been one of those operatives who had to get close to a target via assuming a role, but she had to master that art now. After a while she stopped focusing on the way she walked, just letting muscle memory take over. She’d figure this out.

This was the first time she had true mental clarity since she’d woken in this body yesterday, allowing her thoughts to drift and assess her situation.

She suddenly came to a halt in the middle of a busy intersection.

Radiance raised her hand to her throat, where her mentor had burned the Order’s seal into her skin after her first kill.

Since she’d been deemed a flight risk with her powers, it held a tracking spell. Desertion would mean certain death for her.

This body didn’t have it.

Her eyes widened when she realized that, should she adapt to this form, she’d be free.


***


Caroline was tiny.

PsyKick gazed at himself in the mirror, his small body entirely swallowed by his old shirt. It was practically a nightgown, falling way past his generous hips. He tugged at it halfheartedly, the rough material scraping his sensitive nipples.

He needed a bra. And pants that wouldn’t immediately slide off.

Perhaps he could borrow some of Mistress Diane’s clothes, since he estimated they were close in height, but the thought of wearing the skimpy outfits she favored made him queasy. Sure, he liked seeing them on her, but on him?

No, there was a line. And there was no way he would ever wear hotpants or miniskirts.

His stomach growled.

As tempting as the thought of hiding from Shade’s wrath was, PsyKick really did not want to stay in his room all day. He’d been locked up in small spaces long enough to last him a lifetime.

He slung on the smallest pair of jeans he had, fastening it with a belt – he had to poke an additional hole through the leather to make that possible – and descended down the stairs.

PsyKick froze at the threshold to the kitchen.

Kara was sitting at the table, calmly sharpening a very big and shiny blade, evidently expecting him. She looked up and her blank expression briefly turned into a pained grimace at the sight of him. Or at the sight of Caroline. Maybe both.

“Sit,” she said, and he hesitantly did.

There was a very long uncomfortable silence, broken only by the whetstone grinding over the metal. Then Kara calmly laid the stone on the table, inspecting her work.

“I’m sorry,” she said to the sword, and he looked up when he realized she was addressing him. “For the way I acted yesterday. You didn’t deserve it.”

PsyKick fidgeted uncomfortably. Why exactly she felt the need to bring large tools of impalement to an apology was beyond him. Then again, Shade was exactly the kind of person whose security blanket might be a deadly weapon. “It’s fine,” he mumbled. “I understand that it was painful for you.”

Kara nodded slowly, still not looking at him. “I’m going to find Caroline,” she said. “And then we’ll also get you back into your proper body.”

PsyKick contemplated how to tell her what he’d done last night. He did not think she would be happy to hear that Caroline was planning to never see her again. He still had time to convince Caroline of a different course of action, so maybe it was best to say nothing at all and spare his friend that pain entirely…?

“Until then,” Kara continued on, oblivious, and turned her piercing blue gaze directly on him. “That’s my sister’s body you’re wearing. Do not even think about touching her or I will know.”

She casually rammed the blade into the table.

And PsyKick realized that despite being a woman, Shade still very much had brother instincts.

Of Heroes And Villains: The Ties That Bind By Minikisa An assassin. A fallen hero. An unlikely meeting. The road to redemption is long and hard and filled with explosives.

PsyKick rammed his knee into the cabinet and swore profusely.

There was a lengthy pause and then he heard Kara snicker.

He hopped on one leg, hissing through clenched teeth and glared at her.

“I used to do that a lot, too,” she said amicably. Now that her threat had been delivered, she seemed to have calmed down a bit.

PsyKick had only gotten up to walk to the other end of the kitchen for coffee, his eyes focused on the heavenly brew, and had teleported mid-step. Not quite understanding what had just happened, his momentum had carried him forward.

Kara’s expression sobered and she gazed at him thoughtfully. “With light…?” she murmured, seemingly more to herself than to him.

PsyKick didn’t answer and poured himself a coffee, watching the subtle play of emotions on Shade’s face. It was moments like these he really could have used his powers to help him decide what to do – not that it would have helped here. Shade had worn PsyBlockers practically since the moment they met. The day after they’d met, in fact.

PsyKick had tried to ignore the hateful emotions swirling around the hero on the first day. But no matter how strong he built his walls, physical contact and close proximity always made him hear other people’s thoughts, and when Shade had held out his hand to offer a shake, PsyKick had added his obligatory disclaimer to that effect.

And the next day Shade had shown up with PsyBlockers, giving PsyKick a dirty look as if he spied on other people’s minds deliberately. Shade never allowed a psychic link during battle either, which was what had made the supergroup PsyKick led so effective at teamwork. Shade’s insistence on being a loner had repeatedly disrupted that.

It was the combination of the hateful aura, the intense violence of his fighting style and Shade’s almost pathological need to keep his thoughts secret that had formed the foundation for PsyKick’s dislike of the supposed hero. And really, which of his friends was going to disagree with the character assessment coming from a mind reader?

Dawn had made a valiant effort to convince them that Shade was sweet and loving, but the collective reaction to that had been disbelieving laughter.

Watching Kara’s face now he wondered if he’d been wrong back then, or if she’d changed that much since.

Either way, he owed her.

PsyKick was used to keeping secrets – his and everyone else’s. For now, he would say nothing of his nightly escapade. There was something very appealing about the thought of him not only solving this body swap problem by himself, but to also present Kara with her sister fully set on redemption.

Why, it’d be downright heroic.


***


“You’re back.”

PsyKick slowly raised his head and smiled at Caroline’s ethereal form, her long hair swaying in a non-existent breeze. She looked younger, almost innocent in a simple sundress, nothing like the ruthless assassin form she had taken last night.

He was sitting at the very edge of her mindscape, the glowing island cracked and fractured behind him. The path to his own mindscape was through that abyss. To keep his promise of not looking at more of her memories, he had refrained from travelling inward, hoping she would have enough self-awareness to find him here.

“Yes,” he said, his gaze slipping past her to the floating islands. They were drifting, slowly aligning themselves in a more orderly pattern around her core. While he doubted her mind would look anything like a natural psychic’s anytime soon, merely having this power was already changing it to be less chaotic. “How were the voices today?”

She didn’t answer for a long moment, merely looking at him thoughtfully. “Better.”

“Can you bring us to your core?”

Caroline’s gaze was on the canyon behind him. “I get the feeling having a gaping hole in my head can’t be good. What is that?”

“That’s mine,” he said with a sigh. “Ignore it.”

“You ripped a hole in my head?”

“No.” She was glaring at him, reminding him a lot of Shade. “I have holes in my head. That’s just what the gateway to my mind looks like.”

Caroline blinked slowly, looking between him and the canyon. “Why?”

He sighed again and turned his head to face the bridge as well. He could almost see his barren mindscape behind it, and focused on a particular memory.

Caroline’s ground shook a little in what was presumably shock.

A mirage of him kissing Cinder Snow’s boots flickered in the depths of the canyon.

“Because someone made me this way.” With that he turned back to face her. Then he had to tilt his head up, because she’d closed the distance between them.

They looked at each other for a very long time.

“…someone made me this way, too,” she said softly.


***


The colors around him were back.

Caroline cracked open one eye, her gaze lingering on the red and gold swirl. He was lying as far away from her as the island would allow, his arm draped over his eyes. He looked almost like he was sleeping, except he would occasionally call out advice to her out of nowhere, usually at the exact time she was getting frustrated with her lack of progress.

Radiance was fairly good at reading people. One would think she’d be even better at it when given psychic powers, but she did not understand him at all.

The image of him debasing himself in front of that woman was burned into her mind. His face had been contorted in a mixture of disgust and pain that had then morphed into ecstasy.

Caroline had similarly humiliating memories.

She would not ever show them to anyone voluntarily.

Before she quite knew what had happened, she was standing over him. Time and space bent to her will here, responding to her slightest whims.

He stirred and blinked up at her, the color whirl pulsing intensely when their gazes met.

Caroline knew what that meant now.

She was starting to suspect he had not been bluffing when he said he enjoyed their little almost-torture session.

He was as twisted as she was.

“What are you hoping to accomplish?” she murmured.

PsyKick tilted his head. “Getting my body back?”

She tugged at the colors as if they were strings and his image flickered. He made a choked sound. “That’s not why you showed me that memory.”

He grew still, breathing heavily. “You’re not broken.”

Her brows furrowed.

“You think you are. But I know… I know what broken looks like and you’re not it. I wanted to show you the difference.” He closed his eyes and turned away.

“Is it a competition now? Do you want me to congratulate you on first place?”

“No.” He seemed to be weighing his words. “I owe your brother a debt. What I want is for you to not run out on Ian because you have it in your head that you’ll never be anything better than what you are.”

Caroline’s lips parted.

He watched her through half-lidded eyes.

“You are talking to the woman who contemplated stealing your body today and letting you be the one executed by the Order.”

He tilted his head and a new color entered the swirl, disappearing as quickly as it appeared. She wished she knew what it meant. “Well, my body is extremely handsome. I can’t exactly blame you for wanting it.”

She choked on a disbelieving laugh and his lips curved into a small smile.

“Do you know how many petty thoughts I hear every day? Well, not recently… but when I was growing up. Everyone has them, all the time, moments where they are weak and cruel and selfish. What matters in the end is if those thoughts are acted upon. That you’re telling me about that plan, which would give me opportunity to thwart it, tells me you’re not actually going to do it.” He paused. “Are you?”

She slowly shook her head.

His smile widened.

“So what I actually heard there is that you want to leave the Order, and examined an opportunity that fell into your lap.”

“So you just hear what you want to hear?”

“The key to being psychic and staying sane is selective hearing.” His playful voice took a turn for the sardonic. “Of course, I kind of failed at the staying sane part.”

“I’m going to have to concur with that.”

Of Heroes And Villains: The Ties That Bind By Minikisa An assassin. A fallen hero. An unlikely meeting. The road to redemption is long and hard and filled with explosives.

Shade slowly sat on the edge of the bed, watching Diane’s face as her chest rose and fell with deep, even breaths. Kara reached out to lightly run her fingertips along the curve of her spine. Diane’s lips curled into a small smile in her sleep, and she arched into the touch.

That sight was usually all Shade needed for utter contentment after a night spent purging this city of crime a little more.

But not today.

The black leather of her uniform was ripped open, dried blood caking her already healed skin. Shade had fought viciously and recklessly, surpassing the brutality she was renowned for by far. It hadn’t helped.

The wound that it had taken her ten years to start mending had been torn open; a dull, aching pain that even Diane’s healing powers could not touch.

Kara had spent the day watching PsyKick walk around the house, sometimes teleporting several feet at random, before he’d settled on fiddling with that car he was obsessed with. Caroline’s body had looked so small and childlike in the overgrown men’s clothes he had stuffed it into. Hard to believe that she was supposed to be a ruthless assassin.

But then, the thought of her fun-loving, independent sister being a pawn of the Order was hard to believe in general. Kara had a very clear picture of her being one of the most loving people she knew, even if she’d had a bit of a temper.

A subtle red glow illuminated their dark bedroom and Kara slightly turned her head. Diane had woken up and was gazing at her from beneath long eyelashes.

“Hey,” she murmured. “Any luck?”

Shade shook her head. Collecting information on an assassin whose codename she didn’t even know proved difficult.

“I’ve been thinking,” Diane said as she shifted her weight and crawled closer, wrapping her arms around Shade’s stiff form. “She cares for you. We can lure her out that way.”

“How so?” Kara asked in a dull voice.

“A public appearance by Ian Reynolds. She might show up to take a closer look.”

Normally the thought of wearing that goddamn pendant more than strictly necessary was enough for Kara to lose her composure, but she barely felt that sting now, examining the idea dispassionately.

“…there’s this charity thing a couple of days from now.”

Reynolds Industries hosted several charity events a year. Some were her parent’s legacies, others had been instituted by Kara herself. It was one of the few things she did not have to fight her board of directors over; charity was good PR after all.

Kara used to appear in person for each and every one, but had increasingly withdrawn over the years and then stopped attending entirely in recent months for obvious reasons.

Diane beamed up at her.

Shade sighed.

“Let’s say that draws her out…” She paused, weighing her words. “Then what? What do I have to say to an assassin?”

“Not an assassin, Kara,” Diane said, pressing a gentle kiss to Shade’s unmoving lips. “Your sister.”

Shade did not answer.


***


“So what keeps you from leaving?”

Caroline balanced precariously on the edge of the small platform, staring down. She wondered what would happen if she fell. Gravity did not seem to be a significant factor here.

“Nobody escapes the order. In the end, they will always catch you. If the first operative fails, two more take his place, until they wear you out.”

“I suppose you would know,” he said softly and Caroline replied with silence. “But you’re a teleporter. You should be able to keep evading them forever.”

To her consternation, a ghostly reenactment of the brand being burned into her skin started playing in the darkness before her, like a silent movie. She swept it away with an impatient wave of her hand, and it dissolved into glowing mist.

“It’s a risk I’m not willing to take. All it takes is one moment of carelessness for them to catch up.”

“Ah.” Pause. “So you’re just scared of dying.” And for the first time she heard derisiveness in his voice. She whirled around to scowl at him, and he met her gaze. Some emotion was burning in that stare – was burning in the colors, too, flickering and devouring his everpresent desire.

“You say that as if it’s irrational. Of course I want to live.”

“There are fates worse than death.” His eyes darkened, and she shuddered at the emotions spilling from him.

“No. There aren’t. That’s an empty phrase said by those who have not seen death up close. Death is the end of everything.” Including the hope for something… better.

“For someone who thinks death is so terrible, you are certainly quite willing to inflict it on others.”

“Almost everyone I have killed was dead anyway. If not by my hand, then by someone else’s. The Order does not stop sending assassins, not ever, not until their target is six feet under.”

His lips curled back in something akin to a sneer, and she snapped, “What would you have me die for? It wouldn’t save anyone. One more body to add to the pile.”

If Caroline left and they hunted her down within days, as she was sure they would, what would she have lived for? Twenty years of being a spoiled rich girl who managed to get herself kidnapped twice, and then spent the years after that doing unspeakable things.

The only good thing she had ever achieved in her lifetime was raising her baby brother while their parents were too damn busy to pay attention.

Of course, once she had made her way back to Paragon, she realized she had failed at that, too. Ian was not a well-adjusted adult, she could see that even from a distance.

And she was not the kind of person who could fix that.

“It would save you from being a murderer.”

She laughed bitterly. “I have been a murderer for a very long time. Nothing I do will ever make that go away, least of all dying when I have achieved nothing to make up for it.”

And the storm that had been building around him suddenly calmed, smoothing back into the ruby hues from before. “Do you want to make up for it?”

The ground shook with the force of her anger. More than anything she hated that look of pity on his face.

“I am not some helpless victim for you to save,” she seethed. “I have made my choices, and if I said I hadn’t enjoyed some of them, I would be lying. Some people just need a fucking sword to the gut.”

The landscape shimmered as a wall rose between them.

The mercenary who had dragged her into the Order had tried very hard to convince her that he had saved her life. That the things he did to her, and made her do, were done out of love. And Caroline had grown to understand why he could not intervene until his contract had been fulfilled, and could have forgiven him his part in her kidnapping. But she had never forgotten one thing.

He had let her parents die.

Had she been free, she could have disarmed the old man without effort before a single shot had been fired. Assault, skilled as he was, could have done the same, but chose not to. To better isolate her for things to come.

She had contemplated death rather than allowing herself to be shaped into that monster he wanted her to be.

Of course, he had made sure that path was closed to her as well.

As she lay starving, he had watched her serenely. And his voice had been so very casual as he made a pointed observation.

It’s your prerogative to refuse to serve in our Order. I will recruit someone else in your place. Say, mutant powers run in families, do they not?

After four years of hellish training, she had long since stopped trying to resist and accepted her first independent contract along with her place in life. He had smiled at her, and been so happy, lovingly kissing her while her skin crawled. She had smiled back and that night had nailed him to the wall.

Radiance had laughed in delight.

Killing him had earned her a promotion to his rank in the Order.


***


PsyKick stared wide-eyed at the mirage she had put between them. A mutilated man was impaled on the wall, every detail of the gruesome scene lovingly committed to memory.

It took him a moment to recognize the eviscerated costume beneath the blood spatters. He’d seen this man in one of her memories, and understood instantly what had driven Caroline to such viciousness.

Still, he should not be this attracted to brazen displays of sadism.

But he really, really was.

Although the dagger she had shoved into the assassin’s crotch was somewhat disquieting.

Of Heroes And Villains: The Ties That Bind By Minikisa An assassin. A fallen hero. An unlikely meeting. The road to redemption is long and hard and filled with explosives.

Caroline gazed at her morning erection with a thoughtful expression. Between the voices and her worries, she’d had neither time nor inclination to explore the body she found herself in.

The bracelet around her wrist glinted in the morning sun shining into the hotel room. The voices were quiet. She was taking a break before resuming her meditation. If all went well, she would be in her own body soon.

Which meant… her window of opportunity was closing.

Curiosity poked and prodded at her. How did male and female orgasms compare anyway? She was in the… well, maybe not unique, but certainly rare position to find out.

She tentatively pushed down the white cotton, biting her lip at the sight that greeted her. For a long moment, she simply stared at it, her brain short-circuiting a little at the thought that the hard cock was hers. Yes, she’d been walking around with it for two days, but she’d studiously avoided looking at it when undressed.

It was… big. Impressively so. She licked her lips.

Then, almost shyly, she reached out, brushing a fingertip along the base and hissed in a sharp breath at the sensitivity.

Her long fingers wrapped around the hard flesh.

Caroline slowly, very slowly started stroking. Her touch was gentle at first, but she grew bolder with each stroke until she was breathing heavily while her fist was pumping away. Low, guttural sounds were coming from her throat, which made her cock throb all the harder.

She groaned loudly and it was his voice.

Her mind filled with images of the handsome man who gazed back at her from the mirror, and whom she saw in her dreams each night. She thought of the swirl of color that surrounded him and her cock jerked.

Caroline did not understand how he could desire her after all the things he had seen in her.

The only men who’d ever been attracted to Caroline after being made aware of her nature were sociopathic. He was not. In fact, he seemed…kind. Someone kind wanted her and she hissed in a sharp breath at that thought, thrusting her hip against her fist. She closed her eyes and listened to the delectably masculine sounds spilling from her lips, savoring each and every one as the pressure just kept building until pure pleasure exploded from within her, searing hot liquid pooling on her belly.

Touching her cock was unpleasant now, so she withdrew her hand, absently running her fingertip through the rapidly cooling cum on her skin. Eyes still closed, she brought it up to her lips and licked, sucking on her finger with a moan.

He was delicious.

***

PsyKick woke up lying in a dark alley.

He blinked in confusion against the pale sunlight of the morning sun.

What the fuck?

He slowly pushed himself to stand up, wincing as the dirty pavement bit into the delicate skin of his bare feet, and adjusted the overly large shirt he had slept in, tugging it to cover his boxers. He became acutely aware that he was in the middle of Paragon City wearing no pants.

How had he gotten here?

He tiptoed to the entrance of the narrow backstreet, peering outside. His breath left him as he recognized exactly where he was.

Standing in front of him was his old apartment block, where he and Tex used to be roommates. Their home was perfectly situated to be in walking distance of both Paragon University and the Tenacious Teens headquarters.

He had been thinking about Tex.

Caroline had woken before him tonight, leaving him to while away some time in his own mindscape. Her avoidance of her sibling had reminded him that he was doing much the same with his own friends. Shame and guilt gnawed at him for the things he’d said to them, but… they’d be happy to see him, wouldn’t they?

And yet…

Three years was still a very long time. Long enough for friends to drift apart without the aid of brainwashing. The things he had screamed at them in his madness could never be unsaid, and he wasn’t sure how to apologize or make it right.

In some ways it was better to put off meeting them so reconciliation remained a possibility rather than to face them and find out things would never be the same again.

PsyKick stared hard at the front doors, wondering if Tex still lived here.

And then he was in front of those doors, blinking in bewilderment.

Oh.

He must have teleported here in his sleep.

His gaze instantly dropped to the list of names next to the door.

Mark Matthews.

His finger was almost on the doorbell when he remembered that he was wearing no pants. And also a woman’s body. Not quite the reunion he had in mind. He lowered his hand, then drew back and slumped to sit on the porch.

Once he had his body back…

Maybe.

The morning air was freezing, and he shivered, crossing his arms over his chest. His stiff nipples rubbed against his arms through the thin fabric, as if to drive home how utterly wrong everything was.

PsyKick squeezed his eyes shut and pictured his room in the mansion, willing himself to teleport back.

He tentatively cracked open an eye, and sighed when he saw the same rundown street.

“Are you all right, Miss?”

Stephen froze at the familiar southern drawl. Then he slowly craned his neck up. Tex, sickeningly early riser that he was, was blinking down at the half-naked woman sitting on his doorway with a mix of bemusement and concern.

PsyKick’s lips parted and he stared at his best friend.

Three years hadn’t changed him at all. Even his haircut was the same, his blond hair artfully disheveled. PsyKick’s gaze slowly trailed down, taking in the jogging outfit. Tex was nothing if not a creature of habit, and apparently still went out for his morning run.

“Miss?” Tex’ voice was soothing, the concern in his face now more evident. “Do you need help?”

Stephen slowly shook his head, not trusting himself to speak.

“If you’re sure,” Tex said doubtfully. “It’d be no trouble.” PsyKick must have been quite the miserable sight wearing nothing but his ragged oversized shirt; no wonder he was tripping Tex’ chivalry instincts. His friend could never resist a damsel in distress.

PsyKick awkwardly cleared his throat, and made the rather absurd decision to shift his voice an octave higher even though it was already unrecognizable to begin with. “I, um. I could use a phone.”

Tex smiled, and fished out his smartphone, handing it to PsyKick with no questions asked. Stephen averted his gaze and dialed Diane’s number.

“Mi – Diane. Hi. It’s me.” Quick glance up at Tex who politely pretended he wasn’t listening. “Yeah, Caroline’s powers acted up. Could you pick me up?” He rattled off the address, and then handed Tex his phone back.

“Uncontrolled powers?” his friend asked with a sympathetic nod and a knowing air that came only with being a native Paragonian who thought such problems were a completely normal part of life.

Of course, Tex wasn’t actually native to Paragon, having grown up in, as the name implied, Texas. An orphan like Stephen, he’d been shipped to Paragon, away from his narrow-minded adoptive family, after his powers had started manifesting and he’d accidentally set a building on fire at age 13. They’d ended up in the same META-sponsored foster home for at risk mutant youths.

They’d met Dawn at school, and somehow their little teenage supergroup had grown from that.

“Yeah,” Stephen said softly. “Thanks for the phone.”

“No problem.” Tex flashed his best ‘I’m a hero, that’s what I’m here for’-smile, and made his way down the stairs, breaking into a light jog. “Have a nice day, ma’am. Good luck with those powers.”

And then he was gone.

***

A sleek silver car pulled up in front of PsyKick. A door slammed and soon enough he heard high heels clacking on the ground, coming to a halt in front of him.

“Hello, Mistress,” he said in a dull voice, reminding himself that he couldn’t throw himself at her feet in public. How could he possibly face Tex – face anyone – when he was like this? Just the thought of his friends finding out what kind of comfort PsyKick craved these days was humiliating.

A leader of a supergroup should not want this.

Diane gently brushed her fingers through his hair and he sighed softly. Then he got up and docilely followed her into the car, taking the passenger’s seat while Mistress brightly chattered at him, apparently in an attempt to cheer him up.

All he wanted was an order to follow, but she did not give those anymore.

After a while he noticed that they were driving the wrong way, headed toward the city’s center instead to its outskirts. His brows furrowed.

“Where are we going?”

Diane’s red eyes gleamed as she grinned. “Shopping!”

“What.”

“Kara said it’s likely that you’ll keep teleporting at random, because she kept doing it, too, when she was younger. So unless you want to end up on some street in rags again, you need clothes that actually fit!”

PsyKick’s only answer was a reluctant “Yes, Mistress.”

Then his brows furrowed and he glanced down at himself. “I can’t go into a store like this.”

“I brought you some of my clothes! They’re in the backseat.”

He twisted to look at them – and froze.

A miniskirt.

A spaghetti top. A pink spaghetti top.

And strappy sandals with a small heel. They sparkled.

Mistress was prone to dressing skimpily, but she usually had taste.

“Are you… Did I do something wrong, Mistress? Is this my punishment?”

She merely smiled at him.

“I suggest you put these on, we’re almost there.”

***

He would never have thought it was possible to have such visceral hatred for mere pieces of fabric.

The sandals’ small heels forced him to walk without slouching, displaying the cleavage the top barely concealed.

Men were looking at him. Leering.

As if the universe was out to mock just how low he’d fallen, on their way into the shopping mile PsyKick had noticed a wall plastered with posters for what was apparently an extremely popular rock band, advertising their next concert. He’d recognized the lead singer as one of his younger teammates.

Howler.

He remembered a shy young man who couldn’t control his devastating sonic powers and needed to wear a power suppressor at all times just so he could speak without leveling the building he was in. PsyKick used to give him gentle advice, trying to coax him out of the depression the loss of his musical abilities had caused. Howler used to look up to him.

And now Howler had fame and fortune.

PsyKick had questionable sanity and a miniskirt riding up his ass.

He was about one available blade away from taking a page from Shade’s book and threatening to stab everyone.

Diane was absolutely no help whatsoever. He kept trying to steer them toward the jeans and long-sleeved shirts, and she kept dragging him to the skirts and dresses. He tried in vain to explain that just because he happened to be in a woman’s body that did not make him one.

His eye twitched when she held out a glossy monstrosity of a gown.

“How about this?” Her eyes were shining with joy, and he did not understand how she could be enjoying his discomfort so much. She had never shown such callous disregard for his wishes before.

“No,” he gritted out.

“Stephen,” she purred. “Won’t you try it on?”

“No.”

And then her voice changed, laced with the steel of a command. “Try it on. Now.”

“I SAID NO, DIANE!”

With that, he stomped toward the unisex department, not even caring that everyone was staring at him for his outburst.

He did not see Diane’s pleased smile.

Of Heroes And Villains: The Ties That Bind By Minikisa An assassin. A fallen hero. An unlikely meeting. The road to redemption is long and hard and filled with explosives.

INTERLUDE


The small blond boy presses himself against the leg of his foster mother as she tries to get him to walk over to his parents. He shyly blinks up at the couple beaming down at him, standing in front of a big ranch with seemingly never-ending fields of wheat surrounding them. The man is big and beefy, with a big wide grin on his face. The woman is no less beefy, and Mark can already tell from the way her face is pinched that she’s the one not to be messed with. But she is smiling so very warmly, and they look so inviting.

He tentatively steps forward, one foot in front of the other, until he is suddenly enveloped in a bear hug. The man lifts him up and presses a cowboy hat on his head.

“Why, howdy there, son!”

Mark is five years old when he is adopted.


***


It does not take them long to become a family.

Ma is strict and demanding, but she ruffles his hair and cooks the best food in the whole world, always urging him to eat more so he’ll fill out a little and grow big and strong to one day take over the farm. Pa is always laughing, a big booming sound, and starts teaching Mark everything he knows, from taking care of the animals to fishing to what it means to be a man.

Over time, the lilt in their voices becomes Mark’s, and his childhood becomes one filled with happiness.

It falls apart when he turns 13 and things start exploding around him.


***


Mark is not crying.

He is a man and men do not cry and he is most definitely not crying in the corner of some foster home for freaks.

“Hey.”

Mark glares up, blinking at the blurry image of the black-haired boy gazing down at him. He looks to be around his own age, tall and gangly in the way of teenagers who’ve only just started hitting puberty.

“Fuck off,” he growls, and his Ma would wash his mouth out with soap for language like that, except she’s not going to do that ever again because she sent him away for being a freak and no, those are not more tears threatening to spill over.

“I’m Stephen,” says the boy, and sits down next to him.

“Are you deaf, Stephen? I said fuck off.”

He doesn’t seem to hear, and simply stares at Mark. No, not at Mark, at something beside him. Then he reaches out, and Mark jerks back – there will be no hugging, if there are hugs, he will blow this place sky-high – but Stephen isn’t actually trying to touch him. Instead, he grabs a fistful of air and makes a weird tugging motion, and somehow that knot in Mark’s throat eases, as does the hollow ache inside.

He blinks, confused.

Stephen smiles. “Sorry. Not sure what I just did, but I hope it feels a little better.”

And then he just gets up and walks away.


***


Stephen is okay. For a freak.

Knowing that he can hear what Mark is thinking makes Mark squirm uncomfortably, even though Stephen apologizes for it constantly and tells him how many feet away he has to be standing to be outside his immediate radius. After a while, Mark just gets used to it, and if Stephen ever slips and answers a question before Mark even asks it out loud, well, he lets that slide.

Just like Stephen ignores the scorch marks all over their room.


***


There’s a new girl in their class and Mark can’t stop thinking about her. She has dark ebony skin, yet her hair is so blond it’s almost silver and she has curves that do things to him and it’s an empirical fact that she’s the most beautiful girl to ever exist.

Her name is Dawn.

His hormones keep telling him to go talk to her, but his hormones are kind of morons, so he doesn’t.

Mark is watching her at cheerleading practice from the edge of the football field, sitting on the benches, all casual-like.

“Just think, one day you might even say two whole syllables to her.”

Mark cranes his neck up, and then flips his friend the bird.

Stephen grins.

Every time his thoughts trip all over themselves when he sees her Stephen gives him that knowing smirk, the bastard.

And then Stephen’s eyes suddenly go wide and he leans forward, watching Dawn with narrowed eyes.

“No way,” he whispers.


***


Dawn has powers! She’s like him, like them, just like them.

They wait for her after school and at first she seems a little confused as to why they would even approach, as far apart in social standing as they were. But when Stephen, in that gentle, carefully calculated way of his, lets it slip that they’re mutants, she is so relieved to have someone to talk to.

Mark did not think Dawn could be any more beautiful, but then she shows them her powers and he quickly needs to find something to hold in front of him. She has wings and they shine like the sun itself, and when she moves, they shimmer with all the colors of a rainbow.

Oh, and she can blow stuff up with energy blasts, but seriously, those wings.


***


“We should be heroes.”

Dawn’s eyes are shining. Literally. They glow sometimes when she gets excited.

Stephen tilts his head as he contemplates the idea.

Mark doesn’t need to think long.

He likes the sound of hero much better than freak.


***


“You think of a name yet?”

It’s night and they’re lying in their cramped little room. Mark turns over the cowboy hat in his hands, one of the few belongings he brought with him from home.

“…yeah.”

Stephen waits politely for Mark to tell him, even though he probably already knows. He’s getting rather good at pretending he doesn’t know everything.

“Texplosion.”

“That’s an awesome name!” Stephen grins widely, firing off his compliment before Mark even finishes saying it. He must have been impatient to share his opinion. “Makes me want a pun-ny name as well.”

He pauses for dramatic effect.

“PsyKick!”

“…psychic? I don’t get it.”

“No, Psy. Kick.” He enunciates the syllables separately.

“Oh!” Awkward pause. “But, you suck at actually kicking things.” His friend’s aptitude for sports of any kind is, to put it politely, below average.

Stephen huffs, offended. “Well, I can learn!”

He doesn’t.

Fails at trying rather spectacularly, in fact.

But then, he can lift cars with his brain, so what use would he have for martial arts anyway?


***


They are an excellent team.

Psy is the tactician, figuring out their battle plans and projecting them into their minds. Dawn is their air support, scouting out the area and blinding their enemies with her blasts. And Tex, well, Tex is the heavy hitter.

Sometimes things get a little dicey and an older hero swoops in, which usually results in a lecture, explaining at length that they are too young for this. They nod and solemnly promise not to be so reckless anymore, and then do it all over again the next night.

Mark is having the time of his life.

Over time, they run into other heroes their age and their little group starts growing.

But the core will always be the three of them.


***


One night, after an exhilarating battle against their first villain above Threat Level Six, Tex cups Dawn’s face and kisses her.

At first she kisses him back, but then it gets all unbearably awkward, and the next day she slinks up to him, apologetically telling him she just doesn’t feel the same way.

Tex smiles as if it doesn’t hurt to hear that and assures her everything between them is fine.

And it is.

Somewhere along the way the Tenacious Teens have become his new family.


***


Before Mark quite knows what happened, High School is over.

He’s a little lost, not really knowing what to do with himself now.

Psy, being scary smart, has scholarship offers from the most prestigious universities in the country, though he chooses to stay in Paragon. Dawn’s parents are paying her tuition. Tex does not have those options, and would rather not take on a mountain of debt.

He’s floundering, but Psy assures him that’s completely normal.

“No, really, I see it in almost everyone’s mind at university.”

So Tex just focuses on being a hero for now, working some crappy job on the side to make rent for the apartment he shares with Psy.

Dawn introduces them to her new boyfriend.

Mark does not want to be That Guy, that creepy, clingy dude who insists that his longstanding crush’s boyfriend is a jerk who’s not good enough for her and she should love him instead.

But Shade really is no good.

He is their age, but it’s hard to tell with that stick up his ass.

Dawn tells him Shade is mature, and that’s apparently a euphemism for fucking psychotic. Even Stephen agrees, and the mindreader should know.


***


Dawn is crying on his shoulder, and he pats her hair awkwardly.

He is not happy to see his friend in pain, but some small, vindictive part of him can’t help but be incredibly smug at her realizing he’d been right all along. She broke up with Shade doing the whole ‘Let’s still be friends’-bit and now he treats her the way he treats the rest of them, barely deigning to growl two words.

And then Dawn, apparently also somewhat vindictive and more than a little tipsy, tells him what Shade confessed to her before she broke it off.

It’s all Tex can do to keep a straight face.

He tells Psy when he gets home and they both just about die of laughter.


***


It’s when META invites Texplosion to speak to a number of the mutant teens in their care about being a hero that Mark realizes what he wants to do with his life. Some of these kids carry the same anger and despondency that used to weigh him down. Mark knows anger very well. He likes to tell himself he’s made peace with what happened when he manifested his powers, and he thinks that maybe he can help other kids do the same.

And so Mark starts working toward a certification as a META counselor.


***


Psy hasn’t come home in a couple of days.

At first, Tex doesn’t really worry all that much – Stephen’s been spending a lot of time with his girlfriend and it’s really not Mark’s job to keep track of where exactly Psy spends his nights.

But he’s not picking up the phone, and when Tex asks around, nobody else has seen him either.


***


The ground to his feet is torn open by a golden glow, and he barely keeps his balance when dodging the car flung into his direction. A piece of debris is flying toward him and Tex desperately jerks his hand up. It explodes before it touches him. The tiny shards digging into his skin still hurt like hell.

“Psy, stop!”

He is smiling at Mark, looking like he is enjoying this.

“Stephen, please! It’s me.”

“I know who you are,” PsyKick replies in a pleasant voice, and raises his hand.

Dawn tackles their friend, and she gets thrown back by a psychic shockwave, cracking the ground where she crumbles. She doesn’t get back up.

In the end, it takes an entire taskforce of heroes to subdue PsyKick, and even then he still manages to take out several of them, including a Nine.


***


Mark isn’t quite sure what he expected to see when he walks into the hospital room, but the sight of his best friend sitting on the bed in a straightjacket hits him like a punch to the gut.

“Stephen.”

Psy slowly raises his head, meeting his gaze. And then he smiles in what appears to be relief. “Tex.”

Mark tentatively sits down on the chair not far from the bed. The doctors told him to keep a distance because he’s supposedly prone to sudden lunging.

“It’s so good to see you,” Psy rasps, eyes wide and shining. “I’m sorry for hurting you but I had no choice.”

Hope blooms. Psy is clearly shaking off the brainwashing, he will go back to normal soon, everything’s fine. So Tex makes a dismissive hand gesture, his face lighting up with genuine happiness.

“Forgotten. I mean, it’s Paragon. These things happen, right?”

Psy nods and relaxes a bit. Had he actually worried Mark would hold that against him? Idiot, he thinks affectionately.

“Right.” He’s nodding still, and the motion looks a little manic. “I’m glad you understand. I mean, Mistress told me to do it and it’s my purpose to serve her, you know?”

Mark’s smile freezes.


***


The Tenacious Teens fall apart.

Everyone is always intensely aware of who is missing and why, putting them on edge. Frictions that used to be mediated by their unofficial group therapist come to the surface. It just gets too painful to bear, and Tex walks away.

So does Dawn.


***


Mark tries, he really tries to visit Stephen regularly.

But seeing his friend reduced to this is so goddamn hard.

“Tex, please,” he whimpers and strains against the straps holding him down. “Please, please help me escape, I have to serve, it’s my purpose, it’s eating me, please!” Stephen is crying and Mark tries to calm him down but he’s impossible to talk to when he gets like this.

Stephen used to be able to hold normal conversations, more or less, with the occasional reference to his fucking Mistress, before he would inevitably start either begging or yelling. But those times of lucidity are getting shorter and shorter.

Other psychics can do nothing. Several of them tried to pry open his mind by force, but apparently his defenses are just too strong. A heroine named Psychic Silk tried to assess the damage, opening her mind to his, only to end up in a three day coma when he lashed out. She declined to try again after that.

With every passing visit his condition gets worse, and never better, and Tex can do nothing but watch.


***


Stephen is subtly banging his head against the wall as he rocks back and forth.

“Please,” he whispers.

“No.” Mark’s answer is dull and tired. They have had this conversation a hundred times.

They don’t really have any conversations other than this one anymore.

Tex knows that he is the last one who even bothers. The others have given up, and tell him Psy is just never going to recover. Mark doesn’t believe that. Yes, they haven’t found a way yet, but new heroes appear in Paragon every day. And he has to believe that one day there will be a psychic strong enough to break into Stephen’s mind and fix him.

After two years of waiting for that someone to miraculously appear, his optimism is waning.

“Tex. Tex, why are you doing this to me? You don’t understand, I have to –“

“I understand,” he snaps. How could he not after Stephen kept endlessly repeating it? “You have to serve because your fucking purpose tells you so. Tell me something I don’t know.”

He instantly regrets his outburst.

Psy is silent for a long while.

“Okay.”

There is cold fury in his voice.

“You are cruel.”

Mark rubs the bridge of the nose. “I told you why I won’t help you escape, Psy, it’s not cruel, it’s for your own –“

“No, you are cruel. Inside. You think it’s okay to mock and belittle those you don’t like just because you’re nice to most people. That the things you say to them don’t matter because you are a good person. A hero.”

Tex’ lips part and he stares at his best friend. Stephen’s eyes are narrowed into hateful slits, a feral intelligence shining within.

“You’re not a hero.”

Stephen’s lips curl back in a sneer.

“You are a freak.”

Mark mutely shakes his head, eyes wide.

“And that’s why your parents couldn’t stand the sight of you.”


***


Mark is breathing heavily, slumped against the inside of his apartment door, and buries his face in his hand.

Psy…

Psy would never say something like that. Ever.

Psy is kind and empathetic; it’s not in his nature to say something just for the sake of making it hurt.

Tex finally sees what the others saw before him and what he has been too stubborn to accept.

That thing in the hospital is not Stephen. Hasn’t been Stephen in a long time. It’s just an empty shell with his face and voice.

And Mark starts crying because his best friend is dead.

Of Heroes And Villains: The Ties That Bind By Minikisa An assassin. A fallen hero. An unlikely meeting. The road to redemption is long and hard and filled with explosives.

Caroline watched the bright wisps orbiting her little haven.

They were entwining to form something like an asteroid belt, two rings of light continually turning and twisting and grinding against each other around her island. They were delicate and thin, fading in and out of existence, but she suspected that they were the foundation of mental defenses.

She hoped.

Once she had her own mind under control, she’d be able to start invading others. He’d said she wouldn’t need a lot of finesse to do it; she just needed to push into her own body long enough for him to do the truly complex work of severing the link and making sure both their minds were unharmed by the experience.

Caroline noted with some annoyance that the same red tendrils that continually churned around him would now briefly flicker into existence around her when she thought of him. Yes, she had masturbated to the thought of him, but really, she was in his body, staring at his huge cock, listening to his voice, who else was she going to think about? Having a sexy fantasy was no reason to be suddenly developing glowing bits.

She shifted uncomfortably and took a step forward, and found herself pacing in front of the canyon in her mind. The one that supposedly led to his mind.

The stars went out and she blinked as the real world briefly came into focus. Moonlight was spilling through the window into her hotel room. It was easy to lose track of time when she slipped into that meditation trance that allowed her to access her mind, but she hadn’t been mistaken – night had fallen, and he should be here by now.

Her focus shifted back to her mindscape. The transitions were getting easier now; probably because she enjoyed getting away from being trapped inside a body that, no matter how pleasing when viewed from outside, just felt wrong.

The weight of her long black locks cascading down her back here wasn’t real, of course. But it was close enough.

Caroline cocked her head as she gazed deep into the dark abyss, wondering how the path to someone who seemed so kind could look so very ominous. Paranoia, her old friend, stirred, and whispered that it was proof that he wasn’t as good as he pretended to be.

Perhaps the reason he felt attracted to her was because he was just another monster, albeit one with a better mask than most.

Her bare toes were at the very edge of the rift now.

She could take a look.

It was only fair, really, considering he had freely wandered her mind.

Caroline took a step forward and fell.


***


PsyKick couldn’t sleep.

He stared at the ceiling, an arm draped over his forehead, and contemplated his life. Just in case of accidental teleportation, he was now wearing jeans and a shirt even in bed, and had an earbud in his ear so he wouldn’t have to accost strangers for a phone.

Once he’d calmed down, he had seen what Diane had been doing to him, although that did not mean he approved of her methods. He was not sure how he felt about her right now. While he had finally snapped in the store, he’d worn the trashy clothes she’d laid out for him with nary a word of protest. It was nothing compared to other things he’d been forced to do, of course, but it hurt that his humiliation had come from her when he had trusted her never to abuse the power she had over him.

And he realized she would just keep pushing him away like this now because she did not want his devotion.

PsyKick didn’t want Diane to be his Mistress, either.

He had never had a choice with her. She had installed herself while he was incapable of choosing, and then just stuck.

He loved her, in his own way, as the one friend who’d stood by him always, but there was too much history between them, too much of his Purpose forcing her on him.

But.

He wanted…

Stephen wanted a Mistress.

Badly.

A Mistress he would choose for himself, a Mistress he could serve without compulsion, because he wanted to. Someone who cared for him as much as he would care for her. Someone who would give him an order when he needed one. Someone at whose feet he could rest.

Just acknowledging that made him squirm in mortification, like he was admitting defeat. Like he was resigning himself to being the way Cinder Snow made him forever, letting her dictate his most intimate relationships.

His back arched as piercing pain shot through his head.

What the…?


***


The walls rose dizzyingly high until they lost themselves in the mist that passed for sky, enclosing a landscape that looked like it had been ravaged by an earthquake. The marble ground was torn open, deep rifts fanning out from the center, some wide and gaping chasms, others thin, yet no less deep.

Caroline stepped closer to one of those hollows through a field of soft red flowers that tickled her bare feet. Red moss was smoothing out what must have once been a steep cliff.

There was wild beauty to this place, like she was striding through a canyon, but it did not dispel the air of melancholy. The word broken was a truly apt description, and she finally understood what he’d been trying to tell her.

Not everything was in ruins however.

A tall and majestic spire stood at the very center of the mindscape, rising as high as the walls enclosing it. Like the walls, it shone white, bathing everything around it in a soft glow. Caroline felt herself drawn to it, like a moth to a flame.

Within moments, she stood in front of it, craning her neck high to gaze up at its peak.

Her fingers itched with the urge to touch the seemingly smooth surface and she tentatively raised her hand. The tower rippled beneath her fingertips, and the ground rumbled ominously. She almost snapped her hand back, but then the white marble flowed outward, as if she’d thrown a stone into water.

The outer layer peeled back to reveal something beautiful. Caroline’s lips parted as she stared at the twisting shapes, fleeting like wind and shadows, yet somehow almost like writing in a language she might be able to decipher if she tried hard enough.

She simply watched it for a very long time, something stirring within her at the sight.

Whatever it was, it struck her as… noble. And strong.

“Ah, I thought it might be you. Are you rampaging in here?”

Caroline quickly withdrew her hand, the outer layer rippling inward once more and closing the opening she had created while she turned to face the familiar voice. Her eyes widened a little.

He was flickering, barely even visible.

And he was wearing a golden cape. The black uniform with golden trimming revealed a wonderfully muscled physique that was only hinted at in the body she now possessed.

Caroline, native Paragonian that she was, recognized a superhero when she saw one.

“PsyKick,” she greeted him in a soft voice.

He blinked at her sleepily, his form fracturing and rebuilding itself as if he was struggling to stay in the dreamscape. It was what he looked like when he was on the verge of waking up, but she supposed this was the opposite of that; him struggling to fall asleep.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” he murmured, and she realized with a start that he was embarrassed, his gaze darting to the deep chasms.

In the span of a thought, she stood mere inches in front of him. He grew rigid, his form solidifying as he stared down at her, exhaling a shuddering breath.

“It’s not what I expected,” she said gently, and he averted his gaze, a small, self-deprecating smile on his lips.

“Having seen a less than stellar mindscape, do you understand what I meant now when I said your mind is beautiful?”

Her hand was on his cheek, gently forcing him to look at her. She hadn’t put it there; it just was, without the movement in-between.

“You are beautiful, too.”

He barked out a disbelieving laugh.

“I’m broken.”

“Maybe. But still good.”

His hands were on her hips, and his fingers squeezed her skin at those words. Caroline could not put the sensation of touching each other without bodies into words; it was like an echo. Warmth that caressed her very essence.

And the kiss was fireworks, and sizzling electricity, and the taste of her favorite slice of cake, something sweet and long forgotten.

“Caroline.”

The name was not spoken. It reverberated through his entire mind, a whisper from the heavens and the earth and the walls around them.

“PsyKick,” she whispered back, but that was not adequate, not what she should be calling him. “Tell me your name.”

A spike of pure ecstasy emanated from him at her demand. “Stephen,” he rasped, nibbling on her lower lip. “It’s Stephen.”

Of Heroes And Villains: The Ties That Bind By Minikisa An assassin. A fallen hero. An unlikely meeting. The road to redemption is long and hard and filled with explosives.

Pleasure pricked at his skin, his real skin, and he shouldn’t be aware of that. He moaned into Caroline’s mouth and felt the soft silk of the blanket on his scorching skin. Don’t wake up, please don’t wake up, not now, he chanted to himself as Caroline’s ghostly touch enveloped him.

God, he could feel himself growing wet, and he rubbed his shapely thighs together, grinding against the sheets.

“Don’t go,” Caroline murmured against his lips.

Stephen buried his face in her neck, breathing heavily as he tried to disassociate from his body and ground himself in this dream world. She was soothingly stroking his hair and it was wonderful and he loved it and that felt more real than anything.

He did not understand why she was not repulsed by the barren ugliness of his mind, but he had no problem just going with it.

“Your mind is beautiful,” she insisted, and he realized that she must have picked up on that thought. She was getting better at that. He wondered just how deep she’d been probing to have caused such pain, and what she’d seen, but somehow he could not bring himself to care. Let her see what she wanted; considering he was a walking invasion of privacy, it would be hypocritical of him to be bothered by it. He leaned in to affectionately nuzzle her cheek as his form slowly grew more solid and the outside world receded.

“You have terrible taste,” he teased. “I’m okay with that.”

Caroline made a frustrated noise and twisted around to gaze at the gaping abyss right in the center of his mind. “Okay, yes, the rifts are bad, but… that. That is amazing.”

His brows furrowed. “…what is?”

“The tower.”

Huh?

He gazed at her blankly for a long moment.

“What tower?”

Caroline stared at him.

“The huge giant thing right in front of you?”

PsyKick tilted his head and looked over her shoulder. There was a gaping hole.

His eyes narrowed and he slowly straightened his back.

Something in his domain that he couldn’t see?

“Show me where it is.”

Her brows were furrowed as she gave him a long, searching look. Then she took his hand and led him closer to the cliff. “It’s right here.” She reached out and held up her hand, seemingly in thin air.

The ground shook and Psy almost doubled over in pain.

What…

There was a compulsion there. Something that was pushing against him, telling him he should not look there. His gaze just slid right over that void, no matter how often he tried looking directly at it.

How long had this been here?

This shouldn’t be possible. Broken as it was, this was still his sanctuary. Nobody had ever broken his walls, and many had tried – numerous villains when he’d still had his pride, and after that the heroes who’d endeavored to help him.

He felt concern emanating from Caroline, but he paid it no mind, stumbling toward that edge, reaching out to touch whatever it was.

His palm met with resistance.

And his vision went white.

The mindscape started shaking with the force of an earthquake.


***


“On your knees.”

The itch barely even pricked at him before his knees gave way. He made no sound as pure pleasure burned inside his veins like fire.

“Listen well, PsyKick. From now on you will desire nothing more than to serve me. To be a villain will be your purpose in life. You will not even want to subvert my orders.”

He whimpered, her voice echoing in his mind as the itch started burning again.

“Is that understood?”

He said nothing, his knuckles turning white as he desperately erected mental barrier after mental barrier, trying to compartmentalize his mind.

PsyKick’s mind split in two, and he severed one half completely from all sensory input. It was a technique he used a lot; it was very draining but had often proved to be the difference between his team’s defeat and triumph. One half of his mind would focus on fighting his opponent while the other half, cut off from pain and exhaustion, linked the Tenacious Teens together, and analyzed everyone’s field of vision. Then he calculated strategies around that, rapidly adapting to changing circumstances, sending each of them individual orders and coordinating their team to be an unstoppable force.

There was, after all, a reason that PsyKick was considered the de facto leader.

He shuddered as the horrific Itch fell away, and he could think again.

A tremor ran through his mindscape and he was faintly aware of his other half screaming in agony, but he had to ignore that. His time was extremely limited; considering the strain he was under, he would not be able to keep this up for long.

He had heard her orders, and he knew exactly what they would mean for him. Some forms of brainwashing, once removed, left the victim no worse for wear. This would not be one of them; her methods were simple yet devastating in their scope.

Ideally, PsyKick would find a way to escape. He split his mind once more, and left that part in charge of planning his resistance. Heroically breaking mindcontrol through sheer willpower alone was a grand tale heroes loved to brag about, but over in real world he knew it to be something that rarely happened. That didn’t mean PsyKick wouldn’t do everything in his power to save himself right now.

But if there was one thing his experience as a strategist had taught him, it was to have contingency plans.

PsyKick turned toward his core, pulling on his considerable power – and started duplicating it. He poured everything of himself into his creation, everything that he was, everything that he had once been, and everything that he hoped to be.

A perfect snapshot of the kind of person he was.

A backup.

He knew that his powers had an extremely defensive lean; he had yet to meet anyone who could breach his walls. Nonetheless, should the brainwashing take hold, he had to count on someone doing just that, and hope that they would ask themselves why he had two cores.

The white marble of his walls flowed from beneath, slowly encasing his secondary core in a protective shell. The ground shook again, a crack appearing in the pristine courtyard.

PsyKick shuddered as an echo of pain ran up his spine, heralding the fast-approaching merge.

And with the last strength he had left, to make sure his soon-to-be-brainwashed-self did not ruin his plan, he erased all knowledge of what he had done.

Of Heroes And Villains: The Ties That Bind By Minikisa An assassin. A fallen hero. An unlikely meeting. The road to redemption is long and hard and filled with explosives.

Caroline lunged for Stephen when he doubled over, screaming in pain, but he dissolved, splintering into a thousand golden tendrils that slipped through her fingers.

Crack.

A deep fissure appeared in the base of the spire, the pristine marble breaking apart before her eyes. The cracks spread from there, higher and higher, until the entire tower was covered in a fine spider web. An earthquake rocked the mindscape and Caroline stumbled to her knees, doing her best to hold on.

She didn’t understand what was happening.

The thing hidden inside the tower had struck her as benign. More than benign; good and strong and wonderful, yet now it seemed to be tearing Stephen apart at the seams.

Oh god, she’d broken him with her careless actions, broken him completely somehow, and this, this was why she could never reach for anything better, everything she touched just got dragged down and ruined.

And then the tower broke apart, the white marble raining down and dissolving into fine golden mist before it hit the ground. In its place stood a dizzyingly high spire with no edges, writhing with golden vapor and it looked almost like a person but without actually having the shape of a human.

It pulsed with a bright glow, a shockwave expanding outward. The earth was still trembling but now Caroline realized it was moving.

The first canyon closed with a deafening rumble.


***


PsyKick clutched his head, writhing in agony at the pain that felt like it was cleaving his mind in two when it was actually doing quite the opposite but knowing that didn’t make it hurt any less and oh god his head was so full it was going to burst.

Then it was over.

It must have taken a long time, because soft morning light was beginning to spill through the drapes.

And for the first time in three years, Stephen felt whole.

He rolled on his belly with a soft unf.

And then he started laughing, pure giddy joy bubbling up inside of him. His voice was Caroline’s, high-pitched and breathy, and he found he quite liked the sound of her laughter.

He was struck anew by the fact that his body was wrong, but somehow that didn’t sting so much when his mind was so wonderfully, wonderfully right.

Psy was seeing double, in his head. Between Tex and Diane, yesterday had held some of the most humiliating moments of his life, except yesterday had also been the day he met Constance in the library for what was meant to be a study session, but it had escalated into her dragging him behind the shelves. She’d kissed him deeply, and he’d enthusiastically fondled her back. It had been a good day.

Constance.

A confused wave of emotion crashed over him.

He loved her.

But he had also spent the last three years of his life hating her. Every time she had tried to visit him, he had lunged at her, trying to choke the life from her because she had betrayed him and she was the reason he was in that hospital and she had killed his Mistress.

She’d stopped visiting.

And as his Purpose kept eroding him more and more, he’d stopped thinking of her at all.

He stared at the ceiling, the euphoria of having a healed mind slowly morphing into something else entirely as he kept thinking about yesterday. About her. The way she had stroked him through the denim of his jeans as he tried to bite back his groans so he wouldn’t disturb the silence in the library.

Then Caroline had frozen time just for the two of them.

And he’d taken her right there, bent her over a table and buried himself inside of her, in full view of their fellow students who, motionless, had seen nothing.

No, that had been with Constance.

He’d never slept with Caroline…

Had never even kissed her.

Only in his dreams.

Stephen realized his hand was in his jeans – when had he opened the zipper anyway? – straining to find a cock that was not there. He angled his head down and gazed at Caroline, breaths shallow.

He’d promised himself he wouldn’t touch this body he had stolen, but now she wanted him to, didn’t she?

She wanted him like he wanted her. He’d seen it, felt it. Before she had healed him.

God, he wished he had his powers so he could enter his mindscape right now at will. He’d take her in his arms and kiss her again and thank her for what she had done. He would worship her form, her mind, shape the dream around them and pluck her nerve endings like a harp to make her feel ecstasy like she had never known.

But he couldn’t.

Psy would have to fall asleep to see her, and he knew he was too highly strung for that.

So he’d do the next best thing.

His fingers hesitantly trailed down from his belly button, tracing the gentle slope. He moaned when he felt the slick heat awaiting him, and god, he loved her voice, so he made no efforts to muffle the sounds spilling from his lips as he finally gave in to the desire that had been plaguing him for days.

He swirled a finger around his sensitive little clit, and he could almost tell himself it was just like stroking his cock, but of course it felt nothing like that. His skin, his entire body was on fire, prickling with the ache that was normally confined just to his groin. He pawed at himself, cupping and squeezing a breast and deciding he just didn’t have enough hands for everything this body was urging him to do.

Psy desperately thrust his clit against his hand, wanting, needing release, but he couldn’t find it. And even though the idea of penetration would have made him instinctively recoil in any other moment, now his fingers were pressing against his entrance because he was so, so close, he could feel it, but it was slipping away and he needed it so, so badly. He bucked his hips and a finger was inside of him and oh, god, that felt really fucking weird but he was kind of loving it so he added a second and moaned with abandon.

But he still couldn’t find that elusive release. It just built and built and built but then it just dwindled back down, and he had to start all over again.

Frustration built, too.

He let up for a moment, catching his breath, and then raised a shaking hand to his lips, sucking on the fingers coated in his – in Caroline’s – juices. He moaned, closing his eyes, and this was the closest he’d gotten to enjoying her divine body from an outsider’s perspective. He licked his hand eagerly, imagining himself on his knees in front of her, kissing his way up her thighs before lapping up every single drop he could squeeze from her.

On his knees…

He shuddered, realizing he still wanted that, but he was whole now, so maybe it wasn’t Cinder Snow who gave him these desires. Amplified them, yes, but maybe there all along, and if that was the case, then maybe he could make his peace with them.

Stephen shook his head and pushed the thoughts of that monster away; he couldn’t deal with that right now, he had things to do, namely himself. Or rather, Caroline.

Thinking of it like that gave him an idea.

He rolled out of bed, his knees buckling slightly when he stood.

He kicked away the jeans still around his ankles, stumbling toward the desk in the corner. Then he grabbed the adjacent chair and dragged it in front of the mirror.

Psy half-fell, half-sat down, and looked at Caroline in the mirror.

He could see her breasts rise and fall with each labored breath. Her skin was flushed, her cheeks rosy, and she was looking at him through heavy-lidded eyes. He licked his lips and so did she, her tongue darting out to sensually trace her full red lips.

Then she spread her legs, revealing her glistening pussy and just the sight of that made his insides seethe with heat.

And as he watched himself fuck his fingers in the mirror, release was easy to find after all.


***


Psy descended down the stairs with a spring in his step and was greeted with the sight of Shade glaring daggers at him, whilst clutching the aforementioned dagger in her hand.

For a moment, he saw double again.


“Psychopath,” Tex murmured under his breath as they watched Shade throw a henchman to the floor and brutally shatter his ribs.

Psy nodded in agreement.

This was why teaming up with Shade was just plain unpleasant, even when they were going after the same villain.


Stephen blinked, pushing the memory of last week away. No, last week Shade had been sitting by his side, quietly reading a book while he inspected his pet project for all the parts he’d need to replace. Last week Psy could barely stand being around the man. Last week Shade had been the woman patiently biting her tongue whenever he called her girlfriend his Mistress.

Psy smiled at his new friend.

Kara glared.

“Sleep well?” she growled, and Psy wasn’t exactly surprised that she had heard him. He’d rather enjoyed the sound of Caroline’s yells, and had made no effort to keep them down.

“You have no idea.” He beamed at her.

Kara’s eye twitched.

Diane, sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of tea in her hand, chuckled.

Shade’s mouth opened and closed soundlessly as she seemed to be struggling with words. “That… body. Is not yours.”

“I know.” Stephen nodded, falling back on his habit of telling the truth he could not say in a way that lead to entirely wrong conclusions. “Which is why I waited until I had permission.”

Kara stood frozen for a long moment, mouthing the word permission. Then she whirled to face his old Mistress, yelling accusingly, “Diane!”

Diane fluttered her eerie red eyes, a mischievous sparkle within. If she was bothered by being falsely accused, she didn’t show it. “Oh, please, Kara. Caroline is probably doing the exact same thing.”

“No, no, she isn’t, my sister is not…”

“Playing with her cock? Yes, yes, she is, Kara. If I suddenly got a body with a dick, it’s exactly what I would do.”

Kara’s eyes twitched again, probably because she was seeing mental images of her sister she’d rather not see.

Then she threw her hands up. The dagger missed Stephen’s cheek by mere inches, and she stormed out of the kitchen.

Psy slid on the chair next to Diane. She was gazing at him with a curious tilt to her head and for the first time he could look at her, and not hear the echo of his Purpose.

He smiled.

“That’s for putting me in a miniskirt.”

“Fair enough,” Diane said, amused.

“I have something to ask of you…”

She curiously arched an eyebrow, and he raised his hand to his neck, his thumb brushing the tattoo on his skin. Caroline hated it, this he knew. In her dreams, her neck was pale and slender and unmarred.

His previously vague desire to reunite the siblings and hopefully set Caroline on the path to redemption was now ironclad conviction.

She had given him his freedom.

So he would give her hers.

And he would start by removing the thing that branded her as property of the Order.

“Can you heal this?”

Diane took a sip from her tea, watching him like a hawk. “Why?”

“Because I am asking you,” he said slowly. “As a friend.”

“A friend,” she repeated. It was a question.

And he smiled at her.

“Yes. As a friend.”


***


Diane had tried healing the tattoo, but had grown increasingly frustrated when she couldn’t. Eventually, she’d given up and complained that there was something magical blocking her.

Psy really shouldn’t have been surprised that the brand was mystically reinforced in some way.

He absently adjusted the straps of his bra, still not quite used to just how itchy those things were, brushing his fingers along the bare, unmarked skin of his neck. Knowing that it was magical, he’d found that he could make it fade at will, which made sense – assassins really wouldn’t give themselves away so easily.

But it was still there.

Diane, having had her magic for less than a year and using it only on instinct, would be of no help.

What he needed was someone well-versed in the arcane arts. Someone he could trust to keep the matter confidential. Someone smart.

Psy raised his head and gazed at the university campus he hadn’t seen in three years.

It was time to pay his ex-girlfriend a visit.

Of Heroes And Villains: The Ties That Bind By Minikisa An assassin. A fallen hero. An unlikely meeting. The road to redemption is long and hard and filled with explosives.

INTERLUDE


Psy is so bored.

He impassively gazes at the girl trying to scrape up the courage to break up with him, stumbling as she tries to put into words what he has read in her mind quite some time ago.

At this point, he would usually gently cut in, and tell her that he understands. But not this time. No, he is going to let her squirm.

He could have prevented this, of course.

Stephen had seen the growing attraction to someone else. And with just a few well-chosen actions he could have steered her away, either by making her so ecstatically happy she wouldn’t even think about another guy or by tugging at her guilt with a timely reminder of all the things he’d done for her.

He hadn’t. But that doesn’t mean he isn’t angry that she would actually cheat. He expected her to run into the guy’s arms after the breakup.

Occasional mistakes aside, there is not a single relationship in Psy’s life that he does not have complete control over. Tex is the closest thing to an equal he knows, but even he does not understand just how much of what Psy says and does is calculated.

It has to be.

PsyKick knows the people around him, intimately, and he has to keep track of who knows what, what secrets he’s actually been told and which ones he only heard in passing, and then he has to pretend like he doesn’t know these things and talk as if he isn’t engaging in an elaborate deception or everyone will get creeped out.

The only people who can possibly understand are other mindreaders, but he does not want to have to sequester himself away with his own kind. Not to mention that most of his kind are just… dicks.

Understanding the very concept of boundaries is nigh impossible when one violates it just by walking around. Respecting the opinion of a normal person as if it holds any sort of weight when one can change it on a whim can be difficult. Most psychics think the only real people in the world are other psychics, while the rest are more like barely sentient pets they can get to perform tricks for their entertainment, which is why most fall to villainy.

PsyKick does not want to be like them.

But sometimes he can’t help but feel that he has no true equals.

And nowhere is it more evident than with the girls he dates.

Psy is very, very good at pleasing women.

He knows the right words to defuse their anger, can anticipate their needs, knows exactly what they would and would not like.

He is the perfect boyfriend.

And that is exactly how they see him.

Stephen knows them so well, and they know him not at all. They never do see how much of a liar he really is.

It’s a vicious circle: The more he loves a woman, the more he wants to please her. How can he bring himself to say what he knows to be the wrong, hurtful thing when he sees clearly which words will bring joy and happiness? The more he pleases her, the less she sees him as an actual person, with his own flaws and issues and needs.

He falls for them so fast, too. There is no getting to know each other phase for him. He just knows them after looking at their minds, and if he ever catches a glimpse of a beautiful core he has been known to fall in love instantly.

Intimate contact makes him see their cores.

Which makes him a ridiculous caricature of That Girl who gets clingy after getting laid.

Of course, he can never actually tell them how much he loves them because that would be creepy on the second date.

The love they develop for him grows so goddamn slowly, and it’s never quite like he wants it because it always feels like he’s manipulating them into it. He could force them to love him back instantly, but no, he does it by slightly pulling a thousand different strings and, really, how is that any better?

Love at first sight fucking sucks.

He always grows frustrated with it, in the end, and initiates amicable breakups with a few choice words. Sometimes though, he doesn’t even need to set out to do it.

“It’s not you,” she stammers. “It’s me. And I know that sounds like a stupid line, but it’s true. You’ve been perfect.”

Yes, perfect.

It turns out people do not actually enjoy dating perfection.

It makes them feel inadequate.


***


Psy finally finds a quiet corner in the library where no one else is sitting.

He sighs in relief as the last voice slips out of his head and he cracks open the books his classes demand he read. So he plans to memorize them in their entirety, for which he needs silence. Psy gets along with the voices in his head just fine, blocking out all of them except the ones in closest proximity and he is quite good at ignoring those. But to truly have peace and quiet he needs a good fifteen feet of distance between himself and anyone else.

Stephen flips the pages and quickly scans the complicated formulas within. He gets about halfway through the book when he hears the scraping of a chair, and someone sitting down on the other side of the communal table.

He looks up with a scowl, a little annoyed that he’ll have to find a new table now, before he realizes he hadn’t heard her approach.

His eyes widen as he stares at the woman who is already deeply immersed in her own stack of book.

There is complete silence.

He can’t hear a thing.

Her long auburn hair is cascading over her shoulder, hiding her face from view since she is bent over her books.

“Hi,” he blurts out.

She looks up at him, seeming to resent the interruption of her studies. The fierce scowl on her face only makes her look cuter. He can’t help but notice that she has full and sensuous lips, as they are common for Latinas.

Stephen turns on his most charming smile.

She rolls her eyes at him and goes back to studying.


***


Her name is Constance and she is magical.

Literally.

Her mental shields are a product of magic.

She is aloof and mysterious, and eyes his pursuit of her with wariness.

Stephen has no idea how to get her to like him.

It. Is. Awesome.


***


Kissing her for the first time is like nothing he has ever felt before.

She is impossibly shy, trembling in his arms while she presses her closed lips to his. He coaxes her to open her mouth with his tongue, gently, just so she can get used to the sensation.

He suspects this may be her first kiss, ever.

Constance, being something of a genius, learns fast, and only a few minutes later she is moaning into his mouth, her usual aggressiveness asserting itself. When she pushes him to sit and climbs on top of him, growling against his lips, he can feel himself growing hard.


***


Getting to know Constance is an adventure. He peels back layer after layer, and likes what he sees.

Well, most of the time.

One day she proclaims that the best form of government is that of a cunning dictator working for the good of all.

Psy just about falls out of his chair.

He tries to explain that this is the kind of thinking that leads to people trying to take over the world.

That her response is “So?” worries him a little.


***


They start arguing.

A lot.

They debate every topic under the sun, and her perspective is so twisted, yet he always ends up stammering when trying to argue against it. Constance is just so goddamn smart that she dances rhetorical circles around him. And yet… she actually listens to what he has to say, considering his opinion carefully.

And one day she hesitantly admits that she has been raised by villains and looks up at him with wide, fearful eyes, like he’s going to leave her over it.

PsyKick isn’t exactly shocked at this point.

So he just kisses her and tells her that it doesn’t matter.

What matters is not the family you are born with, but the one you make for yourself.


***


Chrono Warden smiles shyly as he reaches for her hand, and he brings it to his lips for a kiss.

They are surrounded by defeated henchmen. It’s her first night as a hero, “just to see what you do, for empirical data”, and he can tell she likes it. Her magical abilities are both amazing and terrifying to behold. She could have grown to be a truly dangerous villain, and he can’t help the jolt of pride he feels knowing he has prevented that.

They make love that night for the very first time.

He is gentle, very gentle, as he pushes past her hymen, and he can see her gritting her teeth so he slows down even though he has wanted this for so long and he is out of his mind with desire for her. He kisses and teases and nibbles until she is panting with need and moaning his name and when he thrusts into her again, this time she cries out with pleasure.

And for one brief, wonderful moment he can see her core.

It’s as exquisite as he imagined it.

Her walls go up again and he is glad; he really, truly does not wish to see more than that. Psy knows she still hasn’t told him everything, but he’s okay with that.

He likes her secrets.

He will discover them in time.


***


PsyKick is so bored.

The straps around his wrists are too tight, and it’s uncomfortable. The nurse who fastened them is new. She needs to work on her restraining technique.

It’s a day like any other. He’s staring blankly at the ceiling of his room. His Purpose claws at him. He spent yesterday like this, and he will spend tomorrow like this.

There… hasn’t been a day that was different in quite some time.

His eyebrows furrow slightly.

How long since Tex’ last visit?

The next visit should be soon. He thinks. Tex doesn’t keep a regular schedule, so PsyKick can’t keep track, or know when to expect him. But it should be soon, yes. He never stays away for very long. He thinks. Every day is an eternity, so he can’t really judge what is short and what is long.

PsyKick has prepared his apology. Tex is being a horrible friend for keeping him in here, but PsyKick should not have said those things, so he will tell Tex how sorry he is. He was just so angry. Tex can’t help not understanding why keeping him in here is wrong. He’s never met PsyKick’s Mistress, and she has not shown him Purpose.

But once PsyKick escapes and gets his powers back, he will show Tex Purpose.

And then they will be family again.

He smiles at that thought.

But it’s very important that he apologizes, he has to remember that. Sometimes it’s a little hard to think, but he must remember that. He can’t jeopardize their friendship, not even to escape. If he destroys it, he can’t get it back, just like he can’t get back Dawn’s.

He yelled at her, a long time ago.

She hasn’t come back.

Yes, he could make Dawn his friend again with his powers and then show her Purpose, but it would not be the same. And it has to be the same.

But Tex is still his friend, so there’s that.

… Tex hasn’t come back in a long time.

And in a moment of perfect clarity PsyKick understands that Tex is never coming back.

He is…

Tex was the last.

Nobody is ever going to visit him again.

Not Tex.

Not Dawn.

Not Constance.

They are leaving him here to rot.

And the day PsyKick realizes that he is alone is the day he starts refusing to eat.

Of Heroes And Villains: The Ties That Bind By Minikisa An assassin. A fallen hero. An unlikely meeting. The road to redemption is long and hard and filled with explosives.

Constance was a genius.

It was evident in everything she said and did, from the way she could learn and understand just about anything at a glance, to the way she acted, knowing full well that she was the smartest person in any given room.

Being around her had been difficult sometimes.

Now Constance was standing in front of a class of undergraduates, lecturing them in a way that made the complex arcane theorem seem intuitive and easy to understand when it really, really wasn’t. There was a presence to her, and she was sparkling with that certain something that separated good teachers from bad ones. The gaze of every student in the class was on her, listening raptly.

A student raised a hand.

“But what does the runic matrix actually do?”

She’d explained that not five minutes ago, and Stephen leaned back with a sigh, waiting for her exasperation to shine through.

Constance waved her hand, a shimmering image of her previous blackboard sliding back into view.

“The runes are a focal point for magic, and much like any language, they have a vocabulary, grammar and basic structure. An arcane circle is, in essence, a program, which is activated by the flow of magic. Then it’s just a matter of the magic sequentially executing the individual orders of each rune to rewrite reality around it.”

Constance used to make Stephen feel stupid when she knew something he didn’t, which was the case far more than he liked. When a few clipped sentences did not make him understand it instantly, she’d grow annoyed.

She was smiling patiently.

“So, remember, every time a circle blows up in your face, you’ve found a bug, usually by giving your magic contradictory instructions. Now let me explain how, should such issues arise, we can narrow down which rune in the larger whole is causing problems…”

Psy leaned back in the chair at the very back of the lecture hall, and watched his ex-girlfriend thoughtfully.

Constance had been an adventure, a mystery for him to unravel, and he had enjoyed every moment. He’d been all too eager to overlook her flaws, ignoring them in favor of the more positive traits he uncovered bit by bit.

She was the first true equal he’d ever had. Perhaps even more than an equal, holding all the cards in their relationship, and that hadn’t bothered him at all.

But he saw now that a relationship based solely on not knowing her might have not been his best idea ever.

Would things have gone differently if she’d been completely open with him? Perhaps not. Perhaps he would not have escaped Cinder Snow even if he had been warned beforehand. But that thought was there, and would forever be, feeding an anger that had been simmering for three years now.

Her secrets had ruined him.

And he had lost his taste for them.

Perhaps he could have forgiven her – if she hadn’t been the first to stop visiting him.

He understood why, of course. Unlike his other friends, who had known only the – considerable – hurt of his words, he had kept physically attacking Constance every single time he saw her.

But he had been so alone.

Ever since he had regained some measure of sanity, Psy had been filled with the burning desire to make amends and hope his friends could find it within themselves to forgive him.

Groveling had been his default setting.

But now that he had recovered his spine, anger had started rising to the surface, because maybe he was the one who was owed an apology. The despair he had known, thinking he was going to spend the rest of his life tied to that fucking bed in that fucking room fully aware that his Purpose was destroying him piece by piece and nobody who even cared that he was dying.

PsyKick would have starved himself eventually. He had been getting very close to succeeding when Diane walked into his life and ordered him to eat something because she had no use for minions who could barely stand. And considering nobody seemed to have figured out that he’d been getting better for months and was released weeks ago, now he couldn’t help but wonder just how many weeks or months it would have taken his so-called friends to notice his death.

Maybe a few of them had noticed his recovery. And then just not deigned to show up because they were done with him.

Yes, he had said horrible, horrible things.

But Psy tolerated all the horrible thoughts that he saw in the heads of all his friends, because everyone had them.

And he did not deserve to be abandoned for revealing that, in his lowest moments, he was not perfect either.

As good a lecturer as Constance was, he found his thoughts drifting, since the subject matter was so very far out of his expertise. And with the feelings for her so fresh on his mind, he couldn’t help but compare her to Caroline.

Caroline had done terrible things, and taken pride in some of them more than he liked. Psy could see each of her failings in sharp relief. He had not pried into every secret she had, but at this rate would know them all soon.

And he had seen her beautiful core, and fallen for her almost instantly.

What made it different from his previous failed relationships was that she knew him, too. Caroline had seen the faults in his mind, his most humiliating moments, the deep, deep scars, and had decided that they did not matter. She had seen his core, the very essence of his being, pointed to it and called it amazing.

Knowing the price of secrets, when given the choice between a relationship built on the thrill of discovery and another on being completely open with one another, PsyKick knew exactly which one he preferred.

But his heart still hammered against his chest when he watched Constance.


***


“Excuse me.” Caroline’s voice broke just a fraction, and he had to clear his throat. Telling himself he did not care anymore was easier when he was not actually talking to her.

Constance slowed her steps out of the hall and gazed at him with a blank expression, the one reserved for strangers. Which was what he was to her. “Yes?”

The elaborate backstory he had given himself went out of the window.

“I need your help.”

She curiously cocked her head at him and turned to face him fully.

“I have this magical problem I need removed…” He absently raised his dainty hand to his throat where the invisible tattoo was engraved.

And the world stood still.

He blinked when he realized there were three bullets hanging in the air just inches from his face.

Constance was pointing a gun directly at him, her swaying hair the only movement in the frozen courtyard. All around them, students stood suspended in the middle of whatever they’d been doing when she had stopped time.

“Did you think,” she said in a pleasant voice. “That I would not recognize an assassin when I see one?”

Psy blinked slowly, not daring to move. She could unfreeze the bullets before he could hope to do anything.

“I thought,” he answered slowly. “That Cinder Snow’s sister above all people would understand the wish to reform.” She hissed in a sharp breath and he tilted his head, gazing at the bullets. So willing to use lethal force? “…but perhaps you are not as reformed as I thought.”

“Pawns of the Order do not get to judge my defenses. Especially not when they supposedly come to me for help.”

And from one moment to the next, the bullets were gone.

The gun was gone as well, and now she was gazing at him with her arms crossed, a calculating gleam in her eyes. He exhaled in relief, allowing himself to relax a fraction.

“Who are you?”

“I’d rather not say.”

“And why would I help a stranger?”

“Because it’s what a hero would do. Chrono Warden.”

“Your attempts at manipulation are adorably obvious.”

“But are they working?”

Something like a smile flitted across her face.

“That depends entirely on what you want from me.”

Of Heroes And Villains: The Ties That Bind By Minikisa An assassin. A fallen hero. An unlikely meeting. The road to redemption is long and hard and filled with explosives.

The stroke of the delicate brush on his skin tingled, sending a shiver down his spine. Or maybe that was for another reason entirely.

Psy watched Constance through heavy-lidded eyes as she bent over him, displaying her generous cleavage, and painted runes on his throat. Her nose was crinkling, eyebrows furrowed in concentration like they always were when she was absorbed in her studies.

The part of him that had still been in love with her yesterday longed to lean forward and capture her pursed lips with his.

Then she reached out and gently pushed down his shirt, pulling the bra strap over his shoulder so she could have better access to Caroline’s mark. Suddenly, she stopped, and gave him a long look. Psy realized he was breathing a little heavily so he made himself stop, doing his best to look utterly innocent.

But of course the image of Constance undressing Caroline was now firmly lodged in his head.

One would think he’d stop thinking with his dick when he didn’t have one, but his clit was picking up the slack. At least nobody would be able to tell he was soaking his cotton panties. The skill of stealth arousal was now his to command.

Constance went back to work, an intricate arcane circle drawn in black ink now covering half his throat.

And that was just the diagnostic spell.

She blew on the ink to dry it, her breath on his skin, and his knuckles turned white on the edges of her office chair. They were using a faculty room she had led him to.

The runes lit up, and he squirmed at the heat. It didn’t hurt, but it wasn’t comfortable either. Constance cocked her head at him, looking thoughtful.

“There’s a powerful tracking spell on this.”

There was? If Caroline knew about that, then that would explain why she didn’t dare run away despite her powers being perfectly suited for disappearing without a trace.

“Can you remove it?”

“Of course,” Constance said dismissively. “How did you know I am related to Cinder Snow?”

“Because I saw the bond between you two.”

Wait.

He had not meant to say that.

Constance’s eyes were narrowed.

“And when was that?”

“Three years ago.” The words left his lips against his will. His hand snapped up and he clawed at the runes, trying to get them off.

“Don’t bother. They won’t fade until you’ve answered all my questions truthfully.”

Betrayal.

Again.

“…I trusted you.”

She sighed and leaned against the table, crossing her arms. “If you’re not prepared to tell the truth, you can leave. Don’t look so hurt, assassin, I’m just making sure you are sincere in what you say. I would just hate to suddenly find a knife at my throat.” And the smooth threat in her voice implied that she would make him hate it, too.

Psy ground his teeth and said nothing.

After a tense moment where she gave him opportunity to walk out, she resumed her questions.

“Do you mean me harm?”

“No.”

“Will I come to harm anyway if I help you?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Do you want to leave the Order?”

“I… yes.”

“Why the hesitation?”

“I was never in the Order.”

She frowned, her gaze lingering on his throat.

“Then why do you carry their signature?”

“…this body isn’t mine. She’s the assassin, not me. I’m a hero.”

He blinked as that last sentence slipped from his lips so easily, like it belonged with the other truths.

Constance’s gaze softened, as did her voice.

“So you’re trapped.”

It wasn’t a question. But he answered anyway.

“No, I’ll have my body back soon. I hope. …this is a gift. For her.”

Constance said nothing and then moved to sit beside him. Her fingertips brushed the glowing runes and they faded, as did the compulsion for truth. He exhaled in relief, thankful she had not asked the question he’d dreaded the most.

“This is powerful magic,” she murmured, her thumb on the tattoo. He leaned away from her touch, reminded that she truly was Cinder Snow’s sister, even if her ruthlessness lacked the cruelty. “I will need a few artifacts for this.”

She gave him a long, searching look. There was something in her eyes he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

“You’ll keep anything you see in my home confidential, won’t you, hero?”

He gave a sharp nod and looked away.

Her hand slashed through the air, drawing a rune with the glowing tip of her finger, and a portal opened behind her.


***


Constance’s home was littered with all manner of magical artifacts. He was lying on her bed, clutching her sheets and staring hard at a multihued crystal as she burned away his skin. He gritted his teeth.

Having known the agony of Purpose, biting back a scream was easy.


***


Psy groaned in misery.

Having malignant black magic torn out of one’s skin felt a lot like… exactly what it sounded like. Deeply unpleasant. He wondered if it had burned this badly when it had first taken root.

Constance had stepped out to, in her words, “retroactively reroute the tracking spell to a remote arcane gateway” so that anyone attempting to find its last known location would be eaten by an interdimensional grue or some such. Pulling a few temporal strings, the location spell would show that Radiance had never even been in Paragon over the last few days, let alone in Constance’s home.

He crawled out of the bed, picking up the glass of water she had left him and then went in search of a mirror.

Psy found one in what passed for Constance’s living room, which, despite being quite spacious, felt tiny and cramped because half of it was gone. The broken walls revealed an endless expanse that had very little respect for gravity. He paused to watch a rock float by, and then made sure to tiptoe along the edge where physics still made sense.

There was a red gash on his throat, but he had little doubt that Diane would heal it for him. And now Caroline was one step closer to freedom. He smiled at his reflection. Then his gaze slid away from the mirror, drawn to a few framed pictures hanging on the wall.

He hissed in a breath when he saw that the most prominent one was of him.

His arms were wrapped around Constance’s waist and she was leaning back into him with a grin. Psy remembered the day this was taken; it had been early in their relationship and Constance had demanded that they do “whatever it is couples do”. So he’d taken her on the most stereotypical date he could think of, flowers and cheesy photographs included.

Stephen reached out and traced the frame with a faint smile.

“You never forget your first love, you know.”

He dropped his hand and turned around, trying to force his face into a bland and neutral expression. Constance was slowly walking toward him, and he had turned just in time to see the portal close behind her.

“Oh?” He tried to sound disinterested and failed utterly.

“Yes,” she said softly.

“Did you…” He cleared his throat. “Did you care for him a lot?”

“I loved him.” Such a simple statement to hurt this much. He did not miss the use of the past tense.

She was looking at him expectantly.

“…I’m sure he loved you, too.”

“No. He hates me.” Her voice was dull and without inflection, as if she was stating an obvious fact that barely merited mentioning. He hates me. Also, the sky is blue.

“That’s not…” He cut his objection off and looked away.

She tilted her head, and her eyes were shining. “Doesn’t he? I gave him good reason to.”

Stephen said nothing, and she sighed, looking away. She was blinking rapidly.

“You never forget your first love,” she repeated, even more softly. “And you would recognize them anywhere, too.”

He swallowed the painful lump in his throat.

“Even when they’re avoiding you and only come to you for favors.”

“Constance,” he rasped.

She closed her eyes and bit her lower lip.

“Stephen.”

He closed the distance between them in a blink, light swirling, and his hands were on her hips before he quite knew what happened. He had to slightly tilt his head up, which was a new experience. She was taller than Caroline, although still smaller than his real self.

“You’re back,” she whispered and buried her face in his neck, nuzzling his pale skin.

He nipped at her earlobe, not quite able to help himself. For one moment, it was like three years of rage and humiliation had never happened.

But they had.

“I tried to save you.” Her voice broke. “So many times.”

“Did you?” He pressed a kiss to her collarbone, and then trailed his mouth up her neck to her chin, coming precariously close to her lips. She was pressing herself so close to him, and smelled so nice, and this would have been the point he would already have been well on his way to being hard for her, but he wasn’t. And not just because he didn’t have his cock.

Wrong time.

Wrong girl.

Some things were simply lost forever, and could never go back to what they had once been.

She felt it, too, because she turned her lips from his.

“Are you happy?”

Such desperation in that question.

“Not yet. But I’m working on it. Are you?”

A flash of guilt in her eyes that told him, yes, she was.

Three years was a long time. It was only to be expected that eventually people moved on. And for all that had happened between them, he did not want her to be miserable forever.

He smiled kindly.

She had not forgotten him.

He had been mourned.

And somehow he found that his anger was slipping through his fingers.

“Then I’m happy for you.”

---

Author's Note: Fanarts!

Of Heroes And Villains: The Ties That Bind By Minikisa An assassin. A fallen hero. An unlikely meeting. The road to redemption is long and hard and filled with explosives.

INTERLUDE


Constance coolly gazes at the intricate arcane circle she has drawn on the floor.

She exhales.

She is calm.

She is not frantic.

Everything is fine.

She must be calm for the magic to work.

She’s never really had problems with that before.

Stephen, whimpers a part of her mind, the one that is new and that’s making her weak and stupid and unskilled. She is not sure she likes this part. Maybe she was better off before she discovered it.

The runes light up and show her the way to her missing boyfriend.

Constance blinks when she realizes he is right outside.

She throws open the door, and he pauses in the middle of the lawn, apparently already on his way to her doorstep. A most undignified sound escapes her lips and she runs toward him, clutching him tightly.

“I was so worried,” she whispers and he kisses her gently. “Where were you?”

“I met your sister.” His voice is pleasant. Her blood runs cold.

“A-Amelia?” She bites her lip and looks up at him with guilty eyes. He has a friend, Dazzling Dawn, and she was injured badly by one of Amelia’s early battles. So even once she confided her villainy to him, Constance could never bring herself to tell him just who her family consisted of.

“Yes.” He pauses and smiles. “She’s nice.”

What?

“She…didn’t hurt you?” Constance asks slowly, and he laughs, as if the very notion is absurd.

“Of course not. We just talked.”

Constance’s skin is crawling. He is so… happy. She doesn’t understand. The two most important people in her life are set for an inevitable collision. She knows Stephen will ask her to cut ties, and she knows one some level it is the right thing to do, but Amelia is her sister, so she’s been drawing it out.

“What did you talk about?” she asks, and dreads the answer.

“Heroes and Villains,” Stephen gets a faraway look in his eyes. “She made some really good points.”

Everything Constance and Amelia were raised with is wrong. Constance knows this, now. There are no good points, and Stephen is the one who patiently guided her to understanding that, and this doesn’t make any sense.

“Like what?”

“Well.” His smile widens. “It really doesn’t make any sense, does it? These rules we enforce, they’re made by people who are imbeciles. Why do we allow ourselves to be governed by inferior beings? With minds like theirs, they barely even deserve to be called sentient.”

Constance gazes at the first man she has ever loved, telling her things she used to believe.

Time freezes.

And then it starts turning back.


***


“Amelia!”

She finds her sister illuminated by a computer screen. A small choking sound escapes her throat as she sees Stephen strapped to a chair, wiring and machinery encasing his head.

“Stop! Stop it!”

Amelia tilts her head like a curious puppy.

“This is for us,” she says patiently, in that sing-song voice she used to use to explain basic scientific principles to Constance.

“Free him, now.” Her voice is a growl and Amelia narrows her eyes. They never take that tone with each other.

“But I’m almost done. And then he will be like us, and you can have him.” Her lip curls in distaste. “Though I really don’t know what possessed you to choose him. Really, Constance, a little taste next time.”

Constance slams her palms together, the arcane circles engraved on the inside of her gloves glowing brightly. Light and shadows roar to life and hit a forcefield.

The sound of an energy blast being discharged.

Amelia frowns at Constance writhing on the floor.

“…did you just try to attack me?”

And there is a coldness in her voice that Constance has only ever heard when Amelia killed their parents.

Time unravels, and she tries again.


***


Constance cradles Stephen’s body, sobbing as blood seeps through her fingers.

Amelia raises her hand to strike once more.


***


Stephen is standing over the dead body of his best friend.

“You know,” he says conversationally. “I never liked him all that much anyway.”

Her sister reaches out to approvingly stroke his cheek and he leans into the touch with an adoring smile.


***


It’s the most hellish week of Constance’s life.

And she lives it over and over and over again, wishing she had the power to go back just one day more.

The worst part is that it doesn’t make any sense.

Every time she thinks she has found a way, something changes, something that shouldn’t change. Constance is the variable, yet the constants change. Sometimes Amelia isn’t at home. Sometimes she brainwashes Stephen differently. Sometimes he is almost the same, and sometimes he is a monster.

But one thing never changes.

She can never, ever save him.


***


Shiva Bay is in ruins, smoke rising from the craters.

Stephen is dead.

Again.

Constance barely has the energy to reach out and stop the flow of time. It responds sluggishly, almost refusing her command, and of course Amelia is entirely unaffected. She simply keeps charging her laser cannon, aiming at Constance, while everyone else is frozen.

The timeline ends moments before her sister would have killed her.


***


Constance throws her arms around Stephen. He is docilely sitting at Amelia’s feet.

He kisses her so very gently, murmuring sweet words of affection to her.

He’s also trembling.

Good.

It’s a brainwashing that has left him mostly intact. He won’t do anything too bad, and that is fixable. Never will she forget that terrible monster that killed hundreds of people with nothing but a thought and a smile on his face.

Constance hates herself for it, but she must choose the lesser evil.

She just cannot win.

Killing her sister proves surprisingly easy in the end.

It’s just a matter of the element of surprise, and painful trial and error.


***


Constance sits at Stephen’s bedside and stares.

He looks like he is himself. Like she can reach out and stroke his cheek to wake him up. Like he’ll smile at her and then murmur a sleepy good morning. Like it’s just one of the nights they’ve shared.

He is sleeping because they slammed tranquilizers into his neck when he tried to choke her.

Again.

This is her fault.

She chose this.

And now she cannot go back. The window of time she can manipulate is too narrow.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.

She should have just let him die. He would have preferred that to this.

Constance presses a gentle kiss to his warm lips, lovingly caressing his cheek. Then she walks out of the hospital and never returns.

And somewhere, a white-haired woman is smiling at a job well done. Then she hands a new assignment to an assassin named Radiance.

Of Heroes And Villains: The Ties That Bind By Minikisa An assassin. A fallen hero. An unlikely meeting. The road to redemption is long and hard and filled with explosives.

Caroline was curled up near the glowing spire, watching the world reshape itself around her. As violent as the earth was shaking, there was a certain joy in watching rift after rift close and heal before her eyes.

She’d not broken him after all.

In fact, she thought that she might have inadvertently helped in some way.

Two more cliff sides collided, grinding against each other to form a raised crust. The canyons did not close neatly – she could see the fault lines running all over his mindscape, fanning out like an intricate spider web.

But there was no shame in scars.

Caroline had always thought they quietly spoke of strength. The hallmark of a survivor. To bear no scars was to have not known pain, and she wouldn’t even begin to know how to relate to such a person.

She raised her head to what had once been the tower. Although she had refrained from touching it a second time, her gaze was drawn to it time and again. Just looking at it made her heart over in the real world beat faster. She wanted to understand what she was seeing, and the longer she looked, the more she thought she might. There were so many elements entwined within the structure, and when she focused on them individually, she could almost pin words to them. Some drew her gaze more than others.

Cunning.

Pride.

Devotion.

A deafening rumble woke her from her reverie, and the ground ceased shaking.

A moment later, the landscape lit up with the golden glow of joy, suffusing every remaining crack. Caroline sighed happily at the beautiful sight, laying on her back and watching the sky. It had been grey and cloudy, but now there was pale light filtering through the mist, reminding her of an aurora.

And as she basked in his happiness, the lights started changing hues, turning into a deep and vibrant red that had pleasure of a different kind entirely prick her skin.

Caroline.

Her name echoed through his mind and she shivered. There was joy in it, and gratitude, and longing. Caroline’s eyelids grew heavy and she allowed herself to be lost in the sensations suffusing his mind.

And then he showed her an image.

He was kneeling in front of her, lovingly kissing her most intimate part and it was accompanied with such an overwhelming torrent of desire that she woke up, thrusting against the sheets, her fingers wrapped around a rockhard cock.

She groaned in his voice, and that was enough to send her tumbling over the edge.


***


Caroline folded her arms over the railing of the balcony, gazing at what had once been her home.

Paragon City, being on the forefront of interdimensional and extraterrestrial research, had some of the most unique architecture in the world, some of the skyscrapers made of material that was simply not found elsewhere on earth. She could see the skyscrapers rising high into the clouds in the distance.

However, she was in Founder’s Creek, one of the older districts, untouched by such technological revolutions. It had been flooded by a villain named Riptide once, and Paragon had just rolled with it, as it always did. The old brick buildings were now surrounded by water canals, creating a little slice of Venice. Just with more capes and spandex.

Due to construction being difficult in such an area, it was one of the least populated areas, with high property values. People loved its old-fashioned atmosphere.

Caroline had chosen a hotel here for the silence.

The voices were now a distant murmur. Still there, and louder the closer they were to her, but bearable. She’d rented all surrounding hotel rooms, too, just to have some quiet, and it was a testament to Paragon’s weirdness that nobody even blinked an eye.

Her gaze dropped to her hands, and she traced the lines on his palm with long fingers.

It had been a long time since Radiance had wanted anything.

Her life had settled into a routine long ago. She lived from contract to contract, fulfilling the minimum requirements of the Order, and made the best with what she had. She had the occasional fling with men who knew nothing about her, and left them before any attachment might form. Fellow assassins who took an interest in her were violently rebuffed. She looked forward to her monthly visits to Ian, as depressing as they were. And she covertly investigated other operatives who’d escaped, but all she found were bodies.

To want anything was to set herself up for disappointment. To make plans of any kind was to either accept her circumstances as permanent, or to die trying to escape them.

But now she wanted Stephen.

And she wanted Ian, too.

Stephen had made it clear her brother was looking for her, and now that she knew him, she didn’t think he’d been lying when he said Ian would have been happy to see her. Knowing that, a glimpse once a month just wasn’t enough anymore.

How pathetic that it would scare her. She’d been so self-confident once, with not a doubt in her mind that she would get exactly what she wanted. She had been Caroline Reynolds, wealthy and ambitious, easily mastering the obstacles in her way, and there had not been a single reason to suspect she would not go on to live a full and happy life.

When had she become such a coward?

With a sigh, she picked up her phone when it rang.

“Radiance.”

“Executioner.”

She’d called him not long after she’d woken, but he hadn’t picked up. Presumably busy with a contract, and she knew better than to call twice. Just like he knew better than to not call her back once he was free to do so.

“About the favor I called in a few days ago…”

There was a scream of pain on the other end that abruptly cut off.

“Apologies.” Executioner’s voice was clipped. “My guest has no manners. Yes, I’m working on your favor, and would have called you once my investigation concluded.” On a purely professional level, Radiance had to admire people who could make scolding her for bad manners sound like a threat.

“I’m not calling to check on your progress.” She sighed. Ian truly was in no danger, she was convinced of it now. “You can drop it, the matter has resolved itself.”

There was a long silence on the other line.

It was the distinctly unhappy silence that preceded someone, somewhere getting eviscerated.

Radiance frowned.

“You’ll still be paid.” Payment being a favor from her in return.

“Of course. You are, after all, not fool enough to waste my time for nothing.” Pause. “Ian Reynolds is very interesting. And marked. Why the investigation?”

“My business is mine and mine alone.”

He grunted, and hung up.

Radiance gazed at the phone, disquieted. What had he turned up on her brother?

She supposed she would find out soon enough.

From Ian.

She was done running away.


***


“And where have you been?”

Psy paused, feeling like a teenager caught by parents past curfew. Which was not really an experience he ever had, and he didn’t appreciate it as an adult.

He absently tugged at the scarf around his neck.

Kara had that crazed gleam in her eyes again.

She really was not making it easy to push the memories of a violently unstable vigilante away.

“Visiting an old friend.”

Kara exhaled and ran her fingers through her short hair.

“Ah. Good for you.”

She didn’t come right out and say it, but he responded to it anyway.

“I’m not going to run off to become a villain.”

Her icy gaze lingered on him for just a moment before it slid away; she still had trouble looking at Caroline.

“I made you a promise I’d keep you from following your programming.” She made a frustrated noise. “I know I’ve been distracted and probably not…helping. But I intend to keep it.”

Psy blinked, and his voice softened.

“You don’t have to, anymore. I’m getting better.”

Shade met his eyes for just a moment, and he was struck by just how closely she resembled Caroline.

“…okay. I’ll trust you on this, PsyKick.”

There was a warning in there somewhere, but he appreciated it just the same.

“Psy.”

“Hm?”

“My friends call me Psy.”

She blinked, taken aback, and then blushed, crossing her arms in a weirdly defensive posture.

“I’d rather…not.”

It was his turn to be taken aback. That stung more than he thought it would.

“Why?”

“How’d your meeting with your old friend go?”

“Stay on topic.” He did not approve of this not-knowing-what-people-were-thinking business.

“I’m not your friend, PsyKick,” she said with a sigh. “I’m your substitute until your real friends remind you how much of a psychopath you think I am.”

Psy stared at her. Then he guffawed at the absurdity of that statement.

“I’m actually leaning more toward idiot right now.”

She narrowed her eyes in a glare.

“Do you really think I will just forget the things you’ve done for me?”

Shade said nothing for a long moment.

“Dawn…” She paused, seeming to struggle for words. “Nowadays she smirks right along with Texplosion when he…” She trailed off, making a frustrated gesture, and Psy’s expression sobered.

“…is an asshole to you?” One of his friend’s less endearing traits, which Psy used to tolerate and rein in as best as he could. He closed his eyes at the painful reminder of just which words he’d used to drive Tex away forever.

“That.” Her voice was laced with scorn. “My gender change is evidently just an endless source of hilarity.”

Psy winced with guilt, remembering his own laughter at her fetish.

“…I like the woman you are now much better than the man you used to be.”

Shade blinked rapidly. Then she coughed into her fist.

“…I’d return the sentiment, but I like you better semi-brainwashed does not sound like a compliment…” She trailed off once more, seeming embarrassed.

Stephen grinned anyway.

“Lucky for you, I’m rather good at picking up what people are actually thinking rather than what they’re saying. I believe it’s called being psychic…?”

“Smartass.”

“Yes.”

Her lips twitched into a small smile as well. Briefly.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night, so…”

Kara huffed. “Keep it down. Seriously. I do not need to hear what I heard last night.”

“I make no promises.”

“Understand that the basement of this house is filled with deadly weapons.”

“…fine.”


***


Executioner calmly wiped away the red stains on the pristine blade.

Interrogation was such a waste of his talents, but he was nothing if not efficient.

His contract at last fulfilled, he turned to the other matter on his mind. What had started as nothing more than a favor to another operative had truly captured his attention when he noticed a certain hero lurking at the edges of Ian Reynolds’ life.

It was really quite remarkable just how many villainous plots involving Reynolds Industries had been taken down by Shade.

Shade.

In a city filled with demigods, it was the underpowered vigilante who was an eternal thorn in Executioner’s side.

Most heroes were overconfident idiots. They did not have training. They relied on their powers. Above all, they had weaknesses that were all too easy to exploit. A well-placed power suppressor, a certain green rock or a pathetically obvious distraction and most heroes were simply useless in a fight.

He turned over the katana in his hand. A ruby crystal glittered within the hilt. The Maw of Unquenched Thirst cut through anything, be it titanium or invulnerable skin, and with every drop of blood it was fed its power grew. With every hit Executioner landed, he took away a fraction of his opponent’s strength and temporarily added it to his own.

The likes of Captain Patriot could not hope to touch him.

Nor could any tech-based hero, whose equipment his blade cut to pieces.

Shade, however…

Shade was that dangerous combination of low-powered and highly skilled. If he had not had a power, as was the case for most of the heroes who boasted actual combat training, the blade would have drawn directly on his life force and weakened him thus. But reducing his teleport range did nothing, and that was assuming Executioner ever even landed a hit.

A few months ago Executioner had struck him down within two blows. When he later found out that it had been because Shade had been turning into a woman, he had allowed himself a rare smile.

Weakness at last.

His elation had turned into dismay when they had crossed blades again, and Shade had won. Oh, she’d been weaker. But she had known her limits, and adjusted her fighting style accordingly. They had been almost as evenly matched as before.

Then Executioner had landed a blow.

And it had healed instantly.

The scales had tipped in Shade’s favor. Executioner had lost.

What’s more, the loner had started teaming up with other heroes on a more regular basis. It was only a matter of time until her brain cells rubbed off on them.

Shade was getting more dangerous, not less.

Executioner slowly sat down in front of various monitors displaying all he had found on Ian Reynolds. A year old picture, showing his profile and build. Medical records indicating a severe back injury at the time Executioner had defeated a young and inexperienced Shade. Undisclosed funds of Reynolds Industries going toward purposes unknown.

Surveillance photos showing a red-eyed former villainess strolling through the gardens of Ian Reynolds’ home.

An announcement that the reclusive billionaire would be attending a charity event tomorrow on short notice, sending high society into an excited frenzy of gossip.

And lastly, his name on The List.

The List that made him untouchable.

Presumably placed there by Radiance. Not that it mattered at this point. Whatever her business with the CEO had been was no longer Executioner’s concern.

He smiled.

Being marked would not save Shade.

“Ian Reynolds” was, after all, a man’s name.