“Amy!” Sveta’s voice had that digital edge to it, filtered through long distance and a microphone, with no benefit from Kenzie’s attention because Kenzie wasn’t good at sound. “Victoria’s going to be disappointed.”

“Victoria’s always disappointed!” Amy snapped back, turning. “I’m a deluded little monster, according to her. According to half of you, apparently.”

“More than half,” Sveta said. “Speaking as someone who spent far too long being an actual monster—?”

I could see Egg shift position, where he stood a little distance away from Sveta.

“—It doesn’t have to be the single thing that defines you.”

“It apparently does, but I’m not doing the defining!” Amy replied. “She is. They are.”

“Let me talk to Sveta,” I said, again. “Or take my message, pass it on to her. Just tell Sveta ‘Victoria says to relax’. That’s all.”

Eric didn’t.

I typed: Tell Sveta to relax?

“Amy—” Sveta started. She stopped.

A pause. Sveta took in a deep breath.

“I could tell you to call me the Red Queen. I don’t think it would be unfair to ask, either,” Amy said. “Especially when people can’t stop saying my name with such negative emotion tied to it.”

“Amy,” Sveta said, less negative. “Why would Shin trust you and Cryptid with something this big? Objectively, would you trust yourself?”

I saw the momentary hesitation on Amy’s part. She answered, “If I had to. If you have no other options, sometimes you have to force yourself to trust. I don’t think Shin thinks they have many options.”

Chilling fucking words from someone who had one primary goal—me—and who felt backed into a corner by her own actions.

“It doesn’t feel like they explored a lot of the alternative options,” Moonsong said. “Cooperation, treaties, deals. We were doing well before, and we jumped straight to this.”

“We could debate that forever,” Amy said. She brought a hand with a fingerless glove on to her hair, pushing it out of her face. “They think all parahumans are fucked up, rotten, dangerous. I don’t think they’re completely wrong to think it. If you have a few thousand rotten eggs scattered around, I think the adage about putting all of your eggs into one basket deserves to change. At least then you can hope to manage it, instead about worrying about every step you take.”

That’s a great fucking metaphor, Amy, I thought. If you have a few thousand rotten eggs, the only basket anyone rational is going to put them in is the waste basket. You’re calling yourself a trash can. Not to mention the ‘basket case’ interpretation.

Coronzon leaned in close to say something in Amy’s ear again. Amy turned to Coalbelcher, said something, and the heavyset man with sandpaper stubble on his chin, black smears on his face serving to create a skull mask, and greasy black hair turned to go back.