Perfect control. She could even manage the recoil.

She took the door in entirety, then stepped into the building.

She saw artwork, likely expensive, and she demolished it with a slash of her claws.

There was a kind of catharsis in this. Jack, perhaps, would get what he wanted, at this rate.

The other Nine moved through the house, checking rooms, getting ahead. Damsel only walked in a measured pace.

There were capes defending the area. Accord’s people that he whored out to other teams.

She kicked at the door that one held behind, denying her cover, and stabbed her in the shoulder. She walked forward, her steps measured, and the woman backed away, trying to keep the blades from penetrating deeper.

When the woman retreated through the doorway and stopped because a railing above a staircase stopped her, Damsel blasted her, focusing the recoil by controlling the strength of the blast, pushing the woman out and over the railing.

There was a large muscular man with a mask ducking low beside the door, using the stairs to be especially low profile. As she saw him, he lunged.

She slashed him with the power dancing around the blades. He tumbled down the stairs.

A laboratory. Blasto worked within.

He was in Accord’s house, with a proper lab. Had he been working with Accord, even back in her first proper visit to Boston?

The anger made her almost nauseous.

Bonesaw came skipping down the stairs. winking at Ashley as she took the stairs two at a time.

“I know you!” Bonesaw proclaimed.

“I know you too, Bonesaw,” Blasto said.

“Nice lab.”

“It’s not mine.”

“Man, it’s… this is nice stuff. Being constantly on the move, you miss out on stuff like this.”

“My old lab wasn’t this good,” he said. Then he turned to look at Ashley.

“Who’s that?”

The words chilled her.

“Damsel of Distress, with some modifications by yours truly. Damsel for short. Better at controlling her power now.”

“Hi Damsel,” Blasto said.

Damsel looked at him, and she tried to speak, to comment. The sounds were strangled.

He didn’t remember her. She’d killed his giant and—what? Had someone else claimed credit? Was one of her crowning achievements a forgettable moment for another?

She was a nonentity. Even here, Bonesaw was the focus.

Other memories.

To be in the tank, gel-like fluid flowing into her nose and mouth. Drugged, paralyzed, her body was slow to listen to the instructions her brain tried to convey, to hold her breath, to fight this. Her power had already been locked out. It had never been hers, but now it wasn’t hers at all. The switch was in Bonesaw’s hands.

The fluid reached her lungs and she didn’t drown, but she couldn’t breathe either. Her heart kept beating, the drug kept increasing its hold on her.