Vidya tipped a cup of blue paint onto the canvas and watched as it spread to meet the green Amber had poured from the other side. The art room was usually busy as students prepared for the upcoming art show, but they'd managed to find a time slot during lunch when it was nice and quiet. The only other people here right now were the teacher, who sat at her computer, and a freshman trying to figure out the kiln.

"Have you gotten your letter?" Vidya asked.

"Not yet."

Vidya nodded, unworried. Amber was getting into SVA; there was no doubt about it.

Vidya rolled her neck around her shoulders, sighing. She'd been sitting on her legs for too long, and her entire body was aching, but their piece was almost done. Just a few more swirls of color, and maybe a blowtorch to pop the bubbles...

"We're having an anti-bullying assembly today," Amber said.

Vidya rocked back on her heels, making a face. That would make it the fifth one this year, and it was only February. "Why?"

"Because the Jailer's back. They stole all the trig books yesterday and locked them in the gym closet."

The Jailer was a student who resurfaced every now and then to steal a school supply, lock it somewhere to put it in 'jail', and hide the keys somewhere else. As funny as it was, those harmless pranks warranted disciplinary action, and since no one knew who the Jailer was, the disciplinary action was usually an assembly for everyone. It didn't matter that the Jailer wasn't technically bullying—an informative assembly was the only solution the principal could think of.

They moved their pour-painted canvas to the drying area and went to their next class: calculus for Vidya, history for Amber. Vidya couldn't focus. She glared at the loudspeaker beneath the clock, waiting for the announcement. Anti-bullying awareness was important, but five assemblies (and counting) in one year was overkill. She hoped the principal was ready for the backlash; there was nothing scarier than irritated teenagers.

The announcement came only ten minutes into class. Vidya was the first one out of the room. She practically ran to the auditorium to find Amber, and they filled in two seats in one of the middle rows.

When everyone was settled, the lights dimmed. The principal walked onto the stage and was immediately booed. She cleared her throat awkwardly and introduced the latest speaker she'd dredged up: a child psychologist, here to talk about the stresses of high school, acting out, and bullying.

Vidya sank against the uncomfortable auditorium seat. Due to the mounting dislike of her coworkers—except for Phase, who was an angel—she wasn't in the mood to think about kindness and tolerance. Instead, she drifted off into her imagination, occasionally catching bits and pieces of the psychologist's presentation. One line stood out, something about the debated belief that humans are born good, with natural inclinations to support others and see everything in a positive light.

At that part, Vidya laughed. It was a low scoff, barely audible, but Amber glanced at her. There was concern on her face, a new kind of concern that made Vidya uneasy.

Hadn't she always believed that people were born good?

So why did she laugh like it was a joke?

_______________________

With his feet propped up on the table, Juggernaut narrowed his eyes over the tips of his boots at the whiteboard. It was covered with his scribbles (intentionally illegible), photos of victims, autopsy details, random notices, and a map of the city with red x's where bodies were found. Under the suspect list was a fat blank space.

He wasn't a visual person. The board served no other purpose than for him to have something to look at while he drove himself crazy.

Celestro's intelligence room was quiet. The team sat at their computers, doing what they always did: wiretapping, collecting information from the internet and their own private sources, etc. The things that were uncovered, covered up, and managed in this room were top-secret; it was like a mini NSA. Juggernaut was at one end of the conference table, and on the other end sat Michael, the intelligence team member who was assigned to help with the investigation.

"So there's no footage of the alley or the docks?" Juggernaut asked. They'd been through this already, but repetition never hurt.

"None." Michael shook his head. The lights reflected off his glasses, making it look like there were two blue squares over his eyes.

"And no witnesses?"

"None. Got any suspects?"

"No."

If the murders had been committed in a similar way—other than being generally gruesome—he might've had some ideas. Celestro had an entire list of villains and their tendencies, but none matched. It didn't even have to be a super. The criminal could be a regular human, and as cunning as they'd have to be to kill Achilles and Fairy, they'd also have to be the stupidest human on Earth to go up against Celestro without powers of their own.

Which made figuring this out more impossible.

Juggernaut rubbed his face. This was such a mess. Two murders weren't enough for serial killer status, and the deaths might not be connected at all. Without any progress, the LAPD would eventually have to let the investigation go, but Celestro wouldn't do the same. The company's pride and safety were at stake.

And ultimately, it all fell on his shoulders.

Juggernaut took his feet off the table. "If anyone misses a mission or an alert without responding at all, I want to be notified."

"Will do."

"And we'll do everything to keep new information out of the public eye until we've had time to process it ourselves."

That one was just business as usual. Michael nodded. "Of course."

Juggernaut's watch vibrated. He angled his wrist to see the message. He didn't really need to read it—Fox's messages were usually the same, simply beckoning him somewhere so they could talk.

Juggernaut stood and flipped the whiteboard to the empty side so no one would have to suffer looking at that clusterfuck when he wasn't here. "Keep me posted," he told Michael as he left, the door clicking locked behind him.

The intelligence room was on the other side of the building from where Fox told him to go. He walked across the mezzanine third floor, eyeing the lobby below. The interview with Devaris was still on loop, and it took everything in him to not laser every screen in half. Banners and notices about the upcoming fifteenth anniversary of the start of heroism were all over the place. It made him sick. At first it had been easy to pretend that the 'lab accident' day meant anything, but it was getting harder. He couldn't wait until it was over.

He found Fox in a room on the eighth floor. There was protective plastic over most of the surfaces, like at a dentist's, and there were two people in lab coats zooming in on what looked like dental x-rays, and lying on the table was a corpse that looked like it crawled out of hell.

Looks like his whiteboard was getting a new picture.

Juggernaut leaned over the table, hands clasped behind his back. The body was so destroyed that it was mostly bones, and the stuff that clung to it could either be meat, clothing remains, or crusty debris.

"Who's this?" he asked.

That vein was popping out of Fox's forehead again. She was crossing her arms so tightly, it looked like she was trying to keep herself from throwing up. "Fade."

Juggernaut inhaled sharply. He examined the corpse again, not analytical this time, just sad. "What happened?"

"The body was found in the warehouse you sent Phase and Flamethrower to, the one Flamethrower blew up. We used dental records to confirm that this is Fade."

Juggernaut blinked, hung up on the first part. "Flamethrower did what?"

"It was an accident. The place was soaked in gasoline, and she didn't know that there was a closet full of propane." Fox approached the table, nose wrinkling. "We used luminol on Fade's apartment and found traces of blood, so she must've been attacked there first. It's so far beyond forensics that we can't tell if she was already dead at the warehouse, or if she died because of the explosion."

They fell silent, but he was sure they were thinking the same thing. He waited patiently for Fox to get over herself and say the ugly truth out loud.

"If Flamethrower had been more careful," she said quietly, "the place wouldn't have blown up, and Fade might have lived."

And there it was. Juggernaut shook his head; he should've checked out the warehouse himself. Smuggling wasn't a Marvel-grade mission—he'd only accepted the assignment for the Marvels because River was the one who gave dispatch the tip, and she'd insisted that it was important. He'd have to get someone to talk to her about that.

"So as far as it looks," he said, "Flamethrower killed Fade."

"That's how it looks." Fox nodded. "Which is why we're not reporting it right away. And when we do, Flamethrower will have had nothing to do with it. Phase was the only one responding to the warehouse, and it blew up for undetermined reasons."

Business as usual.

Juggernaut shook his head again. There was something he didn't understand. "They surrounded Talia with gasoline and propane, but how did they know I would send Flamethrower?"

"They didn't. Even if you hadn't sent Flamethrower, whoever you did send would still find Fade, and that was what the culprits ultimately wanted. The explosion was just an extra gamble, some wishful thinking."

So either way, the murderer would get their message across. That was smart; Juggernaut had to give them credit.

He gently tapped the forehead of the body—or what remained of it—as a goodbye. He liked Talia, and he was sorry. He should've apologized about the almost-a-Marvel situation when he had the chance.

"By the way," Fox said, her voice low. "Three of our heroes are now dead. They're making us look weak, and that's going to give our enemies dangerous confidence." She turned around to leave, and then added, "If you were planning on doing something about that, now's the time."

Juggernaut was silent, and she left, Emika trailing at her heels. He'd been planning something in case things kept spiraling out of control, but he'd hoped to put it off for at least a few days.

Now it was too late.

___________________

Everyone knew Speed was British because of his accent and because of his and Astra's much-televised move to Los Angeles a few years ago. Juggernaut had kept his expectations neutral, but Speed's apartment was just overkill. By simply standing in it, Juggernaut felt like he was developing loyalty to the monarchy. A UK Flag was spread across the wall, along with a map of the Isles and posters of the Beatles and The Rolling Stones. There were British classics stacked on the coffee table and five types of tea in the cupboard, one of which Juggernaut found to be enjoyable—though, as a clueless American, he probably made it wrong. The kettle (which he didn't use) stared at him accusingly from its spot on the stove.

Speed wasn't home. Juggernaut left the lights off and stood by the window, sipping some sort of black tea called "PG Tips" from a delicate cup. It was one in the morning, and the street outside was dark and empty. There was an argument two floors above, another argument one floor below, a cat next door scratching at the curtains, and...

Footsteps in the hallway.

As the door opened, Juggernaut set down the cup and turned around, trying not to look threatening. It was hard to do when everyone knew what he was capable of...or, most of what he was capable of, anyway.

Speed stood in the doorway, hands on the frame, knees bent a little. His eyes were red. It looked as if he were about to fall asleep. Juggernaut wasn't surprised that he was coming home, drunk and dazed, at one in the morning with bloody knuckles.

Speed raised his head and squinted. "How'd you know where I live?" He waved his hands abruptly. "Never mind. I don't want to know." He closed the door behind him and walked inside sluggishly, sniffing.

"You're drunk," Juggernaut said.

"And you're jealous." Speed faced him with a mockingly pitying look. "God, it must be so annoying. To be as busy as you are, to see what you've seen, and have no choice but to be stone-cold sober all the time. I respect you. Truly, I do."

"Fade's dead."

"Oh." Speed blinked, obviously trying to remember who Fade was. "Okay." He turned on the lights and rubbed his eyes. "I don't work for you or your people, so what are you doing here?"

"Celestro's starting to look weak because only our heroes are dying," Juggernaut explained. "I need to fix that. And since you're a menace, I thought I'd kill two birds with one stone."

Speed slowly lowered his hands from his eyes and slid them into his pockets. "You're here to kill me?"

Juggernaut watched him evenly. "It's been a long time coming."

"Yeah," Speed said, equally calm. "It has. I'm surprised you didn't attempt it earlier. It's been, what, nine years since we fucked you over in Minsk?"

"Ten," Juggernaut corrected. "Call it strategy, priorities, ignorance—whatever you want to attribute it to, it doesn't matter. I'm here now."

"Hm." Speed smiled, shaking his head.

They stood still on opposite ends of the living room, cold and unwavering. Time had dulled Juggernaut's anger over what happened at Minsk, but what Speed and Astra did, and the fallout from it, was hard to completely forget. With the murders and a public image at stake, now was the perfect time to settle that grudge.

"You come here to kill me in the middle of the night to preserve Celestro's pride," Speed mumbled, "and you call me a menace?" He chuckled, and the smile didn't falter one bit. "And how are you going to kill me, mate? I know you can easily rip off my head, but that doesn't mean shit if you can't catch me."

Speed ran forward in a blur too fast to process, and only a millisecond later, he was back where he'd been standing, laughing even harder. Juggernaut looked down at his teacup. He'd put it on the coffee table, but now it was on its side on the ground, liquid staining the carpet. A simple action, but the message was clear: Speed was untouchable.

"I don't think you felt it," Speed said, "but I hit you, too."

"I did feel it. It was like getting punched by a flower."

That only made Speed laugh again. Juggernaut watched him, disappointed and irritated. Even with his insanely useful superpower, Speed should still be wary of a death threat from the leader of the Marvels. If alcohol and arrogance weren't clouding his judgment, he would've run away by now.

But Juggernaut understood the overconfidence. Even drunk, Speed was fast and agile. He genuinely believed he would be fine, because Juggernaut, for all his strength, couldn't possibly touch him.

But Juggernaut didn't need to touch him to kill him.

He dropped his gaze to Speed's knees and lasered through them.

Speed screamed as his legs were cut off, and Juggernaut smiled. Watching people be blindsided by his laser eyes was a never-ending source of amusement. Speed toppled backwards, and his head slammed into the floor and knocked him unconscious immediately.

"You're right," Juggernaut said. "You're too fast for me. And if you'd just ran away, I would've had no choice but to let you go."

He got onto his knees and reached out to break Speed's neck, but he paused. He didn't want to take any of Speed's body parts the way the murderer took Fairy's eyes and Achilles's tongue, so if he wanted people to believe that the same culprit that killed them also killed Speed, then cutting off the legs might be a little too mild. It wasn't violent enough.

May as well go the extra mile.

Juggernaut's eyes went bright red. He closed one of them, and with the other, he used his laser to cut a clean line across the sorry excuse for a hero's neck. Speed's head detached and went rolling into the kitchen, where it came to a stop against the base of the refrigerator.

Juggernaut surveyed the scene, satisfied. He could hear the neighbor next door talking to the cops on the phone, reporting suspicious noises. Perfect. Let the police discover what happened; it would be more believable coming from them than from anyone else.

Juggernaut opened the window and left, taking the teacup with him. No one saw him go. By the time the harsh cry of sirens pierced the sky, he was already far away, floating high above the Pacific Ocean. He held the teacup out in front of him, staring at it for a moment, and then he let it fall into the dark waters below.

♫ Sing the episode title to the tune of the first line of "A Few of My Favorite Things" ♫

I dedicated this chapter to BerryButterfly11 for giving me the idea of the Jailer, and I'd like to thank Carrlaeyna and Outreach_Coordinator for other suggestions -- I didn't use them, but I appreciate your help!