Wesley was running late.

If there was one thing he prided himself on, it was his ability to consistently be on time to whatever called him. There were a grocery list of things he wasn't good at — sports, talking to girls, evil, but at least when people called, he was there.

And yet.

The past twenty four hours had been spent in a state of anxiety, juggling Google Incognito mode for murder research, and the bathroom for when he got sick from the weight of what he was meant to do.

Kill Evan Crawford.

Easy in theory. Not so much in practice.

He wasn't sure which was worse — the assassination of a political figure, or the murder of his fake girlfriend's dad. She didn't like the guy, and since what he'd said in the press rally the previous Saturday, he was pretty sure the status of their relationship had sunk into hatred from her, but killing him.

She didn't have a mom.

He was beginning to see through the walls Iris kept so high, finally peering over the edge of them just enough to see the vulnerability inside her.

The loss of her dad would ruin her.

Iris might not even know it, but it would.

Could Wesley do that, for the sake of himself? SuperHQ would go on in one way or another without his hand turned to a weapon. He had no doubt the Inferno had enough competence to keep the place together — or one of the other Villains in contending for the leadership position August would be forced out of.

But then, he thought of his dad.

His mom.

And it spun back into his head, a need to get this done. Make his parents proud, live up to what they needed from him, in exchange for Iris's happiness.

The thought, as he drove into the school parking lot with Martin in the passenger seat, made him pale enough for his friend to notice.

"Dude, are you okay?"

"No time to chat," Wesley managed as he clicked his seat belt. "We're already running late, first period starts in like, five minutes—"

"Don't care." Martin's grip atop Wesley's wrist was iron solid, the kind he had no hopes of escaping from, just as he had no hopes of getting out of this car without confessing the truth of everything to his friend.

He'd isolated himself for the past day since he'd been given his task, refusing to see August, Martin, or even respond to the message sitting in his Instagram DMs from Iris.

Though he supposed maybe it was for the best. If he was meant to kill her dad, befriending her in the process would be a bit fucked up.

Or strategic.

"Wes," Martin urged, drawing him out of the thoughts he'd been unable to stop the spiral of, descending into more and more evil territory — something that, upon realization of what it was, frightened him beyond belief.

It was one thing, robbing stores that underpaid their employees and accidental arson.

It was another contemplating murder.

"You've been off all weekend," Martin went on. "Is this about Iris?"

There was no use denying it, with the look his best friend was given her. Maybe he'd been told, maybe the Inferno had told his "How did you know?"

"I'm not dumb, you're clearly lovestruck."

Wesley paled. "No, no, I'm not—"

"You don't need to deny it." A knowing look was shot his way. "I know you're faking it, but I can't blame you if it's becoming real. She's hot, and she knows it too, which is like, half of being attractive in the first place. But dude, falling for her isn't a good idea."

"I'm not falling for her," he insisted through clenched teeth. And though he knew he wasn't supposed to say a word to Martin about his task, he was one further push away from exploding. "I have to kill her dad."

"Oh." He let out a puff of air, leaning back into the car seat. For a moment, he didn't say anything, expression of shock doing all the talking needed.

"I know," Wesley said with a sigh, running his hands down his face. "I'm totally fucked."

"I take it the Inferno gave you that task."

He nodded. "That'd be a pretty shitty thing for me to do, though, right? To...like her, and kill her dad?"

"She doesn't like the guy, from my understanding," he pointed out, and Wesley didn't refute it. "And I don't blame her. We saw the stunt he pulled over the weekend. I'm surprised she hasn't killed him for you." His gaze slid towards Wesley, expression morphing from one of casual contemplation to a cheeky grin. "But you like her?"

"She's a friend," he explained, a pinch to his tone. "I like her like a friend."

Martin let out an airy laugh. "And you have to kill her dad."

It was better, that topic, than pushing back on what they both knew was a lie.

Somehow, facing an unforgivable crime was less scary than discussing his feelings.

Feelings he hadn't even fully worked out himself, not when every other crush he'd had faded away just as they came. Was that what this attraction towards Iris was? A fleeting emotion because, yes, she was beautiful, in a way even those who hated her couldn't deny. She was beautiful and she was funny, and she gave Wesley attention — and he was, in a way, supposed to like her, with their agreement. Surely faking the feelings of a crush would bound to get his wires crossed.

Even admitting that, that there was something there at all, made him feel like he was going to be sick. It was too much, too soon, so he shook the thought away with the turning of his head.

"Maybe killing Evan Crawford will be a net good. Get Iris out of my head — and him out of Supers' hair."

Martin didn't look convinced, but gave a nod of approval anyways before his phone buzzing dragged his attention elsewhere. Dragging the device out of the pocket of his jeans, he swiped open the notification, then, perked up.

What had been passive contentment had worked itself away, panic taking form.

"What's wrong?"

Martin bit down on his lip, clicking his phone off before Wesley could get a look at what he'd been told — and who by. "Any chance you brought your Phantom outfit?"

Three minutes and a backwards shirt later, Wesley was bursting out of the back of the car he'd been changing in and running as fast as he could into the school.

He didn't know much. Not that it mattered. What he did know was that two Supers had invaded the school, and Iris was in danger.

He'd not bothered to ask Martin who'd given him the information that now had Wesley sprinting through the knocked down doors. That could be conversed about after the fact, not when Iris was currently at the whims of those whose intentions he didn't know.

There was a risk and Wesley knew it. The moment he'd been informed that it was two Supers in the building — without the specification of Hero or Villain, he knew precisely who was behind the break-in.

The Bolter was a stranger, but the Buzzer...

It didn't matter, the risks he was running by leaping into actions. It didn't matter, if Dana Renton killed him, unmasked him, or both. It didn't matter if the woman who'd once been his coworker — once been his mother's best friend, was stronger than Wesley.

It didn't matter, as long as Iris was in danger.

Iris, who he couldn't trick himself into not caring about, no matter how hard he tried.

"Where is she?" Was what burst from him the moment he was within the building, voice bouncing off the dimly lit halls and among the students still in a frenzy, barely noticing him as they dashed this way and that, no clear destination in sight.

Some poured through the knocked down doors, going the direction opposite Wesley, running into the parking lot where Martin had stationed himself. He ignored them entirely, just as they did him, barely sparing the Villain a glance as they filed around him, desperate to put as much distance between themselves and the school as possible — even if it meant entering the rain that had begun to pour down from the sky like a warning.

Wesley increased his pace, the lack of answer only fueling his anxiety. Footsteps slammed against the tile floor in turn with the heavy breaths he took and the pounding of his heart.

They wanted Iris.

Did they have her? Or was she hiding?

No. If he knew one thing about Iris Crawford, it was that she didn't hide from danger. She fought her way through it.

This would be no different, and Wesley wanted to scream because of it.

Let him handle it, he would say if she were here. Shake her back and forth until she took it in. Let him deal with it, take the hurt, battle the fight, toxic masculinity be damned.

He was halfway down the hall towards the gym — no direction in his mind other than in, when the loudspeaker crackled overhead, drawing his attention. Stopping in his tracks, he tilted his head upward to listen better, staring directly into the light in the process.

He didn't flinch.

"Once again," Dana Renton, the Buzzer's voice, broke through at an airy tone, mildly impatient but overall passive. "If Iris Crawford could come to the front office, no one need be harmed. We'll wait another ten minutes for her to submit herself willingly." A click of her tongue, then, words were added that had Wesley's stomach lurching. "Iris, if you're listening, I suggest you obey. Unless you wish to see your entire school destroyed, alongside every single student inside."

A scream of terror followed from somewhere down the hall — a scream distinctly not Iris's, so Wesley ignored it. It might've been of pain, of fright, or of being in danger, but whatever it was, it didn't matter.

That was perhaps his favorite part about being a Villain. He wasn't expected to do the right thing, not when it wasn't in his best interest.

Unless it was Iris screaming, he'd go without acknowledging it.

When he rounded the corner of the hall, preparing to descend towards the front office, his journey was cut short as he plummeted face first into a figure, sending them both flying to the floor in a collection of limbs and groans.

"What the hell, dude," a familiar voice whined, sending invisible needles piercing across Wesley's arms as he pushed himself into a sitting position.

The urgency he'd felt was now clouded with panic in something entirely unrelated to Iris.

He had to remind himself with a deep, steadying breath that he had his mask on. That Brayden Berry, the Bravin' Raven, was an equal. Not an oppressor, not to the Phantom.

"Where the fuck do you think you're going, Phantom?" Brayden's eyes narrowed in on Wesley, though he didn't miss the slight glint of fear in his eye. Likely from their previous encounter, and the punches thrown.

What would happen, Wesley spared a second to wonder, if he were to start a fight with the Hero without his costume? If he went for the hit as Wesley Moran, not the Phantom.

His groupies would interfere, if it got too bad. The boys he called friends, who hung off Brayden's shoulder even more so since his Hero status. Though the embarrassment from the viral video of Iris pushing him into the pool had slowed his increase in popularity, meaning maybe, maybe, there could be an equal fight.

Wesley shook the thought away. Dug the palm of his hand into the floor and pushed himself back onto his feet, though when Brayden did the same, he was positioning himself in just a way to prevent Wesley from moving.

"Phantom," he spat. "Don't tell me you're here with those yellow freaks."

"No," Wesley responded with an equal amount of venom. "I'm here for my girlfriend."

He could almost trick himself into the word being meaningless to him.

"Right." It was as though the single word had worn at Brayden's defenses, shoulders slumping ever so slightly, his words coming out not with animosity, but resignation. "I don't know where she is. I saw her come into the school, but..."

He was no longer preventing Wesley from moving, but something about his rival's shift in demeanor kept him standing in place. "Why do you care?"

"I don't," he said, a little too fast.

Wesley raised his brows from beneath his eye mask, only just enough so to give the indication he was curious.

"I'm supposed to be a Hero right now," Brayden began, his veiny hands running through his hair. Without the Bravin' Raven attire, he looked more teenage boy than the Hero the world expected him to be — enough that Wesley almost felt sympathy. Almost. "But it's different. I'm not taken seriously, not after...you know."

He probably shouldn't have bit the bait, but he did. "You cheating on your girlfriend and her pushing you into the pool?"

Through a glare, Brayden seethed, "It's not as clear cut as it seems."

The words were muttered beneath his breath, seemingly more addressed to himself than to Wesley. His brows reached a new height on his face, awaiting an answer from the Hero.

Wasting precious time. And yet...

Yet something felt off. A feeling he couldn't shake as he further pushed the topic. "How could that possibly be the case?"

Brayden shook his head, all he would give. Bitterly, he spat, "Don't give me that look, Phantom. You've never been anything perfect."

Perfect.

That was a first.

He'd think Brayden were mocking him, if his identity weren't concealed — though the fact that he wasn't, that he believed it to be the truth, was even worse.

There was an argument on the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed it down as the image of Iris returned to him — and what would happen no matter what she did.

She obeyed their demand, and she got hurt.

She didn't, and the school suffered the consequences.

There were two people capable of stopping this — and it was Wesley, and his rival.

"You're the Hero, Raven," he began, posture stiffening until he was nearing Brayden's height. There was a few inches in which the Hero hovered above him, yet Wesley's stance felt more powerful. With an arm extended, he gestured around the school hallway. "What are you going to do about all this?"

"I've faced these two before," he confessed, rubbing his forehead with his thumb and pointer finger. "At this diner. Iris was there, too. They knocked me out in an instant. If Iris hadn't interfered, I'd be dead."

"Tough shit. It's your job."

"But why?" He demanded, a flicker of fury worked into his tone. "I know why I'm a Hero — because my dad is, and it was expected of me. But...I've been thinking. Why are you a Villain? Why is he a Hero? Why do we fight each other? And why did the Buzzer leave the Villains? The more I think about everything — this entire caste system, the less it makes any fucking sense to me. The less I want anything to do with it."

Wesley only knew half the answer.

He knew why the Buzzer left. Knew it was his fault, just as he knew admitting such in this moment would be displaying a weakness. Opening him up to the idea that he wasn't all that to be feared.

But Brayden's other inquiry was a valid one.

Why oppose each other in the way they did? Why fight each other? Why commit crimes, and why stop them? Who came up with this system — and why were the Buzzer and the Bolter rebelling against it?

None of it mattered in that moment, so he tucked it away into a corner of his mind he could come back to later.

"Focus. Iris is in danger, Raven. The entire school is, and I know you want to help," Wesley said, closing his eyes as his heart rate began to pick up again, furthering his fear at the inevitability of what would happen, and what he would have to do to stop it.

His official test may have been to kill Evan Crawford, but this was just as pressing, with less room for error.

Shadow powers wouldn't get him far against lightning and insects. But he didn't have to do it alone.

All he had to do was convince the bastard in front of him to do his job.

"I know you don't care about Iris, I know. You're a cheating asshole who's only ever cared about himself. But you owe her — and you owe this entire place for how shitty you've treated people."

He expected push back. A denial, a refusal.

Instead, Brayden Berry nodded. "I know."

He thought he'd misheard, until he saw the expression on his opponent's face. What had gotten into him?

Looking a gift horse in the mouth seemed a bad idea, so Wesley took what was being displayed for what it was. Remorse.

"Then let's get going."

With a hand wrapping around Brayden's wrist, he began tugging him in the direction of the office, without any physical protest from the boy. Instead, he let out a verbal "Don't touch me," that Wesley ignored.

It wasn't unwanted enough to warrant an attempt to break free from the hold, instead resulting in a few murmured complaints.

Wesley couldn't help but think what would happen if he wasn't wearing the mask. If he approached Brayden as himself, rather than his rival. Would the same agreement be reached — setting their differences aside for Iris, and the school as a whole?

Or would he not be taken seriously at all? Ignored or teased or overlooked. Would he try to save the day on his own, or would he run?

Was the Phantom the only thing keeping him on the right path?

What reason did Brayden have to be a Hero at all, if that were the case?

His spiraling thoughts led themselves down a path of no return — what reason did Wesley have to be a Villain, other than his parentage? What reason did they have to place the label on him?

What reason did SuperHQ have to exist at all?

He thought about demanding this in that very moment, only holding back with the knowledge that, surely, if he didn't know, neither would Brayden Berry.

And antagonizing the kid, confusing him in any way, wouldn't get him any closer to saving Iris. Not if united front was the only way she and the school would both remain safe.

For Brayden, it was duty to his Hero status. Guilt about what he'd done to the girl they were about to rescue, though Wesley knew he'd never admit it.

For Wesley himself, it was something more and less at the same time. Something selfish and something more motivating than he'd ever felt.

It was Iris, and that itself was enough to justify anything — even teaming up with this asshole.

"We need a plan, Phantom," Brayden cut in as the rounded another corner, the office at the other end of the hall they were about to rush through.

Wesley stopped. Opened his mouth, but the Hero was speaking in a low whisper before he could say anything himself. "We don't even know if Iris took the bait. And if she did, then what? We can't just waltz on in there and expect them to hand her over."

Brayden may have been smarter than Wesley ever gave him credit for. That was exactly what he'd intended to do, alongside maybe a punch or two thrown.

"Right." He scratched at his neck with his glove-clad hand. "Okay, uh..."

"Iris is fucking insane," Brayden said, seemingly out of nowhere — though it made more sense when he added, "She'd go. Not out of self sacrificing bullshit, she's not like, a martyr. But she'd think she'd be judged if she didn't. And I think...I think deep down, she cares."

Wesley almost laughed. He was too right — Iris may act like a Villain, but with the vow she'd made of goodness, maybe this was the very opportunity to prove herself.

The humor that'd crossed within him died down when he realized what that meant.

He wouldn't go as far as to say he didn't care about the school. There were a few friends littered within the building, and the student body as a whole didn't deserve to go down, to be hurt.

But he couldn't pretend they held a candle to Iris's importance.

To the world? She was just another mean girl.

To Wesley? She was everything but, the depth of which he'd not realized until he was being dragged beneath the surface, forced to submerge himself in his own feelings.

He was going to drown in Iris Crawford, and if that was how he was meant to go, then so be it. He didn't need air if that air wasn't shared with her.

"So we think she's in there?" Wesley concluded.

Brayden nodded. "Or on her way."

"Alright." He swallowed, throat gone dry. "We could ambush them. They'd expect you to attack, not me. They don't know—" He cut himself off before he could finish his sentence; they don't know I go here.

"They don't know I'm here," he managed, stuttering over his words. "You're a Hero, and you're a student here. They'd expect you to go running to the rescue. I'm the wild card."

"It'd be easier for me if you could turn off the lights," Brayden said. "I can fight well, but if it's two against one..." His lips pressed together, glancing down the hall then back at the Phantom.

The compliment that followed seemed to pain Brayden, but he spoke it anyways. "You're a fair fighter too. Use your shadows to turn off the lights, and go for the Buzzer. I'll go for the Bolter — they're more dangerous, and who we need to take down first. If they can't see, we have that much of an advantage."

It was a solid plan, assuming Wesley didn't manage to fuck it up.

Something he didn't trust himself not to, and yet, knew he had to. The only way out was through.

Still, he had one final question to ask Brayden, who'd somehow worked himself into a leadership position between the two. A boy who, in spite of everything he'd done to Iris, to damn near every single student that resided in this school, was willing to put himself on the line for the greater good.

"Then what?"

The answer was more straightforward than it had any right to be. "We kill them, or we go down swinging."

˙⋆✮

For being a soon-to-be hostage, Iris wasn't very afraid.

All things considered, she probably should be, as she walked down the hall without a single person stopping her. Footsteps bounced off the corridors — she had no reason to be stealthy, to pretend she wasn't there.

They wanted her to show up. Why would she hide?

And Iris knew she'd get out of this intact. There was rarely a time where she didn't get what she wanted — where her words didn't turn into action. Where she couldn't obscure the world to better shape what she wanted.

So no, she wasn't afraid. Not of anything that the Buzzer and the Bolter could do to her — kidnap her, use her as ransom, or the worst option — force her into joining their side. Just like the Villains had tried with the note they'd left in her underwear drawer, though these Supers were more proactive in their approach.

She'd just tell them not to.

And when had anyone ever been able to resist what she said, when she meant it?

Jessica had tried to convince her to stay in the classroom. Said risking it wasn't worth it, to which Iris had scoffed. Sure, she couldn't express how or why she knew she wasn't in danger — but even if she had been, why would her life be worth more than the hundreds of others in Hamilton High?

It was common sense.

Just as it should've been common sense to the Buzzer and the Bolter not to try to force her hand to do anything. Not when one well placed word could have them bending to whatever will she chose. She knew they weren't resistant to their silver tongue, not with the way she'd easily been able to sway them away from Brayden at Lucy's Diner.

Part of Iris wondered what they had up their sleeves.

Another part of her decided they were simply stupid enough to not fully think through their actions.

Whatever it was, she'd find out, as she pushed her way into the small office, where the secretary lay unconscious just in front of the sliding glass door. Not dead, she made sure to tell as she examined the woman and her rising chest, before fixating towards where the two Supers were located at the desk stretching from one end of the wall to the other with a gap near the edge. With the wood serving as a barrier between the Supers, the Buzzer was located by the mic connected to the loudspeaker, while the Bolter dragged the principal's limp frame — also simply unconscious — across the dark carpet and into the closet near the very back of the room.

Iris folded her arms over her chest. Narrowed her gaze as she let the door slide shut behind her. Watched the two Supers, waiting for them to speak.

Neither did. All that occurred was a thud, as the Bolter lost his grip on Principal Jenkins, letting him fall to the floor.

"Didn't think your plan would work?" She guessed.

"Not really," the Buzzer said, a sardonic smile working its way onto her lips, like being proved wrong had somehow been enjoyable to her. She wore an eye mask, much like Moron did as the Phantom, where the Bolter's entire face remained concealed.

"I know what you want from me."

Iris took a step towards them, placing her hands atop the desk. The Bolter had maneuvered next to his companion, situating himself ever so slightly behind her at her left, watching as the Buzzer took the lead.

"You're a clever girl, from what I've heard about you," the Buzzer agreed. "I'm just more surprised you're aware of your own ability. I've been told you were suppressing it."

"I don't suppress things," she hissed, more defensive than she meant to be. "Of course I know what I can do. I know I can..." She trailed off, the words lodging themselves in her throat.

She couldn't give it life, not when she'd never done so before.

Amusement flickered on the Buzzer's expression. "Say it, Iris."

She kept her lips pressed firmly together, protesting the demand in the only way she knew how.

That familiar look of the Bolter had a shiver running up her spine as she made eye contact with the secondary Super. While his lips continuously parted as if preparing a statement, he remained silent, letting the Buzzer exert control of the conversation.

"Here's the thing." She drummed her fingers in a rhythmic tune against the desk. "We're prepared to offer you damn near whatever you want."

"Whatever I want," Iris repeated. "You're bribing me?"

"Into joining us, yes. Over the Villains we know seek you out, and the Heroes who will want you when they realize who you are. We know you're tempted, Iris. You came here for a reason, surely you're willing."

Masking her intrigue with offense, Iris shook her head. "I came here so you wouldn't massacre the school. I'm not shallow enough to be bribed by you freaks. There's not much of anything that I want."

The Buzzer's brows arched. "Not thousands of dollars? Not makeup and clothes and all the mani-pedi's you could ask for? Not freedom — from your father?"

Iris nearly choked on her own tongue, nothing about the financial gain nearly as dizzying as the Buzzer's final incentive. "What do you know about my father?"

"I know you hate the guy, and for good reason. I know he treated you like shit. I know he wasn't there for you as a kid, and now fails to make up for it. I know his entire mayor campaign is against Supers — meanwhile, you've been sitting on your own powers. It's a wonder you've made it this far without being discovered." The Buzzer cleared her throat. "How many times have you used your mind control against him, Iris?"

It was a punch to the gut without anything to ease the landing. She nearly doubled over from the sudden, intense pain that twisted in her gut, sparked only from the emotions that collected in her. The shock.

She knew what she had.

It was how she always got what she wanted — out of detentions and punishments, making people leave her alone, ensuring she didn't have to do anything she didn't want to — sparingly, so she didn't draw suspicion.

She'd never thought she'd ever hear it spoken out loud.

"The Villains want you, Iris," the Buzzer went on. "I know this, too. They left you a note. They want to meet with you tonight."

"I have no interest in being a Villain."

"Not even because of your boyfriend?"

Iris banished the image of the Phantom, of Wesley, just as it popped into her head. "You heard me. I don't want to be a Villain, or a Hero, or anything at all. I want to go to school and I want to date my boyfriend and I want to be Prom Queen and—"

"That's not possible, though."

"Why not?" Iris demanded, a childish twinge to her tone. Still, she held her chin high.

"What do you think happens when your dad wins this election? To you, to me, to all the Supers in this country?"

She'd thought about this more than she'd ever admit. Still, she held her ground with a roll of her eyes. "He's running for mayor, not anything actually important."

"That's how it starts. Rome wasn't built in a day. Ideas don't materialize out of thin air, they're normalized, slow and steady and built from the ground up. Today it's Evan Crawford. Ten years? The next president is anti-Super."

"My dad doesn't hate Supers enough to persecute us — not really," she sputtered, knowing her words didn't land. Glancing towards the Bolter, he laughed into his hand, how wrong she'd been providing him great amusement. "He hates us, but he wouldn't support us being killed or something."

"Do you think any genocidal politician blatantly runs on the stance of killing people?" Arms folding over her chest, the Buzzer let out a scoff. "Iris, have you ever taken a single history class? Have you watched the news? Paid any attention to politics, modern or historical? Privileged bitch."

"I—"

"No one begins a campaign saying they want death. It's when they get into power that they emphasize their stance — and how extreme they truly are." She clicked her tongue, the singular noise sending a jolt through Iris, as she struggled not to shrink in on herself. "Heroes and Villains have their own agreement going on, but it's not working. None of this is working, and it's up to us to stop your father — and everyone who agrees with him. Once and for all."

"Agreement?" She frowned. "What do you mean?"

She waved a dismissive hand, ignoring her question. "If anyone has the power to do something, it's you, Iris."

"I..." She rubbed the base of her throat as it began to ache. "I don't think I can hold control for long. I've only used it to get what I want short term. Like extra allowance or to be left alone or...listen, I appreciate what you're doing, okay? I get why you're doing it now, I do. And I'll support from the sidelines. But I can't do this. I can't join you, or the Villains, or the Heroes, or any of you."

"Why not?"

The question was just as simple as Iris's following answer — "Because I'm not good enough."

She wasn't, and she didn't want to be. Her normal, boring teen girl life was the only life she wanted to live. Mixing herself up with politics, with heroics and villainy and morals and life and death, it would only ensure everything she'd come to love wouldn't be available anymore.

Wesley had to live a double life.

Brayden couldn't go about the streets without being recognized.

And maybe Iris had an advantage. Maybe with her specific powers, she could live both lives.

But risking it didn't feel worth it.

Agreeing to fake date the Phantom hadn't been entwining herself with that life like it may have seen, but aligning herself further on the outskirts. Placing a firm barrier between what she was, and what she could be. Emphasizing the lie that she wasn't like the Phantom — that she wasn't a Super.

She was just along for the ride.

Being seen as untouchable only went so far. Adding the label of Super onto her brought her into the line of fire.

And unlike Wesley, she didn't have luck to get her by, or skill like Brayden, or powers like the Illusion once had.

It wasn't just the matter of not wanting to try, but the fact that she knew if she did, she'd fail miserably.

"What if we said we could make you a star?"

Iris tried not to let her offense show. "I'm not attention starved."

The silent Bolter gave her a look, but it was the Buzzer who spoke again. "Aren't you?"

"I—"

"Iris, we could give you anything you wanted. You don't have to be on the front lines. You just need to be the one getting people onto our side."

"You want me to recruit people?" She confirmed, barely able to comprehend what they were suggesting — how evil they seemed to think her capable of. "You want me to brainwash people into being your soldiers? To risking their lives, their reputations, for your stupid Super cause?"

She expected a denial. What she was proposing was, after all, cruel.

Instead, the Buzzer nodded.

"And the theatrics of this?" She waved a hand around frantically. "Threatening the school — couldn't you have just—"

"Waited for you to come willingly?" The Buzzer filled in. "Would you have? We know the Villains have been after you, but they've used less...forceful methods. Did you have any intention of ever so much as hearing them out?"

"Well, no, but—"

The lights went out.

"What—" Iris began, cut off by the sound of glass shattering behind her — the sliding door taken down by a silhouette she could only just make out.

Through the darkness, she strained her vision to watch as that figure maneuvered around her with an admirable level of agility, leaping into the air and over the desk before pummeling in the direction of the Bolter, leg outward in a karate-like kick.

Iris yelped, watching as the Bolter jerked to the side, lightning gathering in his hands as he prepared to zap at the intruder.

At Iris's rescuer.

She could stop the fighting before it begun. One word, and it would all come crumbling down.

Lips parting, she was about to cut through the violence before her own doubt caught up to her. Would her mind control work against more than one person? It didn't always work when she used it — could she take control of everyone's minds? The Buzzer, the Bolter and the third person in the shadows, currently dodging a bolt of electricity shot their way.

The Buzzer and the Bolter weren't immune to her — she'd found that out at Lucy's when she'd saved Brayden's life.

She could fix this. Stop it before it crossed a line no one could go back from.

And yet, she felt as though someone had taken hold of her tongue and refused to let it go. She wanted to stop it, to leap to action, to prevent people from getting hurt — she wanted to be good, just as she'd promised to Wesley over the weekend.

She couldn't find her voice.

It wasn't any different, she realized, then when she'd stand by and watch Brayden and Helena pick on people smaller than them. There'd been that instinctive urge in Iris to speak up, to say something, to tell them to knock it off.

She'd never gotten past the flicker of thought. Never let herself even consider interfering.

Not because she didn't want to, but because she was scared.

She was scared now, what speaking up would do to her. Drawing attention on herself when she didn't want it.

She was scared then, how being kind, and thus opposing the popular crowd she'd let herself be absorbed into, would reflect on her. Even if she could mind control people's actions, she didn't want to force Helena and Brayden to like her — she wanted to have earned it, which meant selling her soul in the process.

It meant being a bad person.

Iris wasn't born a bad person.

But somewhere along the way, the series of decisions she'd made became a row of dominoes, knocking her into place in a succession so fast, she couldn't stop it. Once the source of everything — finding her mom's dead body — had tipped over, there was no saving her.

Her vow to be good, Iris understood in that moment, had been arbitrary. She couldn't be good, even if she stripped herself of all she was. She didn't even know what it looked like on her.

Goodness and Iris weren't compatible.

No wonder the Villains had sought her out, and not the Heroes.

Lightning emerged from the Bolter's hands again, shooting in the direction of the shadowy figure, but once again, they were too quick. It shot instead into the wall, a flame flickering before dying out within a moment, giving Iris only a second to see the identity of the boy battling to save her from a threat that wasn't really there.

Brayden.

She nearly fell over.

His face was obscured by the darkness within an instant, just as a second shadow stepped over the shards of broken glass, a crunching sound beneath their feet. Their movements were less precise than Brayden's, less careful, a sort of awkward shuffle Iris recognized with an instant.

Wesley Moran.

Sense snapped into her within a moment.

She didn't care about the Buzzer, or the Bolter, or even Brayden. The three B's could eliminate each other, and she'd sleep just fine.

That was where her morals had found themselves morphed into.

Iris knew she wasn't good. Not even half good.

But Wesley was, and she wasn't about to risk the one thing in her life she felt mattered.

She'd lost her best friend. She'd lost her boyfriend. She'd never had her dad in the first place — but as Iris furthered the distance between her and Evan, she could truly see the sinking ship he was becoming. Holding on would only drown her too.

But in it all, she'd found something worth clinging to. Something that wouldn't plunge her into an icy sea but rather uplift her into the person she wished she could be. Maybe not entirely, but a hint of it.

Wesley saw the good in her, enough so that he didn't feel the need to sugarcoat the bad he saw.

The Bolter was wielding another stream of lightning, gathering up the bolts in his palms before aiming them to where the Phantom was running, attention fixed on the Buzzer, still behind the desk.

He wouldn't see what would hit him. He would get hurt — killed, even, and not even know what had happened. For as evil as Iris had ever been, she'd never strike at a turned back.

Her words returned to her with ease, stood on the precipice not of greatness, but of goodness. Or as close to it as Iris Crawford could ever get.

"Stop!" She screamed it, as loud as her voice would carry.

Iris shouldn't have been surprised that it worked — for the Bolter, whom her words were directed at, movements stilling the moment she spoke, and for the Buzzer, who froze like a statue.

Her victory was momentary.

Wesley, whom the command hadn't been extended to, spun towards her on instinct. The Bolter's lightning — the only thing illuminating the room — vanished, submitting them back to shadows and silhouettes as their only hint of what was happening.

Brayden's outline was what drew Iris's attention next, as he was midway through flinging himself towards the Buzzer, who was too preoccupied obeying the sharp command to see what had been coming — just as he was too quick to stop himself.

She went down with less protest than Iris had been expecting. A woman of her strength, of her power, should've been more alert.

Would've been, if it hadn't been for Iris's command.

A snapping sound followed, the moment the Buzzer's head slammed into the desk. Not from her skull, though Iris had no doubt that the injury she'd have sustained would've killed her anyways.

No, she was already dead the moment she hit the ground. There was no mistaking the sound of the Villain's broken neck for anything but.