The poison worked quick. It always did. Atilla’s eyes rolled full back into her skull. Her head fell into a jaunted angle; the jugular looked ready to burst. Gytha mopped her forehead with the back of her hand, a bloody sweat smearing over her fingers. Anyone else would have looked a second away from keeling over. But Atilla–irresponsible, radiant, fucked-in-the-head Atilla– she just wore a manic grin, stretched tight from ear to flushed ear.

"I can see again, Gytha," she said. "It's so clear. I can see. I can see. I can see..."

"Atilla..." Gytha sighed, blinking back tears.

She knelt by Atilla and took her hands in her own, holding them tight, thumb worrying over each scabbed knuckle. The needle hung like a weapon, an intruder in the crook of her right arm. It had only taken a moment, but the skin was already puckered and clammy. Gytha knew the procedure well. Two fingers on the wound, gently slide the point free, dash the wretched thing against the wall. She’d done it too many times already. Her hands returned to Atilla’s, her grip held even tighter. Not like this. She would not let it happen like this.

“Fuck,” she said, to nobody. Then, more aggressively: “Fuck!”

She was interrupted by a door opening. On a good day–on any other day, really–Gytha would have skewered the man that emerged without thought. Without hesitation. She would have stripped his skin and made a lampshade. She would have burned his lecherous eyes, his poorly-cut cigar, his shitty pink little bathrobe. But…Atilla needed her help. So she just tried to set him on fire with her mind.

"What?" he said, eventually. "You two gay or something?"

"So what if we are?" Gytha muttered. Her fingers twitched at her side. He had a face like a rat, and his sleeves were encrusted with filth and ash.

He shrugged his shoulders. "Nothin' wrong with that. My daughter's gay, after all. I'd have to be right twisted to hate my own blood. What's wrong with your friend?"

"She's sick."

"That I can see," he said, gesturing towards the needle. "So, what's her poison? Heroine? Miracle? Shine?"

Gytha grit her teeth.

"Ah, of course. Exploiters."

Gytha grit her teeth harder, staring down at the carpeted floor. A flush of bile rose in her throat.

"Mayhaps,” the man said, leaning against the doorframe. “The two of you can help me with a problem.”

"We're not heroes."

He smirked. "Even better. Come inside."

"I think we're good out here, actually."

"Suit yourself." he said, and took a step towards them.

Atila’s crumpled body hadn’t even reached the floor before Gytha was on him. She pressed her knife into the man’s throat, her gaze steady and firm. This was usually when people started screaming, or running away, maybe pissing themselves in fear. He didn’t. He barely even flinched. His smile stayed wide, and his palms came up in placating surrender. This close, Gytha could see the crook of his teeth; the starburst flecks of nicotine and tar. They’d probably been knocked loose a dozen times over. The slightest wrong move, and she would add a new mark to the tally.

The man beat Gytha to it. From his pocket came a folded polaroid: a young blonde girl with piercing blue eyes. Gytha snatched the photo from him and stepped back, guarding Atilla. She narrowed her eyes in confusion. 

"Who the hell is this?" she asked.

"My daughter. My youngest," the man said, scratching a chipped nail over his chin. "She was supposed to come home over an hour ago. I'm…starting to worry."

He didn’t look worried. He looked ready to supply a new needle. 

"Where was she last?" Gytha asked, choking down her suspicion.

"My friend's place. His name's Cooper, Chris Cooper. They were having a sleepover." The man looked like he was about to say something else, but he stopped himself short. Gytha brushed it aside, her attention back on Atilla. The sweat was spreading, and she could see her fingers begin to curl up like snapped branches.

"The address is on the back of the picture."

"We're. Not. Heroes."

The man pulled out his wallet from his other robe pocket and opened it. Even from this distance, Gytha could see the stacks of green within the man's wallet. The grin flashed again, shining like sunlight through a sewer grate.

"I'll make it worth your while," he said, flourishing the full stack. It consisted entirely of one hundred dollar bills, and there must have been at least two or three hundred piled up in the man's hands. "Half now, and a bonus if you do it tonight."

"I'll…consider it." Gytha said, holding a hand out.

The man's smile widened.

Gytha shrugged, and the man shook his head and placed half the stack in Gytha's hand. Her fingers could barely grip them all, but she managed to stuff the cash in her back pocket.

The man backed into his apartment with a satisfied look on his face.

Gytha knelt down and looped her arms under Atilla's shoulders, hauling her to her feet. She hobbled with Atilla, her weight fully on Gytha. She practically placed Atilla in the passenger's seat; she was still too far gone to do anything herself. Gytha felt a pain in her heart when she got in the driver's seat and looked at Atilla's slumped form, her head lolling against the window, giggling to herself. How long had it been since she'd gotten a Shine high? She had been doing so well. Of course The Cockatiel had to come along and fuck it all up.

Gytha thought of all the ways she could tear the Cockatiel apart for what he did to Atilla. She didn't even like Atilla anymore, but giving an addict their vice was a horrible play. Squid must have known about this, he must have. In the three years Gytha had known him, he'd never not accounted for something. There had to be a reason, she just couldn't figure it out.

"Do you remember when we met?" Gytha asked, starting to drive without a clear direction in mind.

Atilla smiled as she nodded. "Christmas. Wow, you are so pretty. Like really pretty. Like you have big boobs you know. Big ones. And a perfect ass. God, I could sex you up so hard right now, pretty ass Gytha Chin. I love you."

Gytha was growing tired of sighing. "It was Christmas,” she said. “Three years ago. Squid had just brought you to the Animal Trope, right after he helped me get my foot into the art world with the Critic. I think Wolf was furrier, somehow; the worst of the stress had yet to hit him. The Cockatiel was there too, even Chimera. I remember being surprised that another non-Hybrid was gonna be on the team. Was even more surprised when that non-Hybrid turned out to be you.

"I thought you were so annoying back then. Some bubbly know-it-all with a shrill voice and mind powers? Ha! Squid was worried I'd turn you into an art piece for a while. I managed to hold back. Good to keep teammates off-limits. But you were annoying, real annoying–and that was before the Shine. That just dialed you up…no, wait, it wasn't Shine yet, was it? It was Psychostim. I always thought your dependencies made you weak.

“But there was something about you that I just… couldn’t seem to let go of. Something drew me in. Maybe it was your smile, or the way your eyes caught the sunlight, or hell, it might have just been the fact that you were the first person to ever make me laugh. Not those tee-hee types you give to your coworkers when they tell a shitty joke, but real laughs. Full belly laughs. Ones that made me cry. You used to be so funny.

“Then you started using. That first time we tried Shine together… I hated it. Couldn’t wait to come down, to get back to business. But you? You loved it. I should have known back then how much of a problem this would be, but I didn’t. You promised me that you wouldn’t do it often, that it would be a social thing, like coke or liquor. And I believed you. I trusted you. Then we got close and got together, but you already know this part, don't you?”

Gytha looked over at Atilla, busy occupying herself with a spider that had clung to the outside of the window. She nudged her with an elbow, gently, stirring her from her trance. Atilla Morningstar wore that goofy smile on her face, the same one from back then, the one that she fell in love with. She looked so happy, so peaceful. Gytha felt her heart break all over again.

"Our apartment on Main Street, that's where I found you overdosing for the first time. You were right there on the living room floor, frothing at the mouth, shaking uncontrollably. I didn't know what to do. I thought you were having a seizure, so I cradled your neck and waited for the symptoms to stop. I called 911, then the EMTs took you away to rehab for a while. Do you remember rehab? Do you remember how I used to call you every day? Do you remember how you promised me that you didn't do it that often, that it was a one time thing. I believed you, I trusted you. I loved you.

"Then you did it again. And again. And again. Before long I just got used to seeing you strung out on the bed at the end of the day. You were a zombie with Shine, and an insufferable bitch without it. It was like you needed it to function, like it was a part of who you were. You stopped smiling as much. You stopped going out. You stopped being my Atilla. Do you remember what I told you that day? The day that you left?

"You brought some guy over, shady looking dude, real creep. I should have trusted my instincts. I should have kept you away from him. But you told me that he was okay, he was just a friend, there was nothing going on between you two. I called bullshit and told you that it was him or me, and you left. You left me for your drug dealer. Your fucking dealer, Atilla! You chose drugs over me and you have the nerve to wonder why I'm so angry with you? You're not even sober enough to hear this. You can't understand, maybe that's why it's so easy to talk about this right now. You can't say anything back."

"You're so good at remembering stuff, babe," Atilla slurred. "You're so good at everything. I love you."

Gytha’s brows drew down into a tired stare. "You're peaking."

"Ahhhh," Atilla said. A flicker of realization flashed across her face, then vanished. "Peaking."

"You'll be coming down soon." said Gytha, the wheel turning under her hands. She knew where she was headed now.

Joy Memorial Hospital was not a quick drive; the complex was clear on the other side of New Glasford, not far out from the GSA Headquarters. The hospital was where it was because of the government, no doubt a part of some GSA regulation. Gytha assumed it was close to the headquarters because it made sending villains to Tartarus all the easier after they were healed. Joy Memorial Hospital was the trauma center for Exploiters in New Glasford, and Gytha hated visiting. The constant patrol of medical heroes and actual security teams always unnerved her. She hated the idea of being caught and sent to a prison with mundane people. She was not mundane: she was Gytha fucking Chin, and Gytha Chin was far too good to be imprisoned with uncultured heathens like Igor Hadid or pedophile rapists like Bob Dubble. 

But Wolf wasn't mundane either. Joy Memorial would have been the most logical place for him to go with the extent of his injuries; it was where Santa Scarlata worked, it was where Snow worked. All the people that could have actually saved his life worked there. All the people that could have put them in prison worked there too. Hopefully Atilla would come down from her high by the time they got there.

Atilla was snoring lightly, her head leaning against the window, her body relaxed, a final moment of peace. It looked like they were going to be in good shape.

Gytha jabbed her shoulder. Hard. "We're here."

"Where...?" Atilla asked, rubbing the crust out of her eyes and blinking a few times.

"The hospital."

"Which?"

"JMH." 

The fluorescent lettering was an affront to the skyline. Their brilliant green letters illuminated the sky, painting it a sickly color. Gytha pointed toward the left of the building where another sign, this one glowing a red that beckoned them toward it. It read “Emergency Room”.

"Who are we here to see?"

"The Shine fucked you up that bad?" Gytha asked incredulously.

Atilla shrugged and then yawned. "It's been a while. I told you, I only use recreationally now."

Gytha narrowed her eyes. "That would imply that you're using more often, Atilla."

"Well forgive me for not doing drugs as often as you'd like, you greased-up bimbo cunt." Atilla spat.

"We're going to see Wolf," Gytha said through her teeth. "And if you can keep your shit together for the next few minutes, maybe I'll give you a treat."

"What do I look like, a pet?" Atilla asked.

"Well, maybe I'll 'sex you up' then, huh?"

Atilla blushed and shoved her way towards the sliding doors. "Let's just go see the dog."

For a moment–just a moment–Gytha wanted nothing more than to just leave her. She could get back in the car; she could drive off into the snow. She could live a long and happy life without thinking of Atilla Morningstar ever again. It would be so easy, and the bitch absolutely deserved it. Turn around, she thought. Just turn around and drive.

But then she was already inside, already asking about Wolf at reception. Room 110. ICU. Scarlata. Fuck. A shitty day, about to get worse.

Gytha worried while she walked. The Witch Doctor–for all that she was a ginormous fucking cunt–was more than qualified to keep Wolf happy and healthy, but how long was that liable to last? The Syndicate weren’t going to sit around and wait while his wounds closed, nor were they going to be patient as she hunted down the child she was now apparently responsible for. Another black mark against Atilla. Her Exploit could have found the girl in seconds, but Gytha had seen her like this too many times to take that risk. She’d be stuck mopping up vomit for days.

It didn’t take long to reach the ICU. Room 110 was a shabby little thing, tucked away in a corner of the ward, replete with flickering flights and a general black ambience of you’re not getting better. Nothing but the finest in affordable healthcare. Wolf himself lay half-mummified on the bed, the trunk of his body and both of his arms wrapped in layers of gauze; above him, Scarlata, tending to a patch of raw and exposed chest. Gytha had to admit–albeit very privately–that there was something impressive about the way the sun-browned woman used her Expolit. The siphoning; the cycling; the bags of fresh blood ready to go. The glint of the red when it caught the light. Less impressive was her clear need to squeeze into cheap thigh-high fuck-me boots, fit her microscopic tits into a nearly transparent white top, and prance around in brief white skirts. It was pornographic. It was obscene. Gytha distantly found herself wondering if the woman had even heard of underwear. 

“Who let the stripper in?” she asked, pushing her way into the room.

Scarlata turned her head, slowly. So very slowly. She wore bored irritation like she’d been born to it, which just pissed Gytha off even more. Why the fuck is she taking so long to speak?

"You are Eddie Baumann's friends?" Scarlata said, her voice too soft, too passive. Gytha couldn’t miss the slight edge of accent, though. What was that–Medellín? Rio? "Dios mio."

Gytha stepped toward the bed. Wolf smiled up at her, eyes swimming and cloudy. "Hey there, GT."

"Hey you."

"The Shi— the product?" he asked, gaze flickering between each of the three in turn.

Gytha’s hands burrowed deep into her pockets. "Gone, all of it. The Cockatiel did give us some useful information though. Figured you might wanna hear it," she muttered, before shooting a new set of daggers at Scarlata. "If we could have a little privacy?"

"Quite impossible, I am afraid. Mr. Baumann's fur contained trace amounts of Shine, and the GSA would like to question him when he is fully healed. Until that happens, I am to be his sole caretaker."

Atilla raised an eyebrow and folded her arms. "And why's that?"

Scarlata smiled at her. Tried to, at least. The grimace wouldn’t have looked out of place on a Halloween mask. "Because this man is a criminal. I will bring him to justice."

"A criminal?" Wolf looked almost offended at the term.

Scarlata laid her fingers back on his chest, and it was with a slight edge of queasiness that Gytha noticed how ragged he looked there. How shorn. Had she...shaved him? That was perhaps even more impressive; the man had at least six layers of fur, every one of them thick-grey and lusciously rich. He didn’t seem hurt, at least. Though there was one patch that looked a strange–

That’s a nipple, said Gytha’s brain. Then: I wonder how many more there are.

"I am not a criminal, lady," Wolf said, trying to bring his arms up to brush her off. No avail. They just flopped, weakly and briefly, like fish caught on a string. At least the growl of frustration that followed had some weight to it.

"I know, sweetheart," Scarlata murmured, low and sweet, moving her hand up to caress his cheek. The sweetness didn’t vanish, even as she gripped at a tuft of fur and pulled. "But the evidence does not lie. And if you try to again, you will be here much longer. I will make sure of it."

"Hey, Whorelata, this is kind of an 'A' and 'B' conversation, could you maybe 'C' your way out of it?" Atilla said, kicking open the door.

"I already said—" 

"Don't make me turn you into an example." said Gytha.

"I will not be leaving this room."

In that moment, Gytha wanted nothing more than to rip out the woman’s throat. "Fine," she growled, eventually, instinct buried beneath better judgement. “But if you try to eavesdrop I will sell your skin.”

Scarlata just rolled her eyes. Gytha grabbed a plastic chair with both hands and dropped into it, the legs skittering on the floor as she brought it to the bedside. Wolf looked even worse this close up. She saw scabbing around his muzzle; purpling bruises that dotted the temple. Overclock hadn’t even thought about holding back. Gytha may not have been known for her surfeit of care, but she took care now as she leant in to whisper. Wolf’s eyes widened in shock.

"You're sure it's all six of them? They're still alive?" he asked.

Gytha and Atilla nodded in sync before Atilla spoke. "That's what the bird told us."

Atilla’s memory was coming back. Good. That was one breath Gytha could stop holding. "We still don't know where Chimera is,” she said. “And now there's a little girl we have to find as well, for an extra reward."

"A little girl?" Scarlata interjected.

Gytha ignored her, flashing the pile of cash. "This is half, and we’re looking at a bonus if we get her back to her dad tonight."

"I am sorry, but a little girl is missing? And you expect Eddie Baumann, a known criminal, to help you?" Her lips were flattened now; a dark, tight, and careful line.

"I am not a criminal, lady." Wolf repeated.

"Oh, darling..." Scarlata said.

Gytha expected her to be vicious. But…no. Two fingers just smoothed over Wolf’s forehead with a butterfly kind of grace, and his body immediately went limp as some hidden switch clicked down to OFF. The bed sagged, just a little. The room seemed smaller without his warmth. Not that Scarlata was helping there. The instant he was out, she was back to her smiles, back to the brittle venom frothing behind them.

"I will be alerting the authorities immediately." 

"Won’t be necessary. We already found her." said Gytha. Scarlata was probably dumb enough to buy the lie.

The woman’s eyes narrowed into slits. "Where is she?"

"In a secure location I have no legal obligation to tell you about," Gytha said, folding her arms. "She’ll be home–safe and sound–by sundown."

Scarlata scoffed, her smile never faltering. "Well then, I guess you had best be on your way."

Gytha couldn’t resist a snarl. Gytha, who was well aware of what exactly would happen if she gave into her desire to punt the woman out a window, just bared her teeth, bade a soft farewell to Wolf’s sleeping form, and dragged Atilla bodily out of the room. The girl, flustered, slapped Gytha's arms. Her indignations went ignored.

The sun had begun to set by the time they finally made it back to the car. Already a line of purple smudged the horizon, and the great bradford pears that ringed the hospital grounds threw equally great shadows onto the Corolla’s interior. Silence reigned for a minute, before Atilla took to fiddling with the radio. A bass line thumped in Gytha’s bones. Anodyne Exploit funk; talentless trash brought back from the future.

Very quietly, Gytha handed over the picture of the girl.

“My Exploit…” Atilla began to protest. “Gytha, I can’t—”

"Find her," Gytha said.

For a moment, nothing seemed to happen. Just silence and thinned lips. Then Gytha saw the tell-tale signs; the colour leaching from Atilla’s skin as if she were rendered in monochrome; the black of her eyes blooming to a wide rim. She had always wondered what it was like. Even among Exploiters, astral projection was a rare talent, and from what she had gathered, no two ever saw The Planes in the same way. Atilla once told her that she saw a storm-bound ocean, glimmering beneath the surface with one thousand million pinpricks of light. Nothing like that for Gytha Chin. She placed both hands on the wheel, and she began to drive. 

It didn’t take long for the anxiety to kick in. Gytha had never coped well without a clear destination in mind, nor had she ever been a fan of the dreadful sit, the interminable wait. But she sat now, and she waited now, as the tires ate tar and the streetlamps flickered into sodium. Burning glass, they called it. Burning the glass, and burning the past.

Eventually, light rocked her out of reverie. Just past the next turn, a little down Glass Street, a low-roofed bungalow was swarming with GSA. They had brought floodlamps, they had brought cordons. They had brought seven…no, eight agents, all buzzing around like agitated flies. Someone was up to their neck in it. The government never put in this much effort unless it was bad.

Gytha rolled to a stop across the road. The harsh machine glare scrubbed out most detail, but still she could see the door, and the slight glint of lettering upon it. Seven-zero…five? There was a name too, scrawled just below, but Gytha failed to make out more than the o’s. Maybe a p, with enough strain. She reached across Atilla, and began to crack the window.

On most days, she would make a mockery of GSA incompetence. Basic operational security would demand that you not stand around in the street chatting right next to a potential civvy car; basic common sense would demand the same. And yet, two of them, dicks in hands, barely a metre away. The window came down a little more.

"There's no trace of her," said one of the agents, tall and dark. "Let's just call this what it is, Cici."

The other, a woman, shorter and darker, almost blending in with the night: "Are you stupid or just evil? Because I'm really starting to wonder." 

Tall and dark did not respond to this, nor did he respond to the irritated huff his partner let out. From his breast pocket he drew a cigarette. With a snap of the fingers he lit it. Gytha wasn’t quite sure why she was taken aback. Of course the GSA would have Exploiters on payroll; anything else risked them running around and causing all sorts of trouble.

The woman folded her arms. "I really wish you'd stop that shit, Nagid. It's bad for you."

"The day the Organization stops paying me so well is the day I quit smoking,” he said, with a heavy shrug. “Do you want to call this or not, Cecilia?"

Cici’s lip curled. "If the Harvest is back, and the girl is missing..." 

"Yeah?"

"Fuck. Call it. And…get a hold of Mark Lambert. Tell him we're bringing up the timeline and he needs to make a decision now."

Nagid smiled, pearl white against the dark. "That,” he said. “Is exactly what I wanted to hear.”

And then they were gone, and Gytha was alone in the silence. Her palms prickled. Air wrinkled in her throat. The Harvest…her brain stuck on the words, a fly trapped in amber. The Harvest is back. Something like bile churned below.

It was Atilla who saved her, funnily enough. The sudden rush of consciousness, the gasp, the coughing fit. Atilla doubled over, sick in the footwell. It was all enough to bury the panic. And the way Atilla looked at her–eyes glossed, hands shaking, the obvious urge to gnaw at the corner of her lip–that brought her back in full. She was Gytha fucking Chin, and Gytha Chin did not break down.

"Anything?" she asked.

"I know where she is," Atilla said, her voice low and panting. "What do you know about a man named Jacob Gheller?"