Angelos.

The door hits the ground and Owl glides into the capitol building. I'm still limp in her arms, images still blazing behind my eyes in an awful haze. The nightmares, this fate. 

The room is all marble, circular, and wide enough to pack a couple hundred people inside. I'm reminded of a sort of modern cathedral. The huge statue of the dead heroes clamoring over the constitution of statehood sits in the center. "Owl, Mom." I make my voice as urging as I can without it becoming a whine. How quickly I went from having no moms to two of them. "Here we go again. Let Juniper go. And Gats. Please."

There are people in the room. They have rifles. That's all I really notice about them, that and the badges clipped onto their shoulders. Police of some kind. Maybe paid guards. Juniper makes a wheezing gasp, a desperate sound smothered behind the folds of a handkerchief. 

And Gats, he isn't doing too well either. Thrown over a cloaked figure's shoulder, hanging there resistance-less. Just a sort of limp puddle. My fingers twitch, balling into fists. He has claws. And he had a sword, too, but that he gave up without the semblance of a fight. My boiling blood rushes to my ears in a roar. "Actually, take that back. The part about Gats, I mean. You can have him."

He makes an audible harrumph, a sound swallowed quickly by the sea of voices. The officials with the rifles hiss into their walkie-talkies, their voices crackling through the empty hall. Though they shout commands, none of them are obeyed. The intruders in black masks weave through the hordes and push the armed swells back against the wall. It's a swarm of bodies dressed in black, screaming, shouting, the overarching stench of blood turning my legs to rubber bands.

Shots are fired. Sunlight pours through the open door, lighting up the white walls so they sear my eyes, like the burning glint off snow. Owl drops my wing. I spring up off my heels for a run, but she grabs my face. Her fingers dig into my temples and cover my eyes. "This is not for you to see," is all she says. But hearing is enough. Screams cut off at once. The deafening staccato blast of rifles. My ears ring, loud enough that it's painful, but I can still hear bones snapping. Tendons popping.

My heart doesn't seem to clench, it explodes. This isn't like the comics, where the bad guys punch a few people and 'boom' and 'splat' splash across the next couple of panels. Good people are getting hurt. Good people are dying. "Stop it, please! Can't you just tie them up? Knock them out?" You know the situation is bad when this is what you're begging your mother, instead of, say, 'Stop embarrassing me in front of my friends!'

"Would you behave?" Her words are clipped and cool. So casual, when she's placing so many people's fates in my shoulders.

"Mayday," I hear a man say behind me, even though that's probably not the correct terminology you use in a supervillain fight. The words leave me in a gush.

"Yes, yes, yes I would. Totally, as long as you don't kill these people!" My hands are up, not in a guard, but in a surrender gesture. The chains clink between my wrists, pulled taut. The reek of blood is unmistakable. I fold forward as if to prove my point. "Please?" I add, because that sounds behaved enough to me.

"Very well." She grips my temples a tighter, just enough for me to wince. I breathe in deepy. Try to keep up a calm veneer though I'm willing to do anything, anything to make her stop her tirade. It's one thing to toss around a few super-tough kids who can spare spokes of their lives, another to hurt people who can die by a quick snap of their necks, people with spouses and partners and families. 

Heaven would know what to do. She's a hero. I don't. I just know I can't let this happen, so I stare at the floor, trying not to think about my own surrender, trying not to have a panic attack.

"You heard the boy." Owl lifts her voice and I squirm my head to shake her grip. It tightens. I grit my teeth. Plan, plan. What's the plan? Improv will only yield one result: disaster. "Don't kill them, then. It'll be a challenge. I'm sure you all like those."

A resounding chorus of "Yes ma'am"s lifts around us. But the sounds of the struggle never ends, though no more shots ring out through the room. Squad cars will arrive here in minutes, and then, the army. I tell this to myself, over and over, to squelch my own rising, choking panic. The feeling that my nightmares will come true. That I can't do anything to change how the day will unfolds, or at least, I'm not smart enough or strong enough or anything enough to try.

Owl cusses softly. "Your mask. Honestly, boy. You have a death wish." She pulls me forward, and I struggle to stay upright, kicking up splashes from a warm, metallic-smelling puddle. 

I dry heave. The screaming, the blood. I can't take it. Don't want to take it. There's a casualness to my mother's voice, like this is all quite annoying to her and she'd just like to get on with her city-domination plan, thank-you-very-much. 

"You don't seem to care for your own life," she says, "but I know Juniper and the way she raised you. I'm being quite fair. Know that the moment you break your word, one person will die. And each time you try a stunt, another."

Cold sweat breaks down my forehead. "Yeah, okay. Understand. Totally understand." I nod, though I've never been much of a nodder. Why gesture when you can talk? But I don't want to give my word. Not with something so serious on the line. My veins bubble with heat, but it's weaker than before. Barely tingles. I've never burned out before. How strong is my power now?

I follow when Mom pulls. Heavy steps. I grab for a rail to keep me balanced, but she moves fast, and I can't help stumbling. The edge of the stair cuts my ankle. "Mom?"

"Empty, empty, empty. Must've been evacuated." She snorts. "I bet someone phoned in a tip." Her grip slackens and she sighs, lower and sadder than I've ever heard anyone sigh before. "Mutiny. This would never have happened when Cleo was around."

"Cleo? Another villain?" I suppress a shiver. "Is she dead?"

Mom releases me. I blink a few times, the darkness smothering. "As good as dead, Lucifer. In a supervillain prison." Light trickle in. She visibly shudders, and it's the first sign of fear I've seen from her. Is there a human under that armor? Or just a monster? "But I hope I can free her."

"Who is she?" Small talk, small talk. Developing my people skills on the fly. The hall is shadowy. Below, I can still hear fading screams. I lower my wrists at my side. My pulse is beating in my mouth. If I screw up, people will die.

"My mistress."

I frown at her side. We keep in step. She knows where she's going, moving with brisk, purposeful strides. Paintings of the heroes line every wall, rows of them broken only by the occasional president. They pose, smiling. My insides slosh when I lay eyes on their bright expressions. "Your mistress, mistress? Like your...girlfriend and stuff?"

She actually chuckles at this, then glances back at the door. "No. I mean like my master."

"Oh. Like Darth Vader and the Emperor." I hug my wrists to my chest and finger a loop of chain. With each step, I strain to ignore the blood squishing between my toes. It's still warm and makes me double over with bile rising to the back of my throat.

"You kids and your... what is it? Star Wars? I saw that when it came out." She crosses her arms, the red of her armor glowing like a crimson seal. "Could hardly fit so many of us in the theater."

"You saw Star Wars when it came out? That was in 1975—"

"You mean '77," she says.  A blush rises to my cheeks. My brain's so fried I'm even losing my hold on my Star Wars trivia. She smirks. "It was okay, really. Just the hero's journey with a new skin. You mortals are so easily impressed."

I don't know what to say to that. She insulted me, mankind, and Star Wars in the same breath. I didn't even know that was possible. "Um." My throat is so dry I rasp. "O-okay." I'm sorry, Star Wars. And I'm sorry, mankind. Hate to be a sellout.

She twirls a lock of hair around her finger, talking as if talking is her habit. I notice now that she can never stay quiet for long. "But you aren't a mortal. You're my son. Still, I guess you're too young to have real taste."

"Son?" Our footsteps pierce the silence with a haunting ring. The cuffs dig, so I shift my hands, drawing an itch to my achy neck. "No. Not son, 'prisoner' is the right word. And also, ouch."

She reaches into her belt, stopping before a closed door at the end of the gilded hall. I step back, looking over my shoulder into the empty hall. There is quiet below. She clenches a black clump of fabric, a torn silk ribbon dangling through her fingers. A glance thrown in my direction, and she smooths out the creases. Pops the mask back into shape.

"Wear this."

I take it. Gingerly, at first, the touch of it making me squirm. But it's nothing to be afraid of. It's Owl and what she's willing to do to the innocent people downstairs I should fear. 

She swings around and slams a kick to the door that knocks down to carpet flat. The frame cracks and she peers through it into a room flooded with yellow light. "Hmm," she says after a moment. "No mayor. What a pity."

I fumble with the ribbon. The chain slaps the side of my face. I barely have it tied when she looks over the edge. "But that doesn't matter, does it?"

Footsteps pound the stairs. I hear Gats grunt, but I refuse to look back. 

"What do you need?" he asks. His voice is weak and shaky, his accent garbling the words. The sound of him speaking makes my heart tick faster, so I just stare at my socks. They're red with blood.

"I need to look for Mayor Curtis, but Angelos must make me a barrier first."

I frown. "A what?"

"A barrier. With your power." She drags me into the Mayor's personal office.  It's all dark, rich brown shelves and a liquor cabinet pushed up against the wall. A striped blue couch in the middle of the room, and a wall of windows. The capitol is so low it only looks out upon other balconies. One dry white feather sits alone on an otherwise empty shelf, perserved in a plastic frame, too long for any bird I've ever seen.

My throat goes dry. "I-I don't know how."

"Well, figure it out! Luna did." She snatches me by the wing and drags me out of the room, and at the gesture, I can only bite my lip hard. Gats and two guards follow, their heads bowed. Owl scrutinizes them, narrow-eyed, then, at last, throws up her hands with a grunt. I bite back a cry. "For the love of heroes!" She throws me out onto the balcony and I hit the rails. There's a little glass table with white flowers, and I stare at the silky petals, clutching my chest for breath.  "This is what you were made for. You and your father." 

Gats leans back, his fists gripping emptily for something, his sword perhaps. He sees me. His ears flatten and he squints out at a wilted fern sagging on the opposite balcony. And believe it or not, I feel jealous of that stupid plant.

"No one explains these things to me." I shrug. Yawn. Inside, I want to scream. The panic's rising, rising like a madness that could make me wanna tear the skin off my face. I don't understand. People are going to die because I don't understand. "How am I supposed to do this stupid thing when you don't even tell me—"

"Figure it out," she repeats, flicking an eye back toward the capitol. "Have a force field up around this city before I find Curtis. Do that or an officer dies."

"Oh, thanks, Mom." I toss a strand of hair out of my eyes. It's the best pass at 'cool' I can make, my heart beating so frantically that's all I can even feel, the pressure in my chest like it's being crushed from the inside. "No pressure or anything."

Her hair tossed over her shoulder, she leans back on her heels, flicking dirt off her armor. "Watch him," she says to the followers, who bow in turn. Gats whistles nervously, head hung, and she snatches him by the wrist. I watch as she slides the door open and slams it behind her, Gats' one quick glance in my direction before he looks away.

Then, silence surrounds me, save the chirp of birds and the hum of an external heater. 

I don't know what to do.

What am I going to do?