“Puts them back?” Frostbite said, her tone laced with amusement. She turned to Gargoyle. “Where did you find them?”
“She’s got a room a few hundred feet down that way,” he said. “An old storeroom of sorts. Was brimming with these.”
“Well, for a prodigy with control over bees,” said Frostbite, cocking her head, “that sounds like harboring deadly weapons to me.”
Honey let out an aghast cry. “Those are my babies! And you’ve just taken their homes—the homes you have no right to!”
“And I’m telling you to call off your babies, now,” said Frostbite. “Or else your next home will be a prison cell at Renegade Headquarters.”
Honey fixed a glare on her and Nova could see her shaking. Her eyes flashed and the air seemed to hum around her—though perhaps that was the incessant buzzing as the bees continued to throw themselves at Gargoyle’s impenetrable skin.
Nova could see temptation written across Honey’s face, coupled with indecision.
Perhaps she couldn’t harm Gargoyle, but Frostbite would be plenty vulnerable to the stingers of her most deadly wasps. Nova had to admit, seeing Frostbite writhing in pain from a hundred venomous stings seemed very appealing at that moment.
But it would last only seconds before Gargoyle reached Honey and either killed her or arrested her.
This tiny revenge wasn’t worth it, Nova knew, and Honey seemed to realize the same thing. Drawing herself up amid the toppled cans and boxes, she squared her shoulders and flung her arm wide.
As one, the swarming insects cycloned into the air, then turned and retreated back into the tunnel.
Once they had gone, Frostbite nodded at the Gargoyle. “Destroy them.”
Nova gasped, but the sound went unheard behind Honey’s shriek.
Gargoyle dumped the hives onto the ground and began stomping through them, crushing them one by one beneath his massive stone feet.
Honey’s cries turned from enraged to heartbroken as she watched the destruction being wracked upon the hives—many with drones and worker bees still inside. Honey’s body was ravaged by sobs as the destruction grew. Papery walls scattered across the platform, and the corpses and detached wings of bees smashed into the concrete.
All the while, the Gargoyle was grinning. It was the smile of a child who had just discovered the sadistic pleasure of crushing beetles beneath his heel.
Nova ground her teeth until her jaw hurt. She swung her attention from Honey to Ingrid, Cyanide to Phobia, but no one moved to stop the Gargoyle.
Any attempt to stop him would be seen as an attack on a Renegade and would be cause for arrest. The Renegades had made it quite clear when they accepted Cyanide’s truce all those years ago that the Anarchists would not be given any third chances.
Finally the Gargoyle was finished. He kicked aside the remains of the last hive. It skidded across the platform and tumbled onto the tracks, not far from where Frostbite had dumped out Winston’s cereal.
“Well, now that we’re all accounted for…,” said Frostbite sweetly, twirling the shard of ice like a baton. “We have some business to attend to.”
She turned and, before Nova could guess her intentions, heaved the ice like a javelin at Phobia. It struck him through the chest and his body dispersed into black smoke, wisping back into the shadows of the tunnel.
In the same moment, Stingray spun and lashed his barbed tail at Honey. The venomous spines caught her in the side and her cry of surprise turned to one of pain as her body went rigid and collapsed. In almost the same motion, Stingray swung the tail back toward Leroy, stinging him in the shoulder as he tried to back away. Leroy froze, then tipped backward, landing hard on the concrete.
Nova pulled the gun closer, this time targeting Stingray. But his attack had already ceased, leaving Honey slumped awkwardly over the fallen shelving unit, and Leroy motionless except for his eyes, which were blinking rapidly as he gaped toward the low ceiling. Nova was not exactly sure what sort of venom Stingray had in his tail, but they both appeared paralyzed, motionless but for twitching limbs as the venom rushed through their veins.
Ingrid roared and charged toward the platform, a sphere of blue energy swirling in her cupped palm. Frostbite thrust her hand toward Ingrid’s feet and a stream of ice shot out from her skin, forming a small glacier around Ingrid’s legs. Ingrid cried out in surprise and barely caught herself, her momentum carrying her upper half forward while the ice held her feet cemented to the tracks. The bomb she’d been crafting evaporated as her focus transitioned from fury to bewilderment.
“You seem to be the last Anarchist standing,” said Frostbite, nonchalantly popping off a few ice crystals that had formed on her knuckles and letting them fall to the ground. “For now, that is. Humor me—is there any reason why we shouldn’t kill you all after what happened at the parade today?”
Ingrid snarled. Blue energy began to hum around her hands again. “I wasn’t at your stupid parade,” she said, and even though Nova knew it was a lie, she found it to be a shockingly convincing one.
“I don’t care,” said Frostbite. “Winston Pratt led an attack against the innocent people of Gatlon City, and it’s my job to make sure that’s the last time our civilians will ever be terrorized by an Anarchist.”
“Winston Pratt attacked your parade, and to my knowledge, you now have him in custody,” said Ingrid. “So what do you want with us?”
Frostbite snorted. “You expect me to believe that imbecile was working alone?”
“That’s exactly what I expect you to believe,” Ingrid said. She seemed to relax, her snarl turning to a cool glare. “And you and I both know you don’t have any evidence to suggest otherwise, because if you did, we wouldn’t be having this chat while you wait for me to say something that will incriminate myself or the others.” She started to toss the glowing bomb into the air, catching it easily every time it came back down. “I’ve seen your Council’s edicts. No one shall be found guilty by mere association, right? So don’t threaten us, sweetheart. And good luck finding something that will connect us to the Puppeteer’s crimes. He was on his own today. We had nothing to do with it.”
Frostbite moved forward until the toes of her boots hung over the edge of the platform. “I don’t need to connect you to the attack on the parade,” she said, waggling her fingers. A new stream of ice shot toward Ingrid. The block of ice around her legs grew larger, expanding over her thighs and hips. “To attack a Renegade is an offense of the highest order. With your temper, it won’t be that hard to get you to lash out. Sort of like poking a rabid dog, now that I think about it.”
Ingrid hissed as the column of ice made its way over her abdomen. She had stopped tossing the bomb and was gripping it in one fist.
“I know what you’re thinking,” said Frostbite. “You’ll insist it was self-defense. Except … without anyone being here to witness it, who’s going to believe your word over mine? An Anarchist versus a celebrated Renegade.” She clicked her tongue in feigned pity. “It seems you have a decision to make. Attack me, and we’ll arrest you. Or confess your involvement at the parade today, and we’ll still arrest you, but we’ll be a bit nicer about it.” She shrugged. “Or do nothing. What do you think will kill you first? The cold or suffocation? I’d bet on the latter, myself.”
The ice made its way over Ingrid’s chest and began to climb over her shoulders. Soon she would have no use of her arms, or her bombs, at all.
Nova squeezed her eyes shut, trying to think clearly despite the way her veins were pulsing, hot and steady.
These were the superheroes the world idolized? Maybe Ingrid wasn’t wholly innocent. Maybe none of them were, but then, the Renegades weren’t, either. Here they were, torturing Ingrid, trying to force a false confession. They had ruined Honey’s hives, caused destruction in their tunnels, torn through the supplies they needed for survival, all in an effort to find a legitimate excuse to have them imprisoned.
Her finger slipped over the trigger. She opened her eyes and her visi
on seemed suddenly clear. Her mind free of obstructions.
She found Frostbite through the scope.
Maybe the darts weren’t poisoned, but that didn’t mean a well-targeted shot couldn’t do plenty of damage.
She focused on Frostbite’s eye, which was pale blue. Lighter than Captain Chromium’s, but not by much.
The trigger pressed into her finger.
She had just begun to squeeze when a cascade of fire, bright and blazing, roared across the tracks.
CHAPTER NINE
NOVA GASPED AND PULLED BACK, peering over the edge of the train car.
The tracks were on fire.
No—it was a column of flame shooting out from the shadows. In seconds it had burned through the channel of ice between Ingrid and Frostbite.
Frostbite cursed and drew back, spinning toward the tunnel as heavy footsteps clanged off the walls.
Nova’s jaw dropped as he came into view, his armored suit somehow more ominous emerging from the darkness than it had been beneath the sunshine on the city’s rooftops.
The Sentinel.
“Much as I would love to see each of these villains behind bars,” he said, his voice steady and low, “something tells me the Council wouldn’t approve of your methods for arresting them.”
“And who are you?” Frostbite said, curling her fist and forming another long shard of ice. “The Council’s lapdog?”
“That’s funny,” said the Sentinel, without humor, “I’ve often thought the same of you.”
Nova relaxed her hold on the gun. She could see her suspicions mirrored on Frostbite’s face. His words suggested that he knew her, and not in a generic has-seen-her-in-the-papers sort of way.
“We are here on official Renegade business,” said Frostbite. “If you try to stop us, we’ll be plenty happy to arrest you too.”
A gauntlet of orange-tipped flames began to lick around the Sentinel’s left hand. “You’re not the only one on official Renegade business. The difference is that I take my orders direct from the Council itself.”
Nova scooted forward, not wanting to miss a word. She found herself staring at the chest plate of his armor. Was it a trick of the dim lighting in the tunnels, or the angle from the top of the train car? From here, it appeared that the gash in his shoulder armor was gone.
Her frown deepened. She’d stabbed him, right between the shoulder and the breastplate, yet she couldn’t see any sign of damage there. No blood dried onto the suit’s exterior. He wasn’t even acting wounded. Perhaps a little stiff in some of his movements, but not nearly as incapacitated as he should have been after a wound like that.
It was yet one more mystery about the so-called Sentinel, and one more shred of evidence that he was not a normal Renegade. That he was something new. A soldier? An assassin? A weapon created by the Council, to be used for missions too nefarious to be assigned to a typical superhero?
“Direct from the Council?” said Frostbite, barking a laugh. “Do you think I’m an idiot? No one at headquarters has even heard of you. You’re an impostor. And that”—she lifted the shard of ice over her shoulder—“makes you an enemy.”
“Or it means you’re too low on the pay scale to be told everything we’ve been working on,” said the Sentinel.
Frostbite seemed to hesitate, and Nova could see a tinge of doubt creep into her face.
“Whereas I,” continued the Sentinel, “know that you were sent here for two reasons: to determine whether or not any other member of the Anarchists were involved with the Puppeteer’s attack, and to find out their connection to Nightmare.” He tilted his head, and Nova had the impression he was glancing at Ingrid, who was still encapsulated in ice from the neck down. Her teeth were chattering. “I take it you haven’t learned much.”
Frostbite’s nostrils flared.
The Sentinel suddenly sprang upward, smashing down on the platform feet away from Frostbite. She stumbled back a step but quickly regained her balance. Behind her, Gargoyle, Aftershock, and Stingray all stood, defensive and ready to attack, though no one had moved. It was clear that the Sentinel’s claim to be there on the Council’s orders had given them all pause.
“Release the Detonator,” he said, opening his fist. The flames extinguished. “Then you and your team are free to leave. I am taking over this investigation.”
Frostbite let out a disbelieving laugh. She twirled the ice shard once, but then let her arm fall, planting the shard like a walking stick into the cracked concrete. “If the Council wants to call us off, they can tell us themselves.”
“They did,” said the Sentinel. “Too bad the reception down here is so horrible. You could have saved yourself this embarrassment.”
Frostbite only looked more suspicious, but Stingray and Aftershock glanced down at the identical black bands that snaked around their wrists. Nova bit her lip. She had often wondered about the bracelets that Renegade patrol units wore. Were they some sort of communication device?
“As it is,” continued the Sentinel, “I’ll refrain from informing your superiors about the many, many codes you’ve broken tonight. But not if you waste any more of my time.”
Fingers drumming against her shard of ice, Frostbite shifted her gaze from the visor to the red R imprinted on the Sentinel’s chest. Her face turned sour, but no less haughty. “Fine,” she spat. “There’s nothing more to be learned here anyway.” She tossed the ice shard to the side. It shattered against a wall.
Striding past the Sentinel, she gestured for her team to follow her.
“Release the Detonator,” called the Sentinel.
“Release her yourself,” she retorted. “And if she repays you by blowing a hole in that fancy suit, don’t come crying to me about it.”
Nova watched the Sentinel as the four Renegades disappeared into the tunnel that would lead them back to the surface. She desperately wished she could see his face—to know if he was relieved or angry, annoyed or grateful. But she could read nothing in his posture, which was the picture of comic-book heroism. Tall and stoic, shoulders peeled back, hands clenched at his sides.
Slowly, he shifted his head to look at Ingrid and let out a frustrated huff. He seemed to consider his options for a long, irritating moment, before he finally stretched his hand out and released a thin, steady stream of flames toward the block of ice. He aimed for the thickest parts around her feet, letting it slowly melt away.
Nova’s mind reeled. She couldn’t help but feel just the tiniest bit grateful that he had come when he had, but still, despite his obvious dislike of Frostbite and her crew, she wasn’t naïve enough to think that he had suddenly become an ally.
He was a Renegade, and one working for the Council. A top-secret project that the rest of the organization was unaware of.
Something told her they might have just traded one threat for an even bigger one.
When enough ice had melted away, he pulled his arm back, extinguishing the flame. With a pained groan, Ingrid forced one knee to break through the thin layer that remained. A sheet of ice crashed onto the tracks and she fell forward, landing on her hands and knees, shivering. When she could sit back on her heels, she started to rub her hands together, trying to return warmth to her extremities.
The Sentinel said nothing, watching her, motionless. Nova had the distinct impression that he was debating about something, and every now and then she would see a halfhearted flame sputter between his clenched fingers, like he was contemplating lighting a fire to warm Ingrid.
But he never did.
Instead, when the chattering of her teeth had quieted enough that it seemed she would be able to speak, the Sentinel paced to the edge of the platform. “I’m here for Nightmare,” he said. “Where is she?”
Ingrid fixed him with a look of utter contempt. “Nightmare who?”
“Yea tall?” said the Sentinel, holding his hand at a level that was surely a mockery of her actual height. “Black hood? Tried to kill Captain Chromium today?”
Ingrid flexed he
r fingers, testing the blue sparks she could draw from the air, before forcing herself back to her feet. Nova could tell she was weak, though she was trying hard to hide it. “Oh, that Nightmare.” She shrugged. “Haven’t seen her.”
The Sentinel’s voice darkened. “Perhaps you know where I can find her.”
Behind the Sentinel, Leroy groaned and rolled onto his side. The Sentinel spun around, flames bursting from his palm, but he seemed to relax when he spotted Leroy struggling to sit up.
Leroy coughed into his elbow, then peered up into the Sentinel’s mask. “She isn’t one of us.” His words were as evenly paced as if he were giving directions to City Park. “We have no affiliation with the girl who calls herself Nightmare, therefore, we cannot possibly tell you where to find her.”
The Sentinel strode toward him, his steps measured and intimidating. “Then explain to me, Cyanide,” he said, crouching so he was almost eye level with Leroy, “how one of your signature poisons came to be in the projectile she used to try to assassinate the Captain.”
“One of my poisons?” said Leroy. “Truly? What a coincidence.”
The Sentinel grasped Leroy by his jaw, turning his face upward. Nova’s fingers curled, recognizing how the tactic was so similar to the way he’d tried to intimidate her atop the rooftop.
Top-secret, high-tech Renegade experiment or not, he was still nothing but a mindless bully. Just another brainwashed minion for the Council.
“You can’t expect me to believe you aren’t connected with her,” he growled.
“I don’t care what you may or may not believe,” countered Leroy. He had begun to sweat—his blackened skin glistening. “As for my poison being found in her projectile, well … I’ve been selling practical poisons in this city for decades.” He smiled, revealing chipped and missing teeth. There was an aura of pride in the look. He might have been bragging about being a world-renowned tulip grower. “From pharmaceuticals to ridding one’s home of vermin, there are a thousand reasons one might have had one of my poisons, and not all of those reasons are nefarious or illegal. Have you considered that perhaps this Nightmare, whoever she is, might have purchased that concoction from one of my distributors?”
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