Small flames began to crackle around the Sentinel’s clenched hands. “You have been given privacy only so long as you adhere to the Council’s laws. When we have reason to believe otherwise, it is within our rights to investigate. Today, an Anarchist was arrested for terrorism and assault. Today, an Anarchist concoction was found to be involved in an attempted murder.”
“And if that were enough to arrest us all,” said Ingrid, who was on her feet again, arms crossed defiantly over her chest, “we’d all be in custody right now.”
“But we aren’t, are we?” said Honey. Standing, she gave a lithe stretch, reaching both arms overhead. “So you can waste your time all you want threatening us, but I am going to go comfort my poor, bereft children.”
She cast one tremulous look at the wrecked beehives, then lifted her chin and began picking her way, barefoot, through the broken bottles and toppled provisions.
She had not taken two steps when the Sentinel leaped, landing directly in front of her. Honey reeled back, her breath hitching, her head tilting back to stare into the visor of the daunting figure.
Honey’s flash of surprise disappeared and she set her jaw, planting her hands on her hips. The look was a reminder why she called herself the Queen Bee. Even in a negligee and curlers, even with her venomous insects having been sent away, she maintained a regal spirit. At least, in the face of opposition, she did. Nova couldn’t help but notice how very different she looked now from her utter hopelessness mere hours before. Perhaps Honey only thrived when she had something to fight against.
Perhaps they all did.
“One more thing before you go,” said the Sentinel, his voice a thunderous rumble from inside the helmet.
Nova tensed, gripping the gun at her side as she waited for him to reach out and wrap his fingers around Honey’s throat or jaw, as he had done to her and Leroy. Nova began running through her options again. The dart wouldn’t do anything against that armor, but perhaps she could use it to create some sort of diversion …
She was not the only one who was preparing for an attack. Leroy had pulled a capsule from his robe pocket, one she knew contained a powerful acid. Ingrid opened her palms, forming a new sphere of crackling blue energy between them. Phobia’s entire form started to grow, his body stretching upward, wrapping himself in shadows so thick it was hard to tell where he ended and the darkness began. Even the buzz of bees had returned, growing louder as they spilled back out from the tunnel, a writhing, furious swarm that hovered ominously overhead.
The world stilled, but for those bees. The Sentinel seemed to hesitate, the blank facade of his visor making him seem more like a statue than a human being. More like a robot than a hero.
His fingers twitched and Nova wondered if he really thought that suit could protect him from all of them at once. She doubted that armor would withstand even one of the Detonator’s bombs.
Part of her hoped they were about to find out.
But rather than grab Honey or lash out with another pillar of flame, the Sentinel stooped and grabbed hold of one of the metal shelving units. He heaved it upward, slamming it back into place against the wall. Turning, he grabbed the second unit and, with one hand, set it to right as well.
Nova’s brow furrowed.
“No matter what any of you have done with your lives since the Day of Triumph,” he said, “you are all enemies of the Council and the Renegades. But right now, the only enemy I care about is Nightmare.”
He turned and faced the train car Nova was lying on. She ducked down against the roof as the Sentinel sauntered in her direction and jumped onto the tracks. He passed by Ingrid without glancing at her or her sizzling bomb.
“When you see Nightmare,” he said, grabbing the remains of the concrete bridge that Aftershock had brought crashing to the ground, “tell her that the next time she goes after the Council, I’ll be there, waiting to destroy her. And I won’t wait for the Council’s permission to do it.”
He heaved the bridge against the side of the platform, clearing the tracks. He did not turn back to see how his message had been received, just continued on, stomping into the black opening of the tunnel. Soon the darkness swallowed him, and the steady ringing of his footsteps faded into silence.
It took a long time for the tension to disperse. Eventually, Honey sent the bees buzzing back toward their solitary alcove. Eventually, Ingrid released the crackling energy and Leroy tucked the acid bomb back into his pocket and Phobia sank back to his normal stature.
Then Ingrid lifted her hands to either side of her head and made a face at the tunnel where the Sentinel had gone.
“To be weak,” Phobia rasped. “To be helpless.”
Ingrid cast him a sideways look. “Excuse me?”
“That is his deepest fear,” said Phobia, idly twirling the scythe blade overhead. “To be, in essence, without power.”
Honey huffed. “How fitting for a self-righteous Renegade.”
“Perhaps,” said Phobia, the hood of his cloak swaying with a slow nod. “And yet, a difficult fear to exploit against one who has been given so very much of it.”
“Are his abilities products of the armor?” Leroy mused, taking out a handkerchief that had been tucked against his chest and dabbing his slick face with it. “It would be beneficial to know if he represents a new evolution in prodigy strengths, or if his powers are the result of experimentation or engineering.”
“And whether or not they can be replicated,” said Ingrid, suspicion making her lip curl.
Phobia did not have an answer.
Releasing a slow breath, Nova rolled onto her back. Long ago, someone had spray-painted graffiti on the ceiling here and she found herself staring up into an ugly demonic face, its tongue lolling out.
They were right. If the Sentinel was a creation of the Council, who was to say there wouldn’t be more coming? That thought led to a host of concerns. If they could give someone superstrength, super-agility, and even the ability to make and control fire … who knew what else they could do?
One Sentinel she could handle. But an entire army of them? It would leave the Anarchists, well … powerless.