“Yeah,” I said. I was caught between saying ‘that’s not on you’, and ‘I did fucking tell you to go easy’.

I left it at ‘yeah’.

“That bad feeling I had? I’m identifying the buttons to press. Not just in one person, but in a group, so the group acts like you want it to,” Rain was barely audible. “Like cult leaders do.”

“It’s different,” I said, though I was a little spooked at just how that had unfolded.

“It’s like how they say bullies feel,” Rain whispered. “Powerful, big, better. Not better as in like I’m a better person, because I’m definitely not, but better like I’ve unloaded something I’ve been carrying for a long time. I feel all those things, and I feel worse, I feel sick.”

“The danger, I think, isn’t in feeling powerful, big, or venting,” I whispered, my eyes locked on the scene. “That’s reality. Trust me. I’ve been there. We face off against shitty people and it feels good to see them get what they deserve, whether they’re racists, people who deal to kids, fanatics, or monsters. If we didn’t feel satisfaction then we wouldn’t be able to do this.”

Rain grunted in the affirmative. Someone approached Red, indicating the man who was being put out with stomps and a shiny blanket thrown over him. Red waved them off, and they went to the burned man. Medical care, it looked like.

“What you watch out for is if it stops feeling shitty, or if you get used to it,” I said.

Rain’s hand shook as he pulled it away from the glass.

“I feel pretty damn shitty, having played a part in three people dying and a fourth getting burned half to death, so we’re good there,” he murmured. “We’re good.”

His finger touched glass, then drew out a line, indicating someone specific. One of the younger mercenaries. The one who had spoken up a few times.

“But I’d feel worse if I didn’t do anything,” he said, hand moving from fingertip on glass to being flat against it.

“That’s the way it goes,” I whispered.

The young mercenary raised his voice, and he was close enough I could hear. “Are you going to off me if I try to leave?”

Red said something. Too far away, not loud enough.

The young mercenary’s squad leader said something as well. The guy was a cape called Mukade, his squad had a centipede motif stenciled on their body armor.

I knew Mukade. Moose had known him too. The guy who had wanted a group or organization to stick to.

With the word from their squad leader, the young cape strode toward the door.

Rain moved his hand.

And Mukade said something else.

“That you?” I asked, a murmur. “Puppeteering?”

“Creepy to put it that way.”

“Creepy’s good,” I murmured.