If everything else hadn’t thrust me into a bad place, the pictures here would have. Before and after pictures. Abducted people, then what Bonesaw would have called art. What my sister would have decried as a mistake. A young man made to have the heads and legs of a dog, only the trunk of the body normal. Three women, apparently abductees from overseas, made to look identical, the ‘after’ picture showing them sitting in a row, smiling the same smile. A Mr. Sheppard had paid for a Mrs. Sheppard, wife, to be changed into an old woman, paying forty thousand dollars for the procedure, and another fifty thousand for the mental changes to go with it. There was a picture of Legend, same features, hair, build, and costume. An exact likeness bought and paid a dizzying price for by villains trying some obscure scheme. It hadn’t worked.

There were others. One to four jobs a year brought in enough money to keep this pair living comfortably. There had been a two-year hiatus after one had been injured when capes came after them. They’d escaped overseas.

Just being near them made me feel nauseous. The files also gave me names to put to that ugly feeling and creeping horror. The one with the beard, now in his uniform, was ‘Mr. Bough’. The other with pale skin, pale hair, and red eyes and nose was ‘Mr. Drowsing’. Cape names.

“Mr. Bough, you’re going away for a long time.”

“It’s probable. No court, no justice. Just… this, I suppose?”

“Not even,” I told him. “We have a place to send you. Because you’re dangerous, we’ll put you somewhere especially remote, so any other prisoners in the same world aren’t likely to find you.”

“Remote?”

“A prison world. Pushed through a portal like the one that brought you here, with a pallet of supplies. Then you fend for yourself.”

“Oh Lord,” Mr. Drowsing mewled. “Oh god.”

“You’re offering me a way out?” Mr. Bough asked.

“Fuck that,” I told him. “Fuck no. But I think a guy who lived the kind of lifestyle you did is used to his comforts. I helped uncover a conspiracy today. I have some clout, or favors I can pull in. We can provide some comforts—”

“Victoria!” I heard Sveta.

She and Vista raced forward like there was a danger. Some of the guards stationed outside an empty cell a few cells down rose to their feet.

They weren’t rushing because they were worried about me. This pair was so scummy, I imagined, that it conjured up imaginings of deals with the devil, as though any shake of the hands could doom things forever.

“Vista explained what you were after,” Sveta said. “These guys are supposedly utter monsters. What are you even doing?”

Mr. Bough stared at her, studying her, even approaching the corner of his cell that put him nearest to her.