Valiant

[Valiant #37: The Types of Loyalty]

Log Date: 12/12/12764

Data Sources: Feroce Acceso

Event Log: Rewind: 17 years ago

Kasvei: Epperson Institute

“You are being used, 5377.”

The words are crisp and clean, and in particular, they are cold. Not chilly, but cold. Not the kind of cold meant to injure, but the kind of cold that is straightforward and bereft of sentimentality; a statement of the facts of a situation.

Songbird, standing in the cool shadows of the institute’s upper levels, does not respond, though he has very obviously heard Kaiser’s words. Instead, he stares through the glass facade of the building’s front, staring down into the plaza where fires burn and craters litter the stone. There, Nova is doing the rounds with thankful locals after the Challengers brought down yet another scientist gone rogue.

“She will continue using you.” One might mistake it for misogyny, if not for the icy factuality employed; like a cybersurgeon delivering a terminal diagnosis, or an engineer making an assessment of a damaged piece of equipment. As if Songbird was no more than a compromised component in a larger machine, a cog that might, at some point, need to be replaced if it could not be salvaged. “I say it not as an indictment of your character or intelligence, although I doubt the latter at times, and especially where it pertains to 5371.”

“Your concern is touching.” Sarcasm hidden beneath the flat tone, and one might detect a certain disdain in Songbird’s refusal to look at Kaiser.

The head of Accounting, standing beside Songbird at the window, finishes tugging his silken gloves back on. “My only concern is for the integrity and performance of my department.”

“And you believe my attachment to Nova is a threat to that.”

“I believe she is using you, and you know it too. But she knows that you know, and because you have allowed her to do so all these years, she assumes, rightly so, that she can continue doing so without any expense to herself, and free of consequence from you. You are merely a tool to her, 5377, and you have been a tool for so long that you have become numb to it.”

“You say that as if you do not regard me in the same way. As a tool, a means to an end.”

“You are a tool, 5377. One of many employed by Accounting.” Kaiser says, adjusting his spectacles before turning his head to the young Challenger with a certain mechanical stiffness. “But I am honest about it, and have no compunctions about saying it to your face. You can trust that once you have run out your utility to the department, we will dispose of you in a manner appropriate for the service you have rendered to that point. Can you expect the same candor from 5371?”

Songbird glances at Kaiser, and only bears a moment of the man’s cold, dead eyes before he returns his gaze back to the window. Watching as Nova continues working her way through the crowd, accepting their fawning adulations with the practiced humility of someone that’s done this many times before. Shaking hands, giving hugs, signing autographs, smiling generously — and the whole time arrayed in her Dark Star regalia, giving off a numinous aura of pink and black light. It is not lost on either Songbird or Kaiser that she is a natural at this — a so-called symbol of hope and virtue for the masses.

“How many people down there owe their lives to you, 5377?” Kaiser asks, likewise watching Nova’s progress through the throng. “How many of them would’ve been collateral damage of Nova’s recklessness, her imprecision and carelessness? How often have you and others kept her intemperance and wild attacks from destroying the very people she was sent to protect and defend? And yet who receives the credit for those saved lives? Certainly not the ones that saved them.”

Songbird’s brow hardens beneath his mop of crimson hair. “You are trying to turn me against her.” And it is clear, from his tone, that he does not appreciate it.

“Yes, 5377, I am.” Kaiser states with no apparent enthusiasm or irritation. “And not out of any misplaced sentiment for your emotional welfare, although the department’s psychologist has assured me that 5371 is very much keeping you a hostage to her whims. I am trying to turn you against her because 5371 is not loyal to the program, and I suspect that you are fully aware of this.”

“Loyalty is not required to do good in the galaxy.” Songbird’s reply is without hesitation, as if he had foreseen this argument.

“No, it is not. But loyalty, or the absence thereof, tells us much about an individual.” Kaiser says, folding his arms behind his back. “There are four types of loyalty, 5377. There is loyalty to ideal — to a certain set of beliefs or principles. There is loyalty to the group identity — a nation, a company, an organization, a family. There is loyalty to the individual — to a person, be it a close friend or a lover. And there is loyalty to self — attending to one’s own needs and desires.”

Songbird does not reply, but in that silence, Kaiser seems to know that he has the young Challenger’s attention, and continues on.

“In the Accounting department, we have a vested interest in the measurement of loyalty, as it affects several dimensions of our work. It is a measurement we use to determine how dedicated people are to maintaining their secrets when under duress. A measurement we use to see whether we can entice certain targets to disclose intel or change their allegiance. It is a measurement we use to determine how committed people are to an organization or a cause, and whether we can dissuade them from it, or if we have to destroy them outright. And finally, it is a measurement we use to assess our own people. To determine whether we can rely on them when we need them, or if they are a liability to the program and the ideals it professes to embody.”

Songbird’s eyes flit towards Kaiser, but otherwise he does not move.

“The department’s assessment is that you are primarily governed by two of the four types of loyalty, specifically loyalty to ideal — you believe in what the program stands for, more than the actual program structure itself — and loyalty to an individual, which requires no explanation.” Kaiser says, lifting an arm to check a message streaming over the sleeve of his black coat, then dismissing it. “Just as we have assessed you, we have assessed every other codenamed Challenger in the program. Some we have concerns about; others, we know will be loyal to the end; and many fall somewhere in between. I would give you our assessment of 5371, but I suspect you already know it, and it is something that you have known long before you ever came to Accounting.”

The discomfort in the room is palpable. Songbird says nothing, even though his silence says more than words ever could; the way he watches through the window as Nova winds her way through the adoring masses, soaking up their adulation and admiration. The purest distillation of hero worship, which carried an intoxicating power and influence all unto itself. And it is against this unsettling vista that Kaiser drives his point home.

“Out of the four types of loyalty, 5371 has only one of them — and you know which one it is, and have known it far longer than the rest of us.”

Event Log: Feroce Acceso

Kasvei: Selbaredo

4:06pm SGT

“Songbird?”

I draw a breath, straightening up a little in my seat. We’re on one of the public monorails running through one of Kasvei’s largest cities, on our way to go meet a batch of recruits that applied to join the Valiant. This monorail car is mostly filled with our people — Valiant staff that are tagging along for the meeting and onboarding. I’d been staring out the window, thinking back to the last time that I’d visited this world, lost in those memories.

But apparently Ridge, who’s sitting across from me, needs something. “Yeah?” I ask, turning away from the window to face towards him. “What’s up?”

“Are we going to be doing dinner here, or…?” he asks, his leg bouncing up and down nervously. Unlike the rest of us, he’s not dressed in one of the Agent uniforms or the Special Agent jacket, since he’s not eighteen yet.

“Seriously? We had lunch three hours ago, dude.” Renchiko says beside him. “How can you pack away that much food?”

“You’re both young adults, with appetites to match.” Valkyrie says. “And boys tend to have larger appetites than girls. Nothing unusual about that.”

“I’m not sure. It’ll probably depend on how long it takes.” I reply to Ridge. “If it runs later into the night, we may hit up a fast-food restaurant on our way back to the orbital starport.”

A wrapped granola bar is suddenly introduced into our conversation, and Ridge and I both look up to see Quincy leaning over from the straps hanging from the ceiling of the cabin. “I always bring a snack to eat, just in case.” he says.

Ridge smiles, taking the granola bar. “Thanks.”

“Funny, I do the same thing.” Kiwi quips, wrapping her arms around my neck and leaning on me a bit from where she’s seated beside me.

“You do?” I say, glancing at her.

“She’s talking about you, genius.” Sierra says from where she’s leaned back against the wall of the cabin, her arms folded. “You’re the snack.”

“Oh!” I say as it suddenly clicks, and if I could blush, I probably would. “Right. Of course. I knew that.”

Sierra rolls her eye. “Sure. I, on the other hand, actually bring a snack with me whenever I go places.” She reaches out to Luci, who’s on his phone, and ruffles his hair. Startled, he looks up and grins, his tail lashing back and forth a little. “Tasty little thing. Nothing like a little Schrödinger blood to put some pep in your step. If Luci will let you, you should try it sometime, Songbird.”

“I think I’ll pass.” I say almost immediately. “I’m okay with bottled blood. Not really a live sacrament kind of guy, personally.”

“Pah. You’re no fun.” Sierra scoffs. “On that note, do you need any blood? There’s not a lot of vampires on this world, but they’ve still got a bloodbank here in Selbaredo. Might as well pick up a couple bottles while we’re here, if you need it.”

“Yeah. Yeah, that’d be nice, if you could.” I say, faintly embarrassed that this conversation is happening in front of others. “Just the basic stuff. I don’t need anything fancy.”

Despite how short the exchange was, it seems like it’s gotten Valkyrie’s attention. “You don’t have to go through her to access the bloodbank, Songbird.” she says. “If you’re just getting the basics at the bloodbank, the Valiant will pay for that, just like they’ll pay for food for any other employee.”

“And that’s where you’re wrong, doctor.” Sierra says, digging around in her jacket for something. “He does have to go through me, because he’s an Orphan. Orphans don’t get discounts at the bloodbanks. I buy for him because I belong to one of the Families, and it’s cheaper when I buy it.”

“Ah. Yes, that makes a big difference.” Valkyrie concedes.

“Would it be possible for one of the Families to adopt him?” Renchiko asks. “Like, I know it probably won’t happen, with our status right now, but if things changed, and the Valiant became a big name, famous and stuff. One of the Families might be interested in adopting him if he becomes a big name, right?”

“That isn’t gonna happen.” Sierra says, pulling a card out of her jacket and handing it Luci, who pockets it. “We’ve been doing image rehabilitation for him, but Songbird’s still the guy that killed Nova. The Families don’t want to touch something like that with a thirty-foot pole; it’d be toxic to the brand. Each Family wants to protect its image above all else. It’s why they don’t adopt high-profile Orphans unless they’ve got some major clout.”

“And on the rare occasion that they do, they try to capitalize on it.” I mutter. “They put on a big show, acting like it’s some sort of charitable gesture, as if they haven’t spent the past several decades ignoring a vampire that got so popular they literally couldn’t ignore them anymore.”

“Sounds like a pretty shitty system, if you ask me.” Quincy remarks.

“Most of the system’s fine; it’s set up the way it is for a reason, and I get that.” I puff. “The people that administer it, on the other hand… adoption should be something that’s available for Orphans that are willing to work towards it. Not just Orphans that happened to make it big enough that the Families want to bring them under their control.” I wave a hand. “But all of this is moot; like Sierra said, no one’s ever going to offer to adopt me. I’m too much baggage for any of the Families, even if I did become popular through some miracle. No point in throwing around hypotheticals for something that’ll never happen.”

“That’s fine. We like you just the way you are, Orphan or not.” Kiwi says, giving a little squeeze with the arms she’s got wrapped around my neck. “It’s just words and names and titles anyhow. You’re still the same person, no matter what they choose to call you.”

“Thanks.” I say, gently bumping my head against hers. “Anyhow, let’s focus on something more relevant. I heard we’re supposed to be picking up some general recruits here, and then we had a couple of special recruits?”

“Damn straight.” Sierra says, blowing a bubble with her gum, then popping it. “One of them’s a real scoop — it’s this world’s top crimefighter, Jetfire Justice.”

Kiwi raises an eyebrow. “Are we supposed to recognize that name or something?”

“He’s not a big deal on the galactic stage, but he’s a big deal here on Kasvei.” Valkyrie explains. “Seasoned crimefighter in his prime, has several years of experience under his belt, and he’ll be bringing his own gear to the job. As far as public relations go, he’s a good boost for the Valiant’s image — his recruitment is the sort of thing that’ll lend legitimacy to our organization.”

“That’s good.” I say. “How did our recruiters manage a catch like that?”

“He came to us, actually.” Sierra says. “Heard we were recruiting and wanted to join up. Apparently he wants to take his crimefighting crusade galactic, and the Valiant were the best option for him to do that.”

“Wait, is this him?” Ridge says, staring at his phone. “Holy shit, man. He’s legit.”

“What’s he look like?” Renchiko, leaning forward to stare at Ridge’s phone. “Goddamn, how tall is he?”

Quincy leans down to take a look at Ridge’s phone. “He’s a wolf Halfie, so probably pretty tall. Definitely over six feet, maybe seven. That’s some slick gear he’s packin’.”

“Alright, now you all got me curious.” Kiwi says, holding her hand out for the phone. “Let’s see this bigshot that’ll be joining the team.”

Ridge doesn’t hand over his phone, but he does turn it so we can see the picture that he’s looked up on the galaxynet. It’s a picture of a tall, ruggedly handsome and well-built wolf Halfie, kitted out in some sort of silver armor that’s got vents all over it, like you might see on the barrel of plasma rifle — the sort of thing that’s used for channeling exhaust, or for heat dissipation. It does look like he’s at least seven feet tall, and built like brick wall — beneath the warm brown pelt and silver armor, the dude is all muscle.

“Goddamn.” I blurt out. “He’s packin’.”

“I know, right?” Ridge says, flipping the phone back around. “He’s huge!”

I immediately look in Sierra’s direction. “Don’t.” I warn her.

She just grins. “It would’ve been too easy.”

“We’ll be picking up the general recruits at the local convention center, but for Jetfire, he’s giving a farewell address near the city hall.” Valkyrie says. “That’s where we’ll be meeting him — we’ll be picking him up after he’s said goodbye to Kasvei. It’s going to be a televised event; we’ll be waiting backstage for him when he’s done. We’ll head back to the starport after that, so we can get on with the next leg of our trip.”

“Personally, I thought we should stay and do a little more sightseeing while we’re here, but the fun police put the nix on that.” Sierra says, scrolling through her phone. “Real pity. Protectorate planets are always a nice change of pace.”

“We are making this visit quick because we have work to do.” Valkyrie counters sharply. “We literally cannot afford loitering on this planet when we have a fully crewed frigate waiting in orbit with an eye-watering daily operating cost. The less time the Narcusa spends idle, the better.”

“Like I said, the fun police.” Sierra reiterates. “That’s okay, we’ll have a chance to unwind at our next stop. We’ll be headed back to Chaitokoma for one of Drill’s business conferences, and the estate on Hale’ohe is to die for.”

“I wouldn’t get my hopes up. We won’t be there for long either.”

“Uuuuuggghhhh, the fun police strike again…”

Event Log: Feroce Acceso

Kasvei: Selbaredo

6:43pm SGT

“Goddamn, this guy can pull a crowd.” Kiwi says, leaning back from one of the curtains on the outdoor stage that’s been set up. We’re all backstage, keeping out of the way of the event staff, while our special recruit is giving his farewell address to the colossal crowd that’s gathered for his departure. The whole affair is taking place on the greenspace outside the city hall, and it’s absolutely packed with all manner of Halfies that must clearly be his fans. “I knew he was popular on this world, but there’s gotta be… I dunno, a hundred thousand people out there. You’d think we were at a rock concert, not a farewell address.”

“Good news for us, I suppose.” I say from where I’m leaned back against one of the support girders. “He’s gotta have some sort of charisma to pull those kinds of numbers.”

“Hope he’ll actually be good for something in combat. The way Valkyrie was talking about him, it sounded like we netted him to use his prestige to burnish our image.” Kiwi says, returning to the girder I’m at and leaning back against it, folding her arms. “Would suck if he turned out to be all talk and no action.”

“I’m sure he’ll have a skillset we can use.” I say, watching some of the backstage techs adjust lighting from up in the rafters. “What we really need out of all these new recruits is loyalty. Belief in our mission, and what the Valiant stand for. Skills can always be taught or acquired later; I’d prefer to have recruits that are unskilled and loyal, rather than recruits that are skilled but don’t care about our mission.”

“Well. Nobody said recruits couldn’t be skilled and loyal.” Kiwi points out. “How much longer are we going to keep doing this, for that matter?”

“Doing what?” I ask, glancing at her.

“Recruiting people. We’ve been doing that for like… a whole year now.” Kiwi says, making a vague waving motion. “At first it was just tracking down all the old Challengers we could find, but a good chunk of the Dussel mercs stayed on with us after Dussel died. So we’ve got them for our rank-and-file, but we’re still out here recruiting. I figured we’d be doing more missions and fighting by this point.”

I shrug. “We’ll probably be doing it until we’ve got enough personnel to deploy to multiple missions at a time. Back in the day, the Challengers had enough staff across the three Bastions to be running close to forty or fifty missions simultaneously. Responding to crisis sites, undertaking preventative actions, deploying to ongoing conflict zones… and that’s not even taking Accounting into consideration. Right now, for the Valiant, I think our limit is like… maybe running three missions at once. Jackrabbit and her team are deployed on the Accatria, our group here is deployed with the Narcusa, and if we really needed to, we could probably field another team with one of the ships and the personnel we’ve still got at Sunthorn.”

Kiwi puffs, scuffing the sole of her boot against the stage restlessly. “Makes sense, I guess. Suppose I’m just accustomed to more frequent missions than this. The Council always kept me busy when I was a Mask Knight.”

“Well, you worked for a government, which has basically bottomless funding in the form of taxes, and extensive resources in terms of personnel and ships.” I point out. “As much as I wish the Valiant had access to those kinds of resources, we just don’t. Which is why we have to do a lot of our own footwork. Funding, recruiting, building relationships and reputations… we’ve got to work to get that all built up, and then work to maintain it.”

Kiwi scrunches up her face. “That sounds boring and grueling.”

I chuckle. “Administrative work usually is.”

“Well, never make me the Administrator. I’d be wasted in a job like that.” she says, grinding the heel of her boot against the stage. “I’d rather be out in the field where I can kick ass and take names. At least out there, I can actually tell I’m making a difference.”

“Understandable, yeah.” I agree, watching as one of the techs walks past us with a data slate in hand, grumbling into his headset. “Being out in the field is hard and it’s dangerous, but it’s rewarding when you can see the people you’re helping or protecting. Makes it worth it, in my opinion.”

She smirks sideways at me. “That’s why you do it? To see the people you’re protecting?”

I shrug. “Well, sort of. To be out there, y’know? To be there for people. To let them know that someone’s there for them, someone will stand up for them when they can’t protect themselves.” I glance at her. “Do you have a different reason?”

She nods, smiling. “That’s the difference between us. I’m out there to put people back in their place. To give ‘em what’s coming to ‘em. There’s a lot of bad people out there what need a good, quality ass-kicking, and I’m the girl for the job.” She puffs one of her locks of hair out of her face as she looks at me. “That’s the difference. You’re a guardian angel. I’m an avenging angel.”

I’m quiet for a moment as I consider that. What I know of myself, and what I know of her, and what’s important to each of us. “You’re not wrong, I suppose.” I admit, folding my hands behind my back to cushion it against the metal girder. “Do you crave the action? The combat?”

“I don’t crave it, but there’s this thrill, this rush you get when you’re doing it, y’know?” Kiwi says, tilting her head to one side. “There’s something that’s just so satisfying about beating down someone that deserves it. Making them pay for the things they’ve done, the lives they’ve ruined. I figure that’s why our crimefighter friend out there does what he does. It’s the primal administration of justice. Of karma, if you will. You feel like you’re making things right, balancing the cosmic scales.”

“Perhaps. But it sounds addictive, and I know people that have taken it too far.” I say, glancing back towards the front stage. “There’s a fine line with that sort of stuff. It’s easy to turn into the problem you were trying to solve.”

“You callin’ me a problem?” she teases, leaning towards me.

“You’re a very specific kind of problem.” I say, freeing a hand so I can tuck it under her chin and tilt her head up at me. “One that most people are not equipped to handle.”

She grins. “I’m a problem you love solving.”

I quirk my mouth at that. “Oh, you love getting solved, alright…”

She slips her jaw from my grip, catching a couple of my fingers between her teeth and biting gently. “Maybe you could solve me once we get back to the ship tonight.” she murmurs, then pushes off the girder we’re leaned against. “For now though, I’ve gotta hit the bathroom. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

I chuckle as she heads for the stage’s back edge. “Don’t fall in.”

She waves me off, and watch her leave until she jumps off the edge of the stage. Returning my attention to the rest of the stage, I idly listen to the booming tones of Jetfire’s farewell speech, filtered through the hum of loudspeakers, and gradually tune it out as I check my phone to see if there’s any messages from the other Agents. From what I can see on the group thread, the normal recruits are on their way to the earthbound starport, and once we’ve collected Jetfire, we’ll be joining them so we can catch our ride back up to the orbital starport, and back to the Accatria from there.

“Are you ready?”

The sudden voice startles me, and I look up to see there’s a feline Halfie with seal point coloration standing in front of me, staring intently at me. “I— uh. What?” I stutter, caught off guard.

“You’re Songbird, right? The big bad wolf that CURSE keeps pissing their pants over?” she says, clipping her stylus back to her data slate.

“I, um. Yes?” I’m not accustomed to people so nonchalant about it.

“Well let’s get going, buster. We just got the cue; you’re up in sixty seconds.” she says, snagging my arm and starting to pull me across the backstage.

“I’m— I’m, excuse me, what?” I stammer as I stagger along behind her, trying not to walk into her tail.

“You’re not as tall as I was expecting, but most humans and elves and whatnot are shorter than Halfies. Still, you’re going to look positively tiny next to JJ, I think he’s got a full foot on you, and then some.” she says as she pulls me along towards the center of the stage, and the folds in the curtains that lead out to the front of the stage. As we reach the edge of the curtains, she turns and looks me over, tucking her data slate under her arm so she can grab my jacket, straighten it up, pop the collar a bit, and fluff my hair up a little. “I think you clean up nicely, but honestly, it’s hard to tell. I don’t know a lot of humans, so I’ve got no idea what they’re supposed to find attractive. Your uniform’s great, though. Lovin’ the jacket with the hardlight cutouts; that is a popping piece of fashion, that right there.”

“Uh… thank you?” I say, bewildered.

“Don’t thank me; thank your tailor, whoever they are.” she says, reaching up to flip the mic on her headset down, speaking into it. “Alright, how are we looking? Good to go? Yeah? Ten seconds? I’ll start walkin’ him, then.”

With that, she walks around behind me, planting a hand on my upper back and starting to push me towards the stage. I lean back on instinct, the hairs on the back of my neck rising. “Whoa, wait, what? What are you doing? What’s going on?”

“You’re going on stage, buddy!” she says, the pressure from behind growing as she starts to slide me towards the gap in the curtains. “JJ’s got to explain to the rest of the world why he’s signing up with the Valiant!”

“Uh— oh-okay, but, uh, why do I need to be onstage for that?”

“Because you’re the one that inspired him to do it, you knucklehead!”

“Wait, I did WHAT?”

“There’s his cue! C’mon, gogogogogogo!”

With that, she shoves me through the gap in the curtains and out onto the front stage, where I’m greeted by a wide-open vista. In the center of the stage is a podium, which Jetfire is standing at; he’s turned to extend an arm towards me at the same time that I’ve been shoved out onto the stage. Brilliant lights glow along the front and top of the stage’s overhang, and beyond the stage is Selbaredo’s public park — with most of the greenery hidden from view because it’s absolutely packed with a sea of Halfies of every subspecies, from avians to canines to felines to vulpines to murines to reptiles. Hovering above the crowd are news drones, broadcasting the event for god-knows-how-many news stations.

For a moment my vision shrinks, and everything gets a little faint as the beginnings of a panic attack start to steal the feeling from the tips of my fingers.

Sound breaks through the ringing in my ears, and I realize that the backstage manager is hissing at me to get up there with Jetfire. I feel myself jerk forward on autopilot, walking towards the podium, as Jetfire’s voice is amplified through the loudspeakers.

“Now, I would like to introduce all of you to someone that most of you already know. This is Songbird, of the Valiant. Fifteen years ago, he was a galactic pariah.” As I near the podium, he claps his heavy, strong hand on my shoulder, pulling me forward to stand in the spotlight with him. “And in the time since, this young man has changed his ways. He has become a different person. He has saved lives. And if he could make such a difference, even with the past he has, then why couldn’t I do just as much, and perhaps more?”

I’m hearing all the words, and they’re getting stored in my head somewhere, but I’m struggling to process them right now. All I can see are the bright lights, and the gleaming lenses of the news drones, and hundreds of thousand of eyes staring hungrily and judgmentally at me. Every photo flash, every holocam strobe, takes me back to the damage control press conferences of sixteen years ago. The tingling numbness in the tips of my fingers is starting to spread up into my hands, all the sound feeling fuzzy in my head. I know there’s something important happening, but there’s only one thought pounding in my brain, trying to keep it from shutting down.

This is the wrong you. They’ll like the other you better.

“This young man has stood up and protected Masklings. He has dived headfirst into the jaws of assimilation itself and rescued innocents from the fall of Mokasha.” Jetfire declares, squeezing my shoulder as he speaks to the assembled crowd. “And if a man with such history as his can exhibit such bravery, such courage, such selflessness, then I ask you: why can’t we do the same? It’s a question I asked myself, that haunted me, until I found my answer. And it’s the same question I ask all of you now: if the most despised among us could rise up and choose to do good, how much more good could each of us do? No matter our history, can we not choose to be loyal to ourselves, to the person we could be, if only we tried?”

The audio fuzz in my head is starting to transform into an electric hum, threatening to drown out other noises again. I can feel it inside me, trying to claw out of the closet it had been forced into a few years ago when CURSE finally caught up with me.

Do it. Change. Become the other you.

“The hell is this? What’s going on here?”

Kiwi’s voice breaks through the hum, and all my senses come back into sharp focus. With his hand still on my shoulder, I can feel Jetfire turn to look over his shoulder, and I’m suddenly aware of him — before, he had just been this vague blur, this indistinct shape smudged out by my barely-contained panic. Now I realize I’m standing beside a towering wolf Halfie that’s built like a goddamn statue. Kiwi is striding across the stage, while the stage manager scrambles back to her feet behind the curtains — apparently Kiwi had plowed right through her on her way to me.

“Well, this was unscheduled.” Jetfire remarks. “And who are you?”

“I’M his girlfriend!” she declares indignantly, well within range of the podium’s mic as she grabs my arm.

Jetfire’s eyes widen, and he gasps, something which is echoed by the hundred thousand Halfies in the crowd as the declaration is broadcast to the entire park. And probably the rest of the planet.

“A girlfriend! A partner! A lover!” he repeats with dramatic incredulity. “Then you must be the one that brought this young man back to the light!”

Kiwi’s face contorts and twists up until she can’t hold back the derisive bark of laughter that fights its way out of her. “That’s cute.” she snorts. “I am not the better half of this pair, trust me on that. Now, if you don’t mind, I am taking this,” She gives me a tug, starting to walk me back towards the curtains. “and we are heading backstage. You are welcome to join us once you’re done with your big fancy speech.”

Without further ado, Kiwi leads me back through the curtains and into the comforting dimness of the backstage. I follow on autopilot, my mind still reeling with the looming threat of being shoved in front of the eyes of an entire planet. Guiding me all the way to the back of the stage and away from others, Kiwi turns to me, taking me by the shoulders. “Are you okay? You’ve got this thousand-mile stare going—”

I suddenly gasp as it all comes crashing through, reaching up to snag my fingers on Kiwi’s arms as I start hyperventilating, hunching forward a little. It’s all suddenly clicking, realizing I was shoved onto stage in front of thousands, if not millions, of watching eyes. Used, like some kind of rhetorical or demonstrative prop, to drive home a point. Treated like a thing to be paraded around in front of the cameras, similar to the way I’d been scapegoated sixteen years ago.

“Whoa, whoa whoa whoa, hey.” Kiwi says, quickly and softly. “I’m here. I gotchu. What happened?”

I work on slowing down my breathing, trying to get it under control, trying to remind myself that vampires don’t need to breathe and this is just a panic response. “I… I… they walked me out on stage… after you left. Didn’t… realize what they were doing… until they shoved me out there…” I pant, hanging my head down and closing my eyes as my breathing starts to slow. The tips of my fingers are still numb, tingling and buzzing like my brain doesn’t know what signals to send to those extremities.

“Good grief, I leave for five minutes and come back to find they’re trying feed you into the meat grinder of the media machine.” she mutters. “I heard him monologuing on my way back. Dude’s a useful idiot that doesn’t know a backhanded compliment when he’s giving it. Are you okay? Your hands are shaking…”

“I just… I wasn’t ready for that.” I breathe, letting go of her arms and wrapping mine around myself, hunching my shoulders. “Would’ve been fine if. I had some time to prepare. If I’d known it was coming.”

“Are you okay now?” Kiwi asks, rubbing my shoulders.

“Yeah. Yeah. I just need a few minutes.” I exhale, trying to recompose myself. “It’s just— everybody— there were news drones, a whole world staring at me—”

“Yeah, that’ll give anyone the shakes.” she says, leading me to the back edge of the stage. “C’mon, let’s sit down for a bit. Just take a few breaths, let it out.”

I let her lead me to the stage’s edge, sitting down and leaning heavily on my knees, getting my breathing under control as she sits beside me. After a couple minutes, I shake my head. “I’m sorry. This must look pathetic. Throw me at CURSE and I can kick their asses up and down the block all day, but shove me in front of cameras and I turn into a stuttering mess…”

“You just needed time to prepare, and you weren’t given that.” Kiwi says. “If they’d given you some heads up, I’m sure you would’ve been fine. I plan on giving Jetfire Jerkface a piece of my mind once he’s done boring everyone to death up there…”

I shake my head again. “No, I… I need to learn to handle this sort of stuff. Need to… get around the trauma and adapt to it. Because if the Valiant have any staying power, this is gonna happen again. People are going to want interviews; we’ll get invited onto talk shows and broadcast programs. Hell, any random civvie could pull out a phone and start recording while asking me questions. I have to learn how to deal with this. Because it’s gonna happen again in the future, sooner or later.”

“Maybe we can get someone that can coach you on media encounters.” she suggests. “They do that for Mask Knights that are going to have a lot of public exposure. I could see if Forecast has anyone he’d recommend.”

“I know how to handle myself with the media, there’s just… trauma up here that’s hard to get around.” I say, making a vague motion to my head. “Honestly, I probably need a therapist more than I need an interview coach, but we don’t exactly have one of those just hanging around.”

“Well, good news is that you’re not scheduled for any media appearances anytime soon.” she says. “We’ll wrap this up, grab Jetfire, head back to the Accatria, and we can relax until we arrive at Hale’ohe. No one will be shoving you in front of an entire world anytime soon, and if anyone tries, I’ll have ‘em by the collar before they can follow through on it.”

“Thanks.” I say, tangling my fingers together and staring down at them. “This is on me, though. I need to be stronger. I need to be able to handle this, because it won’t be going away anytime soon.”

After a moment, she hooks an arm around my neck and uses it to lean me over to her, nuzzling her face into my hair. “Even I know that you can’t be strong enough to handle everything. You’ll crack eventually.”

I allow myself a small smile. “That’s unusually… compassionate of you.”

“I can be soft when I want to be.”

“I like it.”

“Don’t get used to it. I can’t have the other Masklings thinking I’m a good shoulder to cry on.”

“Of course not. Our secret.”

“Our secret, yes. You get the version of Kiwi no one else gets to see.”

“Well, I like her, for what it’s worth.”

“Good.”

Event Log: Feroce Acceso

Kasvei Orbital Starport: Terminal 33

12/13/12764 11:31am SGT

“Another pallet? Seriously?” I say, watching as Ridge, Renchiko, and the other rookies push another pallet jack loaded with boxes towards the entrance of the Narcusa’s cargo bay. “How much… what is even in these boxes? How can one person own so much?”

“Dude, don’t ask me.” Ridge groans. “Back when I was in the orphanage, everything I owned fit into a single suitcase. I don’t understand how this guy has eight pallets of belongings.”

“Some of it has to be gear, some of it’s gotta be clothes, but I have no idea what the rest of it is.” Renchiko grunts, bearing her shoulder against the back of the stack of boxes, pushing from behind as Ridge pulls from the front, while a couple other recruits support the sides.

“Well, he is a celebrity crimefighter.” Tarocco says from beside the entrance to the cargo bay, tapping at her data slate. “Maybe it’s equipment, or tools for modifying his gear. Trophies from his career, if he’s the type to do that. Also, there’s at least three more pallets left, according to the manifest.”

There’s a unified groan from the rookies at that. “You mean we have to do this three more times?” Ridge grumbles.

“These pallets ain’t gonna move themselves.” Tarocco says as they get the current one over the cargo bay’s threshold. “I mean, technically they could, if we paid for the Cyber-controlled jacks, but it should come as news to no one that we’re on a budget. Look at the bright side, you’re gettin’ in your cardio for today.”

“I see that our distinguished colleague comes with an appropriate amount of baggage.” remarks a voice, and I turn to see a tall, bipedal Cyber arriving to the terminal, with a suitcase in hand. He’s piloting a hardframe — metal surface, no attempt to resemble organic creatures through a holographic overlay or faux-skin or faux-fur elements. Despite that, though, there is a certain minimalist elegance to the frame — sleek, shaped metal covers the majority of the body aside from the joints, and the limbs are slender and precisely balanced in a manner that makes it easy to imitate a human gait. Though most of the frame is rendered in a uniform silver, the patterning on the torso makes it look almost like he’s wearing a fitted business suit, and the posh accent to go with it. The head unit catches my attention as well; the top half has three lenses seated in the face in a triangle, with the top lens ‘closed’ like shuttered eye. The bottom half of the face has a shaped screen that produces light ripples whenever he’s speaking, such as now. “I am glad to see I am not the reason for the delayed disembarkation.”

I open my mouth, furrowing my brow as I consider how to reply. There’s something about that deep, calming voice that’s familiar, but I can’t quite place it. “You’re, uh… you’re the other qualified recruit, right?

“I am. My chosen designation is Calcytris; at your service.” he says, offering a hand to me. “It is a pleasure to be meeting you again, Songbird.”

I take the hand, shaking it; the metal fingers, which curve to rounded tips, are cold to the touch, but the amount of pressure they give in a handshake is just right. To me, it’s an indication that his frame is very well-designed, or he has some experience working with organics, or both. “Again? Have we met before? Your voice is familiar, but…”

“We have, back in the Rokolos System, on Vanui, last year.” he says, releasing the handshake at just the right time. “I was once Millican Crane’s butler and bodyguard. You probably know him better as Echo, though.”

“Butler?” I repeat, thinking back to my visit with Echo last year, but I don’t recall ever seeing anyone at apartment besides Echo himself. “Sorry, I don’t recall meeting you; was it at another time, or…?”

The audio visualizer on the bottom half of his face bends in a slight curve, like a smile. “I was the car.” he says.

“The car…” I say, thinking back on that visit, then remembering the talking car that got me out of the city after Echo was assassinated. “OH! That’s where I remember your voice from! You scared me out of my wits when that happened! So you’re that… okay. Uhm. I was expecting you to be more… car-shaped.”

“Understandable. That frame will be arriving here shortly, to be loaded into the cargo bay with everything else.” he explains, using his free hand to gesture to himself. “This is the frame that I use for interactions that require a more humanoid shape. A talking car cannot fit comfortably through most doors and hallways on an interstellar ship.”

“Yeah, that’s, that’s fair.” I nod. “Well, it’s good to meet you in this form. I’m sorry that our last encounter was under the circumstances that it was.”

“Those were factors and circumstances beyond your control. No need to apologize for them.” he says, nodding his acknowledgements to the rookies as they return from the cargo bay with the pallet jack in tow, headed back down the terminal to get the next pallet from the loading area. “I’m honored to be working with you now, and lending my skills to the next incarnation of the Challengers.”

“Well, we avoid referring to it that way, considering the baggage that comes with the term.” I puff, shoving my hands in the pockets of my jacket. “Valiant will do just fine. It’s a fresh start for many of us, a blank page. Using the resources of the Challengers, admittedly, but building a different organization with those tools.”

“Of course. I understand you intend to build something better than what the Challengers were before their fall.” Calcytris says. “Or at least that was Dr. Crane’s impression before he passed away. I had my doubts, and reserved my judgement, but after watching the performance of the Valiant over the past six months, I have come to the conclusion that his opinion was justified. I hope to find further validation of his belief during my employ with your group.”

“I hope so as well. There’s a lot going on in the galaxy right now; we’re doing our best to help out in the areas where we know we can make a difference.” I agree. “A good chunk of our attention has been devoted to constantly fending off CURSE and keeping them at bay, but as our roster grows, it’s given us the bandwidth to focus on other things and help out at crisis points here and there. And we hope to continue growing, so we can expand that capability.”

“Yes, I heard that you earned the animosity of CURSE. Their influence is not inconsiderable.” he says. “Have you considered negotiating a truce with them?”

That catches me off guard. “A truce?”

“Yes. I believe that would be in the best interest of both groups.” Calcytris proposes. “The Valiant and CURSE both exist to provide a form of security to the galaxy; I imagine the time of both organizations would be better spent focusing on their respective missions, rather than fighting with each other. Perhaps CURSE could be persuaded of this argument, if an overture is made.”

“And that is admirably deluded, my good machine.” Both of us turn to see Drill sauntering towards us in shorts and a tropical button-down shirt, shades on as usual. “Peace was never an option, though it would’ve made things a lot easier on all of us. No, CURSE built themselves on the toppling of the Challengers; to renounce that now would destroy the foundation that their organization rests on. And that’s why they’re never gonna do it. It’s a piece of their identity that they can’t let go of, because without it, they have nothing. They’re just another wannabe vigilante group.”

“We’re not the Challengers, though.” I point out. “We’re the Valiant. They can make peace with us and still keep their claim about toppling the Challengers.”

“C’mon kid, do you really believe that?” Drill says as he reaches us, pulling his vape out of his pocket and turning it on. “CURSE is the one pushin’ the line about the Valiant being composed of rogue Challengers. It’s been built into their messaging since day one. What were they calling us before we were the Valiant? The ‘resurgency’. What’s the root of that word? Resurgence. A resurgence of what? Rogue Challengers.” He takes a draw of his vape once it’s warmed up, then goes on. “CURSE has bent over backwards to tie us to the old program, and that tells you all need to know about how they view us. What they think we are. And why it’s critical to their identity. They define themselves in opposition to the Challengers, and the Valiant is the spiritual successor to that program. They have to oppose us; it’s hardwired into who and what they are. That’s why they’ll never take any negotiation with us; no truce, no armistice, no ceasefire.”

I stare at him. “That is so stupid, and yet—”

“And yet you know it’s true.” Drill says, pointing his vape at me. “You feel it deep inside, don’t you? Not in your head, but in your heart. You can feel it’s true. It’s petty and it’s dumb and it’s exactly the sort of thing that people would do.” He points his vape at Calcytris now. “And he’s going to tell me that it’s suboptimal and makes no sense, at which point I’ll remind him that suboptimal nonsense is every organic species in a nutshell.”

“A very astute observation, Mr. Oberell.” Calcytris replies modestly. “Still, in the interest of reduced violence, I hope you are wrong.”

Drill snorts at that. “Trust me, I wish I was too. I’m only ever right about the stuff that makes my job harder. Speakin’ o’ which.” His vape swings back around to me. “I’m surprised you managed to pull it off, but you and your lady love are trending on the galaxynet. That little stunt you two pulled on a worldwide broadcast made its way onto socmed, and now we’re enjoying some free publicity because the entire galaxy can’t believe the Novakiller actually has a girlfriend.”

“What?” I gape at him. “That isn’t news! That was literally part of the holoshoot we did as a feature for that one holomag two months ago, wasn’t it? There were interviews and everything, they asked us about our relationship status! Didn’t that make it into the magazine?”

“Magazines are for the sophisticated. People that actually know how to read and string together a sentence longer than ten words.” Drill says, puffing a swirl of vapor. “If you want to reach the filthy masses, the commoners that carry every world on their backs, then you want a quick, spicy ten-second clip of Kiwi grabbing your arm and letting all of Kasvei know she’s staked a claim. Why spend twenty minutes reading through an article that only hints at it when you could watch a ten-second clip that confirms it?”

“Yeah, I meant to tell you about that.” Ridge grunts as he returns with the other recruits, another pallet stacked on the jack. “You and Kiwi were viral by this morning.”

I stare incredulously at him. “Seriously? Was nobody going to tell us?”

“I wasn’t gonna tell you, but that’s because there’s a ton of haters online.” Renchiko says, pushing the pallet from behind as it slides past our little group on the way to the cargo bay. “Buncha idiots arguing in the comments section that probably haven’t touched grass in months. It’s not worth your time.”

“I mean, there were some nice comments.” Ridge says. “I think it was like… forty-sixty, positive-negative? So not really a majority, but you do have some people that got your back.”

“There were also the people making death threats. And the people that said that she was too good-looking for him. And the people that were fantasizing about cucking the galaxy’s most notorious Challenger.” Renchiko says, her flat tone taking a nail to Ridge’s optimism.

“Oh yeah…” Ridge says as they pull the pallet into the cargo bay. “I’d forgotten about those…”

I must be wearing some kind of horrified expression, because Drill gives me a reassuring pat on the arm. “And this is why we’ve kept you off social media, champ. It’s vicious out there. Socmed really brings out the worst in people. Trust me, you’re not missing out on anything.”

“If I may offer my twopence, online fame is fleeting.” Calcytris observes. “The attention of the masses is ephemeral; whatever animosity they have for you will be shortly redirected to some other target less than a week from now.”

“If that.” Drill snorts. “More like twenty-four hours from now, depending on how much mileage this little burst of popularity has in it. Though if it goes for longer, I won’t complain; we could really capitalize on some extra attention. We could use this to try and soften up your image a bit, paint you as a kept man. And maybe we could start building an air of feminine mystique around Kiwi. The galactic public loves the narrative of the elusive femme fatale.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I don’t even want to know what you’re scheming. Just don’t have the media office paint us as something we’re not. So long as the public understands that we’re here to protect lives and prevent crises, that’s all that matters to me.”

“Scheming, please. You make it sound like I’m out here arranging a psi op.” Drill says, taking another drag of his vape. “We’re just doing some… image management. That’s standard for organizations like ours.”

“What’s this? Are we talking media strategy?” The booming voice startles me, but not quickly enough to dodge the big, furry arm that’s thrown over my shoulders. The same thing happens to Calcytris, with Jetfire leaning down between us by way of introducing himself. “Weh-heh-hell! You are in luck, because yours truly is a veteran of the media game!”

I fight back the urge to sock him in the muzzle for last night’s stunt. “You don’t say.” I mutter, grabbing his arm and disengaging it from my shoulders. “The offer is appreciated, but some of us are more comfortable away from the cameras.”

“Perhaps, but not your girlfriend! Let me tell you, that lass is a natural!” Jetfire chuckles, not at all dampened by my tone. “The fire! The sass! The raw, unadulterated confidence! You know she took me to task last night? Chewed me right out like a pro, got all over my case about putting you on the stage! Spicy little spitfire. That girl is quality; she’s a fighter and a lover. You are one lucky vampire, my friend.”

The unsuppressed boisterousness leaves me at a bit of a loss; the enthusiastic compliments are the exact opposite of what you expect from someone that’s been thoroughly chewed out. “I, uh… well, yes, I suppose I am…”

“And you’re not too shabby yourself!” he goes on. “I had my secretary do a background check on you, and she found some amazing content of you floating around on the internet. Did you know that you’ve got your own page on the BGAP? Of course you did; a villain as handsome as yourself couldn’t not, after all—”

I can only stare at him. “I’ve got a page on the what?”

“I do not think you want to know the answer to that question.” Calcytris interjects quickly.

“Bad Guy Appreciation Page.” Drill says, puffing some vapor. “It’s exactly what it says it is, and given your history, you’ve got a page on there. I’ve gotta be honest, it’s got some pretty flattering pictures of you. Including the ones that Ridge sold to Entertainment Weekly last year.”

“The ones that Ridge…” I start, then it clicks. “No. Those pictures? The ones from the party at the Maskling estate? Those are up on the galaxynet for everyone to look at?”

“Oh. Did he not know?” Jetfire says, suddenly realizing that this is news to me.

“Well, he knows now.” Drill mumbles.

Jetfire sucks in a deep breath, then turns and claps a hand on my shoulder. “Well, if it helps, those aren’t the only pictures up on your BGAP page. There’s a lot of other ones up there too! There’s pictures from the propaganda that Valiant puts out, there’s pictures from some of your fights with CURSE, and from other times you’ve appeared in the media. And all of them are pretty charismatic! Hell, I’d say even the bondage pictures are charismatic!”

Even the bondage pictures are charismatic.

I take a deep breath, put on a polite smile, and nod to the three of them. “Well, gentlemen, it was a pleasure meeting and talking to all of you. I am going to board the ship now; if any of you need me, go lie in a ditch and die.”

With that, I turn and stride for the cargo bay, passing the rookies, who have clearly overheard the whole thing. Everyone remains silent until I’m in the cargo bay, but I can faintly hear Ridge’s prognostication to Jetfire and Drill as I leave.

“Oooohh, Kiwi’s gonna eat you guys alive when she hears about this…”

“Oh, shut up, Ridge. You’re the one that put those pictures out there in the first place.”

Event Log: Kiwi

V.V. Narcusa: Songbird and Kiwi’s Quarters

10:35pm LST

“Yeah, I’ll get with Songbird and see if he’s down for drinks and TSAR tomorrow.” I call down the hall to Cahriu and Tarocco as we part ways. “Just a heads up, he’ll be sipping on fizzwater the whole time. He’s not a big fan of alcohol.”

“Pffah, that’s no fun.” Cahriu says, swatting a hand at me. “Lemme guess, it’s because he’s Anayan? Chastity and sobriety and all that?”

“It’s a taste thing, actually. Says it tastes like Satan’s piss to him, and he’d prefer to drink something that doesn’t taste like gettin’ swirly’d in one of hell’s toilets.”

Tarocco snorts at that. “Alright, that’s creative. I’ll give ‘im points there.” She gives me a wave as they turn and start to head back to their own quarters. “Have a good night, Kiwi.”

I give them a quick wave, before turning and badging my way into the room I’m sharing with Songbird. The door slides open, and I step in to see that he’s got his mobile holoarray set up so he can do some holopainting and sketching, with some low music playing in the background as he does so. “There you are. Heard you got tweaked pretty good by Jetfire this morning.”

He gives a decidedly disgruntled grunt, his attention remaining on the digital canvas he’s standing inside. “I may’ve said something I shouldn’t have.” he mutters. “You know those compromising pictures that Ridge sold to Entertainment Weekly? Apparently they’re immortalized on a website that worships villains.”

“Ooooh, double whammy. Steamy pictures and slander.” I say, prying my boots off as the door slides shut behind me. “It’s not that bad, is it? I liked those pictures. I thought we looked pretty sexy.”

“I mean, we did, but that’s not what I want to be known for.” he says, poking idly at the loose collection of sketchy lines hanging within the 3-d canvas area. “Nobody wants to be a sex-tape celebrity, you know?”

“You’re always going to be known for something, you know.” I say, jumping up onto the bed, and walking around it until I’m behind him, with enough height to drape my arms over his shoulders. “For the Incident, for the steamy pictures, for whatever outrageous thing you’re involved in next. Don’t you think it’ll be better if you learn to embrace and laugh at the bits that are worth laughing at?”

He puffs, and I can tell he knows I’m right, but doesn’t want to concede it. “I just wish… y’know. That I could be famous for something positive, instead of something negative or scandalous. I don’t want to be a bad guy, or a joke, you know? I mean, I’d rather not be a public figure in the first place, but if I have to be a public figure, I’d prefer to be known for something positive.”

I tilt backwards, pulling him along with me as I fall back on the bed with my arms still wrapped around his neck. “You know that people are more interested in bad things, and mocking other people. Nobody gravitates towards the positive stuff; it’s the bad things that catch people’s attention, and the media knows that.” I say, wrapping my legs around his waist.

“Yeah.” he concedes, letting his head rest on my shoulder, arms sprawled out to either side as he stares up at the ceiling. “Suppose it’d be delusional to hope for anything else.”

“Look at the bright side. You’re a handsome fellow. Those pictures prove it. And of all the things you could be known for, being decently attractive isn’t the worst one, by a long shot.” I say, scruffling his bright blue hair. “What can I do to make you less sulky, bluebird?”

“Honestly, this is just fine.” he says, rolling a hand over to rest it on one of the legs I’ve got wrapped about him. “I know I’m being a mopey bastard; it’s a hard habit to break. But being with you is nice. It feels good to just talk and spend time with you.”

“Oh, you know how to flatter a girl.” I snicker, kissing his cheek. “So what’s this sketch you were working on here?”

He flops his other arm towards the digital canvas, which holds the vague outlines of two people within a building, staring through glass at a town square below. “Just something I wanted to get off my mind. A memory from years ago.”

I tilt my head to one side, staring at the figures. “That one looks like Kaiser.” I observe.

“Oh, you recognize him? Well, that’s a good sign. Means I was able to capture his demeanor and appearance.” he says, starting to peel off the three-fingered sensor glove he’d been using to draw within the canvas area. “I’ve been to Kasvei before, a long time ago. Before the program collapsed. That’s when I learned that the Accounting department measured the loyalty of all the program’s named assets.”

“Loyalty tests? Sounds a little dystopian.”

“There were no tests. They just did assessments of all the major assets to determine the type of loyalty they had to the program or other parties, and whether they might be a liability as a result.” he explains. “There’s different types of loyalty. Loyalty to principle. Loyalty to a group. Loyalty to a person. And loyalty to self.”

Listening to him explain it, I realize that whatever this memory was, it must’ve been a defining experience for him. “And did they ever assess you, since you were a named asset?”

“They did. I was loyal to principle and a person.” he says. “I think they would’ve preferred it if I was loyal to a group — essentially, loyal to the program — but being loyal to the principles that the program stood for was close enough for them.”

“Aren’t those the same, though?”

“No, no, not at all. In a perfect universe, the people that ran the program would’ve stood by the principles it represented. And that was the case for most of the program’s history. But towards the end, those two things diverged. I was loyal to what the Challengers stood for. I wasn’t loyal to the people that were running the program. Running it right into the ground, more like.” He turns a little in my arms. “It’s like you being a Mask Knight. You’re not loyal to the Council. You hate them. But you still go on missions and take orders because you want to fight for your species, to protect their rights and their lives. You’re loyal to the principle, not the group.”

I’m quiet as I process the comparison. “Yeah. Okay, I suppose that makes sense. And is that still the case for you?”

“No, I’m loyal to principle, to group, and to a person now. The goals of the Valiant staff align with the principles it’s supposed to stand for, so the group has my loyalty, especially now that I have a say in what we’re supposed to stand for.”

“And loyalty to a person?”

He fully turns now in my loosened hold, bracing himself on the bed above me as he nuzzles my neck. “Now you’re just fishing for praise.”

“Because I deserve it.” I grin, winding my fingers through his hair before biting his ear.

“Ahg! You little brat—”

“Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.”

“What, you want me to call you a good girl? Because we both know you’re not.”

“Hehe. Yeah, I know. But I still want praise.”

“Yeah, well, you’re pretty good at behaving badly.”

“Don’t lie to yourself. You like it when I’m a problem, remember? And you like being the one to solve that problem.”

“Mmm…”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“Fine then, you wanna be solved that badly? C’mere, you little brat…”