Chum

The moment Liberty Belle takes her seat, there's a sudden, invisible exhale throughout the room, like the tension snaps for a beat and everyone can breathe again. Councilman Jamal leans over, straightening some papers, and he seems to appreciate the gravity of her appearance just as much as the rest of us do. "Alright," he begins again, "as I was saying, Spinelli has provided us with invaluable information."

Jamal clicks a button, and the big screen fills up with red circles and arrows pointing at some pictures of buildings and stuff. Pictures of businesses, places I've shopped at, all smashed up. Broken cars. The holes in the ground that used to be parking meters. "Based on what he's told us, the afternoon's incident was a calculated trap. They deliberately pulled us into a confrontation to get a hero with strong powers on the scene — specifically, for Daisy to copy those powers and wreak havoc. Although none of the Delaware Valley Defenders were on the scene, from footage we were able to requisition, it looks like she made do with Playback and Gale's powers."

"There's footage already?" I ask, raising my hand gently. "I didn't see any drones."

"If you're fighting in public, it's safe to assume a cape chaser is going to have footage of you from some angle. This was an incident with hours of premeditation due to the evacuation, so there were already civvies with both long-distance drones and stationary cameras set up. That and security camera footage from the area. It's already spreading around local webrings." Jamal says, folding his fingers into each other. "The general public is impressed with your performance."

"Yo, am I gonna get in trouble because she used my power to bust up a bunch of windows?" Playback asks, remembering to raise his hand halfway through his sentence.

Jamal shakes his head. "I would be surprised. While we'll be sending you all in to help with cleanup, it's clear enough from footage that Daisy was the cause of most of the property damage. We're already preparing a warrant for her arrest. While it's true that if you weren't there, she wouldn't have been able to use your powers, I'm sure they'd find some other way to cause massive damage with Daisy's abilities. Pumice in particular seems like he could grant her some severe destructive capabilities if copied."

"Tight," Playback says, leaning back in his chair.

Jamal continues, "Furthermore, Spinelli mentioned they were 'gifted' Daisy by the Kingdom, suggesting they had her captive for some time. Long enough at least to determine her powers." He looks at Liberty Belle, then back to us. "We'll need to investigate this connection, since this adds child trafficking and superhuman trafficking to their long list of crimes. If they're scooping up homeless young superhumans, that could be a problem in every sense of the word. For now, your focus should be on damage control and community relations, while the detectives handle chasing leads."

Liberty Belle leans forward, her eyes darting across us Young Defenders like she's measuring each one of us. "Kids," she starts, her voice heavy but clear, "what you've done, the valor you've shown — it's commendable. But you've also got to remember, power without control is dangerous. Even when facing a trap, we should aim for de-escalation whenever possible."

I nod, but it's sort of automatic. My mind is already spiraling into a thousand other thoughts, like, should I have done something differently? Would things be better if my power set was more…peaceful? God, I wish they taught a 'How To Be A Responsible Superhero 101' in school.

Then, Crossroads says something. "I don't think de-escalation was ever in the cards. I don't think there was ever an intention of a peaceful resolution. No matter what we did, it was going to be a fight."

Liberty Belle leans back, folding her arms across her chest. "I agree. I think it's easy to say what we should've done with foresight. Even if we didn't fall for their bait, I'm sure they would've caused problems some other way. It's just something to keep in mind - I know slugfests are exciting, but a focus on more direct apprehension could've mitigated at least some of the damage. And maybe a little more cautious of an approach when dealing with a superhuman with unknown powers," she says, glancing at Playback, who avoids her gaze.

Councilman Jamal nods, clearing his throat a little before he goes on. "For now, let's focus on rebuilding and supporting the community. We've arranged a series of public events, starting with a charity fundraiser to help those affected by last night. We'll discuss the specifics later. Any questions?"

"Can I ask Belle a question?" Blink asks, raising her hand meekly.

"You have the floor," Jamal replies.

"Are you, like… Okay?" Blink asks.

"No," Liberty Belle answers, matter-of-factly. "Obviously, I can't really hide it anymore, so there's no point. I have stomach cancer. Some of you know this, I'm sure at this point it's leaked out among the group, but I'm ready to talk about it publicly - not just with y'all. It's spread to my lungs and liver, and has begun to affect my bones as well. I've been away on an extremely rigorous, top-of-the-line treatment plan. The meanest chemo you can get. It is... not enough."

I see varying reactions around the room, as I try not to look at her, still feeling guilty for carrying her secret. It's a range - clear anger, concern, pain, sadness. Playback's hands are folded together in his lap. Crossroads' eyes are shut, and Puppeteer is silently crying in her seat, legs folded under her. Bulwark is just sobbing, trying to keep himself silent. Multiplex adjusts his glasses, and looks away.

"I have, at most, twenty-four months left to live."

I feel the tears welling up before I have an opportunity to try squeezing them out. Saliva flushes into my mouth like it's preparing for vomit. My face feels hot. "I thought you said you had three or four? Years?" I ask, choking the words out from my gut.

She sighs. "I did. But we had to keep adjusting the estimate down, because even though I can tolerate more chemo than a normal girl, so can my cancer. It's made of me. It has my super-strength, my durability. It was… tolerable, for a time. It got worse over the summer, when it spread to my lungs, as some of you know. The liver and bones were a new development in September. I'm sure, realistically, my actual clock is closer to eight months. A year if I'm super lucky. I've already begun preparing myself for palliative care, for when it becomes overwhelming. I've made my end-of-life plans. I plan on making a public announcement sometime next week."

"Are you going to be stepping away from hero work?" Blink asks.

Liberty Belle laughs. "Are you fucking crazy? Sorry, sis, you're not getting rid of me that easy."

Liberty Belle enters the room where Amira's held, straps keeping her in an almost robotic immobility on a raised backboard. The metal cuffs look like they're meant for a superhuman beast, not a teenager. Clara's already in there, leafing through a legal pad, but her attention snaps to Belle as she walks in.

Amira's eyes, though, they're like a snarling wolf trapped in a corner. They fixate on Belle, and you can almost feel the chill from behind the glass. Devonte stands next to me, but for once he's not talking. His arms are crossed and he's just as focused on the scene as I am.

"All right, Amira, let's get a few things straight," Liberty Belle starts, her voice a little wavery. She looks tired, like, more than I've ever seen her, but there's still that mentorly fire in her eyes. "We've got you on a lot of charges, but this could go easier on you if you cooperate. You're 19. You're not a minor anymore. The police were willing to play nice when you were just shoplifting and doing EBT scams. This is different."

Amira's lips twist. "I want my lawyer," she says, her voice calm but with this underlying edge.

"Ms. Irshad," Belle starts, trying to hold the room with her tone alone, "it's a complicated situation we find ourselves in. Cooperation could simplify things. Get you out faster."

"I'd like my lawyer," Amira replies tersely, not even giving Belle the courtesy of eye contact.

Clara, off to the side, clears her throat but says nothing. She's there for legality, not morality.

"We can definitely get to that stage. However, I'd advise you to consider the benefits of talking now," Belle counters, putting a hand on the table, like grounding herself would ground the whole room.

"I said, I want my lawyer," Amira snaps back, finally locking eyes with Belle, "You're not trapping me in a corner without one. Lawyer and Devonte. I'm not letting anyone else interrogate me."

From the other side of the glass, Playback's eyes narrow, but he doesn't move. Maybe he's as confused as I am about why she wants him in there. Or maybe he knows exactly why, and just isn't going to tell anyone.

Belle's eyes flicker, just for a second. "Nobody's trying to trap you. We're all on the same side, whether you believe it or not."

Amira scoffs. "Same side? Don't make me laugh. Not talking without a lawyer."

Belle adjusts her posture, like she's trying to find some reserve of strength to draw from. "Fine, lawyers will be involved. But consider this: the longer you remain uncooperative, the longer it'll take to sort this entire mess."

Amira's eyes narrow, her voice low and cutting. "I don't trust your sort of 'sorting,' and I don't trust you. Lawyer. Now. And Devonte. No one else."

Playback exhales audibly beside me, though he remains a silhouette in the room's dim light. It's heavy, the air, like it's carrying more than just oxygen and stuff. It's carrying… disappointment? Anger? Don't know. My thumb folds and unfolds. It can't decide either.

"Why do you need him so much? Do you trust your old beau to treat you nicer than I do? Because I can assure you, he-" Belle starts, dragging her palms off the table.

"You don't know a FUCKING thing. Don't try to get in my head, you fucking pig. You don't know shit," Amira barks, seemingly unaware of the contradiction between what she just said and the reality of the situation.

"You dated her?" Gossamer asks from behind me. It's just the three of us watching, us and a Multiplex. Her voice is hushed and a little suspicious sounding.

"Not exactly," Playback replies, refusing to elaborate.

"I know he's behind that FUCKING window. Do you hear me, Dev? If you want this to go anywhere you'll get out of my fucking face and put him in charge. And get me a FUCKING lawyer," Amira growls, visibly struggling in her restraints, trying to jerk herself out of them with every cuss and spat word. I hear her bones creaking, popping. She's so used to escaping restraints by just breaking her body in half that she's doing it on impulse. I watch Clara wince as Amira dislocates her shoulder struggling.

It slips back into its socket like nothing even happened, and my stomach churns. I've seen my own body do some pretty gross stuff, but watching someone else's body reset like that just adds another layer of sick to the room. Clara visibly suppresses a gag, her eyes flitting to the legal pad in front of her.

"Your insistence on self-harm isn't going to speed up the lawyer process," Belle interjects, her words strained like she's holding back a whole bunch of other stuff she wants to say. I can't blame her. Amira's as frustrating as a puzzle with missing pieces. "And why would you want Devonte, anyway? What makes him so special?" Belle continues, maintaining eye contact with her, just as obstinate.

"I trust him not to lie to me," Amira spits the words out like she can't stand the taste of them, "Unlike you."

The weight in the room shifts, and Playback is up from his chair. He doesn't say a thing. Just stands there with his arms crossed, like he's thinking really hard about whether or not to storm in there. But Belle's a stubborn one, I can tell. She'd have to be, to go through chemo and still run the Defenders and everything. Belle turns sideways. "He's watching. But he's not coming in."

"Whatever. I told you what it'll take to get me to talk," Amira replies, hawking up a loogie and spitting it at Belle. It… does not get far enough. It splatters on the table.

"Look, Amira," Belle starts again, her tone dropping softer, like talking to a scared dog, "We know you're just trying to protect Daisy. But the men you got her from, they likely have more--"

"I am not talking about Daisy without a lawyer, and that's final," Amira interrupts, almost yelling now. She's trembling. Like a whole bunch of different emotions are having a battle royale inside her, and anger's winning. Her entire body shudders inside her restraints.

Playback finally sits back down. Whatever decision he was pondering, he made it. He's staying out of it, for now at least. Amira looks like a cornered wolf and Belle looks like she's been running on fumes for way too long. It's a battle of willpower, of stubbornness.

"It's not about you, Amira," Belle says quietly, and it sounds like she's talking to herself more than anyone else, "It's about Daisy. It's about other children like her. What are you trying to protect her from? If not from us, then who?"

Amira's eyes flash, and it's the first time she looks more human than feral. "You think I'd let anyone else near her? Spinelli's a fucking idiot. She'd be in danger without me. Anyone would be in danger without me. Those idiots can't figure out what shirt hole to put their head through without me. They're gonna fuck her up and ruin all my hard work teaching her how to survive and it'll be your fault."

"So why not work with us? Let us help you. And Daisy," Belle insists, leaning forward.

Amira snorts, "Work with you? Like I'd trust anyone here to get it right. No. Lawyer. Devonte. That's it."

The room falls quiet, every set of eyes locked on Amira. I don't know if she's made her point, or just dug herself deeper into a hole she can't get out of. What I do know is that nobody's happy. Not Belle, who's got this frustrated grimace I can see even from behind the glass. Not Playback, whose silence fills the room like a fog. And definitely not Amira, who sits there restrained but as unrestrained as ever, like you can tie her down but you can't make her listen.

"Fine," Belle finally says, "We'll proceed as you wish. But remember, every moment you don't cooperate is a moment Daisy remains in danger. Think about that."

I hear Belle sigh, too, and I can almost feel her exhaustion from here. It's like it's filling the room, seeping through the glass, touching all of us. But the scene's over, at least for now. My legs finally stop bouncing. And for the first time in what feels like hours, I let out a breath I didn't even know I was holding.

Belle steps out of the room, with Clara close behind. "Get her a bedmat and some food or something. I know the second we let her out of those restraints she's gonna try to bust out."

Clara nods, and gives her a silent salute. Playback, Gossamer, and I all watch silently while the adults pass us by.

So we're all in the locker room, fresh out of our costumes, dressed in civilian clothes, because going out in skin-tight suits and capes is a bit much when you're just waiting for the adults to tell you what's next. Everyone's kinda tense, but not the tense-before-a-fight kind, more like the uncomfortable-at-a-family-dinner kind. We're quiet, it's been a long day, and then Gale breaks the silence.

"Okay, so, the timing sucks," Gale begins, twiddling her fingers. "But next weekend, my brothers' band is having a concert. They're called Demon Core. And, I don't know, it might be good to have some non-superhero downtime, y'know?"

The words hang in the air, thick as molasses. We're just sitting here, half-out of our costumes, waiting to get dismissed, and everyone takes their turns kind of looking at each other, and not at Gale.

"A concert, huh?" Puppeteer lifts an eyebrow and smirks. "The last time I went to a concert, I had to control the lighting tech just to avoid a fire hazard."

"Yeah, but this is Demon Core," Gale replies, like that means anything to the rest of us. "They’re actually not that bad. They're good, actually. If you like metal."

Puppeteer eyes her phone, thumb hovering over the screen. "I’d love to, but therapy. Already rescheduled twice, can't do it again."

"Therapy's important," Playback chimes in, a rare occasion where he's agreeing with Puppeteer. "Gotta keep the mental gears greased, right?"

"Oh, definitely," Puppeteer says, rolling her eyes. She locks her phone and slips it into her pocket.

Gossamer doesn’t even look up from her sewing. "Can't, sorry. I'll have to spend all week just fixing everyone's costumes. They need more work than Pup's psyche." She smirks as the needle moves up and down.

"Wow, rude," Puppeteer snaps back, feigning offense. Gossamer just shrugs.

Rampart's next, and he's scratching the back of his head. "I would, but track practice. Coach will eat me alive if I skip," he says, glancing at me. I get the feeling that he's less than sincere, especially since I know track season actually hasn't started yet, but I wonder why he's not just saying that he doesn't want to go. Is it to spare Gale's feelings? He looks at me for a second, and I'm not sure why.

"Right, because sprinting fast is definitely what's saving the world," Playback mutters, shaking his head.

Rampart shoots him a look. "I know this might be hard for you to believe given your history with women, but speed isn’t everything, you know. I do shot put."

A chorus of "Ohs" calls out at the insult. Playback laughs at his own expense, adjusting his headphones around his neck.

"Speaking of commitments," Playback interrupts, "I’ve got a protest to attend. The struggle continues, as they say."

"Or the system keeps getting worse," Maxwell interjects, his tone mellow. "I have a family dinner, so I'm out. Mom's been planning it for a month. You know how it is."

Blink jumps up, nearly vibrating with excitement. "A concert? That sounds so—oh, wait, next weekend? I promised my sister we'd finish this anime. Sorry!"

Everyone’s talking and laughing, and there's all this eye contact going on that's making my head spin. Are they, like, communicating in some secret code I don’t get? Blink doesn't even have a sister. I'm literally living with her. We're not planning on watching anything, if that's referring to me.

Gale looks at me with the biggest, wettest puppy dog eyes I have ever seen her wear on her entire life. Everyone else in the room is looking at me expectantly. Rampart is staring a hole in my chest.

Gale clears her throat. "So, Sam, would you like to come?"

Would I like to come? A chance to hang out with Gale, alone, with music and stuff? My brain trips over itself yelling, "Yes, yes, yes!"

"Yeah, sure," I manage to say instead, trying to keep it cool. "Sounds fun."

Everyone else suddenly has something intensely interesting to look at. Their lockers, their shoes, the grungy ceiling tiles. But I notice they're all kind of smiling to themselves. I can't figure out why.

"Great. I'll text you my address once I'm home, and you can meet me that afternoon or something?" Gale asks. Rampart is shooting me a thumbs up, and it hits me like a freight train.

Oh, you assholes.

"It's a date," I say on impulse, trying to contain my smiling.

Gale immediately arches an eyebrow. "A date?"

My heart stops. "That's a thing people say, right? Like. Not a romantic date, just, you know, we've. We've penciled it in! It's a date. Right?" I glance around the room quietly. "Yeah?"

Gale giggles under her breath. "Chill. I'm busting your balls. I'll see you then."

I am going to walk off a cliff.