Thirteen Years Ago...

Nebula blinked against the spring wind, the night air cool and damp against her skin. She stood in the puddles of an early April shower. The sky was heavy with stars, and an eerie darkness swam through the gardens. The oil smothered her purple pansies and drowned the roots of Cecil's rosebushes. The little green plant lay collapsed on its side, leaves splinted and shiny with Fallout's residue. 

Nebula and the rest of the superheroes had spent hours toiling on the rooftop gardens. It was their civic duty to pitch into the Heroes Keep Starlight Green campaign. Now the air smelled of sulfur and Jupiter was missing. Cecil paced, back and forth, back and forth. Restless and fidgety, his white gloves dripping with grease. Nebula watched him. Lately, she hadn't been able to stop.

She stood on the flower boxes, staring as Luna nursed her fluffy white wings. The beautiful hero that always made Nebula's heart skip beats combed oil off her wings with a fork. Nebula guessed she stole it from the restaurant downstairs. Her blue eyes burned like neon lights in the night, staring holes into Nebula's armor. Venus stretched on the roof slats, curled up with a Cheshire grin on her face. Mars practiced swinging her battle ax and Comet jogged laps, his version of Cecil's pacing. Levitating inches above the drowned pansies, Nebula spoke. Her blue biker helmet muffled her honey voice. "We have a few problems. And I hate to say it, but we're not doing so well against the baddies at the moment." Her cracked ribs throbbed double time as if in agreement.

"Nice comforting skills, asshole," Venus said, yawning as she cracked an eye open. Her short black hair curled behind her ears, wisps of it brushing her cheeks in the wind. She punched one of the garden boxes and the wood crumpled, pouring black goop on her fists. "If this being Captain Nebula stuff fails, maybe Captain Obvious can pass you the torch. You could captain the 'Depressing Stuff Everyone Knows but Doesn't Sant to Say' team. You'd be good at that!"

Nebula crouched down, pulled up a wilted pansy, and chucked it at Venus's face. Venus squeaked and threw bits of wood at her. The night had gone to a bad start, and Cecil looked at Nebula with these sad, haunted eyes. It broke her, the way he looked at her through that mask. They still hadn't found Jupiter, and who knew what the villains were doing with him. Her gut clenched, her fists pressing bruises on her hip. Her body thrummed with energy, something like resolve, pure and cold. Jupiter was her friend, and one of her own. The villains wouldn't win this round.

"Hey, Venus. I miss Jupiter too. Fallout and Cleo and Owl are all terrible and they have our friend, but we're not letting them get away." She drew up her breath. Puffed out her chest. "Luna has volunteered to help us, here. Right, Lunes?"

Luna tucked a strand of white hair behind her ear and glared up at the stars. Her eyes shone with such rage Nebula thought she'd try to punch the moon out of the sky. With a shuddering sigh, her hands stiff at her sides as she shuffled toward the edge of the roof. "I'm only doing this because I have to. None of you have the right blood." She spat a glob over the side. She held up a Quatro blade, held up her arm. Nebula looked away and Cecil starred in a sort of horror that was unusual for him. But then again, everything he did seemed unusual for him, now that Jupiter was gone. It made Nebula's heart sad. And suspicious. 

She hated her suspicion, hated that she couldn't trust her own husband. But she was scared for him, and with the villains prowling around, there were few she could trust. Her head throbbed. Her chest ached. She risked a glance back at Luna, swallowing back her revulsion. Some primitive part of her wanted to scream "stop!" and run over to her bleeding friend with iodine and a bandage bundle. The super's blood glowed purple against the black of Fallout's residue. Luna closed her eyes, focused hard. Her face went blank and impassive, like the moon she was named after. She held her fingers against her bleeding pulse. Purple flames curled into the sky, forming a net over the city. Lines, making little squares as far as Nebula could see. Her chest heaved. The violet grid sparkled against the stars, like silk threads. It was beautiful, and it made Nebula sad.

"If you feed me," Luna said, strands of heavy white hair rubbed red from the blood, "I can keep this up for ten hours, I-I think. Maybe twenty. I've only tried for six before I got bored, so I could use someone to talk to. A Blackberry, too, if you're feeling generous."

Comet angled his head to the sky. "Wow." He scratched his stubble and his breathless voice made Luna blush.

"Not like planes fly here anyway," Mars said as she hefted her ax behind her shoulder. Nebula winced as she heard muscles flex and tendons pop. "The States will be happy we're hoarding the supervillains all to ourselves."

"Exactly. The supervillains have nowhere to run. We'll weed them out," Nebula said with an encouraging smile, clenching a clump of dried residue in her fist. It smashed in her first. The thread hums, and Cecil laughed, low and feminine. Nebula's heart hiccuped in her chest. Her hand slid to her hip, snapped her handgun up, released the safety. She fired two shots at his chest, but she hesitated too long. The dark of his costume melted away at Owl's feet. Her armor glowed, red like Luna's blood. Nebula forced back a cry of rage. Her husband was gone. Her husband and her best friend, and her face grew so hot the heat emanated off her. The villain spun a sword to knock away Mars' ax, rolling her eyes as Mars grunted and clutched her now- broken wrist.

"You sure?" Owl laughed. "You sure we won't weed you out?"

Angelos.

I always thought I'd hate my dad the most, like a Luke Skywalker versus Darth Vader thing, but then I met my mom. And I have to say, I hate her a lot more than I hate my dad. He may put the chains on, but at least he doesn't trip me up and drag me by them.

The mall has become cold. The air is silent, and most of the crowds dress in layers of black. They kneel for my mother. None of the high-fiving and the puppy-like shadowing Poison got when he came in. It feels like a church, so many reverent people bowed on their knees in the quiet. All you can hear are the mutters on their lips and the whispers of their cloaks against their skin. It makes me check over my shoulder, a feeling of unease creeping over me. Frankly, only a church should feel like a church, so I don't like it a spit-worth.

"Mother," I say as my feet drag on the glassy floor. I pitch my voice with a nasally British accent and Gats shoots me such a nasty look my heart skips with nostalgia. You'd think we rewound time back to a month ago, before the wings and cat ears, when all we did was torment each other. Owl clears the mall in clean, brisk strides, her head held high like a sort of queen. The only person I know with posture like that is Heaven, always looking like she's in control, even when she's not. It was nice to see her again. Too bad I have to skip along on another adventure.

I stumble, hopping on my toes to keep up. Neon signs and broken windows whoosh by. Owl walks so fast cloaks flit up when she passes by her followers. "You're choking me. And I can't walk. And I'm hungry." I screw up my nose. The mall still smells rancid. Greenish ooze stains the tile with something that smells like rot. Gats glances at me, points at my mom, and twirls his finger by his temple in the 'crazy' gesture. His ears twitch, perked up on his head. 'Help,' he mouths. And then, 'We're screwed.'

Another thing to add on the 'My Dad's a Psycho but Not That Much a Psycho' list: He doesn't torment Gats. Because you know what? I like Gats. He's pretty okay when he's not trying to take Heaven prisoner or stab me through the heart. Though I have to admit I'm almost getting used to him flipping out on us, like it's a personality quirk of his or something. If one of us gets bitten during the zombie apocalypse, let's just say I know who to hand the shotgun to.

My mom looks down at her wrist even though she isn't wearing a watch. She rubs circles on her shiny red gauntlets, the chain clenched in her free fist. It digs into the side of my neck and cuts my throat. Her followers refuse to look up, their capes shimmery on their backs. They look like lines of beetles, crouched as they are. Beads of sweat collect on my brow, and all I know is that I want to go home so I can take a shower and change my shirt and brush my hair. My stomach rumbles and my eyes are swollen and puffy. 

The stillness of the air gives me a feeling of emptiness, of bad things to come. I want to sit on the floor, cross my shackled legs, and tell her "nope." That I'm tired of her and my dad. I'm tired of them dragging me everywhere. And the moment I'm free I'm going to kick her in the throat. But now, I hold my hands to my chest and smile, my lips pursed into a tight line. "Mom?" It still cuts me how quickly I got used to calling her that when I've never said the same to Juniper. "What do you want from me?"

She rolls her shoulders back, the plates of her armor clicking as they rub against each other. Her followers are still, capes swishing against the floor in a breeze from the broken ceiling. My mother tips her head to the side, a lock of black hair spilling down her chest and blowing past her hips. She looks at me a long moment, her eyes fixed on my bad one, the one that's supposed to be all blacked over. Then she smiles down at me, and it's an odd feeling, being shorter than someone. It makes my mother all the more intimidating. I mean, how hard is it to intimidate someone you have to look up at? The only person I know good at that is Jaylin, though she's softened a little. The girl wants to date me. It's crazy, crazy.

She glances down at her followers and stretches. Gats stares at a vein of sludge curling down the floor by his toe. From above, the scar on his face looks ragged, a pink line scissoring his otherwise smooth skin into jags. It makes me shudder. Owl slides her hand behind my neck, her pinkie finger finding my collarbone. Sweat slicks my face in long streaks and I turn my head to meet her good eye. "I'll feed you," she says. "Clearly. You're my son."

"You tried to kill me." I hold my head high as she pulls me. Gats keeps up brisk strides, the clicks of his footsteps echoing through the mall. Otherwise, the sounds around us are hushed like it's snowing outside. Even the hum of the lights seems to fall quiet. People stare from behind windows, some with bowed heads, others stiff and glaring. "You and Dad are terrible parents, by the way. I haven't eaten since, like, the day before yesterday." My voice wavers. How have I gotten so far? I'm almost proud of myself, really, fighting for so long on an empty tank. So I got captured. At least I tried. My feet drag and I hit the floor on my knees. She chuckles to herself as I bite back a yelp, my canines clamped down on my lower lip. I draw blood and it fills my mouth with a taste of iron. Times like these I wish I was a vampire.

"Is that really all you boys think about?" She shakes her head as she leads me down the stairs. "Food? Tell me, will a box of Oatmeal raisin suffice?" She shoots Gats a look. He holds her eyes for a second before ducking his head behind me. He resurfaces by my waist, two fingers tucked into my belt loop. I ruffle his hair with a cuffed hand and he bats my arm down, claws out. The tips catch the outside of my wrist, right below the chain.

"Oatmeal raisin?" I let my jaw fall slack as I hop the last step. I teeter against Owl, the metallic stench of polish on her armor drawing a cough from the back of my throat. I run my tongue over my teeth and force back the urge to spit at her. "What do you think I am? A barbarian?"

She brushes my shoulder, almost like a nervous tic. Like she doesn't have a sword to polish, and her hands are jittery without one. On the ground floor, people brush past, many dressed in bright colors. Ladies have feathers combed into their hair, ivory and jade on silk. Gentlemen stalk by with caps stacked sideways on their heads. It feels like I've fallen into the wrong rabbit hole and stumbled into a twisted sort of wonderland. It makes me dizzy, either the people or the lack of food. The ceiling drips with oil and slime, dawn pouring through holes in the slats. It washes the floor dirty gold. The air fresheners twirl, flickers of green glowing in the sun.

"Thought you'd say something like that. You and your friend are quite different." She flicks a free finger from the chain and looks down at Gats. She frowns as if thinking hard about something. Cracking a code. Solving a puzzle. Then, she sighs to herself and hooks her foot under my shackles. They cut into my jeans. I force myself to relax, the hunger pangs making my temples throb and my stomach ache. Between all the fighting, running, and tearful-reunion-ing the hunger's been an afterthought. It may have added to my internal misery, but I couldn't think about it when Poison tried to bash my skull in. Winding her foot back, Owl aims a kick and snaps the chains at their middles. Square links break off and hit the ground like confetti. I sigh and lean down, rubbing where the metal made my ankles ache. First my left, then my right. "Don't worry." She rubs me on the head, scrunching feathers of my hair out of my eyes. Gats smirks and I contemplate slapping him. Across his temples. With my fists.

Her breath touches my ears, her voice just soft enough that Gats can't hear. "I'm not going to let my doomsday device starve." My blood turns to ice. She smiles and tips her head toward a shop, the faded etches of orange and pink letters marking it a 'Dunkin' Donuts.' She sinks to Gats' height, her smile all perfect white teeth and glossy lips. "Donuts, anyone?"