People did terrible things out of hate, and no one hated them more than Callidus.

Juggernaut repeated the almost-Marvel's name over and over in his head as he walked. Callidus. It was Latin for crafty, cunning, clever, et cetera—the perfect superhero moniker for an ambitious guy like him. A little too perfect, unfortunately. After a whole year of referring to the incident only as last time, Juggernaut was annoyed to have to be properly thinking of it again, to have to refer to him by name.

He knocked once on Fox's door and opened it without waiting for an answer. He paused in the doorway, disoriented. Up until the resignation party, this had been Goodman's office. Juggernaut was used to white walls, Impressionism-era art, and a horrible man with the eyes of a shark sitting behind a desk that had a mini bonsai on the corner. All of that had been recently changed to better suit the new President's taste: the walls were gray, and modern photography had replaced the paintings. Instead of a mini bonsai on the desk, there was a mini cactus. A fake one. The person who now owned the office was also horrible, but Juggernaut liked her better. Fox was smarter than Goodman, more human, and less robotic. She made sense.

She was alone. There was no Senator or Representative or press head or anyone else who was talking to Celestro for whatever reason sitting in the guest chairs. He thought Emika might come in at some point, but that would be okay, so he closed the door but left it unlocked.

Fox took off her glasses with a tired sigh. It made Juggernaut happy to see her genuinely worked up about everything—after all the impossible situations she'd forced him to figure out, it was about time she suffered through one herself.

"What is it?" she asked, rubbing her temples.

Juggernaut stood in front of her desk, petting the cactus. Definitely fake. "I need every bit of surveillance on Callidus for the past year," he said.

Fox froze. Her eyes widened at nothing, mouth clamping shut, and then she straightened in her chair, clearing her throat. "Why?"

"There's a slight chance he might be behind the murders. For revenge, or out of spite."

"Uh huh." Fox put her glasses back on, the movement oddly nervous. "And you're just considering this now? It took you this long to come up with that?"

"Of course I thought of it before," Juggernaut snapped. He'd thought of it and dismissed it, but Lady Marvel's line about hate was making him reconsider. "I didn't say anything earlier because...well, imagine how astronomically stupid he would have to be to try something like this, and how cunning and lucky he'd have to be to pull it off."

"So he's probably not the one responsible," Fox said dismissively.

"I want to make sure. Give me the information, and I'll decide for myself if he's worth considering or not."

Fox thought about it, tapping her fingers on her desk one by one. Juggernaut waited for an answer, eyes narrowing further with each second that passed. He was surprised she was being so difficult and judgemental, considering no one else had any better ideas about the investigation.

Fox finally said, "There is no surveillance."

Juggernaut blinked, thinking she was kidding, but she looked dead serious. "What?"

"Don't look at me like that," she snapped. "You're the one who wanted to relocate him instead of killing him or throwing him in jail."

"Only because I thought we'd be keeping an eye on him," he argued. "Are you telling me that for this entire year, we haven't been keeping any tabs on him? We have no idea what he's been up to?"

Fox nodded; the admittance looked painful. "That's as far as I know," she said. "If you want the details, you'll have to ask Goodman. He's the one who orchestrated the relocation."

Goodman, who'd left for Hawaii in the middle of his goodbye party without actually saying goodbye, was the only one with answers. Of course he was. Juggernaut would rather eat the cactus than ask Goodman for help; he'd hoped to never see or speak to that man again, and in response, the universe said, too fucking bad.

He shouldn't be surprised.

__________________

Juggernaut stood on the beach, waves lapping over his boots. He was in a bad mood, and it was obvious. The beach wasn't empty: there were plenty of people enjoying the sunset, and he could hear them whispering, wondering why he was glaring at the horizon like he wanted to stab it.

Juggernaut took off for Hawaii before any of them gathered enough courage to talk to him. It could be a quick flight, but he took it slowly. He needed time to convince himself not to punch Goodman in the face on sight.

The sky brightened the closer he got to the islands, his watch's numbers flipping backward to reflect the change in time zone. That was one grievance he had with long-distance flights: he always forgot what time it was where, and sometimes he stumbled into meetings in LA after they'd already begun—and on bad days, after they'd already ended.

He landed in the backyard of Goodman's property. In the middle sat a stone fountain surrounded by perfectly trimmed, perfectly green turfgrass, and the palm trees—because you can't have a rich-guy-Hawaii-backyard without an absurd number of palm trees—were tall and leafy, and there were six bodyguards spaced out on the stone pathways.

Juggernaut watched them as they all turned their heads to look at him. Then they looked at each other, and then they returned to their rigid, blank-faced stances without a word. Not a single one of them moved to stop him or to even ask what he was doing as he walked to the mansion's back door. Goodman must've warned them against it, and if he hadn't, then they were choosing not to intervene.

Smart choice.

Juggernaut opened the back doors and immediately stepped on something on his way in, almost tripping over it. He lifted his foot to see a broken Lego creation, and sitting on both sides of it on the floor were Goodman's six-year-old twins, Lily and Sarah. They looked up at him and blinked.

"I'm so sorry," he said, crouching down to help them gather the pieces.

Like the bodyguards outside, they were silent. Juggernaut couldn't tell if they recognized him; he was probably scaring them. Just when he was about to stand, Sarah caught his eye, and he froze. She reached over to a nearby flower pot, plucked off a pink hibiscus, and carefully tucked it behind his ear.

It was so cute, he almost died.

He smiled. "Thank you."

Even though he wanted to watch them put together what he'd destroyed, there was business to attend to. He left them with their bricks and went deeper into the house. A maid walked by, and so did a butler, and though their eyes were downcast and wide with surprise, neither of them spoke up.

Juggernaut wandered around the first floor until he found the study. It was empty, but he knew Goodman would show up soon enough, so he stayed there, running his finger along one of the many shelves of books. Half of them were old science, half were history. No dust. A giant, spinnable globe sat next to a mahogany desk with a black leather chair. Everything about the room screamed of a well-respected, intelligent human being.

Hilarious.

When Goodman finally showed up, he paused in the doorway, fixing the cuffs of his sleeves. "Welcome to Hawaii," he said calmly. "I thought you might drop by."

"I need to know—"

"I figured you'd want to visit," Goodman interrupted, "considering that I left without a word."

Juggernaut blinked, momentarily remembering how he'd felt at the resignation party. All he'd wanted was a thank you or an apology or anything, just some sort of acknowledgement to everything that happened. Instead, Goodman had left without so much as a nod. It bothered him more than he wanted to admit.

"Supers are dying," Juggernaut said dryly. "I'm trying to figure it out."

"Oh," Goodman said. He poured himself a drink from a flask inside one of the desk drawers, face scrunched up in confusion.

The nature of the 'oh' was baiting, and Juggernaut knew that. "What do you mean, oh?" he asked.

"Well..." Goodman swirled the glass and leaned against his desk with a small shrug. "I just assumed you were the one behind it."

Juggernaut stared at him and slowly shook his head, irritated. "Why would I kill supers?"

"Jealousy, anger, revenge, spite—"

"Stop, stop, stop. Forget I asked," Juggernaut snapped. It didn't feel good to be accused when he was the one losing his mind trying to fix everything. "I think it's Callidus."

Goodman laughed. "Please. The odds of him pulling off something like this are very, very low. Practically nonexistent."

"I know that," Juggernaut said evenly. "But I want to make sure, and apparently, we have no surveillance on him. Why is that?"

Goodman didn't look at all upset at having his decisions questioned. "You insisted we relocate him," he said calmly. "So that's what I did. I also decided that he wasn't a threat worth keeping an eye on, so I didn't orchestrate any sort of watch."

"That was stupid."

"Maybe, but that's the decision I made. It's not like you showed any interest in the process, or else you would've asked, and I would've gladly included you."

"Point taken," Juggernaut said. "You may not know what he's been up to, but you can at least tell me where you had him dropped off."

Goodman stared into his glass. "I won't do that."

Seriously, what was it with people and not wanting to comply? Juggernaut had to keep himself from jumping to conclusions. "Why not?"

Goodman turned to face the window. His expression was blank, like he was looking at something too far away to see. Maybe he was. "I don't think it's necessary for you to be revisiting something that no longer matters," he said, "especially since it was covered up so well. Celestro should be moving forward."

"We can't move forward if people keep dying," Juggernaut pointed out. "Tell me the address."

"No."

"Tell me the address," Juggernaut repeated.

"Or else what?" Goodman turned around sharply and put his glass down, balancing it precariously on the globe. It was as if he'd snapped—retirement clearly wasn't his thing. "What are you going to do? How can you make me tell you? For all your power, and for all the difficulties you put my staff through, you never could do anything to me." He looked proud. "I was the one person you could never—"

Juggernaut closed one eye. The other one glowed bright red and shot out a beam. It skimmed the tip of Goodman's ear, burning it. The man yelped and jumped to the side.

"Things have changed," Juggernaut said flatly. "Tell me the address."

For the first time ever, Goodman looked afraid. One hand was clamped over his injured ear, and one eye was twitching in disbelief. He never thought this could happen, did he? He thought he was untouchable.

And in the past, he was. But not anymore.

With his other hand, Goodman wrote down the address on a notepad, tore out the page, and held it out. Neither of them said a word as it passed from hand to hand, and now that he had what he needed, Juggernaut left without so much as a nod.

______________________

The numbers on his watch flipped forward as Juggernaut went over the Pacific again, passed over Los Angeles, and started to cross the United States toward Missouri. This time, the sky grew dark as he flew into the approaching night. It was a beautiful view he should appreciate more, but he was too exasperated to feel any awe.

He found the town, and from then on, he didn't know anything more about the layout of Rocheport, Missouri. He walked around until he found the right street sign, and then he went down that street until he found the right address.

It was a square-shaped, one-story house. It was an inconspicuous gray, and maybe in the daylight, it was whiter. The mailbox looked new, as did the house, which looked ten times better than the old house across the street from it. Even the street lamp was shiny and bright. It was as if Goodman built this house in this middle-of-nowhere town specifically to drop off Callidus.

He probably did.

The front door was locked. Juggernaut knocked just in case someone was home—highly unlikely—but there was no answer. He broke the door in, put it back in its frame behind him, and flipped up the closest light switch.

"Callidus?" he said.

No answer.

Juggernaut stood still, listening. Aside from his own, and that of a bird just outside the window, there was no other heartbeat. Unless there was a dead body somewhere—judging by the lack of smell, also highly unlikely—then Callidus wasn't here. He exhaled slowly, unsure how to feel about it, and looked around.

The house wasn't in any state of disarray, but it wasn't in any state of living, either. He opened every cabinet and both doors in the refrigerator. They weren't empty, but they weren't stocked enough to give any signs that someone actually lived here. It was so...motel-like. As if someone had swung by for a few days and then left, but in this case, Callidus could have been here for any amount of time up to a year, and Juggernaut had no way of knowing.

After inspecting the house, he stood in the middle of the living room and tried to understand. Celestro was always 'relocating' people in the name of company safety. He wondered what it was like to be uprooted and forced to live alone in the middle of nowhere, probably with a complete identity change. He wondered if Callidus was warned to stay put, if he'd been given a job somewhere in the town.

Juggernaut shook his head. He wished he'd killed him, but at least the relocation must've torn him apart. Served him right.

Juggernaut left the house and walked past the mailbox, not bothering to check it. If Callidus left, then he wouldn't want to be found, and anything in the mailbox was staged. If he hadn't left, if he'd been killed or kidnapped or something, then Juggernaut simply didn't care.

He knocked on the house across the street. There was shuffling inside, and a heartbeat approached the door. Slow and heaving. When the door swung open, his gaze dropped down several inches to see a woman who had to be at least ninety years old.

She squinted through her glasses. "Aren't you...wait, you're..."

"Yes, I'm him," Juggernaut said, sparing her the effort of saying his name. She looked so fragile that he was afraid she might die before she got it out. "Can I ask you some questions, ma'am?"

"Of course." She was already turning around, adjusting her walker. "Please, come in."

"It'll be quick, I don't need to come inside."

"I insist!"

Juggernaut gave in. If a nice old lady asked you to do something, you did it. Basic manners.

The structure of the house was identical to Callidus's, but this one was older and more homely. A fat orange tabby was sprawled out on the floor, and it hissed at him as he stepped over it. The collar said Mittens.

"Don't mind the cat, she's not fond of strangers," the old lady said, slowly and with pauses between the words, like it was taking a lot of effort to string the sentence together. "What brings you to Rocheport?"

"I was wondering about your neighbor across the street." The tabby jumped up at his knees, and Juggernaut picked her up. Mittens was surprised by this, and she squirmed and hissed. He kept his grip loose so she could jump away if she wanted to, but after a moment, she relaxed. For a cat not fond of strangers, she hadn't fought very hard.

"Oh, him." The woman shrugged. "I'm afraid I don't have much to say."

"He moved in one year ago, right?"

"I...believe so, yes. An entire group dropped him off. I saw him going in and out sometimes, but he never said hello. Neither did I, though I wish I'd made an effort."

Juggernaut nodded, re-positioning his arms as Mittens lazily flopped around. "Do you know when he left?"

She blinked, maybe realizing for the first time that her neighbor was gone. "I haven't seen him in about a month, maybe two."

The timing didn't correlate with the timeline of the murders...but then again, it didn't have to. "Did he ever have any guests?"

"Never."

Juggernaut glanced around the living room at her various distance-limiting medical devices. She couldn't possibly leave the house often, so if she was so sure that Callidus never had guests, then she was right. At least right enough.

Juggernaut put Mittens down, and she immediately disappeared under the couch. "Thanks for your time, ma'am," he said. "I should get going."

"That boy's not in any trouble, is he?"

She sounded so concerned that he felt bad. Still, he smiled and said. "No, he's not."

___________________

Lady Marvel swiped the brush up her pinky nail, coating it in dark blue. It was a PR thing since there was an event tomorrow celebrating a new superhero whose theme was water and the ocean, but she was enjoying painting her nails. She even wanted to draw a fish on the thumb, but her art skills were crap and it would undoubtedly end up looking like a smudge.

She was sitting cross-legged on her bed in her room, fully focused on not screwing up her right hand when there was a double knock on the window. She twisted toward the nightstand to push the button to let Juggernaut in. The shades rolled up as the window slid open, and they closed after he flew in.

"Where have you been?" she asked. Hawaii, judging by the hibiscus behind his ear.

He started walking around her room, mumbling, "Fox's office, then Goodman's estate, and then Missouri."

The Missouri one caught her off guard. "Why?"

"Investigating. I thought—"

"So much for detective work not being our jobs," she deadpanned.

He stopped short and sighed at the jab, closing his eyes tiredly.

She smiled. "You were saying?" she asked, leaving her bed to sit on the couch and watch him pace back and forth from the door to the window.

"I thought Callidus might be the one behind the murders," he said, "but there's no surveillance. I know he left the house he was relocated to, but we don't know where he's gone, or what he's been doing." As he passed by behind the couch, he took the hibiscus and tucked it behind her ear. "He could've died or been killed. He could've moved somewhere else to live a different life than the one forced on him, or..."

"Or maybe he found his way to LA and started killing supers," she finished. "And we have no way of knowing."

"No, we don't."

"So what do we do now?"

Juggernaut bit his lip, shaking his head. "There's no point in looking into Callidus or where he's gone—it would be time-consuming and potentially useless. We'll focus on the murders. And if it turns out that he is the one committing them...then we'll deal with it."

Lady Marvel nodded. That sounded about right. She blew on her nails to dry them and asked, "Are you going to tell me what it was that he did?"

Juggernaut seemed to be considering it, but the answer was the same as always. "No."

"You know," Lady Marvel said calmly, looking up at him with narrowed eyes. "I'm starting to think you're lying."

He tilted his head innocently, waiting.

"You're secretive about it for reasons you won't say," she said. "I'm starting to think that whatever Callidus did wasn't that bad at all, and you just wanted an excuse to get rid of him. It would explain why you so kindly relocated him instead of doing something harsher."

Juggernaut stared at her, his mouth slowly stretching into a small smile. He looked a little surprised, but not at all offended. "Goodnight, Marv," he said, and then he left.

Lady Marvel watched as the door closed softly behind him. She crossed her arms over her chest and sunk against the couch, staring at the flower at the very corner of her vision. She'd been grasping at straws; she didn't actually believe what she accused him of...

But it bothered her that he didn't even try to defend himself.