day, and she would allow herself this moment to be proud. Though she had hoped for far less devastation, on both sides, what was done was done and there was no going back. She tried to find solace in knowing that the Anarchists were together again. Ace had his helmet. The Renegades could no longer threaten them with Agent N.
Things were not what she’d hoped, but at least she had not failed.
This was a good day.
Ace had set them down in the street outside Dave’s Pawnshop. A man smoking a cigarette near the side alley stood gawking at their ragtag group, with their muddied jumpsuits, blood-soaked clothes, Ace and his helmet. The man’s mouth hung agape as the cigarette burned, forgotten, down to his fingers.
Ace twitched, and the cigarette dropped to the ground, extinguishing itself in a puddle of standing water beneath the nearest street lamp.
The man let out a wail, shaky and terrified, then turned and ran. Soon the sound of his pounding footsteps fleeing down the alley was the only noise they could hear. That, and the electric zaps of the fluorescent CLOSED sign illuminated in the pawnshop window.
One of the Rejects cleared his throat and said, quietly, “So, that was Dave.”
No one else spoke for a long while. No one moved toward the store. Everyone seemed to be waiting for Ace to make the first move. When Nova dared to look at Ace, though, she could see disgust in the eyes behind the helmet.
Finally, Leroy explained, “There is room in the sublevels for us all. It isn’t much, but…”
“We are not staying here,” said Ace. “We will not be sent into hiding and secrecy like rats, not again. Not this time.”
He lifted his hand and the barred door of the pawnshop blew outward toward them, snapping the hinges, destroying the locks and bolts. A bell clattered but was quickly silenced as the door landed with a bang on the sidewalk.
The noise was so jarring and unexpected, the whole group jumped—except Ace, who strolled through the opening as if nothing had happened. “There are more allies here?” he said, scanning the shelves of electrics and household appliances, the cases of costume jewelry. “Inform them we’ve arrived, and it is time to leave.”
One of the Rejects started heading for the backroom, but it was unnecessary. Summoned by the commotion, it was mere seconds before Narcissa burst out into the store, brandishing a handgun.
She drew up short when she saw them, and Millie crashed into her from behind. Narcissa barely caught a nearby shelf. Soon, they were all there, fanning out around the cases, gaping slack-jawed at Ace Anarchy. His prison uniform covered in rips and blood. His skinny wrists bruised from shackles. But fearsome in the recognizable helmet, his posture erect and an undeniable sense of power that seemed to shimmer in the air around him, as if the world itself were electrified by his presence.
Ace allowed them to stare. Allowed them to catch their breaths. Allowed them to come to terms with his return.
Then, without introduction, he said, “I understand that you chose not to join the fight this evening. You opted to protect your own self-interests, rather than join my comrades in an attempt to secure my freedom. You chose your life over mine.”
Even in the dim lighting, Nova saw Narcissa going pale. Fear flashed through the expressions of the Rejects who had stayed away from the arena that night.
Nova opened her mouth, prepared to come to their defense. Ace should know that they had helped, even if they had not fought. But before she could speak, Ace started to laugh. A low, amused sound.
“You are Anarchists now. As such, you are permitted to always choose your life over anyone else’s. I commend you. And—I forgive you.”
No one moved. No one else dared to laugh, or even look relieved.
Ace waved his arm, as if shooing them away. “Get your belongings and any useful supplies. You have two minutes.”
Turning away, Ace gestured to a rack of clothing against the far wall. A long military jacket peeled off its hanger and flew to him, securing itself around his shoulders and covering the disgusting jumpsuit. As the gold buttons did up themselves, Ace marched back toward the street, as if he couldn’t stand to be surrounded by such mediocre junk for a second longer.
The villains exchanged looks, their bodies tense in the shadowed room. Some looks were elated and hopeful. Others were filled with doubt, even dread.