SV Chapter 60 (Patreon)

Not every criminal apprehension ended in an exaggerated standoff. It rarely ended in a shootout. Statistically, there were more peaceful surrenders than last-man stands. Public opinion was often skewed by sensational news outlets trying to create a narrative or spin a story.

But that didn’t mean bloody, violent acts didn’t happen on a daily basis, and Detective Jon Wyatt was always pleasantly surprised when he didn’t have to visit a morgue. Ever since the “Bungalow Incident,” where the MGH-1D serum was discovered, he had been expecting to get called into a scene foreshadowing World War III.

Sinister figures were at play, and it was up to him to separate fact from fiction.

Which…was not always easy, considering Metahumans were involved. Jon had the ever-present suspicion that a Villain might be involved, and today his worst fears came true.

And despite the terror that came with such a title, he was brought in by the unlikeliest source. Through trickery, deception, or sheer blind luck…it was done by a Sidekick.

Detective Wyatt didn’t see it happen in person. Apparently, an anonymous civilian tipped off a budding hero group. Their name? Didn’t have one. The Sidekick who did the deed? A support Speedster not focused on combat. The partnered fighter didn't assist. And, if the initial reports from the regular police were anything to go by, Fabio Milan, emergent Villain of Los Angeles County…gave himself up willingly.

Wyatt ran the math and the numbers didn’t add up.

First were the unusual circumstances.

Sidekicks didn’t catch Villains.

Not by themselves, not unless they were working under the guidance of a Hero, or else said Villain was already weakened or on the run.

Second was the motive.

Fabio’s motive to commit crime could be anything, but why would he turn himself in? Nobody knew he existed until that anonymous tip, which was another flag on an already crowded pole. Hell, it might as well be a flare for all that it screamed look at me. Jon would bet at least two orders of hash browns and a side of bacon at Aunt Betty’s Cafe that something shady was going on, and that informant was more than they appeared.

Wyatt’s first order of business was to question the Sidekick. It always amused him that terms could fall so closely together and yet cast wildly different light. Question the Sidekick; interrogate the Villain. One sounded harsh but was theoretically neutral, while the other implied guilt or intent. And then there was bureaucracy at its finest. Wyatt put in a request to compel the Sidekick for questioning, but because his office was in Orange County and Hacienda was in Los Angeles, it took an entire six hours for the paperwork to go through. And that was just to pull up the hero’s level 1 clearance files not available to the general public to get her contact information. Jon knew there were ways around the clunky old system, but unlike unhinged fans and hackers on the internet, he needed to leave a paper trail.

Fortunately, the young woman was very agreeable. She didn’t argue or push back against his request for an interview much like many of her peers might. Heroes were all gung-ho when it came to throwing hands, but as soon as those hands needed to put pen to paper, they were out. The only suspicious thing about her was where she chose to meet.

A Michoacana ice cream parlor on Boyle and Grand.

Most of the time, cases like these happened behind closed doors, like a home or an office. Wyatt didn’t expect to be welcomed into a Sidekick’s personal space, but to meet up at a public ice cream shop certainly was…a choice.

The meeting was at 1:30 and Wyatt showed up on the hour. He always made it a point to arrive early; if not for good manners and being punctual, then to get the lay of the land. The shop in question didn’t seem suspicious; one or two customers were inside being served by an old lady. The building had a recent coat of paint applied in the last 5 years, which meant business was good enough to keep up appearances. At about 1:18, Detective Wyatt made his way inside. The counters were clean, the glass was spotless, and most importantly, the booths were free of vandalism and graffiti. Despite being a popular destination for high-school kids, there weren’t any names or obscenities etched into the Formica. He needed fair rent and payment for his table, so he went to the counter, bought a smoothie, and charged it to the department. “Business Expenses.” He made himself comfortable in the corner with a broad view of the street and the parking lot and glanced at his clock. The next question was how punctual this hero would be.

At 1:30 on the dot, a violently pink figure strode confidently into the parlor. Detective Wyatt was used to the flashy outfits employed by most Capes, and he was still caught off guard. The only type of people to wear something that vibrant were definitely trying to be seen, for one reason or another. He frowned slightly as he took the woman in; she didn’t fit the image of the typical Speedster.

But Jon Wyatt definitely fit the description of a detective. On jobs like this, he made sure to ham up the act; let people know right out of the gate exactly what they were in for. Sometimes it even helped put them at ease and lower their guard, letting him glean more from their words than they might have intended. The Speedster zoomed over to the counter, picked up a cup of diced fruit, and began looking around. Her eyes immediately landed on Jon, and before he could raise his hand in greeting, she was already there, squeezing her way into the booth across from him. He kept his gaze level and his nerves calm.

“Hiya!” She chirped, her voice strangely high. A Weakness? A side effect of her power? Interesting. “Are you the detective that wanted to talk to me today?”

The thought did cross Jon’s brain that the girl sat down before she asked. What if he said no? What if he wasn’t? Did she have the habit of booth-crashing random customers? This was exactly why he wore the brown trench coat.

“Detective Jon Wyatt of the Major Crimes Unit,” he said, taking a sip of smoothie. Not bad. It wouldn’t replace pitch-black coffee any time soon, but it was serviceable. “You must be Maya Chavez, callsign: Sugar Rush.”

The girl frowned and Jon resisted a sigh. This is why these things were usually private.

“As I mentioned on the phone, I’m here today in an official capacity from the Department of Metahuman Affairs to ask some questions about the apprehension of Fabio Milan yesterday afternoon. If you’d like to take this somewhere a little more….”

Jon waved his hand around, indicating the rest of the parlor.

“No, this is fine,” she said. She pulled the goggles off her head and rubbed her eyes. Even without the bulbous lenses, her face was fairly round. “What do you want to know? I already talked to the police.”

“Ah,” Jon nodded, pulling out his notepad. “I’m afraid some of my questions will probably overlap, but I promise they won’t all be the same.”

It was a common misconception of those not familiar with the government. Not all departments were connected, and even those that were didn’t always talk. In fact, Jon had to requisition the report from the responding officer. It was…illuminating.

“Okay,” the girl cheerfully agreed. It seemed she bounced back easily. “What do you want to know?”

Jon started with the basics. When did she get the first call; what was she doing; how long did it take for her to respond? These were things he already knew, since they were detailed in the original report. To her credit, Sugar Rush gave the same answers both times. He did, however, ask the same questions multiple times from different angles to see if the responses shifted. They did not.

Original report: 4:23 pm.

Elapsed time to respond: 14 minutes and 57 seconds.

Time of apprehension: 4:40 pm.

Jon was curious about the hyper-specific details on the time, but he supposed, to Speedsters, time was a constant variable they needed to track. Most of them had ways of syncing themselves to an “everyday normal.” He also took note of the fact that it only took 1 to 2 minutes to bring down the Villain. Even if the man surrendered peacefully, that was awfully fast.

The Villain in question? Fabio Milan. Class: [Tailor]. At least that explained peacefully. It might shock some Sunday-morning newspaper readers, but non-combatants did not, in fact, combat. Not often, at least.

Sugar Rush entered the man’s shop, found him standing behind the counter as if he was waiting for her arrival, and as soon as she stepped into the door, he turned himself in.

Most police would be happy enough to leave things there, but Detective Wyatt was not so simple.

Despite popular belief, simply being a Villain was not illegal. No matter how menacing their aura was if it got out of control, unless they actively used it to influence a portion of the population. But that alluded to malicious intent, which was very different from passively going about their day. So, then came the questions for things Jon didn’t know.

“Did Fabio use any powers?” Wyatt asked. Sugar Rush tilted her head and poked her round cheek.

“No?”

“Did he attempt to fight you in any way?”

“No….”

“Did he exhibit any indication that he was a Meta in any way?”

“No,” Sugar Rush frowned. “Does it matter?”

“Yes, it matters,” Detective Wyatt said with a tired sigh. “If I am the officer in charge of processing a ‘criminal,’ for all I know I’ve locked up an innocent [Citizen].”

“But he showed us his Status,” Sugar Rush complained. “I saw it and the [Patrolman] saw it. He was a genuine Villain.”

“And how does that tangibly change things?” Jon asked. The Sidekick opened her mouth a fraction before slowly closing it.

“I completed a Quest for turning him in,” she revealed. “I gained 400 fame.”

“That’s…incredible,” Jon admitted, “But not really relevant.”

By that alone, Detective Wyatt knew something was going on, but it didn’t prove anything.

“So…what?” Sugar Rush asked. “Are you saying we have to let him go?” Her voice rose in pitch as her speech sped up. “Are you trying to say we arrested an ‘innocent’ man? He admitted guilt! He told us what his powers did!”

“Did you– or the officer –verify them? Or find victims?”

“No,” the girl quickly shook her head. “Or maybe! Yeah! I bought a pair of his pants! He can control people who wear his clothes!”

Out of the corner of his eye, Jon watched the girl’s finger tap the table with increasing frequency. Could be an emotional response. Nervous? Agitated?

Was she hiding something?

Possible, but unlikely. In his experience, information was withheld by the eyes, not the hands. In the case of a lie, they would usually be wringing, not tapping.

Or in this girl’s case, it might be something else. Jitters? He didn’t take her for a smoker, but it was possible she had a different craving.

“I’m sorry,” Jon asked politely. “Did you have another arrangement? Did you need to be somewhere else?”

Some might consider it a slap in the face, but he did book an appointment.

“No,” she gasped, as if entirely unaware of her finger’s betrayal. “But if you don’t mind…?”

Without waiting for a response, the Speetster zoomed over to the counter, picked up a scoop of ice cream, and within a span of 4 breaths, she was seated in front of him…eating.

“Much better!” She said. Her voice was noticeably more normal and her movements were slower. Not sluggish, just…not hyperactive.

Absolutely fascinating. He’d love to ask a few more pointed questions, but his female colleagues impressed upon him the importance of never bringing up a woman’s eating habits.

“To continue where we left off, that’s good. Not that you fell victim to a Villain, but your experience can be used to testify in a court of law. At least we have reason to hold him for now.”

“Are you saying he would have walked free, even after turning himself in?”

“In this case, probable cause could have gotten him a few hours in a holding tank at most. If he was adamant about his innocence and resisted arrest, a good lawyer would have him out before nightfall and we might have a potential lawsuit on our hands. However, with witnesses willing to testify, a case can be built.”

Jon had read it in the report, but it still boggled his mind.

“Just for clarification,” he asked tentatively, “Can you tell me what his powers do?”

“He can control people,” Sugar Rush said seriously. “If they’re wearing his clothes.”

Jon didn’t know whether to laugh or shudder. The thought of manipulating somebody via a pair of pants was some real Saturday morning cartoon nonsense. But if it was real…he certainly didn’t want to wear anything the guy made.

He tapped his pen against his notebook in thought. One thing bothered him, something that made absolutely no sense.

“Why?” Jon mumbled. It wasn’t meant to be a question for Sugar Rush, but she heard.

“Why what?”

“Why would he turn himself in? Nobody knew he was a Villain. As far as I know, no reports had been made about suspicious activity or behavior. He could have gotten away with it for months, years maybe, if he didn’t say anything. So why now? Why come clean? He had nothing to gain and everything to lose; he’s not going to be able to open another clothing store, and even if he does, nobody’s going to buy his goods because he’ll be forced to disclaim his power.”

Sugar Rush didn’t have an answer and looked slightly vexed.

“Did he appear frantic to you?” Jon asked. “Pressured in any way? Under duress?”

“Are you suggesting somebody forced him to surrender?” Sugar Rush asked. Detective Wyatt’s intuition tingled and he watched the Sidekick’s eyes. They twitched ever so slightly, at a speed no normal person could match. He couldn’t prove it, but he had a hunch the hero knew something she wasn’t letting on.

“I’m saying it’s possible,” he said slowly. “The person who tipped you off. The anonymous informant. Do you know them?”

The eyes definitely dove to the side.

“...yes.”

“Are they trustworthy?”

“...yes.”

“Would they have any animosity with Fabio Milan? Want him out of the picture? Do they benefit from his absence?”

Normally, he might not press so hard, but this was a genuine Villain. Anything that could force them to “retire” was certainly a threat worth investigating. The question was…what did Sugar Rush know?

“No!” She said, adamantly. “They’re kids! They only looked into him because I got a Quest to investigate his shop and they’re information specialists!”

“I see,” Jon nodded. “Are they part of your hero group? New recruits? Are they registered with the DMA?”

“Kids,” Sugar Rush repeated, deadpan. “Still in high school.”

“Ah,” Jon frowned. This was something unpleasant that didn’t come up often. “I won’t push further, but you should know that only goes so far. An Awakened minor can be treated as an adult depending on the circumstances. Was this the only thing you worked with them on?”

“No,” Sugar Rush freely admitted. “There’s been a surge of [Enforcers] in Hacienda lately. Oi, you might know! A new drug has hit the streets; some sort of ‘Super Serum.’ Have you seen it?”

The DMA was a leaky information bucket on the best of days, so the revelation that an outsider found out didn’t mean much to Jon. And since the drug was found inside Sugar Rush’s operating area, it only furthered his belief that she was invested in her community.

“I’m surprised you know about that,” he said coolly. “The MGH-1D only went through the lab last week. The boys still haven’t settled with an official name.”

“I hear it’s terrifying,” Sugar Rush shuddered.

Judging from the sincerity in her voice, Jon suspected she knew. How she knew…he didn’t know. One more note for the book.

“Speaking of the serum,” he said. “There was a break-in where the drug was discovered. Witnesses claim they were assaulted by a small woman wearing a Victorian gown and a 10-foot-tall black knight. Seen anybody like that around? You have any Renaissance-themed gangs?”

“No?” Sugar Rush replied. From her slight giggle, she was probably telling the truth.

“Well, I think I’ve taken up enough of your time,” Jon said, standing up. He held out his hand, and the Speedster shook it with a firm grip. “If you find out anything else, don’t hesitate to let us know.”

​

Detective Wyatt left the Michoacana with more questions and half a smoothie. He got back into his car and made his way to the Anaheim Detention Facility. They were the closest center with the proper equipment to hold a Manipulative Threat Meta.

Nothing added up.

This wasn’t how Villains worked.

What was going on? Who was pulling the strings? What was their goal?

“Why” was one of the most standard questions a detective asked, but none of the common answers lined up.

He mulled over his thoughts the entire drive over but got no closer to figuring it out. Maybe the newest resident of the overnight tank could shed a bit of light on these murky waters.

Wyatt parked, went through the checkpoint, and got cleared by security. One of the big problems with containing a Controller was the massive increase in paranoia. Unlike an idiot blasting frostbolts from their nostrils, mind control and other loss-of-agency effects were much harder to trace. Harder, yes, but not impossible. It did, however, make it very annoying to come in and out of that particular wing, so Wyatt wanted to get everything over at once. After the required 30 minutes in a “dead” zone, he was finally allowed access to the Villain.

Contrary to what the movies showed, holding tanks for Villains were not cramped, tiny storage closets. They weren’t Alcatraz cells and they weren’t run-down or neglected. If anything, the DMA erred on the side of caution and made them nicer than a standard room. Nobody wanted to put a Meta in a bad mood because that was just plain dumb.

Fabio was placed in something closer to a studio apartment than a prison cell. It was a 500-square-foot room with a padded cot and a table, and the man was sitting up, staring at the entrance as if waiting for someone.

It couldn’t be Jon; he didn’t know how long the meeting with Sugar Rush would take, so he wondered what that was all about.

“Mr. Milan?” He asked, entering the room. “I’m with the DMA. I was wondering if you could answer some questions.”

This was usually the part of the show where people lawyered up…if they had one. Fabio looked at Wyatt, smoothed the handlebar of his mustache and shrugged.

“I’ll take that as consent,” Jon said. The block-guard entered behind him, set down a chair, and left. Wyatt took a seat with a grunt and brought out his trusty notebook.

“Why’d you turn yourself in?”

It was an honest, blunt question. Sometimes it caught people off guard. Fabio smirked, grunted, and said nothing.

“From what I could tell, you were quite successful. The lease on your building was dated 6 months ago. I checked your reviews– hope you don’t mind –they’re very high.”

“Do you have a point, monsieur?”

Wyatt smiled at the charm masking the disdain. “Was just thinking there’s no reason for you to be here.”

“As you say,” Fabio agreed. “Once my stay here is finished, maybe I shall try to ply my trade elsewhere. Nevada, perhaps? I have heard it said that in Las Vegas, anything goes.”

“I think you’ll find Las Vegas is just as intolerant as the rest of us, in many ways,” Jon chuckled. “But you should have thought about that before you turned yourself in. You’re going to be here for a while, I’m afraid.”

“Me?” He scoffed. “I have done nothing.”

“I have a Sidekick who begs to differ,” Jon said. “And that’s proof enough we need to run a Powers test on you. I wonder…what will they find? Especially now that we know what we’re looking for?”

“That I am skilled at controlling thread,” Fabio said slyly, mimicking weaving a needle through some cloth. “There is nothing wrong with that.”

“Among other things, I’m sure,” Jon nodded. “And I’m afraid that’s incorrect. As an Awakened adult, you should be aware that Compulsion and Control are governed powers. Failure to declare such powers is a federal crime. Mr. Milan, you’re looking at jail time. 1-2 years, possibility of parole. At the bare minimum, you’re going on a list.”

The man’s eyes widened, and Jon suddenly wondered if the man didn’t know. Ahh, the wonders of the United States education system.

…except Fabio was 18 when he immigrated. That was somebody else’s mess-up.

“You know,” Jon said resignedly, offering an exaggerated sigh, “You could make this easier for everyone. Yourself included. All I want to know is why.”

Fabio’s eyes hardened and he leaned closer.

“You don’t understand,” he hissed. “I worked hard for this. I was triomphant! She made me do this!”

“Made?” Jon asked, recoiling from the sudden tone shift. “Who? Who is she? How did they make you do anything?”

“Ahaha,” Fabio laughed bitterly. “Powers like mine are not the only way to control people, no? You speak of Compelling and Control as if they are any different from being held at the point of a gun.”

“So you were threatened,” Jon confirmed. “Or did somebody else rob you of your agency too?”

“Ha! It would be simpler if she did,” Fabio spat. “I would be the victim here. Ah, what am I saying! I am the victim! You need to protect me; she threatened my life!”

“Mr. Milan,” Jon soothed, “One thing at a time. We can discuss that in a moment. Tell me who. First I need to know who she is.”

“La Reine Noire,” Fabio growled, clenching his fists. Sadly…his conviction was lost on the detective.

“I’m sorry…I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“The Dark Queen,” Fabio repeated. He leaned back against the wall and it looked like he’d aged a decade. Even hearing the name made Jon’s skin prickle. A terrible pit was forming in his stomach, but he couldn’t place it yet.

“She is…unassuming, yes?” Fabio laughed helplessly. “She draws you in. Makes you suspect…nothing. Me, yes? I am a Villain.” He said this with a puffed chest as if it were a mark of pride. “I have earned my stripes. And yet…I am nothing. She is the real evil here; a Supervillain.”

Oh, Lord above. Detective Wyatt felt exhausted. On one hand…this theater-reject could easily be spinning a yarn the size of a globe, but on the other.

A Supervillain? This far away from a metropolis?

Jon wanted to dismiss it outright, but he’d heard the rumors too many times now. And if a verified Villain was getting this spooked…there had to be some credence to his words.

“Can you describe this…Supervillain?” Jon asked. “You were threatened. Physically? Are we looking for a Might Meta?”

He was already thinking back to the “Bungalow Incident" and a certain Black Knight.

“Oh, mon ami, what are broken bones in the face of a crushed spirit?” Fabio scoffed. “The Champion is terrifying, yes, but she doesn’t hold a candle to the real threat. Danger comes in small packages. It felt like she was suffocating my soul.”

“So is it two?” Jon asked. “Two Supervillains? A lieutenant?”

“A gigantic knight,” Fabio hissed, and that pit in Jon’s stomach tightened. “A Champion to the Queen.”

“Tall?” Jon confirmed. “Somewhere between 7 and 10 feet?”

“Ah! So you are aware!”

“And the other?” Jon asked, already fearing he knew. “Could you describe this…Dark Queen?”

“I…I don’t know,” he said, as if the confession shocked him. “As I said. She is small. Unassuming. Hair as red as the fires of hell, by which all of mankind will be consumed. But you would never know it by looking at her…not until she puts on the dress.”