Garrett Helton X. It still makes you wince when you see it on the news, as if every mention would erase yet another fragment of your past. You're not a hero now, you're a villain, and it feels like you've come home. As if things have always been this way; you dressed in your formfitting armor, ready to take on the world.
The butterfly discarding the chrysalis.
Perhaps it is the fact that you spent so long preparing for that day that makes time behave strangely—two years of preparation culminating in your rebirth.
A snow globe waiting to be shaken.
In just the right way.
Time slowed down…and then sped up once more, a memory polished until it shines.
Tearing your future from the hands of the rich, that you lost the cash was nothing but the smallest setback. At least you escaped with your life. For others, it was touch and go.
You didn't kill anybody, but you've seen enough death to last you a lifetime.
Not of your doing, but the memory still lingers. The smell. The bodies.
How do you feel about that?
You won't pretend that you put any value on human life. You've read their minds; you know their souls. There's nothing in there worth saving, worth preserving.
Might as well set it on fire and scatter the ashes to the wind.
By now, you have killed a lot of people, and it really is true. It does get easier with practice.
Violence. Villainy. It's part of your legacy now, no matter how you feel about it.
Nothing reminds you of that more than Herald.
Herald. Bleeding on the ground. Hopelessly outmatched but still trying.
The gasps of pain. The stubborn defiance.
The scream. (you try to forget that part)
You remember the thrill that came from beating him, bringing down the golden boy of the Rangers. You remember the fear in his eyes. He thought he would die, that you would kill him. Not right now. Maybe later. If you need to. You're surprised he didn't quit the Rangers. It would have made sense, especially after what you did to his leg.
Every time he takes a step, he has to remember you. He might try to hide the limp by hovering, but you know the truth. You wish you didn't. The guilt's been eating at you.
You won. And now you have bigger fish to fry, like his ex-girlfriend…
Lady Argent. With Ortega and Herald recuperating, she has been pulling double shifts, but that doesn't slow her down. You didn't really beat her back at the museum. The fight was inconclusive, and you're lucky you got away. Cheated. You know that's what she thinks. That you're a trickster who won't fight her fairly. As if you would be that stupid. Accomplishing your goals is what counts, not something as absurd as a fair fight. It wouldn't be fair anyway; it would be on her terms. You prefer them on yours.
You need to be smart about this.
But, no matter how much of a problem Lady Argent is, at least there's no baggage there. No residual emotions. No guilt or old friendships curdled like milk. Not like with Ortega.
Memories best suppressed…