“Look next time,” she said. “This entire city is enemy territory. Everything matters.”

“Yes ma’am,” J said.

She turned her gaze toward him. There wasn’t any hint of sarcasm or irony in the ‘ma’am’.

The others looked serious. For now, at least, she had their respect. There’d be the one who questioned her—there always was in the movies and television shows. It was human nature, to push against authority. It stood to reason, then, that someone in the group was harboring seditious thoughts.

She would have to make an example of them, the moment they revealed themselves. For now she would work with her new subordinates.

“One of Blastgerm’s capes is on the other side of the building. There will be more,” Damsel said. “Are we expecting anyone else from last night to show up?”

“No,” Bar said. “I could call others if you want.”

Damsel shook her head. “Let’s get in the cars.”

Bar had one car, and J had another. Damsel got into the passenger seat of Bar’s car, and he started it up. Angel and one of his friends were in the back seat.

They made it a block before they saw more. A woman, tall and slender, had pointed ears and black hair that was ankle length even when braided. Her mask was a rounded plane with grooves etched into it, black beady eyes built in. Her costume was a skintight suit with lines on it in the same pattern as the grooves, running vertically and crossing into flourishes at the top and bottom. She had two other capes with her—a man in a skintight top and heavy pants with a pillar that he rested one hand on. His weapon. Rotten Apple was with them, talking or telling them something.

On a rooftop nearby, a cape with a green hood covering their head, stylized horns protruding, had wings or a cape that draped around them in a loose spiral or wrap, sufficient to cover ten people.

Blastgerm hadn’t been lying. They’d put out a call and they had more capes actively guarding or patrolling in their general territory than a lot of teams had in their whole roster.

Angel whistled, long and low.

“No need to whistle. This is nothing,” Damsel said.

People were hanging around in the general vicinity of the capes. It wasn’t a lot—one here, one there. But they were entirely too comfortable with the presence of villains to not be affiliated with them.

Not soldiers, at a glance, but people who ran errands and handled things beyond fighting, like J seemed to want to do for her faction.

“Blastgerm was always small,” Angel said. “Dealers you heard about in the news once a year. Sometimes it’d be just Blasto or just Poison Apple.”

“Poison Apple?”

“Or Rotten Apple. She changes it around sometimes.”

Ashley nodded. “They’re not small now. It’s fine.”