It was a horrible, horrible feeling to wrestle with the fact Breakthrough had lost two members. Chris might have been inevitable, but Ashley hadn’t been.

Well, no. Ashley had been inevitable, but losing her hadn’t been right or okay.

There was another in the possible line of fire, and I hoped it was me. Not because I wanted to die, not when I had so fucking much left to do, to see, experience, and live… but because I felt a kind of responsibility.

A spiral of thinking for a short answer: Victoria, Swansong, Lookout.

I edited my documents with my clarifications, and added my notes to his document with my answers.

I could remember my cousin Eric joking he’d join the Wards in the lamest rebellion against his parents ever, if it weren’t for the paperwork. I could remember a younger me feeling something weirdly and positively defiant, like the paperwork wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, because it created something that was codified, more sure. So much of what a hero did was unsure, struggling against evil, cruelty, and ruin and then going home, wondering if that brutal struggle had really made a difference.

I’d ruminated a lot on who I’d once been, the brutality of Glory Girl’s actions against the villains. How much of that had been motivated by a desire to make an impact, or to go home and feel like I’d made an appreciable difference? Find the unequivocal bad guys, and hurt them badly enough they wouldn’t be doing bad things again anytime soon. Like when I’d heard from some classmates that there were gangsters strongarming them into joining the ABB. Break the gangsters.

Having just thought of my cousins, I looked for and found Crystal’s regiment on the map. She was okay.

While I was at it, I checked for the others. Breakthrough. Kenzie and the Tenders. Everyone still on their way.

Other hero teams were hanging back, because one area of the city was on fire after some collapses, and there was another area that was being managed because some industrial buildings had collapsed, with a chemical gas spreading from the site. I could hear Pearce at the comms, trying to get specific heroes to the site.

“Victoria.”

I looked over. Miss Militia stood in the doorway.

“A word?”

“Do you mind, Armstrong, sir?”

He glanced over his own version of my notes with my additions. “This is good. Thank you, Victoria.”

“I’ll be back for the briefing part of it, if you need me.”

“It won’t be here. Too many people. Go to the downstairs hall when you’re done. I won’t be the one in charge then, but we’ll coordinate if you’re needed for the briefing.”