I fielded some questions about the size of the orb, the composition, the mech that was set up beneath it. My dad had questions about the soldiers. The men wore enough winter clothing and the windows had been frosted toward the bottom, so I hadn’t had enough of a look to report on their background, but I was guessing it was mixed enough.

The costumes of the squad leaders? Masks over balaclavas and lots of modifications to their winter clothes, like added body armor, chains wrapped around one part or another, one guy wore a full hazmat outfit with a squad of people in gas masks, or there were the ones who wore a mask with jackets and pants in particular colors of camouflage. Was it possible that some weren’t flaunting that they were capes? Yes, of course, but by my estimation, seven out of ten of the groups inside had seemed to be sticking to their own. The other three groups had seemed to be interacting on a minimal level, but each with a cape as their nucleus. I hadn’t seen a group without a leader.

“Sometimes people switch costumes,” Rachel said. She had her arms folded, and leaned back hard into the side of her wolf. “Take the guy you like least and make him wear the costume instead. He’ll draw the attention.”

“You wouldn’t actually do that, would you?” Chastity asked.

“Nah. I’d tell them to get lost a long time before that. But these guys are dicks.”

We’re talking about this like we’re going to pick a fight, I thought. It’s inevitable? We go up against more than a hundred people with equipment and some degree of training, and a number of capes matching our own?

I didn’t want to. I didn’t want the risk, I didn’t want the casualties.

The others talked while I ruminated. I’d said what I had to say.

“Mukade was Bandsaw?” Moose asked. “But had to change his name?”

“Twice, apparently,” Damsel said. “I saw him at one of the villain hangouts, early on. He had the centipede thing.”

My mom ventured, “Do you know anything about him, contact, or…?”

Damsel ignored her.

“Not our wavelength,” Swansong explained, filling in Damsel’s silence. “Refugee turned villain. First thing I ever saw or heard of him was that he was wondering which group was best set up. No take on theme or fit, class, goals.”

“He wanted safety and security,” Moose said. “Fits what I know.”

I was put in mind of Crystal and how she’d joined the PRTCJ.

“He disappeared pretty early on,” Moose finished. “I figured he bit it. Thought it was sad.”

“He was young,” Swansong said. “I remember him putting three times too much sugar into his coffee. It made me think he was a teenager.”