Catch And Release Short Story - Tumblr Posts

A/N: Feast your eyes on part one of five in a Superhero Au official arc! This is going to be my first official finished project, and takes place relatively early in any planned universe lore. Without further ado, I present

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Part I: Opportunity

Bella’s leg bounced under the desk as she tweaked with her newest creation. Her hand threaded through her chestnut hair, which was frizzy and mussed after working through the night. The door to her office slid open and her head snapped up to meet the gaze of who was entering. She gazed, unseeing, unblinking, at the person in the doorway. 

Zach stepped into the room, dressed in his navy blue and muted yellow uniform, holding his limp mask. After staring vacantly too long, making Zach shift uncomfortably, Bella finally beckoned Zach inside, not standing to greet him, as social propriety demanded.

“Are you okay?” Zach blurted after sitting down across from her. He perched awkwardly on a flimsy, foldable chair. 

“Hmm?” Bella rubbed the heels of her palms against her eyes as she tried to focus on the real world. Finally processing Zach’s question, she said, “Oh, yeah. Just a little” – she broke off with a yawn – “tired.”

“So, what did you call me in here for,” asked Zach, eyeing her cautiously, as if he was afraid she’d keel over and pass out.

Bella waved her hands vaguely at the slate-gray glove displayed on a stand. Dim red and blue wires crisscrossed the insulated fabric like veins, connecting to barely covered over processing chips in the pads of the fingers. Grounding herself, she inhaled sharply, the acrid smell of the Bladed Officer, Zach’s, suit filling the room. 

She said, “I made these. For me. On the field.“ Prepared for the inevitable disappointment she added, “I know I’m not allowed, but what’s the harm in trying. Again.” And again and again, she thought, bitter from rejection.  Fixing a lazy glare at the boy in front of her, she seethed. He dared reject her as she tried to do some good in the world, after years of prosperity and success in the market of villains, as if she was a green programmer, as if she hadn’t improved the company tenfold, as if he was better than her. Distantly, she wondered why she put up with the treatment she suffered in the company. 

Despite her doubts and trampled hope, Zach miraculously seemed to consider her offer. He placed his chin in his hands and his elbows on her desk. “Explain,” he said. “And simply, please. I’m not as smart as you.

Picking up a glove, Bella pulled it on. Its manufacturing was perfect as it slid onto her hand, given she had spared no expense on it. The glove was cool, and the currents running through it made her blood hum more than usual. Biting her lip, she mentally tamped down on the tirade she could easily go on about the device. It was nice to be listened to, but she shouldn’t push it. Zach didn’t need to know about logistics, he didn’t care about the intricate programming, he just needed to know what it did. “These can take control of anything with an electric current just by touching it,” said Bella. It was almost painful to dumb it down so much. Beyond the electric current making the hairs on her forearm stand up, she barely felt it; something so complex and advanced was revolutionary in its physical simplicity. It had taken months of work, dozens of sleepless nights, but for the sake of her employer, she could only convey its brilliance in a single sentence. She stifled the urge to scream. 

Zach leaned forward. “What?” he asked, baffled. Good, a chance to elaborate. 

“Look,” Bella said, reaching out on a whim and grabbing his covered forearm, gripping the place she had installed his comms. She tapped a button on the holographic screen that appeared above the glove.

A robotic voice rang out. “Calling Dad.”

“No!” Zach sputtered. “Stop.” His cheeks were bright red. 

Immediately, Bella released his wrist, letting her hand fall onto the desk. Seized by another idea, she gripped the lamp on her desk. A slider projected in front of her and she swiped her finger back and forth on it, the lamp dimming and brightening and accordingly. Zach’s eyes widened. His pupils expanded and contracted, more than likely mirroring her own.

“Okay,” he said, wincing as Bella froze with the lamp on its brightest setting.  “You can go out.”

“What?” Bella said. Every thought screeched to a halt.

“I said,” Zach repeated, “You can g-”

Finally processing his words, Bella cut him off. “Really?” she asked, hope flickering in her chest against all odds.

“Yes,” said Zach. “That glove clearly only fits you, and the stuff it would be used on will be too complicated for anyone but you to understand. At least in our company.”

“O-okay,” Bella said, still stunned. She made to stand up, but Zach caught her wrist, the fibers of his thick glove chafing, and tugged her back down to sit.

“Hang on,” he said. His words rang out in the silent room as Bella stilled. “When I said you could go out, I didn’t mean with me. Right now. You need a little more experience before you go public.”

Stifling a snort at the irony of his words, Bella nodded, indicating for him to keep talking.

Chewing the inside of his cheek, Zach finally continued, “I’m going to have to confirm with the higher-ups, but I think it would be best if you start with a tamer mission.” His comms beeped. He glanced at it, sighed, and got up. As he made his way to the door, he said,  “If you find a smaller villain, one that doesn’t put you in a lot of danger and arrest them quietly, we should be able to consider you for more field work.”

That made sense. Who knew what kind of legal mess would be made if some office worker was killed immediately after going out. Not only that, but it would spell doom for the company’s publicity. “Perfect,” said Bella, already hatching a scheme. Warehouses of equipment and veritable phone books full of villain contacts were at her fingertips. 

Catching the gleam in her eye, Zach sternly said, “Just wait until I talk with management. Please.” It was difficult to take him seriously, no matter how intimidating he tried to be with his teenage face still spattered with acne. 

“You got it, boss,” Bella teased.

His expression softened. Stepping into the doorway, Zach turned back and said, “And get some sleep.”

Bella rolled her eyes, which were dry and aching with exhaustion, but nodded. The adrenaline from his news was fading, leaving her energy drained and thoughts moving at a snail-like pace. Zach’s shoulders slumped with relief and he strode out. Mere seconds after he disappeared from the door, Bella heard a clatter, a thump, and a grunt. How someone so clumsy was such a competent hero, she’d never know. She snickered, packing up her tools and equipment, finally heading home to crash. Her hopes coming at last to fruition, she left the building with a small smile and a metaphorical spring in her step.

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A/N: After about a month and a half wait, I have finally plucked up the courage to post part 2!! After this there are only 3 more sections and if i feel like breaking some hearts, an alternate ending

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Part II: Catch

Bella tugged at her hood. Despite knowing it concealed her face well with the deep shadow created in the dim light, she needed something to do with her hands and hoped it would be succinct and subtle enough to not be noteworthy.

She jumped as Manic Alchemist spoke, ripping her hands away and tucking them together in her lap. He sat halfway across the room from her, legs crossed and leaning against an ebony high backed chair that screamed try-hard villain. “This is a surprisingly impromptu meeting for you,” he said, smooth and undaunted. Anyone who heard about him before actually hearing him was always surprised by the disconnect between his diction and his voice - a teenager with the everyday language of a college lecture. 

“Well,” Bella, the Crimson Programmer, said, fumbling. She was always terrible at lying with short notice. Twisting the finger of her new glove with her bare hand, she continued, “Sometimes I worry about you, squirt. Your ego took quite the beating this weekend. Maybe you need more of my tech to supplement your talents.” With a quiet pop as the Crimson Programmer squeezed her wrists, hidden capsules released a swarm of Crimson Nanites into the room. Perhaps her fiddling could pass the movement off as a nervous gesture.

Meanwhile, Manic Alchemist bristled at her jab. “Thank you for the offer,” he said, “but I don’t have the budget for any upgrades at the moment. You have a steep price.”

The Crimson Programmer forced lightness into her voice, saying, “Come on. Isn’t it worth it for the fee? I’m top of the line. You were lucky to find me.” She was desperately stalling for time. The cluttered room would increase travel time for the nanites. Disguised by her hood and minimal self control keeping her head trained on Manic Alchemist, her eyes sporadically flickered from the bots to him. Distantly she wondered what Zach would think. He obviously assumed she would use the glove she showed him, maybe other equipment she’d developed in his company, to apprehend a B-list villain. Theoretically, she could, but it was just so much easier to use her nanites. She was using the latest version, 6.3, which was exclusively for her personal use, since it was still in beta and far too dangerous and useful to put in anyone else’s hands. Besides, she deserved to treat herself with one of a kind new toys every once in a while. 

“Maybe,” Manic Alchemist said, breaking through her train of thought. “But that doesn’t change the fact that I have no money to spare! As you said so subtly, my attack this weekend failed, so everything I risked was lost.” Lights began flickering at the edge of the room; he was getting dangerously ticked off. While his anger would make him less observant, it would dramatically increase his likelihood of storming off or driving her out, and that would doom the easy picking he served as one of her more docile contacts.

“Don’t worry,” she said, trying to smooth over his frustration. “You can get new equipment on credit. Interest rates are very low, especially for regular high-paying customers like you, and I already have some updates planned for what you’ve purchased from me already.”

Manic Alchemist drummed his fingers on the sliver of free space at the table he sat at and said simply, “Perhaps.” The heat had drained from him, but his outburst had left both of them on edge, tense in biting, barely sustained diplomacy. 

At the prompting of a beep updating the Crimson Programmer on the Nanites’ progress, she jumped in. “Say that you did get the updates. For a reduced price, even. What would you do then?” She hoped the usual tactic of getting the Alchemist to talk about himself would be distraction enough. He loved gloating, even if he would never  admit it. Thankfully for his own sake, he only did it in secure spaces where he was sure no one would interrupt the schemes he revealed. Though amusing, it was embarrassing to watch villains monologue in front of heroes that would then effortlessly defeat them after the villains revealed their plans. 

Slowly at first, almost as though skepticism and tension from earlier was holding him back, Manic Alchemist began talking, which quickly became ranting, about his grand plans. He continued speaking while the Crimson Programmer barely paid attention to him as she glanced constantly at her overengineered watch that was receiving updates about the Nanites’ status. It was agonizing, watching them creep across the room, hindered by Manic Alchemist’s mess. They flickered in and out of sight, climbing the wreckage of experiments, hiding behind trash cans littering the floor, avoiding piles of unidentifiable goo. There was no clock on the wall, so the Crimson Programmer was certain time was flowing slower than molasses, taunting her with the potential of failure. What if he saw the nanites crawling across the room? Surely he would with their snail-like pace. 

Finally, finally, they reached Manic Alchemist’s scuffed and stained boots. So as to not make their presence immediately obvious, the Crimson Programmer tore her eyes away from the bots and forced herself to look Alchemist in the face without cringing away from the possibility of eye contact. Her subtly inclined head might tip him off otherwise. 

Now sitting forward, his black eyes glittered with passion, frenzy, delight, as he monologued about his ambitions for tearing apart chunks of the city. It was impossible to tune back into what Manic Alchemist said, so the Programmer just watched his hands fly, darting out and mimicking patrol routes and flight paths and explosions. It was strangely endearing. Absently, she wondered how she ended up working so closely on a regular basis with teenagers. One of his hands abruptly stilled and jerked to his scalp. Risking a glance at her watch, the Crimson Programmer saw the bots were almost in place. Manic Alchemist’s fingers continued to reach towards the Nanites. A few more millimeters and the plan would fall apart. 

There were no contingencies for her to fall back on.

“Hey!” the Crimson Programmer said, lurching forward and brandishing her glove-clad hand in his face. “You should see my newest project.”

Manic Alchemist froze, dropping his hands away from his head and leaning farther forward, eyes narrowed, intrigued. The Crimson Programmer barely withheld a sigh of relief. If he suspected anything from her interruption, he held back, likely his curiosity triumphing over any other trains of thought. Impatiently, he waved his hand in her direction, prompting her to continue.

“You see, there are chips in the fingers with wireless probes that detect and hijack electrical currents,” explained the Crimson Programmer. “The signals feed through the wires…” She trailed off, waiting for him to catch on, hoping the time he took to connect the dots would be enough for the Crimson Nanites to lock in position.

“And you can take control of whatever you’re holding with the glove. That’s brilliant!” Manic Alchemist said after a few seconds, sounding impressed, for once. Technology wasn’t his strong suit, and he was loathe to admit his shortcomings. 

“Thank you.”

“Aren’t you going to elaborate?”

“No,” the Crimson Programmer said as her watch buzzed, signaling the Nanites were in place. “I don’t need to stall for time anymore.”

“What? So none of your offers… What have you done?” Manic Alchemist said, panicking. His face was pale and strikingly obvious in the gloomy light. She had never seen him so unsettled, so scared.

“I'm sorry. Good night, my friend,” she said, the last two words dripping with mockery. With that, the Crimson Programmer pressed the capsules on her wrists again. Manic Alchemist stiffened, spasming once as his nervous system was tapped into, and collapsed bonelessly into his chair. If her ambitions weren’t on the line, she would have pitied his helpless form. “You were just too good of an opportunity to pass up.”

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A/N: Welcome to part 3!!! In my head these next two parts as a cat’s interaction with their prey and then their person - toying with the prey then presenting their person with a prize. and any titles that don’t fit the theme are alliterative

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Part III: Gloat

The over-air-conditioned room gave Bella goosebumps under her long-sleeved uniform. Her office chair creaked as she swung restlessly back and forth in small arcs. She almost wished she felt more remorse for the situation, but years of business dealings had left her cold and hardened towards trivial, temporary suffering — especially when she was the one who benefited. It didn’t mean she sought to cause others pain; it just didn’t seem worth putting herself at disadvantage to prevent minor misery.

So, her gaze was cold and hard as she gazed at Manic Alchemist splayed out in front of her. Using general knowledge and her own specialized knowledge she had as his supplier, she had stripped him of anything that would help him escape. His overly dramatic dark green cape was gone, as were his boots and the detailing from his costume that she had custom-made with escape attempts in mind. 

He looked naked with the key elements of his outfit missing. 

She flicked the seam between his glove and sleeve. His dark goggles were still on his face, left there to protect his identity. Though this meant Bella couldn’t tell if his eyes were open or not, it was easy to tell he was still passed out — his breathing was deep and even, and his expression was relaxed and serene. His face was smooth where annoyance usually tightened his features. 

He actually looked fourteen like this.

Standing and clenching and unclenching her fist twice at her side, Bella came to a decision. She padded over to stand by his head, swept his dark hair away from the side of his head, and brushed a hand over his ear. Sitting down once again, Bella settled in to wait for him to wake up.

It didn’t take long. 

Not three minutes later, Manic Alchemist pushed weakly against the restraints and then bucked harder when they didn’t budge. His head whipped around, half-lidded eyes darting wildly, trying to get a gauge of his surroundings. 

Bella smoothed her red domino mask down. She adjusted the distortion speaker hooked around her ears as she watched Manic Alchemist vainly twist his wrists in the restraints and try to slip his feet out. Honestly, it was kind of pathetic. 

“What am I- who are you- where is-?” Manic Alchemist seemed to have retained none of his usual coherence. Bella supposed that made sense - it would probably be rather alarming waking up in a strange place chained to an angled bench, especially after the simulation he was put through to keep him under longer. 

“Hello, Manic Alchemist. You’re awake sooner than expected,” Bella said levelly. 

Alchemist’s mouth went slack, his unfocused eyes wheeling around where she sat, purposefully positioned in the center of his vision. His questions had stopped, and he didn’t seem to be close to procuring words to interrogate her any time soon.

She continued, “Or perhaps not. Your superior intellect isn’t that grossly exaggerated, so it follows that you’d be able to throw off mental distortions meant to keep you subdued relatively quickly.”

“Who are you? What am I doing here? Where am I?” he asked, words tumbling out of him in a desperate jumble.

Bella sighed in exasperation. She should have known he would be disoriented, thrown off. While it was jarring to see him so unlike his usual self, it was gratifying to have him humbled and shut up. “How much do you remember before being locked up?” she countered, sidestepping his questions.

Missing her change of subject, he answered haltingly, as pieces of his memory fell into place, “I remember meeting up with… her. And then she made some offers, and then, and then…”

“Nothing else?” prompted Bella. She needed to know how much to throw off Manic Alchemist’s suspicion, and anyone else who would interrogate him. Lies were easy enough to handle, given the extent to which she schooled her words anyway, but it was better to formulate coverups sooner rather than later so as to concoct a believable falsehood that would keep her secrets hidden.

“She knocked me out!” Manic Alchemist blurted. Bella cursed silently. “She must have been set up, she’s never so nervous, and she never lets me ramble since it annoys her, and she never apologizes, she, she… You! You must have set her up. Forced her to kidnap me.”

Scrambling to take control of the conversation, and the teenager’s train of thought, Bella attempted to soothe him.  “I don’t know who you’re talking about. And you weren’t kidnapped. I arrested you.”

Once again, Manic Alchemist was at a loss for words. Bella smirked, her expression hidden by the shadows of the poorly lit room. 

Finally, he faintly said, “What?”

“I arrested you,” repeated Bella, overenunciating every word.

“Why?”

Bella pursed her lips in mock consideration. “You’re not a very intimidating figure. You’re not dangerous in close quarters. And the damage you’ve done to the city warrants some punishment.” As she spoke, she ticked off the reasons on her fingers. 

“Wait, wait, wait,” Manic Alchemist said, stalling as Bella watched the gears turn in his head. His hands twitched in their restraints. “Who arrested me?”

“The city.”

“How?”

“Very easily. It’s nothing strictly personal, but beyond your little light shows that tear up a few blocks at a time, you’re a weak villain. Just. A. Kid.” Scarlet Maiden paused for effect then added, “And it’s our job. My job now.”

With those devastating words, Manic Alchemist drooped, head hung low in hopelessness. Scarlet Maiden turned on her heel and left the room. The steel door clicked shut in her wake and reverberated around the room now lit only by monitors and the glint of a captured villain’s goggles.

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A/N: I did mean to space these apart evenly from now, but that’s okay. this is bella presenting zach with the thing she caught, but like any good cat owner, zach is confused but mostly grateful and touched by the gift

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Part IV: Gift

Walking down the hall, Bella tugged at the emotions tangling in her chest. Remorse. Pity. Excitement. Guilt? Triumph. Good enough, and normal enough feelings for the situation. She knew she wasn’t the epitome of a good person, seeing as she personally supplied tools for campaigns injuring people and destroying the city, but personal check-ins that assured her she wasn’t a heartless monster were nice.

The headquarters of Miranda’s Protection Agency was empty; only suckups and overachievers worked Saturday afternoons in the office since that time was reserved for fieldwork or family time. Bella checked her phone, swiping from the night vision equipped cameras showing Manic Alchemist to double-checking where Zach was. Good. He was in his office.

Drawing up to the starkly plain stainless steel door, she rapped on it. Bella had remembered to pull her sleeves over her knuckles for protection since the doors in the building were infamous for bruising knuckles. The muffled knock rang out through the deserted hallway. Hearing footsteps approaching, Bella squinted, knowing what was to come. As the door opened, she knew her partially shut eyes did nothing. Every wall of the room screamed with different jarringly bright colored paint and was lit by tasteful choices of complementary LED strips. Beanbags lined the walls, interrupted only by a floating desk suspended by electromagnetic suspension Bella had designed. A mountain of stuffed toys, from cerulean lions, to lilac unicorns, to magenta cats, sat haphazardly in the corner of the room. Zach himself stood in the doorway, looking embarrassed, as usual, at the state of his room. The scene was mildly endearing, once Bella got over being blinded. He sheepishly passed her the pair of sunglasses he kept by the door for whenever she came to visit.

“Hey,” Zach said, as Bella stepped into the room. He closed the door behind her, asking, “What’s this visit about? Normally people don’t work at this time.”

Pushing the cold sunglasses up the bridge of her nose, Bella said, “I did it.”

“Huh?”

“The job? So I can go out,” she elaborated. She strode over to a beanbag and sat down. Being Zach’s confidant as one of the youngest members of the company meant Bella had spent enough time in his room to be comfortable enough to do as she pleased.

“What? Already?” Zach said, blinking in shock. Honestly, what did he take her for? Thankfully, he corrected himself before she had to, shaking his head and sighing. “You know what? I shouldn’t be surprised. Though, this is quick, even for you. Did you start before the mission was approved?

No. She was just highly efficient and had a long list of villain contacts to choose from. But she didn’t share that. Not when it would surely cost Bella her job at the company. Despite her smug internalized reply, her triumphant smirk slid off her face. She could have, should have waited longer so as not to be suspicious. Cursing silently and smoothing on a placid expression, she said, “I guess I’m just good at my job.”

“Well, if you’re so good at your job,” teased Zach, poking fun at her matter-of-fact tone coupled with prideful words, “Then we’d better start planning your next mission.”

“I can’t just join you now?”

“No. No! I can’t-” Zach said, sharply exhaling before finding his words. “I can’t lose someone like you.”

Something warm bubbled in Bella’s chest, but she replied, bitterly only half-joking, “Yes, losing such a vital asset to your company would be a significant blow to your heroic efforts.”

Typical, sweet Zach saw through the flimsy cover of her low self-esteem. While Bella knew her extensive value as an individual pertaining to personal goals, it was so easy to rationalize being excluded from groups when all she brought to the table was computers. “No,” he softly corrected. “I enjoy you as a person. Your company. Just” – he punched her arm lightly – “I care about you and I don’t want you getting hurt.”

The warm feeling grew. Punching him back, Bella said, “You’re such a softy. I can handle myself, so don’t be afraid of giving me something more dangerous.”

“Handle yourself how? Besides your tech, what else can you do? I don’t think there are any nanites you can invent that would fix gashes or broken bones.”

Making a mental note of an addition for the next Crimson Nanite update, she turned her attention back to the conversation at hand, excitement twisting in her chest. This was her chance! “I’m a powered person,” Bella said, watching his face closely for a reaction. His face remained blank, so she continued, “My blood has special properties. When it’s frozen, it becomes a healing salve that closes any surface level wounds in around five minutes.” She would have kept going, but as earnest as Zach was if she talked too long his eyes would start to glaze over. All the same, she couldn’t help but add, “And I am resistant to heat and fire.” Other words and explanations itched to be released, like her costume idea, the gadgets she would add, how she wanted to be presented to the public, but there was no way he would retain any of the information.

“Okay,” Zach said slowly. “Maybe I can get the higher ups to consider you for more dangerous stuff. We should probably decide what you want to do first, though.”

Conversation for the next ten minutes was dull. For most people's standards, at least. Bella was thrilled to be discussing the tactics, strengths, and weaknesses of villains and vigilantes that mildly terrorized the streets of the surrounding area. As topics wound by, they slowly drifted from fieldwork to new recruits in the office. Apparently, some of the less youthful members of the company hadn’t been taking Zach seriously. Bella couldn’t fault them entirely – it was hard to swallow one's pride sometimes to take orders from a kid. Still, it was unfair given how much he had done for the city. 

Having talked for long enough and being distracted from more relevant topics, Bella decided it was finally time to bring it up.

“Hey,” she said, interrupting a natural lull in between conversations. “My task to qualify for fieldwork. It’s done, right?”

Zach fixed her with a stare. “What do you mean?” he asked.

Bella fidgeted, hoping she wouldn’t reveal her scheme. Maybe it would pass up for nervousness at her newly acquired position being in the balance. Taking a calming breath, she said, “Say Manic Alchemist gets out. Would I still be able to go out?”

“Oh. Yeah. Your job was just to catch him. You’re not guarding his cell, are you?” 

Bella shook her head.

“Okay! So if someone messes up bad enough to lose him, then that’s their fault. You can still go out, don’t worry. There’s no way he could escape without help anyway.”

She sighed with relief. “Okay. Okay, good,” she muttered, half to herself, thankful for a reason completely different from what Zach assumed. 

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A/N: it did occur to me that i should have scheduled the already written part 5 before i left on holidays for two weeks but there’s nothing i can do now. finally you can see bella’s scheme come to fruition in the final part of this series (not counting the alternate ending i’ve been cooking up for months now)

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Part V: Release

Feedback whistled in her ear, making Bella wince. She would take out her earpiece, but it would only make calibration take longer, so she tapped the side, turning down the volume. Her keyboard clicked as she tapped into the back entrance of the camera system. While she could use her personal login, it would heavily implicate her in her upcoming task, jeopardizing her job and new opportunity; even if she wasn’t suspected of helping, watching and not doing anything would not look good for her. Still, to say she hacked into the system was a stretch. She simply created a new login that she would purge when she was done.

Finally, the ringing in the earpiece stopped. Bella turned it up again and tapped it twice, tuning her into Manic Alchemist’s channel.

“Hey,” she said. “Wake up!” The Crimson Programmer turned up the volume on Manic Alchemist’s end to rouse him.

“What- what is this?” His voice was rough from disuse but clear through the speaker. Everything the Crimson Programmer made was always of the highest quality.

“Stars above, you’re dense. This is a rescue,” she said, overenunciating the last four words. “The Crimson Programmer is getting you out of this hellhole.”

Manic Alchemist didn’t let up with his questions. “How? Why?”

The Crimson Programmer groaned into her hands. Peeking between her fingers, she saw Manic Alchemist look around the room. She hadn’t even hit him over the head; how could he be so slow to readjust to consciousness? Surely he hadn’t been wallowing in pity the entire time. “Do you think,” the Crimson Programmer ground out, “that either of us have time for explanations?”

“I don’t like doing things if I don’t know the reason why,” said Manic Alchemist, his tone regaining its usual snark. “And I have good reason to be suspicious of you. Last time we met up I was kidnapped!”

“Let’s just say I had a resurgence of my conscience–”

Manic Alchemist interrupted the Crimson Programmer. “Bullshit.”

The Crimson Programmer was glad she had concocted a lie earlier. Smoothly, she said, “Look, I was blackmailed. It was either go to jail myself, or turn someone in that I could break out.”

Always shrewd, Manic Alchemist asked, “And why risk your safety for me?”

“I had nothing better to do today,” the Crimson Programmer said.

“Right.”

“Do you want to be tattled on by the government to your parents? Or go to a juvenile detention center?”

Still not satisfied with her explanation, Manic Alchemist sharply inhaled, ready to go on another tirade.

It was the Crimson Programmer's turn to cut him off. “We are wasting time here. I could be found at any minute. If either of us get caught, this fiasco will end disastrously.”

“I’m already caught. Aren’t you breaking me out?” Manic Alchemist remarked drily.

“Then cooperate!” The Crimson Programmer bit back. “If you want out, then do what I say and stop playing dumb. You’re better than this.”

“Oh, you think I’m smart? I’m flattered. How unlike you to compliment–” The Crimson Programmer sent a pulse of feedback to Manic Alchemist’s end, momentarily deafening one ear and cutting him off. “Okay, okay,” he corrected himself. “Tell me what to do.”

“Relax your hands,” she said.

“Why?”

“What did I say before?”

“Right, right.”

“If you relax your hands you can pull them out of your gloves. The restraints were tightened to accommodate for the fabric around your wrists, so it’s not tight enough to effectively bind them,” explained the Crimson Programmer.

She watched the gloves poking out of the cuffs wiggle a little, the fingers going limp. Manic Alchemist’s arms twisted as he coaxed his hands free.

“That’s it,” the Crimson Programmer said. “Try angling your right elbow towards you – your hand should slip out easier that way.”

Manic Alchemist froze. He said, “Wait. Can you see me?”

“Of course. It wouldn’t be a very efficient escape attempt if I was blind to what you were doing. Then we’d waste precious time as you described your surroundings,” said the Crimson Programmer, tapping the desk beside her.

“You hacked into the cameras?”

The Crimson Programmer hesitated. “Yes,” she finally said.

“Why did you pause?” Manic Alchemist asked. Of course he was back to his usual perception. He always picked up on everything, paranoia teaching him to be good at picking up on social queues.

“Because I… thought I heard someone coming,” the Crimson Programmer said, covering horribly with a lie.

Shaking out his wrists, Manic Alchemist looked around the room, searching for the camera. Likely noticing the blinking red light, he stared straight at it and asked, “Where are you?”

“The less you know the better.”

“Fair enough.”

A smile played on the Crimson Programmer’s lips. As annoying as he was, it was, at the very least, entertaining to clash wits with Manic Alchemist. She let the smile drop and focused back on the task at hand. “There should be a button on the inside of your ankles that releases the cuffs,” she said, watching Manic Alchemist bend down, folding awkwardly over the chest binding. The metal straps popped open, leaving his legs dangling comically, like an abandoned puppet. “Now just slide out from the chest restraints. You’re skinny enough.”

“Hey!” Manic Alchemist protested, doing what she said all the same.

“It’s true. You forget to eat, like me,” the Crimson Programmer said without a hint of doubt. “Alright. If you walk to the table there should be a fist-sized canister there.”

She heard the faint tap of his footsteps over the audio, using that to guide her perception of Manic Alchemist's place in the room as he stood in an almost blind spot of the cameras, his Ironman socks peeking into the view of a camera. The Crimson Programmer had planted it there earlier after deciding on the risk of freeing Manic Alchemist. It would likely look like she had forgotten it there after monitoring his condition before reporting her success to Zach.

“I’ve got it. Now what?” It made sense that Manic Alchemist would do what he was told, but it still shocked the Crimson Programmer how little he was questioning her orders. 

“Roll it under the door.”

“What is it going to do?” There was the resistance.

“Nothing lethal,” the Crimson Programmer said evasively. “Don’t use it, by all means, but I doubt you can take out the armed guards on the other side.”

“No, no. I was just curious. I’d prefer to know of course, especially in case I could have done it better,” Manic Alchemist said as he ambled towards the door.

The Crimson Programmer snapped, “I’m sorry, next time you can break yourself out.”

“Don’t be so touchy,” Manic Alchemist soothed in vain. “I think I deserve to insult you a little bit after you got me arrested.”

“Just send the canister under the door.”

The pair was silent as he did so. The Crimson Programmer switched the cameras displayed on her monitor to watch blue-tinted smoke stream out of the canister. The poor people standing at the door only had a scant few seconds to look confused before the chemicals took effect and they slumped to the floor.

“You can step out now. The door is,” the Crimson Programmer paused, the click of buttons echoing around the room as she reprogrammed the lock. “Open.”

Manic Alchemist shuffled into view and stopped cold. “Are they dead?” he asked hollowly. Nudging one with his foot, his pixels shivered as he shuddered. The prone bodies showed no sign of life as the visors on the helmets were reflective, and the armor was protectively stiff which hid any movement of the guards’ chests.

Scoffing, the Crimson Programmer reassured him, “Of course not. They’re just passed out. Honestly, what do you take me for? I am many things, but I am not a murderer. And I do my best to make sure my creations don’t take life either.”

The staticky silence was not comfortable.

Stifling the urge to clear her throat before she spoke, the Crimson Programmer directed Manic Alchemist, watching his progress as she talked. “Go down the hall… turn left. Wait!” She had been too focused on the screens and had forgotten to unlock the door. Tapping out a preplanned sequence of buttons, she continued, “Alright. The door on your right is open now.”

Manic Alchemist twisted the handle and the door popped open easily, revealing a medium-sized broom closet with an overstuffed plastic bag inside.

“That’s your stuff. Get changed now if you want to be more prepared later.”

As Manic Alchemist slipped inside the over-glorified cupboard, he asked, “You’re not going to spy on me while I do that, will you?”

“You could put it on in the hallway. There’s nothing intimate you have to do to get your gear on. It’s just detailing and gaudy, unnecessary accessories.” 

At her words Manic Alchemist sighed, his sharp exhale tinny and staticky through the earpiece. He stepped out of the closet fully dressed, cape brushing his boots and seams faintly glowing on his dark pine suit.

“You took your time,” said the Crimson Programmer snidely.

The quality of the monitors and cameras was so good she thought she saw Manic Alchemist roll his eyes.

“Before you start insulting me again, you should try a new upgrade I added on to your suit while you were napping.” The Crimson Programmer switched views of the camera as she spoke. “There is an option on the modes of your suit that reads CM-FG. Select it, and you will be invisible to cameras and slightly less conspicuous as your suit changes to match the color of nearby walls.”

The hues on the screen abruptly flipped as the cameras loaded. A few months ago she had installed a thermal view onto them. It was only available to her, and she planned to keep it that way; it was a valuable asset to have in her arsenal, and she didn’t want anyone snooping on her after-hours work. She already had an excuse in place if anyone was bright enough to stumble upon the function, which was unlikely. If she was confronted she’d claim she’d been perfecting the system and wanted to ensure all bugs and glitches were gone before sharing. She’d had thermal imaging cameras installed and customized in her personal living space for three and a half years, so the perfected system was easy to transfer to headquarters if somewhat challenging to install undetected. 

Thus, Manic Alchemist remained visible to her and invisible on any other cameras. The less work she had to do wiping the memory of cameras and other equipment she tampered with, the better.

Barring a few biting exchanges, the rest of the escape attempt went relatively smoothly. Seven turns away from the exit, however, some poor, overworked employee’s hot computer disguised a figure turning the corner.

“Stop, stop stop!” The Crimson Programmer hissed. Manic Alchemist tripped over his feet in haste. “Walk back five paces and step behind the corner. Don’t make a sound or we’re both busted.”

The edge of Manic Alchemist’s cape had just whipped around the pillar as someone stepped into the hallway. Thankfully, whoever it was walking by was fully absorbed in their phone and hadn’t seen the shimmer in the air that was Manic Alchemist. Strangely enough, the Crimson Programmer didn’t recognize the person, which meant they were most likely a new recruit. Scratch that, they were definitely a new recruit. Many older employees griped about the new generation being “good for nothing” and “always on those damn screens” and would gladly slap the phone out of unsuspecting green workers’ hands under the guise of “maintaining good work ethic.” If they still had their phone in their hand walking through headquarters the person had been there for a week at most.

It was a good thing the rescue mission took place on a Saturday so no one was around. No one besides her, Manic Alchemist, the few people working overtime, and Zach, Bladed Officer.

“Excuse me? Please tell me whoever is running down the hallway that crosses with my path is planned and I won’t run into them.” Manic Alchemist’s voice broke through the Crimson Programmer’s coding fog. She had zoned out while setting up commands for equipment needed later after Manic Alchemist had reached a long stretch that required no directions. He had stopped two paces away from the intersection.

“Um, just give me a second,” said the Crimson Programmer, pulling up a view of the hallway he was talking about and minimizing the windows that she was working on. Zach was half running, half hopping down the hall as he pulled on the Bladed Officer costume. The Crimson Programmer cursed so loudly that she glanced at the door to the spare room she had holed up in. She hissed under her breath, “He was supposed to leave earlier.”

“What was that? Are you going to handle this?” The lack of inflection in Manic Alchemist’s voice betrayed his nervousness. When he talked with her there was always at least a slight undercurrent of smugness. He had an insufferable superiority complex.

Letting out a few more entirely necessary curses, the Crimson Programmer checked the status of the virus she had planted in Bladed Officer’s comms. As she had planned, a false alert had gone off twenty minutes before Manic Alchemist had left his cell, intended to draw Bladed Officer away from the headquarters so there would be no legitimate threat to the rescue.

Zach drew closer to where Manic Alchemist was frozen, picking up speed as he finished pulling his boots on. What could the Crimson Programmer do? Frantically, she searched her command board for obstacles, some kind of distraction, a barrier to hide the heat-shimmer Manic Alchemist left in the air. The two halls were dismally barren, with no doorways or corners nearby that wouldn’t put the two boys on the same path.

“He’s not going away,” Manic Alchemist ground out under his breath. “Do something!”

Forehead damp, the Crimson Programmer said, “Don’t move.” 

“What do you think I’m doing?”

“And don’t talk either.”

In a rush of air, Bladed Officer dashed across the path. He didn’t even turn his head as he pulled on the sleeves of his uniform jacket. Neither villain spoke, moved, breathed until the door leading outside had slammed shut, reverberating through every fiber of Manic Alchemist standing in the hall, through the speaker and into the Crimson Programmer’s earpiece.

“That was helpful,” snarked Manic Alchemist.

The Crimson Programmer exhaled sharply, her shoulders slumping as she threw her rolling chair across the room, trying to expel the remainder of her pent-up tension. Pulling herself back to the desk she said drily, “I don’t see you putting much effort into a break out of a well-known superhero’s headquarters. Wait a few more moments and take the same exit as he did. I’ll see you in a few moments.” She pulled out the earpiece, stuffing it in her pocket to muffle the earful she would have gotten otherwise. Moments like this during the escape made her wonder if it was worth it to break the kid out. Hypothetically speaking of course. While her morals were often questionable, knowing she could do something to improve a bad situation she caused would have plagued her with guilt for days if she didn’t take action. Such an emotional state would have limited her capacity to complete her work as efficiently as possible.

It only took a few clicks to sign out of the borrowed monitor system, and a scant few more to wipe her existence and log history. Years of conducting her less-than-legal business ventures at the public library made her quick at leaving no traces of digital activity.

All her gear packed up and in hand, she shut the door softly so as to not attract any attention. A door leading outside was adjacent to the room, purposely chosen for a quick escape if any hint of being caught arose. The Crimson Programmer stepped outside and immediately spotted Manic Alchemist leaning against the wall. His shoulders were around his ears.

“Thanks for all that,” Manic Alchemist said. He pushed away from the wall and stood five paces away from the Crimson Programmer, who was quickly overheating in her dark hood and bulky cloak. She would have conducted the rescue later, under the cover of darkness, but talking with Zach had revealed plans to send Manic Alchemist out that evening. “Maybe next time don’t fold to schemes concocted by the people we’re working against,” Manic Alchemist added, interrupting the Crimson Programmer’s train of thought. “Then we won’t end up in messes like this.”

We? The Crimson Programmer was glad she had her cowl to hide her expression. What she would pay to see Manic Alchemist’s face if she told him about her recent promotion. Not her reputation in the villain’s market, that was for sure. Still, his comment stung. “My bad. Next time I won’t listen to threats made on my life and work,” she bit back. She paused, watching Manic Alchemist’s expression twist. A mixture of sympathy and curiosity at the effects of her equipment tugged a question forward. “What happened in there?”

Manic Alchemist scuffed the floor with his boot. “Oh nothing much,” he said flatly. “They just screwed with my brain a little. Tried to make me happy with messed-up visions. Not with addictive drugs or anything, I don’t think. It didn’t work. I mean, can you imagine me happy?” He laughed incredulously.

“So it had no effect?” The Crimson Programmer asked, trying not to sound disappointed. She had worked hard on the Nanites and their electric signals, hoping to sell the technology. “It didn’t work at all.”

Whatever had been open and willing to share in his guarded expression winked out. Manic Alchemist bit his lip and turned. “I’m going to go now,” he said, words clipped. “And try to recover from the mildly traumatic situation you caused.”

Tampering with his neurons had worked. He was obviously trying to guilt-trip her. It wouldn’t work; three successes in a row had left the Crimson Programmer flying high on pride and dreams. Mildly, distantly, she said, “Enjoy the rest of your afternoon.”

Manic Alchemist laughed again, bitterly. He walked down the street, likely going to change into civilian clothing in an alley.

Bella turned back inside, ripping off her cowl and cloak, and draping them over her forearm. She was ready to go home. Who knew playing cat and mouse was so easy? And having a foot on both sides of the battle? Sharing and withholding critical information, catching and releasing important parties? Life was about to get a lot more fun.

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