Gats.

 I said I'd get Heaven's suit back to her. How? Beats me. But I'm going to do it. I'm going to get out. I'm sick of people patting me on the head and calling me "cat" and I'm sick of being a prisoner. There's no way Owl's killing Hev, not on my watch, not when I can do something to stop it.

"Oh," Sarah breathes, "cat. You know Galaxy personally?" She cocks her head to the side, tapping her finger around a curl of plastic fixed to her ear. It makes a little staticky sound. For the first time, I notice the mike attached to the collar of her shirt. Some sort of communication device. 

My throat feels tight, like with each breath I'm gulping down sand. "Yes," I say, "and—and, she's really cool. You'd like her if you got to know her." I'm pressed up in the corner, my hands shaky and cold, like there's ice growing in my veins.

I'm stalling for time, clutching the helmet like an extension of myself. My mind's working in circles, plotting and unraveling those very same plots over and over again. There has to be a way out, there's always a way out. That's what they told me. 

Sarah flicks her ponytail over her shoulder and shoots a look at Ivy, who's standing to the side, a hand tucked into her pocket and her shoulders at an easy slouch. She looks almost like a model, her tight dark jeans showing from under her cloak, her white sneakers shiny under the ceiling circle lights. Ivy glances at her feet, flipping up her hood. I wonder what she's thinking. Her face is as blank as a watch's.

Sarah glances back at me and holds out her hand. "Hey, buddy, relax. It's just a display. Make believe." Her eyes flit to the door before she offers me the tiniest of smiles. "If she's really the greatest superhero of the day, she'll escape Owl just fine. But don't tell Owl I said that. She already has her eye on me. Okay?"

I feel my heart clamp up in my chest. She's being kind to me, this woman who works for the living manifestation of evil, and a part of me is almost mad at her for it. I want to feel justified slashing her across the face —and I am justified, one hundred percent so—but that she's willing to say something that could put her in trouble with her psychotic boss just to comfort me makes me feel knotted up inside. So, I suck in a breath and ask, "why do you work for Owl?"

She blinks, the corners of her mouth drawing into a wry, tired smile to mask whatever expression is supposed to be on her face. Her eyes are a dim sort of shadowy gray in the softer light. 

I trace my fingers down the seam of Heaven's helmet. It's a fine thing. High-quality steel, shimmery purple paint that hardly flakes even after being so mistreated. I wonder where she got it.

Ivy turns away and Sarah shrugs and takes me by the elbow. I straighten up, following, not about to let her drag me. My face is hot and flushed from how I've acted. "I didn't really choose to, I guess. I sort of had to. I got recruited."

I nod, pretending to know what she's talking about. Recruited. What does Owl do to keep her followers? I'm more curious than I was ever before. 

As she leads me back around the corner, my eye follows the sword resting so neatly on the display case. My stomach flips. I don't want to look at it. I want to pretend I never even saw it.

As a kid, I kept the stats of all the old Starlight superheroes in my copy of 'The Great Gatsby,' and I memorized every single one on the plane to Starlight. Jupiter. He swung his sword at over three hundred miles a minute. Insanity. Pure impossible, unnatural, unscientific insanity. To think some piece of him is inside it, the very same aura Angel has...

I want to throw up. I think I'll throw up.

I tug away from Sarah. Ivy signs something, but it flashes by so fast I hardly see it. 

When Jupiter died, what was he thinking? Did he fight back or did he submit to his fate? I'm trembling, but still, as we pass, my hands seize the dead man's sword.

My shoulders jolt at the touch. It's such an elegant weapon, all shimmer and polished silver that gleams in the light. But it's just that: a weapon. I need it to break free, all respect to Jupiter given. And I'll use that sword no matter what repulsive thing it represents, all for Heaven and, heck, my own life. I don't think I want to live here very long.

The weapon is heavy. I spin around and point it at Sarah, the hilt in one hand and Heaven's helmet tucked under my opposite arm. She frowns. It's a quick gesture, not a jump or a flash of fear in her eye or anything of the likes. Just a frown like she's disappointed in the fish of the day. "I need to get out of here," I say slowly, pointing the tip at her chest. "Please help me get out of here, miss. I gotta check on my friends and make sure they're okay."

My arm already aches. She sighs sadly, and out of the corner of my eye I see Ivy grimace. "Look, kid." Sarah holds her hands up. "I have orders. It's nothing personal and I don't want to lock you up or anything. You seem nice."

"How long does Owl intend on keeping me here?" My voice is suddenly quaky, like I can't control it no matter how hard I try. I need to get a grip, but I can't get a grip. Owl wants to murder Hev and she's going to steal Angel away. I gotta get out of here. "What does she want with me?"

Sarah glances up at the ceiling, and her voice is quiet and smooth. My chest goes tight. The way she talks just feels sad, the same way a certain note from a cello feels gloomy and you can't place why. "I don't know, kid. Just put that down, okay?"

Ivy stretches while I stand there, the tip of the sword still pointed at the other guard's chest. Looking at her impassive expression, I realize what a dumb move it was of me to take it. The only two people who have been nice to me, and I'm threatening them. The muscles in my shoulders and neck tremble. She could scream and alert the guard outside of what I'm doing. The man with the rifle. Then I'd never, ever get another opportunity to escape. I hesitate.

The weapon is so heavy, much heavier than a sword should be. Jupiter was a super, and with his speed came superhuman strength. I can flip and make occasional cat sounds. A weapon like this shouldn't be the first choice for someone like me, but it's all I have. My breath trembles as I stare at my reflection in the polished silver. The bandages on my face. The swelling has gone down, but the bullet ripped a straight line across my cheek. That's going to scar.

Click. I glance up, and Ivy cocks a pistol at me. I nearly jump. Sweat breaks down my forehead and the back of my neck. All at once I can hear the shot of the other gun. I flinch, my hands trembling around the sword. "All I want to do is go home," I say to the pistol leveled at my head. My white knuckles clench the sword's smooth black hilt, my body so weak, I can hardly stand. Still, I try to look calm, even though I want to melt into the floor screaming. "You gonna shoot me?"

She shrugs, flicking her head to Sarah, who eyes me with an eerie calm. I jab the sword closer to the woman's heart. There's no going back now. I have to hold my ground.

"Miss," I say, shoulders rolled back as I stand on my toes. "I have a proposition to offer you." The cat ears swivel toward Ivy, like antenna. If only I could hear out of them.

She glares. She can't sign with her hands on the gun and I couldn't read them anyway, so I keep talking, smiling curtly. Professionally. "If you shoot me in the head, you'll kill me instantly." Probably. I don't know how strong my healing factor is. I  try not to think about that. "Owl had a knife. She wants me alive, most likely for, you know, torture." I feel myself shiver. This is a huge gamble, talking to two supervillains like this. Telling them I'm not afraid to die. That just might be enough to provoke the woman to pull the trigger, but I plaster on an impassive smirk and forge onward. "I mean, it's my best friends she wants. I'm kind of expendable. If you kill me now, I won't have to suffer. You're talking to a guy who's already dead; shooting me really isn't that big of a threat."

Total lies. I'd rather be alive. So rather be alive, even if that means facing whatever Owl has to offer. Sweat breaks on my brow. I've never graduated, never even been to prom. Come to think of it, prom is next month, and so are play auditions. It's almost funny how inconsequential they feel now.

I wanted to take Hev to the dumb superhero dance thing. I was going to confess my feelings for her after we picked out costumes. I wanted us to, like, coordinate. She'd be Catwoman, I'd be Batman by 'accident' and then I'd go, "Heaven, look how well we match. I've been thinking, why don't you and I go to the dance together? I've liked you for awhile, still like you, and I think you like me too." Just, you know, smoother than that, with a bouquet of yellow roses and bag of Doritos thrown in. But no. I had to be attacked, turned into a cat, and kidnapped.

I can almost feel my bones rattle. I'm sick of supervillains screwing up my teenage-falling-in-love-fantasies. Sure, kissing Heaven after learning the Galaxy thing felt pretty fantastical, but it wasn't on either of our own terms. We were prisoners, pretty sure we were going to die or spend the rest of our lives as slaves. I don't think that counts as a teenage-falling-in-love-fantasy. I think that counts more as a we-should-kiss-before-we-both have-our-lives-officially-destroyed moment. Kind of tragic, I mean.

Sarah clears her throat. There's a gun pointed at my face. I need to stop spacing out like this.

"So," I say, filling the room's hollow silence with a purr that rings from the back of my throat, "instead of you shooting me, why don't we escape? You obviously don't like it here. You're two really nice people, and Owl treats you like less than dirt. You don't deserve to be threatened like that and it's only a matter of time before Owl lashes out at you."

Sarah chuckles. I can't talk about threats with a sword to someone's chest, so I shoot Sarah a respectful nod and pull the sword back against my hip. Her mask-like calmness vanishes, ka-chow.

"Of course, we want to escape!" She fiddles with the earpiece, most likely out of a nervous tick. "But if you're going to try, you really need to be better with that thing." She points at the sword. "I could've flicked it out of your hand, you know, but I wanted to see what you would do."

The insult hardly registers. "Huh?" I beam. "You're going to help me escape?"

Sarah sighs and Ivy holsters her gun. I let out a breath and nearly hit the ground; I'm still feeling a bit feverish and wobbly. The two sign back and forth, and I watch, the sword resting lightly in my hand and my head bouncing back and forth so my eyes catch the volley of movement.  Ivy's signs are incredibly fast, her face flaming red. Sarah shakes her head. Ivy points. Briefly, I contemplate running while they're distracted, but the man with the rifle is just outside. Three armed guards and one me. Without the help of these women, there's no escape.

Finally, Ivy nods, her jaw clenched as her hand snakes toward her holster. It happens in a flash. The gun is drawn, Sarah gently asks me to lay down the sword, and I stumble back, my head spinning. I feel like I've been punched. Slapped. Kicked in the face. No. Please. Don't keep me here. Owl's going to... well, I don't know what Owl's going to do. But I saw the way she fiddled with that knife when she looked at me. Whatever she did to her followers, she's going to do to me, but worse. The gun is aimed at my thigh. With my healing factor, a shot there won't kill me. But it'll hurt. And it won't look good on me if they drag me back to Owl with bullet wounds in my leg because I didn't behave.

"Don't you want to escape?" I try to keep my voice level. Respectable. They have to take me seriously. Should've thought about that before stooping to begging earlier. I'm blushing and shaking and doused in sweat.

Ivy holds her gun awkwardly, one hand in her pocket, the one she kept the chocolate bar I devoured. I feel a pang and I don't move since she wouldn't have much trouble shooting me one-handedly anyway. She pulls out a flat green plastic cord notched at the end.  Assumedly for my wrists. I feel my knees tremble, but I try not to let it show.

Sarah glances back at the door. Sighs. "There's been talk of mutiny amongst the followers. Me and Ivy, we've wanted to bust out of here for a while. But Owl kills any recruits who try." 

Ivy steps forward, gun still aimed at my leg. I wonder if I could kick out of her hand, but she'd probably fill me with bullets in that time. My face was grazed and it hurt like crazy. Actually having a bullet go straight through me must feel thousands of time worse. I hesitate as she comes closer. I know she doesn't want to hurt me, probably doesn't even want to restrain me. She's such a nice person, but she can't let Owl down. I understand that. Even if I want to punch something and scream until my lungs burst. These people shouldn't get in trouble over me. I can find another way. So, I dip my head in a faint show of respect and drop the sword at my feet. 

I hear another bit of static from Sarah's earpiece. She draws in a breath. "If we're going to escape ever, let alone with you, this isn't the right time. Owl may be cruel, but she runs a tight ship—"

"How true," purrs Owl from Sarah's earpiece.

Ivy's mouth parts in a silent scream and her gun drops from her hand, her face completely drained of color. She reminds me of the ghoul masks sold at Halloween. She sways and nearly hits the floor. Sarah fairs only a little better, but her expression isn't that reassuring. Slack jaw, wide eyes, pale face. I shrink back.

Owl's voice slinks on. I lower my wrists and grip the sides of my jeans until I can hardly feel my knuckles. This is bad. This is the definition of bad. "I was going to ask to have the prisoner back. Negotiations were delightfully quick. But I see I have traitors to deal with. You're right about me keeping a tight ship. I don't want rats infecting my crew."

"She makes metaphors," I say incredulously. "Bad metaphors. And puns. I guess—" I glance around, see the women don't care what I have to say, and clamp up. Sarah blinks out of her daze, grabbing at the earpiece.She gathers herself up, holds up her head. Suddenly, she looks calm. Serene, even, but Ivy's stiffer than a statue, eyes wide and glassy. I wonder if she's having a panic attack. Or maybe even a heart attack.

"Ma'am," Sarah says, and her voice is smooth. Smoother than mine would be if I had to speak to Owl after all she's heard.

"A mutiny?" Owl mulls. "I need information on this." From the earpiece, she chuckles darkly. I feel myself shiver. I know what she's implying. 

Interrogation. 

Ivy touches her throat, and for the first time, I notice the silver scar that runs across it. She looks fragile all a sudden, this woman who held me at gunpoint, who gave me food when I thought I'd starve. Sarah takes one look at her friend, grabs her hand, and flings the earpiece to the ground.

"Don't worry," she says to Ivy, who gasps to breathe and nearly collapses. Owl wrecked this woman, and she wants to do it again. I whip the sword up from at my feet. My veins singing with adrenaline, I hardly notice its weight, even with my shoulders creaking in protest. 

"We're going to escape," I say for confirmation, but Ivy and Sarah are already tearing around the corner. Sarah snatches my wrist and drags me along. Heaven's helmet drops from under my arm.

I turn my head back when the guards burst through the door. "Freeze, freeze, freeze!" 

They have rifles.

Aimed at us.

"Use the sword, cat!" Sarah says.

Yeah. Because that's how swords work. They stop bullets.

I grip the hilt with all the strength left in me. I'm about to say something sarcastic, maybe witty, when the world around us explodes in a hail of smoke and gunfire.