Chapter 1: A Timely Exit

The lights in the cellblock flickered, then went out. Down the corridor, there was shouting, gunfire. Morgrim smirked, then rose from his bunk, hands clasped behind his back, waiting. His smile grew wider as the red emergency lights came on. His skin turned a dark, rich purple as he listened to the distant shouting.

“Dampeners are down! Lock down all exits!”

“Wing Two is secure!”

“Four missing from K block – no, five! Fucking find them!”

“Morgrim’s top priority! Echo Team, neutralize him!”

As if on cue, four guards in full riot gear stopped outside of Morgrim’s cell, pointing their rifles at him through the bars.

“Ah,” Morgrim said. “And this must be Echo Team. Look at you. You’re adorable.”

“Got eyes on him, moving to secure,” the lead guard said into his radio, then shouted, “You! On your knees. Now!”

“No, we won’t be doing that. I mean, I won’t, at least,” Morgrim said, his eyes going white. “On your knees, all of you. Guns down. And call me sir.”

“Yes, sir.” The guards obeyed, dropping to their knees. Their rifles clattered on the concrete.

“Take those helmets off. Let me see what I’m working with.”

“Yes, sir,” they replied as one. All four removed their helmets. The lead guard was a blonde man, square-jawed, youngish. Behind him were a middle-aged man, goateed and overweight, and two women. The first was fresh-faced, freckled, her auburn hair in a tight bun. The other was older, her head shaved, a barely visible scar on her cheek. They all looked up at Morgrim, expectant.

“Hrm. You,” Morgrim said, pointing at the leader. “You I don’t like. Find the nearest bathroom. Crawl. When you get there, do whatever it takes to kill yourself.”

“Yes, sir.” The man crawled off.

“Alright. Now you, Freckles. Stand up.”

The young guard stood. “Yes, sir?”

“Unlock my cell.” She swiped her keycard, then stood back. Morgrim brushed a hand down her cheek. “Lovely. What’s your name, pet?”

“Lieutenant Abigail Wythe, sir.”

“You’ll do whatever I say, won’t you, Abby?”

“Yes, sir. Whatever you say, sir.”

“Good. Pick up your gun, we need to move. You’re getting me out of here.”

“Yes, sir.”

Morgrim turned to the remaining guards, still kneeling. “And you two won’t try to stop us, will you?”

“No, sir,” they said.

“Good enough. Now why don’t you both, I don’t know, fuck each other or something. I really don’t care.”

“Yes, sir.” The two guards shuffled toward each other, undoing the buckles on their vests.

Morgrim grimaced. “Much as I’d like to see how that plays out, it’s time to leave. Abby?”

“Sir?”

“We need to depart. Lead the way.”

“Yes, sir. Follow me.”

They arrived at a nondescript wooden door with a keypad.

“The fuck is this?” Morgrim asked.

“A way out, sir.” Abigail slung her rifle over her shoulder, then typed in a sixteen-digit code. The door swung open. “Off the Island. All the normal exits are locked down. After you, sir.”

They entered a cavernous room, with a glowing blue portal hovering in the middle of a tangle of machinery. Abigail locked the door behind them.

“Bloody...” Morgrim said, taking it all in. “Abby, love. I thought you were taking me to a boat or something. Care to explain?”

“Of course, sir. The Island isn’t technically on Earth. We’re in a pocket dimension. Everything outside the windows is all holograms, sound recordings. The architect – excuse me sir, may I speak freely?”

“Always, pet.”

“The architect of this place ... he’s honestly kind of a bastard, sir. He thought it better to give the inmates some kind of hope of escape.”

“I see. And who is the architect?”

“Dick Reid, sir, leader of the–”

Morgrim waved a hand, cutting her off. “I know who he is.” He broke out into a broad grin. “That’s actually perfect. All part of the plan. I’ll deal with it. Now, where will this take me?”

“Somewhere in the bay, sir. They ... they call it the garbage chute. They use it to dump trash and, well ... other things. You’ll have to swim, sir,” Abigail said, looking at the floor. Her face fell. “I’m sorry, sir.”

“Garbage chute. Fucking bastard. Hey,” Morgrim said, cupping Abigail’s chin. “You. Abigail Wythe, look at me. You are beautiful. You did your best. Smile.”

Abigail beamed. “Yes, sir.”

Someone began to hammer at the door. “Hey! I think they’re in here!” a muffled voice called.

Morgrim took Abigail by the shoulders. “Alright, Abby. Listen. You love me. You’ll do anything to protect me, won’t you?”

Her dark eyes shone. “Yes, sir. Anything. I love you.”

“Good girl. Now, I have to leave. If anyone comes through that door, I want you to kill them for me, understood?”

“Understood, sir.” She readied her rifle. The hammering grew louder. “Whatever you say.”

“Perfect. Now, if you make it out alive, I want you to come and find me.” He leaned close and whispered in her ear, then kissed her. “You know where that is?”

“Of course, sir. I’ll find you.” She took aim. The door began to splinter. “You should go. I love you.”

“I know, pet,” Morgrim said. He gave her one last look, then stepped through the portal.

“Give me your coat,” said a voice.

Marlon jumped and turned his head to see a figure step out of the shadows. In the light from the barrel fire, the man’s skin looked bruised all over. He was wearing a bright yellow jumpsuit, shivering, dripping onto the wooden dock.

“Jesus, mister, are you alright?” Marlon asked. He took a pull from his flask. “It’s freezing out here. You look like you just crawled out of the–”

“Shut the fuck up,” the stranger croaked. “Your coat. You want to give it to me.”

Marlon’s eyes glazed. He stood and shrugged off his coat. “Yes. Here. Take it.”

“Now,” the man said, bundling himself up, “where in the absolute fuck are we?”

Marlon scratched his beard, his thoughts clearing. “Southend Seaport. All the way downtown. That’s...” He gestured to the west. “Kurtzberg there, I think. Or is it Ninth?” He offered his flask to the stranger. “Not entirely sure. Drink?”

“Thank you, no. I think you’ll need it tonight.” The bruise-colored man pulled up the coat’s fur-lined hood. “You’ve been very kind, mister...?”

“Marlon.”

“Marlon. Have another drink. Oh, and I was never here.”

Marlon’s face went blank. He nodded. “Never here,” he repeated, taking a swig and staring out over the dark waters.

“One second, Julia. I’m just walking in the door.” Drea Jessup kicked her apartment door closed behind her. She dropped her bags and left the lights off. “Got some pad thai, some cupcakes. Comfort food.” She took off her grey peacoat and hung it on a coatrack. The neon sign from the club across the street gave the room a soft purple glow. “Cold out there. Sorry, what?”

A faint voice leaked from her earbuds. Drea unpacked her bags, laying her food out on the counter.

“Yeah, I heard,” Drea said. “They asked me not to come.” She went to the freezer, took out a bottle of vodka, held it up to the light. “Huh. Thought I had more than this. No, Jules, just talking to myself. Going to fix a drink. You should, too, honestly. A strong one. I’ve got news, and it’s...” Drea paused. “It’s not the best.”

Drea pulled a carton of chocolate milk from the fridge. She sniffed it, shrugged, then poured it into a pint glass and topped it off with the vodka. The voice again. “Yeah, me too. Vodka and chocolate milk. Working with what I got. It’s been that kind of day.”

Drea stirred her drink with a chopstick from her takeout bag, then sank into an armchair. “Here, I’m putting you on speaker, Jules.”

“Alright, spill,” said the voice on the other end. “What happened with the breakout?”

“They’re still working on it. Dynamo was behind it, at least for the electrical stuff. Last count, they said twenty-five, maybe thirty got out. Bunch of guards dead. Most of the Alliance is out patrolling now – Apex, Shieldbearer, Wombat, everyone they can spare. Astra’s off-planet, same with most of the Five. Bright side, Weaver managed to take down Bonfire about an hour ago.” Drea sipped her drink and made a face. She gave a slight cough. “So there’s that. Silver lining.”

“Drea.”

“Julia?”

“Who else got out?” Julia asked.

“None of the real big names, thankfully. Let me think ... the Contessa, Frightmaster, the Triplets, Etherea, Baboon, Clamor, Plethora, the Manchurian, Pteros...”

“Drea.”

“Julia.”

“You know what I’m asking. Get fuckin’ to it.”

Drea closed her eyes. “Yeah,” she said, sighing. “Okay. Yeah. Him too.”

“He’s out?”

“He got out.”

“Fuuuuuck,” Julia said. “Of course. Of fucking course he did.”

“That’s why they asked me not to come. Because–”

“Because– fuck! Because they think his powers only work on women. I told those fuckers a thousand times, that’s not how it–”

“I know, Jules.”

“Fucking fuuuuuck!”

“I know. That’s why I called you.” Silence, then the sound of glass breaking.

“Jules?” Drea said. “Julia? You there?”

“I’m here. Need to get a new bottle. God fucking damnit!”

“Jules. Hey. I’m here, okay? And look, his powers don’t work on you any more. And you’ve still got yours, right? So if he is a dumb enough sonofabitch to come after you again, you just snap his neck and, I don’t know, throw him into the sun or something. Jules?”