It had also been irreversible.
And she didn’t regret it.
Would she have regretted seeing Hawthorn being neutralized by Agent N? A fate which, surely, had to be better than death?
“You know, Nova,” said Adrian gently, before she could formulate a response, “you once said that the world would be better without any prodigies in it at all. So … maybe, in that way, Agent N can be a good thing?”
“No,” she said, firmly. “This is different. I do think humanity would be better off without any prodigies at all. People would have control over their own world again and be forced to make their own decisions. Helping themselves for once rather than relying on superheroes all the time. It would level the playing field.” She considered her own team and thought of the amazing powers surrounding her just in this small group, and then all the powers of all the prodigies all over the world. Normal humans, without any such abilities, could never compete with what the Renegades had become. “But that’s not what’s happening here. This is oppression, pure and simple. If they succeed, the Renegades will be putting themselves even higher above everyone else than they already have. There will be no one to challenge … us. No one to stand in our way or keep us from achieving total power, and then where will humanity be?”
“It will still be better off than it was in the hands of the villains,” said Danna.
Scowling, Nova forced herself to meet her gaze and hold it this time. “And once they”—she paused—“once we have total power, what’s to keep us from becoming villains ourselves?”
CHAPTER NINE
ADRIAN WAS STILL waiting outside the meeting room, tapping his foot and listening to the rise and fall of conversations beyond the door. The rest of his team had headed off to the cafeteria, at Oscar’s urging, of course, but he’d had an idea during the meeting that kept him from joining them. He’d been waiting to talk to Hugh or Simon for nearly twenty minutes now, but the Council was taking forever to leave the room, stopping to talk to every single person who accosted them. Finally, Hugh split off from a group of patrol units, all evidently excited about the prospect of starting Agent N training.
“Hey, Dad!” Adrian worked his way through the lingering crowd.
Hugh turned to him, beaming. “Adrian! What’d you think?”
“Uh—great,” he said quickly, though saying it felt like a betrayal, of both Nova’s hesitations and his own. He needed more time to process Agent N and what it could mean for the organization and society at large. What it could mean for the Sentinel. But that wasn’t what he wanted to talk about now. “I have a question.”
“You and everyone else,” said Hugh, dropping a hand onto Adrian’s shoulder and steering him through the crowd. “We’re going to have lots more information to impart over the coming weeks, and your training will clear up a lot of confusion—”
“Not about Agent N. I want to know what’s happening with the Puppeteer.”
“Winston Pratt,” said Hugh, holding up a finger. “He is no longer the Puppeteer, nor will he ever be again.”
“Right,” Adrian drawled. “I’m wondering—is he being sent back to Cragmoor today, or…”
“Cragmoor? Why would we send him back to Cragmoor?” Hugh’s eyes were twinkling. Literally twinkling. “Cragmoor Penitentiary is for prodigy criminals, and Winston Pratt is no longer a prodigy.”
“Okay … so … where are we sending him?”
“He’ll be put in one of our temporary holding cells here in HQ until he has completed a series of psychological evaluations and his past crimes have been reassessed in light of his new status. He’s no longer the threat that he once was, and that will be taken into account.”
“The holding cells, great,” said Adrian, clapping his hands together. “Is he on his way there now?”
For the first time, Hugh sent him an uncertain look. “Nooo,” he said. “He’ll be taken back to the laboratories first, so we can monitor him for potential side effects from the neutralization. We don’t expect there to be any, but our researchers are adamant that we continue to collect as much information from our subjects as possible, to prevent future surprises, blah blah blah.” He waved a hand through the air.
“The laboratories,” repeated Adrian. “How long will he be there for?”
“I don’t know, Adrian. A few days, maybe. What is this about?”
They had reached the elevator bank and Hugh jabbed the up button. Adrian stood straighter, trying to channel his dad’s confidence. “I’d like to ask him some questions.”
“You already asked him some questions.”
“That was months ago, and it was a part of the Nightmare investigation. Things are different now.”
“I’d say. One difference being that you’re no longer an investigator.” Hugh stepped into the elevator, and Adrian followed him in, scowling.
“I’m also no longer on patrols, at least until Danna is cleared,” Adrian said. “So I have some free time and I thought—” He hesitated as Hyperspeed and Velocity stepped over the elevator’s threshold. “Uh … would you mind waiting for the next one?” he said, gently nudging them back out again. Their gazes skipped between Adrian and the Captain, then they stepped away without argument.
The doors closed and Hugh made a disapproving sound as he pressed the floor for the Council’s offices. “There’s no call to be rude, Adrian.”
“Listen,” he said.
“I am listening,” said Hugh, “but I can listen and be polite at the same time.” He fixed Adrian with a look of adamant concentration that felt borderline mocking.
He plowed on. “Nightmare was confirmed an Anarchist, and I still believe that she knew something about my mother’s murder.”
Hugh’s expression became a bit more doubtful, but Adrian ignored it.
“If she knew something, then it’s reasonable that the other Anarchists might know something too. It’s likely that the murderer was an Anarchist, right?”
“We have always regarded that as a strong possibility.”
“So, just because Nightmare’s dead doesn’t mean the investigation is over. I want to talk to the Puppe—to Winston Pratt about it, see if he knows anything.”
“You are aware that we’ve been questioning him off and on ever since the Detonator attacked Cloven Cross Library, aren’t you?” said Hugh. “Some of our best detectives have interrogated him to try to find out where the remaining Anarchists might have gone, and as far as we can tell, he is completely oblivious. I’m not sure—”
“I don’t care where the other Anarchists are,” said Adrian. Then, realizing that he actually did care very much, he adjusted his glasses and continued, “Yes, obviously, I would love to catch them as much as anyone, but that’s not what I want to ask him about. Somebody killed Lady Indomitable, and if Winston Pratt has any information on that case, I want to talk to him about it.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
Adrian shrugged. “Nothing lost, right?”
The elevator slowed and the doors opened onto an immaculate lobby. Behind a desk, Prism launched to her feet, holding up a folder. “Captain, sir, I’ve finished preparing that memo—”
Hugh held up a hand to her and she fell quiet. His attention was still fixed on Adrian, his mouth twisted into a frown.
“Please,” said Adrian. “I know that I might not learn anything, but … I have to try.”
Hugh let his hand fall as he stepped out of the elevator. “I’ll approve temporary clearance to the labs for the sole purpose of speaking with Mr. Pratt.”
A grin stretched across Adrian’s mouth. “Thank you!”
“But, Adrian…” Hugh’s brow tensed. “Don’t get your hopes up, all right? He isn’t exactly a reliable resource.”
“Maybe not,” said Adrian, stepping back as the doors started to close between them, “but he did lead me to Nightmare.”
* * *
CLEARANCE ARRIVED NINETY minutes later via a chime on his wristband. When it came, Adrian was in one of the patrol dormitories making a list of everything he knew about his mother’s death, about the Anarchists, about Nightmare, and trying to come up with a strategy for questioning the ex-villain.
He thought about reaching out to Nova to see if she would go with him—he could have used her intuition—but then he remembered her saying that she was going home to check on her uncle after the meeting.
Though she’d never come out and said it, Adrian suspected there might be something wrong with her uncle. Perhaps he was sick, or just getting old. He never felt like it was his place to ask her about it, but he had noticed the way Nova’s mouth pinched whenever she mentioned him. Part of Adrian was hurt that she wouldn’t confide in him, but he knew it was hypocritical to think that way when there were so many secrets that he had yet to confide to her.
So he went to the labs alone. He scanned for Max as he passed by the quarantine walls, but the kid was nowhere to be seen in his glass city.
A portly man in a white lab coat was waiting for Adrian when he entered the laboratory. “Follow me, and don’t touch anything,” he said brusquely. “The patient is currently undergoing an important post-procedure evaluation and we expect him to be tired and agitated. I ask that you limit your meeting with him to no more than fifteen minutes today, though his assigned counselor might approve further questioning sessions in the weeks to come.”
“Counselor?” asked Adrian.
The man tucked his hands into his coat pockets. “To assist with the transition from prodigy to civilian. We’re still trying to understand the full extent of emotional struggles that arise from such a change, but we’ve found that offering counseling from the start severely lessens some of the psychological ramifications going forward.”