“People have been talking, though,” said Oscar. “I’d never really thought of it before, but … it is strange, isn’t it? That no one has ever stopped to consider what might be best for us and not just the organization? I mean, we all chose this life. We’re willing to risk a lot for the cause. But…” He trailed off.

“But shouldn’t we have a little bit more say over what that cause is?” suggested Ruby. “And what, exactly, we’re risking?”

He sighed. “I hate to sound like I’m with Genissa, but it’s made me think.”

“You don’t just sound like Genissa,” said Danna, slightly teasing. “You almost sound like an Anarchist.”

Oscar wrinkled his nose. “Now, that’s just uncalled for.”

“I think they’re starting,” said Ruby, drawing their attention back down to the field. A long stage had been erected, stretching nearly the full length of the field, and seven chairs were set up in a line at its center beside a narrow podium. The media had been sent to the box at the forefront of the audience. Adrian wasn’t sure where Genissa had gone. As the Council approached their seats, the crowd began to quiet.

The Council—Captain Chromium, the Dread Warden, Tsunami, Blacklight, and Thunderbird—was joined by Dr. Hogan, one of the lead researchers and developers for Agent N. And …

Adrian leaned forward, squinting. They were just far enough away that he felt like his eyes must be playing tricks. “Is that the Puppeteer?”

“Sweet skies, I think it is,” murmured Ruby. “But … he looks so different.”

The last time Adrian had seen Winston Pratt, his skin had been ghastly pale, almost as pale as when permanent makeup had been painted on his face, complete with rosy cheeks and black lines on his jaw reminiscent of a ventriloquist dummy. Those physical markings of his alias and superpower had faded when he’d been injected with a dose of Agent N. In less than a minute, his power—which was the eerie ability to morph children into brainwashed puppets—had been stripped away. The Puppeteer was no more.

Adrian had seen Winston a couple of times since that day, having questioned him about Nightmare and the other Anarchists. But in those meetings, Winston had been dispirited and weak, a shell of his former self. That was not the man standing onstage now. His back was straight. Healthful color had returned to his complexion.

He was smiling.

And not a cruel, preparing-to-manipulate-a-six-year-old smile, but something genuine and unexpectedly warm.

It rendered him almost unrecognizable.

As the others took their seats, Captain Chromium approached the microphone. He spent a moment welcoming the crowd and the media who had gathered for their important announcement, conveying how the purpose of the Renegades was and had always been to ensure the safety of their citizens, while working to improve the quality of life for both prodigies and non-prodigies around the world. He talked about his enthusiasm for the new asset they were about to reveal and the pride he felt having been a part of its development. How he foresaw the potential of this tool to be, literally, world-changing.

As the audience clapped politely, the Captain stepped back and welcomed Dr. Hogan to the microphone.

Her speech was almost exactly the same as when she had first introduced the concept of Agent N to the Renegade patrol units. Agent N offers a nonviolent solution with instantaneous results … It is completely safe to be used around non-prodigy civilians … This will provide a humanitarian consequence for prodigies who defy regulations …

Adrian kept his attention on the media gathered in their box. Their surprise and interest. Their pens scribbling across small notepads. Their cameras zoomed in on the doctor’s face.

He wondered what the news would soon be reporting. The Council hoped this would replace the rumors that the Renegades had become incompetent and ineffective. Agent N was their big chance to show the world what they had been putting their efforts into all these years. This was their chance to demonstrate how they intended to deal with wayward prodigies going forward. This was their chance to show that villainy would not be tolerated. Not so long as they were in charge.

And Adrian wanted to believe it. His marker was in his hand, though he didn’t remember taking it out, and he found his fingers fiddling with it unconsciously. He wasn’t nervous so much as … unsettled.

He remembered watching as Frostbite and her team bullied the Anarchists, trying to force them to incriminate themselves, whether or not they’d actually been involved in the attack on the parade. He’d seen them torture Hawthorn, ultimately murdering her and framing the Sentinel for the brutal attack.

The Anarchists and Hawthorn were villains. Perhaps they deserved no sympathy.

But in those moments, Adrian had been forced to question who the true villains were.

If Frostbite’s team could get away with it, he knew that more Renegades could, too. Who would stop them? Who would even try?

“Shortly, we will have a demonstration of what Agent N can do,” the doctor said, “so that you can see its effectiveness with your own eyes, and witness both how swift and how merciful a weapon it is. But first, we wish to invite one of our greatest success stories to offer his own opinion on the serum and its life-changing effects. Please join me in bringing to the microphone none other than a former villain and associate of Ace Anarchy himself. You will know him by the name of the Puppeteer, but today he is known only as Mr. Winston Pratt.”

There was applause, though it was stilted and unsure. Murmurs flooded the crowd as Winston stood and took his place before the microphone. It all felt so surreal. The day he’d been neutralized, he had used a young Renegade to try to attack Dr. Hogan. He had been led from the stage in shackles.

What had changed to now make him appear so relaxed, so … jovial?

“My gratitude, Dr. Hogan,” Winston said, bending toward the microphone that had been lowered for the doctor and left far too short for his willowy build. “I am grateful. Not only for the ways in which the direction of my life has changed—thanks to Agent N and the team of doctors and therapists who have been working with me—I am also grateful for this chance to tell my story.”

He smiled again, but it was more bashful now. Adrian could tell he was nervous. He spent a moment awkwardly adjusting the microphone, then cleared his throat and took a set of index cards from his pocket. “I have known many … villains … over the years. I was an Anarchist for more than half my life, starting at only fourteen years old. I joined Ace Anarchy’s cause after running away from home.” Pausing, he tapped the edges of the cards on the podium. Inhaled deeply, and continued, “Often, when a new member joined us, we would talk about our ‘origin stories.’ It’s a popular topic among us prodigies—both heroes and villains, I think. I gave little thought to it at the time, but … it’s become clear to me that our stories all had something in common. With the exception of those of us who were born with our abilities, the rest of us became prodigies after … well, some great trauma. Though we spoke of our origins with pride, in reality, these times were often … horrific. And painful. Perhaps the fact that we survived them made our pride greater, but I … I never thought to ask my companions, or … even myself … whether we would have been better off to have never undergone such trauma in the first place.”

Adrian’s brow creased. He glanced at his teammates. Danna, like him, had been born with her gift. But Oscar had become a prodigy after nearly dying in a fire, and Ruby gained her powers after being viciously attacked by a member of the Jackals gang.

In fact, every origin story he knew was rooted in trauma of one sort or another.

“As for me,” Winston continued, his tone growing weary, “I never shared my real story. Not with the Anarchists, not with anyone, for all those years. The story of how I became the Puppeteer brought me no pride. Only shame and anger.” Gone was the easy smile of minutes before. He hesitated, and looked out at someone in the audience. Following his gaze, Adrian recognized the counselor who had been working with Winston after his neutralization. She gave an encouraging nod.

Stooping down, Winston opened a bag at his feet. The journalists near the front tensed, perhaps expecting him to pull out a bomb or gun.

But it was only a doll. Adrian recognized Hettie, Winston’s childhood doll that he had once traded to the ex-villain for information regarding Nightmare.

“This is Hettie,” said Winston, holding the doll up for everyone to see. “My father made Hettie for me for my seventh birthday. A part of me thought I might be too old for dolls, but … there was something about this one. I loved it immediately.” He paused, a shadow eclipsing his expression. “A few months later, my parents were out one night, and I was being watched by a neighbor. A … longtime family friend who often babysat me. He took an interest in Hettie … suggested we play a game…” Winston paused and Adrian could feel his own chest tightening in the horrible silence that followed. Finally, Winston gave his head a shake and set the doll on the podium, as if unable to look at it. The doll’s shiny black eyes peered emptily into the crowd. “I didn’t understand it then, but the game became a foil for him to … to … molest me. For the first time. It … would not be the last.”

There were gasps in the crowd. Hands pressed over speechless mouths. Looks of pity and horror. From the corner of his eye, Adrian saw Ruby squeeze Oscar’s arm.

“I had never felt so powerless. So ashamed, and confused.” Winston was scrutinizing the doll as he told his tale. “I would not know that I had become a prodigy until weeks later when, at school, my anger boiled over, and I lashed out at a kid who was a grade older than I was, who had taken the last slice of pizza in the cafeteria. Before I understood what I was doing, I had my strings around him. I made him…” He paused, clearing his throat. “I made him bash his own face into the tray. It broke his nose.”

A long silence followed this statement.