NOVA STOOD ON THE SIDEWALK outside Renegade Headquarters for longer than she probably should have, ignoring the people that moved around her, grumbling at the girl in their way or the tourists who clustered beside the bus stops to take pictures of the red letters hung over the massive glass doors.
Even tilting her head back she could only barely see the top of the building. It was practically a haze, so far up in the sky, towering over the rest of the cityscape. She had seen the building from afar a thousand times, stared at it from rooftops across the city and imagined how she could scale the walls, slip inside, take revenge against the Council and so-called heroes who treated it like their palace. But she had never pictured herself entering through the revolving main entrance. Never once thought she would be welcome there.
Those revolving doors had been spinning incessantly since she’d arrived. She didn’t think everyone who worked in the building was a prodigy, but there were certainly plenty of people coming and going who wore the signature gray uniforms, though just as many in suits and casual business clothes. Some of the Renegades stopped to smile and wave at the tourists, and were always greeted with a flurry of squeals and camera flashes. All the worshipers come to gawk.
Nova’s brow tightened as she glanced around, realizing that she was among the awestruck gawkers. Huffing, she tore her feet from the sidewalk and forced them to move forward. Her palms were sweating as she neared the doors. A woman emerged in a sleek pantsuit. She didn’t even glance at Nova as she took off down the sidewalk, speaking into a device around her wrist and leaving the door to spin leisurely behind her. The gap between the glass barricades yawned open in admittance.
Nova swallowed and stepped inside.
Her heartbeat was a rapid staccato as the doors enclosed around her, then circled open on the other side.
Just like that, she was inside Renegade Headquarters. She dodged out from the revolving door and froze, every muscle braced, but not a single alarm sounded.
She was on a landing that overlooked a bright and sprawling lobby, where the Renegade R greeted her, inset into the glossy white floor. A staircase led down to the lobby on her left, a curving ramp to her right, both dropping toward a half-moon desk with the word INFORMATION bolted to the front in large steel letters.
The Anarchists had contemplated an attack on Renegade HQ a thousand times, but they had always known it would be too much risk to try to infiltrate it. There would never be a time when they weren’t vastly outnumbered, as hundreds of prodigies worked and trained inside the building on any given day. Nova could see now that what they’d assumed was true—the Renegades had not left themselves vulnerable to attack. After a quick scan of the lobby she had already pinpointed more than a dozen cameras and sensors and alarms, along with, of course, the armed and uniformed Renegades posted at practical intervals around the space, including one on either side of the landing where she stood. She wondered if guard duty was a full-time gig around here, or if it was a role they rotated people in and out of. She would have to find out. That was precisely the type of information Leroy had meant when he suggested she could make a good spy for them.
Everyone else seemed to be ignoring the guards, so she did, too, though her nerves twitched as she passed one on her way toward the staircase. An ominous chill went down her spine as she had the premonition that she was about to be tackled from behind. That she would be arrested, bound, made to answer for her crimes against the Council. That maybe her acceptance into the Renegades had been nothing but a ploy to lure her here.
But no. Nothing happened. She passed by the guard without looking into his face, and so far as she could tell, he didn’t look at her, either, though he might have glanced disinterestedly at the R pinned to her shirt, the one that felt like it was burning a hole into her skin. That was her pass, after all. That was the secret code to enter this place.
This pin was proof that she belonged there.
As she made her way down the stairs, the vast lobby seemed to transform around her. No longer flanked by security guards, she began to take in other details about the space. There were seating areas with sleek leather couches and coffee tables littered with newspapers and magazines. A small café stood in the distant corner, surrounded by little round tables where people were bent over paperwork as they sipped from paper cups. On the far side of the lobby were stairs curving up toward a wide sky bridge and a glass overlook—a large, circular room encased in glass. She could see some sort of glass sculpture taking up the floor of the enclosure, but couldn’t tell from this distance what it was.
Her attention turned up to the television screens that were scattered around the room, hanging from the ceiling or attached to pillars. Most were tuned to a variety of news stations, both local and international, but some offered internal messaging. ANNUAL RENEGADE POTLUCK THIS SUNDAY, BRING THE WHOLE FAMILY! Or, NEW ENFORCER NEEDED FOR NIGHT PATROL TEAM—APPLY AT SECURITY DESK. Or—
Nova’s feet stalled on the last step as one of the messages on the screens was replaced with something new. A hazy photo of her.
WANTED: “NIGHTMARE”—REPORT ANY INFORMATION TO THE COUNCIL.
Her back went rigid and she felt that sickening swirl of anxiety in her stomach again, the same sensation she’d had all night and all morning. What was she doing?
She would be found out. Surely someone would recognize her.
Except—two of the Renegades who should have recognized her already had seemed oblivious. Surely, if she could fool Red Assassin and Smokescreen, she could fool anyone.
She looked hard at the image on the screen. Costumed as Nightmare, there was nothing to give her away. You couldn’t even see her eyes in the photo, just the glint of her mask beneath the overhang of her black hood. No one would recognize her, not by looks at least. It was her mannerisms that threatened to give her away, those little things that one did subconsciously. The way she walked, or where she put her hands when she was standing still, or even how she fought in hand-to-hand combat. And, perhaps more than anything, the way she despised the Renegades and the Council, and the way that hatred could overflow from her mouth at any moment.
She would have to take care to smother those instincts. To play the game. To be one of them.
She reached for the pin attached to her T-shirt, the one Adrian Everhart had drawn at the trials. Her fingers ran over the sharp corners of the R, traced along the letter’s curve.
Today she was a Renegade, so that someday she would be their downfall.
She approached the information desk, where a portly man with impressive sideburns was typing at a computer. He smiled when he looked up at her, but Nova couldn’t quite bring herself to return it.
“Hi,” she started. “I was recruited at the trials. I’m supposed to—”
“Insomnia,” he said brightly, launching to his feet and holding a hand toward her. She stared at it for a long time—pinkish-red skin and neat fingernails and a braided leather bracelet around his thick wrist. Though it was an innocent gesture, a normal gesture, everything about it felt uncanny.
Here was a Renegade, maybe a prodigy, maybe not, but either way, he was offering his hand to her. Contact. Skin.
Even the Anarchists didn’t like to touch her. Not because being put to sleep was such a great tragedy, but because sleep left you vulnerable. She made people vulnerable.
She waited too long.
The man—Sampson Cartwright, according to the tag on the desk—awkwardly closed his hand into a fist and reeled it back. “I saw you at the trials,” he said, snapping his fingers as though this could make up for the awkward moment. “You were great. The look on Gargoyle’s face…” His eyes glinted, almost merrily, or perhaps with mocking, and it was a strange realization for Nova to think that not every Renegade got along with one another.
Sampson cleared his throat. “Anyway, you’re on Sketch’s team, right? I don’t think he’s come in yet, but I can check and see if…”
Nova’s heart lunged into her throat. Sampson kept talking, but the words dulled to an annoying hum in her head.
The Council had just emerged from one of the elevators behind the information desk.
No—not the whole Council. Just Captain Chromium and Tsunami.
Nova’s mouth went dry at the sight of them. They were talking to each other, easy, carefree. Tsunami was laughing, politely covering her mouth with her fingers as she did. The Captain’s eyes were twinkling, with a hint of something like mischief. Unlike the rest of the Renegades, they did not wear the typical gray-and-red uniforms, but their own iconic costumes—the Captain’s shoulder pads and leggings, Tsunami’s billowy skirt.
They strolled across the lobby. Not toward Nova, exactly, but not away from her, either. Neither looked at her. Neither noticed that a villain was in their midst. Neither could have any idea that her hand had traveled to her belt at their arrival, fitting her fingers deftly around the pen she’d picked out from among her trove of weapons that morning. The one with the secret compartment behind the ink refills. She had one poisonous dart already loaded.
Her pulse stammered. She was there. She was inside Renegade Headquarters, mere steps away from two members of the Council, and no one had any idea that she was a threat.
This was a new taste of power. Not just to be Nightmare, and all the secrecy and anonymity that afforded her. But now, to be Insomnia.
To be one of them. To travel in their midst, to come this close, and to have no one even cast her a wary glance.
The weapon pressed into her palm.
Could she take one of them out, right now, at this very moment?
It would be her end, without a doubt. If she wasn’t killed instantly, she would be captured and imprisoned for life.
But still—the possibility was there. The potential.
If not now, if not today, then soon. An opportunity would arise, and she would be ready for it.
With a painful swallow, she forced her hand to release its grip on the pen, just as the two Council members turned into a hallway and disappeared.
“I know exactly what you’re thinking.”
Disoriented, Nova spun back to Sampson Cartwright, who was watching her with a knowing, serious look. Her heart stuttered and that sense of vulnerability returned. Was her hatred written so plainly on her face? Were her thoughts so easily deciphered?
Or … worse …
Her breaths stuttered as she leaned toward Sampson. “Are you a telepath?”
Sampson stared at her, speechless for a moment, then released a hearty laugh. “I wish! I’m not even a prodigy. But, come on … everyone gets a little star struck the first time they see the Council up close.” He gestured at the pen clipped to her belt. “You can ask for an autograph next time. Don’t worry. They get it all the time, and they’re actually really nice about it.”
Nova sank back, relieved that this stranger hadn’t been reading her mind while she stood there plotting against his precious Council, but also dismayed that he had so utterly misinterpreted her expression.
She was saved from the ireful response that rose up within her by her name echoing across the lobby.
“Nova!”
She turned. Smokescreen and Red Assassin were striding toward her. That same flash of adrenaline she’d felt at the arena coursed through her system at the sight of them, but it was quelled by their open smiles. For once, there was no grayish haze drifting around Smokescreen’s ankles, and Red Assassin’s gem hung innocently from the wire around her wrist. She was also carrying a bundle of gray cloth.
“Nova McLain,” said Smokescreen, planting his cane on the tile while he gestured around at the massive lobby with his free arm. “Welcome to HQ. You find the place all right?”
Nova blinked. “It’s the tallest building in the city.”
“He’s being witty,” said Red Assassin. She shifted the bundle of cloth to one arm and held out her hand. Ungloved. “I’m Ruby, by the way. This is Oscar.”
Ruby. Oscar.
Normal names. Normal people.
This time, Nova took the offered hand. Her power sparked inside her at the touch, but she smothered it with what she hoped was a friendly smile. “Nova.”
Rather than shaking her hand, Oscar threw an arm around her shoulders and started leading her across the lobby. Nova tensed at the contact, but he either didn’t notice or ignored it. “We are overjoyed to have you,” he said. “Come on, Adrian’s on his way in now. He said he’d meet us in the lounge.”
“Uh—hold on, one second,” said Nova as something startling occurred to her. She ducked out from beneath Oscar’s arm. He and Ruby stared after Nova as she darted back to the information desk. Leaning over the counter toward Sampson, she whispered, “Hey, could you tell me if there are any mind readers in the Renegades?”
Sampson’s eyes darted once toward Ruby and Oscar, then back to Nova. “Um. No? Not currently. We had one a few years back but she was transferred to one of our foreign embassies.”
Nova beamed. “Okay, great. Thanks. I was just curious.”
Waving, she jogged back to the others.
“Everything all right?” asked Ruby.
“Excellent,” said Nova, drawing on every reserve of enthusiasm she could find. “That guy was really helpful.”
“Sampson is good people,” said Oscar, nodding toward a bank of elevators. “Come on, let’s get you changed.”
“Changed?”
Trekking beside her, Ruby waggled the cloth bundle. “Say hello to your new uniform! I grabbed the size I thought would fit, but the pants might be a little long on you.” She glanced at Nova’s feet. “We have an alterations team on staff. They’ll want to fit you for a pair of boots before you leave today. You can keep your own shoes for now, but hopefully you’ll have official footwear in the next day or so. They’re sticklers for proper attire around here.”
“A few years ago a recruit was chasing after a purse snatcher and sprained his ankle,” said Oscar. “So now the uniform comes with boots that have ankle braces, supreme slip-resistant soles, and every other feature they could think to put into them. Great cushion too. You’ll love them.”
Nova forced a wan smile.
“Either way,” said Ruby, “this uniform will be worlds better than what you’re used to wearing, right?”
Nova stumbled over her own feet, picturing Nightmare’s hooded jacket and metal face mask. “Excuse me?”
“I’ve been to Cosmopolis Park,” said Ruby, who was practically skipping beside Nova. “Those awful uniforms, with the striped pants and those hats…” She gestured down the length of her body, and though it had been years since Nova had been to the amusement park, she could easily picture the outfit Ruby was describing, with its red-and-white-striped trousers, yellow bow tie, and straw porkpie hat.
She shuddered to imagine herself wearing it. “You read my application?”
“We wanted to get to know you a little better before you got here,” said Oscar, grinning. “Don’t worry. Your talents were completely wasted as a ride operator. You’ll be much happier here.”
They reached the elevators and Oscar jabbed the up button with the butt of his cane. As they stepped inside, Ruby handed the bundle to Nova, then stepped back to inspect Nova’s belt. “Are these some of your inventions?”
“Just a few,” Nova said. It had been difficult to decide what to bring that morning. She couldn’t bring any of her favorite weapons or gadgets, as they would all be recognized as tools Nightmare had been seen with over the past year. But she’d been asked her to bring examples of her work, so she had to pick something.
In the end, she’d chosen the blow-dart ink pen, a shock-wave gun that could temporarily stun an opponent up to thirty feet away, and a set of exothermic micro-flares.
“Cool!” said Ruby, with more fervor than Nova thought the inventions warranted. “When we’re done giving you the tour today, you should go show these down at R and D. They live for stuff like this.”
“Don’t tell her that!” said Oscar, as if aghast. “They’ll want to take her away from us.”
Ruby feigned a gasp. “Good point. Nova, you should definitely not go talk to the folks in R and D. Ever.”
“They’re killjoys down there, anyway,” added Oscar. “The ones that always bring the vegetable trays to the party, you know what I mean?” He gave her a knowing look.
“That Nightmare had better look out now that we have you on the team,” Ruby added.
Panic raced down Nova’s spine. “Nightmare?” she said, her voice strained. “What do you mean?”
“You’ve heard of her, right?” said Smokescreen. “She’s been all over the news lately.”
Without waiting for Nova’s answer, Ruby said, “That’s kind of her thing too. I mean, her superpower is putting people to sleep by touching them, but she also has access to some really neat weapons. There’s footage of her from a few months back scaling a building like a spider, not using any handholds. They say it has something to do with the gloves she was wearing.” She shrugged. “R and D is trying to replicate them, but I don’t think they’ve had much success so far. Still”—she tapped the shock-wave gun on Nova’s hip—“if we’d had this at the parade, she’d be history.”
Nova attempted an encouraging smile, not bothering to tell them that the shock-wave gun fired at a much slower velocity than a regular gun with real ammunition. She was fairly certain that Nightmare could dodge the blast just fine.
The elevator doors opened, and somewhat relieved to be out of the confined metal box with two of her enemies-turned-allies, Nova exhaled and followed them. They led Nova into another open space, though this one was significantly more relaxed than the lobby. More couches and TV screens, though just as many had video games being played on them as were showing the news. Vending machines lined one wall, and a number of long tables stood in front of the windows, where men and women in gray uniforms were laughing over bags of trail mix and candy clusters.
Nova scanned the occupants of the table, searching for hints of their abilities and weaknesses, but there was little she could discern when they were just sitting around chatting. A man with wavy black hair had a ukulele strapped to his back. A young girl had a birthmark the shape of a skeleton key along one side of her face. A woman had a small cloud of purple dust erupt from her fingers every time she snapped, evidently trying to think of a specific word that was eluding her.
“This is the lounge,” said Ruby. “Open access for anyone on the patrol task forces or who works in enforcement. Mostly we come here to unwind when we’re waiting for a shift to start, or if it’s been a slow night for crime.”
“Not that there have been many of those lately,” said Oscar. “Or … ever.” He gestured toward a hallway. “There are private rooms down here if you ever need to take a power nap.” He paused. “Or, I guess, not a power nap, but … something equally restorative and … restful … like, meditation. Or something.” Ears turning pink, he glanced at Ruby for help.
“Or,” said Ruby loudly, finding a door with a vacant tab by the doorknob, “if you need to get changed.” She pushed the door open. “Keep your belt on over the uniform. It’ll be part of your signature.”
“We’ll wait out here,” said Oscar. “Want something from the vending machines?”
“No, thank you,” said Nova, stepping into the room and letting the door shut behind her. After ensuring she was alone in the room, she reached back and turned the bolt on the lock. The room looked how she imagined a college dormitory would look, but with better quality furniture. A narrow sleeping cot, the blankets neatly tucked around the corners. A glass-topped desk containing today’s edition of the Gatlon Gazette and a sleek table lamp. A small counter in the corner with a built-in sink. A full-length mirror hung on the back of a closet door.
The only decoration was a large framed poster over the bed—a vintage print showing a spread taken from some comic book Nova didn’t recognize. In the vibrant color panels, a masked superhero was scooping a red-haired woman into his arms and flying her to safety above a jutting city skyline. The woman’s eyes were shining deliriously as she cried out in bold Comic Sans—“I knew you’d come! You always come!”
With a disparaging laugh, Nova turned away from the print.
The room was nice. Far nicer than what she was accustomed to. But there was something faintly unnerving about the place. It was too clean, too neat, too perfect.
Too full of false promises.
She would not be lured into security by simple comforts like a noticeable lack of vermin skittering across the floor.
She unrolled the gray bundle and held the uniform up by the shoulders. It was a simple bodysuit that would cover her from throat to wrist to ankle, with red detailing along the limbs and a red R emblazoned on the chest.
She shook her head at it and sighed. “All right, Insomnia,” she said, dropping the uniform onto the bed and peeling off her shirt. “It’s too late to change your mind now.”