Chum

As if on cue, the speakerphone at the head of the table crackles to life. The laughter dies down immediately, replaced by a respectful silence as we all turn our attention to our leader. I check the clock. It's exactly 8:00 PM.

"We have exactly fifty-eight minutes and twenty-two seconds from the end of this sentence to finish our business. If you're not being addressed, you can eat and drink. If you are being addressed, swallow fast and talk quickly but without yelling. You can enjoy dessert once we're finished," Mr. A says, clearly speaking quietly, artificially amplified through the speaker of the phone into slightly brickwalled tinniness. "Zenith?"

"Aye," I say, trying to swallow phlegm.

"Congratulations on your recent election to the Philadelphia City Council. This is a significant achievement for both you and our organization. Please provide a brief overview of the strategic advantages and potential risks associated with your new position," Mr. A says, his voice maintaining its steady, measured cadence.

I clear my throat, taking a moment to organize my thoughts. "Thank you, sir. The advantages are numerous. As a council member, I now have direct access to city planning and budget allocation discussions. This puts us in a prime position to influence development projects, zoning laws, and public works contracts in our favor. We can steer resources towards areas where we have vested interests while simultaneously building a reputation for community improvement."

I pause, taking a sip of water before continuing. "Additionally, my position grants me access to sensitive information about law enforcement operations and city-wide security measures. This intelligence will be invaluable in helping us stay one step ahead of any potential crackdowns or investigations."

"However," I add, my tone growing more serious, "the risks are equally significant. The increased public scrutiny that comes with the position means we'll need to be even more cautious in our operations. Any slip-up could not only jeopardize our activities but also trigger a widespread investigation that could unravel everything we've built."

Mr. A remains silent for a moment, likely processing the information. "And how do you propose to mitigate these risks, Zenith?"

"Compartmentalization will be key," I respond without hesitation. "I've already begun creating firewalls between my public and private activities. We'll need to be more careful than ever about communication channels and meeting locations. I'm also working on cultivating a network of trusted intermediaries who can act as buffers between my office and our operations. It's possible this may be my last quarterly meeting in person. I may begin having to send Nothing in my stead."

As I speak, I can feel the others watching me intently. Ophelia's gaze is particularly sharp, her eyes narrowed as if trying to dissect every word. I ignore her, focusing instead on the speakerphone.

"Very good, Zenith," Mr. A says after a brief pause. "Your foresight is appreciated. I trust you'll keep us informed of any developments or opportunities that arise from your new position. Now, let's move on to the next item on our agenda. ESP, what's the latest on the Rogue Wave situation?"

Wesley leans forward, his fingers steepled in front of him. "Our intelligence is still frustratingly limited," he begins, his voice tinged with a hint of frustration. "What we do know is that Jump and Fly are continuing to flood the market at an alarming rate. We've managed to intercept several shipments, but for every one we stop, three more seem to slip through. I've yet to receive a power readout that lets me extract any more useful information. There's probably six actual operatives within the main cell, and I have reason to believe that all six have superpowers, but we haven't had any success getting any further."

He pauses, pulling out a small tablet and tapping on the screen. "We've analyzed the chemical composition of both drugs, and I have to say, the level of sophistication is… impressive. Whoever's behind this has access to cutting-edge biotech and a deep understanding of metahuman biology. This isn't some back-alley operation we're dealing with. It's very likely whoever among them is manufacturing Jump and Fly is, themselves, metahuman, or has access to a metahuman to fully construct the drugs."

"What about the users?" Jacob interjects, his fingers absently tracing the outline of his ever-present fidget toy. "Have we made any headway in tracking the long-term effects of these drugs?"

Wesley shakes his head. "That's another problem. The short-term effects are clear enough - temporary powers for Jump users, permanent but unpredictable abilities for Fly users. Long-term is unpredictable outside of the typical 'yellowing' - 'jaundice, anemia, and altered blood chemistry, particularly increased bilirubin levels and blood pH', so quotes the reports." he trails off, his expression grim.

"Yellowing?" Ophelia presses, leaning forward with interest.

"We've had reports of users experiencing extreme physical and psychological breakdowns," Wesley continues. "Over time, repeated Jump use causes your veins to degrade, and it's very possible that this process also happens through Fly use. And, of course, there's the highly publicized reports of individuals taking Jump or Fly and going on rampages totally unrelated to their life conditions or possible targets of revenge."

A heavy silence falls over the room as we all process this information. Ophelia glances around furtively.

"Zenith," Mr. A's voice cuts through the tension. "What are your thoughts on this situation? I know the Philadelphia market has been one of the most heavily hit."

I take a deep breath, choosing my words carefully, while Ophelia glares daggers towards me that I deflect with a nonchalant hand gesture. "It's clear that Rogue Wave poses a significant threat to our operations. The flood of Jump and Fly is undercutting our traditional markets, and the unpredictability of the drugs' effects makes them a wild card we can't afford to ignore."

I pause, glancing around the table before continuing. "I believe our approach needs to be twofold. First, we need to aggressively target their distribution networks. Hit them hard, disrupt their supply chains, make it as difficult as possible for them to move product."

"And second?" Ophelia asks, her tone challenging.

"Second," I say, meeting her gaze steadily, "we need to start thinking about how we can turn this situation to our advantage. If we can't beat them, maybe we need to consider… redirecting them."

The room falls silent, all eyes on me. I can see the curiosity piqued in their expressions, even Ophelia's glare softening slightly with interest.

"Elaborate, Zenith," Mr. A says, his voice cutting through the tension like a knife.

I lean forward, lowering my voice slightly. "I've been working on something with Mrs. Xenograft. A potential way to… hijack Jump and Fly. To put it simply, we're exploring methods to use them as a biological precursor for our own, modified product."

"How exactly would that work?" Jacob asks, his fingers unconsciously fiddling with his lock.

I shake my head. "I can't go into details right now. It's still in the early stages, and I don't want to overpromise. What I can say is that if it works, we could produce something that lets us corner the market in a way that Rogue Wave can't account for. Mass reproduction of particular strains. With valuable medical byproducts that could be sold for a pretty side-penny."

"That's… ambitious," Wesley says slowly, his brow furrowed in thought. "The biological and chemical challenges alone would be immense."

"Which is precisely why we're keeping it under wraps for now," I respond. "But think about the possibilities if we succeed. We could turn their own product against them and get a leg up in a burgeoning, legitimate market at the same time. Nobody's out there using Jump and Fly to become superheroes. And Jump and Fly aren't exactly well-loved by the good citizenry of this fair nation. We'd hit two angles at once."

Ophelia scoffs, but I can see the wheels turning behind her eyes. "And if it fails? We'd be wasting valuable time and resources chasing a pipe dream while Rogue Wave continues to eat into our market share."

"That's why this is just one part of our strategy," I counter. "We continue to fight them on all fronts, but we also prepare for a future where we might be able to beat them at their own game."

"Enough," Mr. A interrupts, his tone brooking no argument. "This is a discussion for another time. For now, we stick to our current strategy. Disrupt their operations where we can, gather more intelligence, and prepare contingencies. Zenith, I want a detailed proposal on your idea by next week. The rest of you, focus on shoring up our defenses and minimizing the impact on our existing markets."

There's a chorus of "Yes, sir" around the table. I lean back in my chair, mind already whirring with plans and possibilities. I can feel Ophelia's glare burning into me, but I ignore it. She'll come around eventually, or she'll be left behind.

"Now," Mr. A continues, "let's address the issue of these 'child heroes'. Yellowjacket, I believe you've had some recent encounters?"

Nolan shifts uncomfortably in his seat, the earlier lightness in his demeanor completely gone. "Yes, sir," he begins, his voice uncharacteristically somber. "Last month, during what should have been a routine operation in Baltimore, my team and I were ambushed by a group of powered kids. Couldn't have been more than fifteen, sixteen at the most. Age-wise, not number-wise."

He pauses, taking a long swig of sake before continuing. "They were… They were good, sir. Coordinated, well-trained. They knew our tactics, our weaknesses. We barely made it out, and only because I… I couldn't…" he trails off, his face a mask of conflicted emotions.

"You couldn't bring yourself to use lethal force against children," Mr. A finishes for him, his tone neutral.

Nolan nods miserably, looking clearly on the verge of tears. "I'm sorry, sir. I know it was a risk to our operation, but I just… I couldn't do it."

The room falls into an uncomfortable silence. We've all been wrestling with this issue to some degree, but Nolan's experience brings it into sharp focus. The rise of these kid hero teams is more than just a PR nightmare - it's a genuine threat to our operations, one that exploits our own moral limitations. "That's alright, Yellowjacket. That's why you have soldiers."

"The problem," Jacob says slowly, "is that these kids are being used as shields. The adult heroes know we can't… or won't… go all out against children. It's a clever tactic, I'll give them that."

"Clever or not, it's putting our people at risk," Ophelia snaps. "We need to send a message. Show them that using kids as weapons has consequences."

I feel a chill run down my spine at her words. "And what exactly are you suggesting, Ophelia? That we start killing children? Because I can tell you right now, that's a line I'm not willing to cross."

Ophelia's eyes narrow. "Always the self-righteous one, aren't you, Maya? We're criminals, in case you've forgotten. We don't get to pick and choose our morals."

"Quiet," Mr. A interjects, his voice sharp but even. "Blue Velvet is right. Zenith, if you're not willing to handle what needs to be done, then we need to hear alternatives. Are you willing to delegate this to more hardened individuals under your command?"

I take a moment to gather my thoughts, acutely aware of the weight of everyone's gaze. "I said I'm not willing to kill a kid. There's plenty I am willing to do to a kid. Or… delegate others to do to a kid."

"Elaborate," Mr. A says. I catch Jacob mouthing along with him, expecting the one-word response.

"Children are stubborn but soft and pliable. You already saw for yourself the success Porcelain had with Project Hollywood - at least until these Toddler Squads got our favorite girl thrown in Daedalus. Deathgirl and the rest of the Phreaks are raving lunatics, highly accustomed to violence, extremely emotionally unstable. They have no social support net. They have nobody that cares about them. And now they're all in jail. If they were our problem, then I'd consider this an uncontested success. They burnt out, committed a major terrorist incident, ruined their own lives, and are now all out of the picture," I explain, drawing increasingly mute stares from my cohorts.

Nolan's eyes are clearly running through fifteen different emotions right now. Then, he speaks. "Are you suggesting we psychologically torture children until they burn out?"

Ophelia looks at me like I just curbstomped a puppy. "We're criminals, in case you've forgotten. We don't get to pick and choose our morals," I say, locking eyes with her.