She could still remember Ace telling her this when she was younger, when she’d asked him why so many had to die so they might have freedom. At the time she couldn’t fathom the hatred and violence that had been directed at prodigies in the centuries prior to the Age of Anarchy, but even then, even to her six-year-old mind, Ace’s passion had been contagious.
So few people really understood what Ace had been trying to accomplish. He hadn’t wanted the world to become what it did. Sure, there had been a lot of brutality and destruction when he first took over, but he was right—there always is during a revolution. Ultimately, he’d wanted a world in which prodigies were no longer oppressed and frightened, belittled and tormented. He’d wanted a world where they could all be free to live their own lives according to their own devices.
It was all the other power-hungry people, villains and non-prodigies alike, who had started to vie for control. Who had run amok in a world without rules.
Nova didn’t want to go back to the Age of Anarchy. She didn’t want innocent people to be slaughtered like her family had been. She just wanted the freedom that Ace had envisioned for her and those like her. She wanted the Renegades and the Council to leave her alone, to leave all the Anarchists alone.
Hell, she wanted the Council to leave all of society alone. Maybe they thought they were doing the right thing by being the end-all, be-all of the ruling elite, but society was barely getting by and they had too much pride to admit they weren’t what the people needed.
What the people needed was to learn to take care of themselves, but that would never happen so long as superheroes were running things.
She was making her way back up the tracks when the ground shook beneath her. Nova stumbled, planting a hand on the wall to stabilize herself. Bits of dust and chunks of loose concrete tumbled down the sides of the tunnel in small rivulets. The tracks vibrated under her feet, and for a moment Nova had the uncanny and horrifying thought that a train was coming—and she had nowhere to go.
The trembling stopped. A few more shudders passed underfoot before the earth stilled and quieted again.
Nova glanced down the tunnel, wondering whether it had been an earthquake—one buried deep underground, perhaps even a hundred miles away. Nothing to be concerned with. Surely these ancient tunnels had withstood far worse.
But then the silence was again broken, this time by a crash. The acoustics of the tunnels made it impossible to guess how far away the sound had come from, but it filled Nova with one certainty.
The Renegades were back.
She grabbed the gun and loaded a dart into the chamber, stashing the others into a pouch at her belt. Though Leroy hadn’t yet filled them with poison, she figured she could still find a way to make them useful.
She raced back in the direction of the platforms and tunnels where their train cars dwelled. As she neared the main platform, she forced herself to slow. She didn’t have her hood or mask to disguise herself as Nightmare, and she knew it would be foolish to give up her identity to the Renegades now.
As she rounded a corner, the walls began to shake again, which was followed by another crash—louder and closer this time.
Nova reached the back end of Cyanide’s train car and paused. She could hear things scattering across the platform and dropping down onto the tracks. A moment later, a small can of baked beans came rolling toward her, striking the side of the tracks only a few steps away from Nova’s feet.
“Come on out, Anarchists,” trilled a chipper, feminine voice. “It’s time for your performance review.”
Nova darted behind Leroy’s train car and crept to the other side. Peering around the edge, she spotted four figures on the central platform, where many of their rations and supplies were stored. Or had been stored—two of the massive industrial metal shelves had been thrown to the ground, leaving a mess of broken bottles, crushed boxes, and a thick stench of vinegar in the air.
She recognized the Renegade team immediately—one of the most high-profile teams in the city, with a reputation for having taken countless criminals into custody. Their leader, the girl who had spoken, was Frostbite. A few years older than Nova, she was athletic and pretty, with a bob of silver-white hair and silver-white skin that was so translucent Nova could see hints of her blue veins even in the tunnel’s dim lighting.
Then there was Aftershock, a stocky man with a dark goatee who must have been the cause of the earthquakes. Beside him stood Stingray, a lanky, beady-eyed boy who moved with as much creepy, slithering grace as the animal he took his alias from, a sleek barbed tail trailing behind him. Last was the giant. Gargoyle, who seemed to be permanently hunched from always having to stoop to fit into places, and whose limbs could shift from human flesh to solid stone in an instant.
“Well,” said Frostbite, planting her hands on her hips, “it looks like they’re all too cowardly to come say hello.” She nodded at Aftershock and Gargoyle. “Search the tunnels and see if you can’t draw them out of hiding.”
While the two Renegades lumbered down opposite tunnels—Aftershock passing an arm’s distance from Nova’s hiding spot—Stingray began picking through the scattered supplies.
“Pickled okra?” he said with a sneer, picking up a glass mason jar. “Sounds disgusting.” Turning, he threw the jar at the wall, where a mosaic of small tiles spelled out the name of the street above. The glass shattered, spilling more vinegar and green vegetables across the platform.
Nova’s grip tightened on the gun.
“And Fruity Rings?” said Frostbite, kicking a box of breakfast cereal that was already crushed on one corner. “I haven’t eaten this junk since I was four. It’s really better given to the rats.” Stalking to the edge of the platform, she picked up the box, opened it, and dumped the chunks of colorful cereal onto the tracks.