Interlude Four

It looked like a normal insect.

It skittered like a normal insect, careful to avoid being stepped on, across the floor of a building swarming with cops.

And yes, the insides were filled with springs and gears.

There was no motor; it moved by Four's will alone.

Not Four—Helena. She needed to get used to her new name.

It was strange having an almost normal identity after investing so much into the persona of Red Widow. But she needed one for college. One could hardly attend as a drug mob boss, dressed like a supervillain.

Like all of Rin's decisions, she reminded herself it was for the best. She didn't want to become a weirdo who could only interact with people through puppets.

She navigated her toy bug carefully. There were no cameras or microphones in it, but she could still hear and see through it. It was a variant of remote viewing, using the object as an anchor.

An advanced skill she had mastered under the guidance of those who came before her.

Listening intently, she pinpointed where she needed to go: the top room where the new, special arrivals were about to give a briefing.

The main actors in this little play.

The ones who were supposed to end the standoff.

The cops had been laying siege to the abandoned factory that served as the headquarters of both her little church and drug empire for two weeks. And they had been watching for months before that.

All in all, they were not bad neighbors, although not the kind she could borrow sugar from. Not without them trying to arrest her.

Crawling under the door, the mechanical bug moved into the briefing room, and Helena could see her adversaries in person for the first time.

She had already seen them on TV. The government and Aperture were quick to popularize the new psychic initiative. "Supersoldier" had menacing connotations, but everyone loved superheroes.

That's why Aperture's Future Soldier program, with the addition of psychic amplification, had such a garish paint-over.

Not that she had any room to speak. Red Widow, a skeleton in a red widow veil and a dress reminiscent of a bridal gown, was dramatic as hell.

For the same reason, the brand mattered.

She looked over as they prepared to speak. Four men and one woman.

The woman she knew more about Terry, Eleven's—now Jane's—mother. Kali had ranted about Terry and Terry's attempts to get Kali to go semi-legit. They dressed her in white, with a red cross over her armour, probably to emphasize her role as a healer.

Sexist, but perhaps practical as well. Healing using psychic abilities was hard, even with amplifiers, and of all her team, Terry had the most experience.

That was the advantage of being "in the know." Rin was orchestrating this whole event like a well-developed symphony, and Helena knew all about her fellow musicians.

"How can one be certain to win a war?" Rin had posed a rhetorical question during one of her impromptu lessons. "By playing both sides."

She looked over the others, one by one.

Aaron Steele—Iron Sentinel. Tall and muscular, packed into an olive green suit with black and bronze accents. His helmet had an angular visor, sharp enough to cut glass. The youngest and strongest, trying too hard to look like he's got the weight of the world on his shoulders. Disciplined, serious—like he has a choice. She felt a pulse of pressure and duty, almost suffocating.

Next, Daniel Thompson—Guardian. Rugged, short graying hair, face etched with experience. Dark navy blue tactical suit with silver and white stripes, and those ridiculous shoulder pads. His half-mask was supposed to be intimidating, but to her, it just looked desperate. The seasoned leader, with a shadow of envy trailing him, a hint of past glory slipping away.

Jonathan Carter—Valor. Blond, green-eyed, and disgustingly handsome. Bright crimson red suit with gold accents, a short cape with a high collar, and that wrap-around mirrored visor. The arrogant senator's son, charm oozing off him like slime. She picked up on his mix of confidence and disdain, the entitlement practically radiating off him.

Elliot Morgan—Techno-Sage. Thin, bookish, messy brown hair and glasses. Dark grey suit with neon blue lines in a grid pattern, his large visor flashing digital interfaces. The tech genius, his excitement almost childlike. There was an eagerness to prove himself that made her wonder what he was hiding under all that enthusiasm.

Helena's mechanical bug crept closer, and she felt the undercurrents of their emotions, their unspoken thoughts. These weren't just heroes; they were people, each carrying their own burdens and secrets. Rin's manipulative orchestration had brought them together, and she had to admit, it was a masterstroke.

She almost smiled, but instead, focused on the task at hand. Knowing her adversaries' strengths and weaknesses was crucial. She had to be ready for whatever Rin's symphony played next.

Helena knew she was part of this symphony too, a hidden note in the complex melody. And she was ready to play her part.

As she observed through the mechanical bug, Guardian stepped forward, clearing his throat to address the room. His voice carried the weight of authority, seasoned and confident.

"Alright, everyone, listen up," Guardian began. "Our team will make the initial insertion. The rest of you are to maintain the perimeter. Once we deem the area secure, you will move in to make arrests. This is a highly delicate operation, and we need to act with precision and caution."

There was a murmur of discontent among the cops. Helena could see their skepticism; they were used to being the ones on the front lines. And there was a matter of glory. She had made herself into a legend, the backbone of the American drug trade.

To bring her down would be a feather in the cap that any of them would be more than happy to have.

Guardian continued, trying to address their concerns. "I understand this isn't the usual protocol, but the circumstances here require a specialized approach. Our team has been specifically trained to handle situations involving psychic threats."

Before he could finish, Valor interjected. "Do we really want a repeat of what happened during the last raid?" he asked, his tone sharp but professional. "A whole SWAT team entered, only to end up hallucinating and incapacitated. These aren't ordinary suspects; they have capabilities that require special handling. That's why we're here. Let us do our job."

The room fell silent, the weight of Valor's words hanging in the air. The cops exchanged uneasy glances, reminded of the previous operation's failure.

And Helena, she was amused by the recollection. Dead cops would have been martyrs. Humiliated ones, on the other hand, were a better deterrent.

It had been a collaboration between her and Kali to make it so smooth. Under the guidance of Rosamund, Helena had mixed a charming incense that made anyone who breathed it in more suggestible, as well as causing minor hallucinations and slight paranoia. And it smelled nice too.

That left them easy prey to Kali's illusions, including one special trick Helena liked to call "ants in the pants." In reality, it was much grosser—an illusion of numerous creepy crawlies wriggling under their clothes.

In panic, the SWAT team had thrown away their weapons, their bulletproof vests, their uniforms, and even their underwear.

And to compound the humiliation, an ambitious prosecutor, the one who had pushed for the unfortunate raid, had also tipped off the reporters, ready for a triumphant arrest.

Well, they certainly made the news.

Guardian nodded in agreement. "Valor is right. This takes specialized skills and equipment. We're not undermining your abilities, but this is what we're trained for. Follow the plan, keep the perimeter secure, and once it's safe, you'll have your arrests."

The officers seemed to settle, reluctantly accepting the logic. Helena observed, her mechanical bug transmitting the scene back to her. She noted the tension and the underlying doubts, but also the begrudging respect they had for Guardian and his team. The players were ready, now just the final setting of the stage.

She shifted her attention, from one puppet to the other. Commanding two at the same time was difficult, but not beyond her skills, especially if she kept one mostly dormant.

In the abandoned factory, the Red Widow was kneeling in prayer before an altar decorated with flowers, candles, and food, some of which were drugged. And skulls. So many human skulls. Skulls as candlesticks, skulls as cups, and even just the tops of skulls as plates.

Contributions from Five, bought from antiquaries and occult and macabre auctions.

Not Five—Lukas. She needed to get used to new names if they were going to spend time in public together.

"It is time for you to make the choice, Kali," she spoke through the puppet. "You and your friends are the last. Everyone else has been evacuated."

Kali's friends stayed in the back, rarely talking to the Red Widow. They preferred when Kali spoke for them, which suited Helena just fine.

Their second-hand clothes had been replaced with designer ones, but still artfully shredded. And they had added some excessive jewellery.

Crime did pay, after all; otherwise, no one would risk it.

And there was Helena's little touch—a play on the name of their leader, Kali. Bright red garrottes, a proper weapon for Kali's thugs.

Of course, they did not know the full extent of that joke.

It was not enough to have untraceable smuggling routes and superior ways to manage and process drugs.

To be successful, violence was needed. Fear. Murders.

Rin had warned that she would be tested. What she would do was her choice.

Even partial success could serve his plans.

When the time came, it surprised Helena how easy it was to kill. Not just the act itself. The mob bosses were hardly protected enough from someone who could telekinetically strangle them from half a city away.

But how little taking life mattered to her.

Just murder was not enough. Taking credit was what mattered. And suddenly, the Red Widow had minions with notable staging instruments.

Kali's followers gained a reputation as skilled hitmen, able to reach their targets no matter how well-guarded. No matter where they hid.

The most notorious among their alleged kills was Pablo Escobar, the drug lord who held near monopoly on cocaine imported to the USA.

Escobar was not accustomed to ignoring rivals or coddling them. So when the Red Widow's operation grew enough to threaten his profits, he made an offer—a consolidation. Under him.

As a show of sincerity, he burned one of the many Churches of Santa Muerte that the Red Widow sponsored.

As was his custom, he offered lead or gold.

Helena took a breath instead. Pablo Escobar's last one.

Some sins demanded heavy penance.

But that murder made Kali's little shadows into legend.

And they also remained completely unaware of their overblown reputation.

What an amusing joke.

"I want to know more," Kali replied, pacing near the altar.

Kali still did not know that the Red Widow was a puppet. Helena had managed to keep that secret. That was just one of many secrets Helena kept from the wayward Number.

For more truth, commitment was required, and Kali wavered.

"If I tell you more, the choice will be made for you," Helena replied, still speaking through the puppet. "And time grows short. As predicted, the government psychics have arrived. Unless you want to reunite with Terry, you must leave. You just have to choose where to go. On one hand, you can go deeper, commit to our cause. Or you can retire—a house in the sun."

Kali stopped pacing and looked at the Red Widow puppet with a mixture of frustration and resolve. "And what about you? What will you do?"

The Red Widow's head tilted slightly, a gesture that Helena had perfected to convey subtle emotion. "That is not for you to know. Unless you choose to commit. It is time for you to go. Just choose your destination. One choice is to manage an orphanage in Argentina. A nice hacienda, and enough money for both you and your friends to live in luxury for the rest of your life. Or you could step into the unknown. Join the secret war that has raged for millennia, knowing neither risk nor reward."

"To choose the second, I would need to trust you," Kali replied. "And all of these secrets make that hard to do."

"Trust or faith, sister."

"I may help you a little, but I am not part of your cult," Kali replied, crossing her arms. "You know you're not really an avatar of Santa Muerte?"

"Am I not? Have I not died and risen from the grave? What more does a religion need?"

Kali scoffed.

"Very well. If that is your choice," Helena said, making the puppet gesture toward the coffins set just to the left of the altar. "Take your place."

"Coffins, really?" Kali scoffed, but more to herself. Her followers followed her lead. "Dramatic much?"

"Unless you want to chance the police cordon, you need to traverse the path of the dead. And they are not kind to the living." Helena moved the puppet to one of the skulls, filled with a green bubbling liquid. She made the puppet pick it up and moved the puppet until it was right next to the coffin Kali now lay in. "Drink this."

"Why?"

"You don't want to be awake for the next part. Seeing the realms of the dead can drive the living insane."

Kali hesitated, but her followers had already climbed into their coffins, trusting her judgment. With a final, defiant look at the Red Widow, Kali took the skull cup and drank the bubbling liquid. She gagged slightly but swallowed it down, her vision already starting to blur.

"Goodnight, sister," Helena said through the puppet, watching as Kali's eyes fluttered closed. "You can take them now."

Answering her command, they emerged from the shadows of the room, dressed in monk's robes made of black silk. Calling them monk's robes was a bit too generous.

These were robes that monks might wear in a De Sade novel, about depraved abbots who reigned over a debauched monastery.

The other place, which she used to both prepare and smuggle drugs, as she explained to Kali, tended to drive people insane. For that reason, all of that work was done by them.

For those under the robes were not people. Not in the strictest sense. They may have looked like pretty, slim young men, barely past puberty, with electric blue eyes and white hair.

But the servants of Rin were something else. What they were was a mystery to Helena. To gaze under their skin with psychic powers was to invite madness.

Even looking or talking to them was to invite both dread and fascination alike.

For that reason, Rin had fashioned collars that concealed their maddening inhumanity, making it easier for Helena and the other Numbers to interact with them.

Yet, for the sake of secrecy, Rin had taken away the collars and replaced them with silk black robes.

They moved with silent but inhuman grace, picking up coffins and carrying them to the gate in mockery of a funerary procession. Helena moved the puppet back to the altar, making it appear as if it were praying.

While she waited for the so-called heroes to arrive, her mind wandered to her flock.

At the beginning, she had cared about the desperate homeless people who shared the abandoned factory with her no more than the rats that had infested it. But she had gotten used to them. People, not rats. Midnight had dealt with the rats.

She had offered them food, and sometimes even sermons, and slowly began to learn their stories.

A young teen cast out of his family after they found him sucking offa male neighbour. A war veteran, scarred by combat and abandoned. The businesswoman driven to bankruptcy, only to find everyone had abandoned her without money, and her possessions were already mortgaged.

Illegal immigrants and broken people, by illness either mental or physical. And others that slipped through the cracks, to whom the American dream had turned into a cold nightmare.

The most promising she had sent, with money, to start other temples dedicated to her made-up religion.

Her flock took it more seriously than she did.

But the temples were useful. Money made from drugs had no origin and came in small denominations, perfect for religious donations.

And it wasn't that she had many other ways to spend it—there was only so much room to fill with cash, only so many antiques and art pieces Lukas could buy.

She had not used those temples to distribute drugs; she kept them clean. That was more due to the nature of her operation than any good work.

They would be devastated by the news, but that was for the best anyway.

As she returned her focus to the puppet, now kneeling in mock prayer, she could feel the approach of the heroes. The stage was set, and her mind sharpened with the anticipation of the coming confrontation.

They entered the altar room, hesitation notable in both their steps and their auras.

Helena did not turn the puppet's head. There was little need to. After all, there was nothing in the eye sockets of the puppet's bare skull.

Speaking through the puppet, she greeted them, "Have you come seeking truth? Or something else? No matter, death welcomes all."

"We come seeking justice. And you're long overdue," the leader, Guardian, responded, then more formally stated. "Red Widow, it's over. We know what you've done. Surrender now, and no one has to get hurt. The factory is surrounded, and your tricks won't work this time."

"Tricks," she spoke calmly, secretly enjoying this little drama. She could finally see why Sen so liked acting. "So quick to disregard what you do not understand. A detective should seek truth above all else, or his justice is hollow."

Valor stepped forward, his confidence almost tangible. "You really think you can keep this up? We've dealt with your kind before. Just come out quietly and maybe we won't make a scene."

"My kind? Was I not the first Gifted you faced? Or do you mean a criminal? I do not consider myself one. After all, I am beyond the laws of mere men. You kneel before fragile idols, boy," she replied, her tone mocking. Reading X-Men comics had really prepared her for this. "They will turn on you, as they turned on us before."

Iron Sentinel, his voice serious and determined, took a defensive position, scanning for any threats. "Don't make this harder than it needs to be, Red Widow. You know you can't win. We're ready for whatever you've got planned."

"Such bold words. Will you live up to them? Everything living fears death," Helena boldly declared through the puppet. In her opinion, this was enough pre-battle banter. There was a failsafe Rin had installed in the puppet. In case of emergency, the puppet could expend all stored power, transitioning into a powerful mode. The catch was that it would destroy the puppet after a short time. It was a one-use-only feature. It would be such a shame never to use it.

She activated it. She could feel the gemstone embedded in the puppet's bones crumble to fine dust, and the dust was absorbed by the bone. She lifted the veil, revealing the bare skull beneath it. "And I have shed death, like a snake sheds its skin."

Faced with something so unreal, the heroes were paralyzed. Just for a moment. But it was in that moment that she struck.

Under her direction, the puppet rushed forward. Helena was astonished at how responsive it was. The power mode—it must be it.

She picked Valor as the first target. It wasn't a particularly strategic decision. His arrogance was just annoying.

If she were seriously trying to kill them, she would have started with Terry.

"Always deal with the healer first," Rin had taught her.

But, since permanent damage was not her goal, leaving the healer for the last gave her options.

Before Valor could even react, the puppet was in his face. Eye to empty eye socket.

She clawed at his chest. It was heavily armoured, but she targeted the place where the device that gave him super-strength and durability was located.

The puppet's skeletal hand tore through the armour like it was paper. The power mode was stronger than she expected. The only casualty was the puppet's glove, revealing the skeletal hand underneath.

Blood mixed with the gem emulsion that powered the psionic devices on the skeletal hand of her puppet.

For the sake of drama, she raised the puppet's hand over its head, letting the mixture drop onto the puppet's empty skull.

"Monster," Valor gasped in pain, holding his hand protectively over the wound. His voice trembled from shock and surprise. He thought he was strong, powerful, special. Yet, he was shown to be weak.

It stirred uncomfortable memories in Helena. Of One. Of the massacre in Hawkins Lab. Of the time she had died.

Guardian snapped out of his paralysis, shouting orders. "Engage! Keep her away! Focus on disabling her!"

Iron Sentinel moved with swift precision, unleashing a powerful telekinetic blast from the gauntlet on his right hand. "Back off, Widow!"

Helena moved the puppet. Being pure bone, it was free from the limitations of muscles and ligaments. It could move in an unnerving way, directed by Helena's mind. And she had practised long and hard to make its movements both unpredictable and disturbing to watch.

She twisted backwards under the blast, contorting in a serpentine motion, until the puppet's hands, one missing a glove, touched the ground. She then twisted the skull upside down, bridging her body like a macabre contortionist, and scuttled on all fours with unnatural speed, like a monstrous spider

.

But there was something strange. It was as if she could feel where the mixture of charged fluid and blood touched the bone.

It was a pleasant warm feeling, like a cup of hot chocolate.

And she was synchronising with the puppet even more.

The fluid. It must have been it. The maker of both the armour and the puppet was the same. The power sources must have been compatible.

Helena's eyes widened with realisation. The charged fluid from Valor's wound was enhancing the puppet's abilities, making their connection even stronger. She could feel the puppet's movements as if they were her own, each motion fluid and precise.

She had to get more!

The puppet's uncanny locomotion made evading telekinetic blasts easy. Twisting and turning, it moved ever closer to Iron Sentinel. The blasts became more erratic, panicked.

The others joined in. Techno-Sage fired fire bolts, and Guardian unleashed the same telekinetic force as Iron Sentinel.

But they were used to aiming at humans, and the puppet did not move like one.

Closer and closer. And then, by her will, the puppet jumped. Right at Iron Sentinel.

The skeletal form lunged with terrifying speed, its bony fingers outstretched. Iron Sentinel tried to raise a defence, but the puppet was too quick. It collided with him, knocking him to the ground.

It shouldn't have been able to. The puppet was just a skeleton wrapped in a wedding dress—bone and cloth. Too light to have much momentum.

But it moved by Helena's will, and by her will, it struck at Iron Sentinel with the force of a heavyweight wrestling champion.

The puppet pinned his arms, skeletal fingers clenching the gauntlets, while the skull bore down on his armoured chest, eager to access all that delicious, powerful liquid within.

"Get it off! Get it off! Get it off!" Iron Sentinel cried in panic, repeating the words blindly as the puppet's jaws tore the armour apart. Fragile bone shredded steel like paper. Instead of blood, glowing emulsion poured out, filled with power. Such delicious power.

Helena could feel the surge, the puppet's connection to her growing even stronger. She could sense every movement, every vibration of the puppet's skeletal frame as it drained the energy from Iron Sentinel's suit.

Her vision flickered. It wasn't Iron Sentinel under the puppet anymore. It was a thin, humanoid monster with no eyes, only a petal-like maw where its head should be. The monster was filled with life. Life she hungered for.

She bit into the ghastly flesh. There was no flavour.

There should be.

Something struck her. She broke free of the sudden vision.

And she was back, remembering that she was just remotely piloting the puppet.

The puppet that had been torn from its prey.

Helena had no time to think about what had happened. What that vision, or flashback, meant? Pushing it aside for later, she focused.

It took just a moment to realize what had happened while she was lost.

Guardian had rushed in, tackling the puppet and carrying it away from Iron Sentinel.

Even now he held it in an iron grip.

Under Helena's will, the puppet twisted like a snake, like a mad contortionist. It slithered and wriggled in Guardian's grasp until it managed to twist around and slip from his grip onto his back.

If the main psionic amplifier was in the front of the chest, there was something even better on the back—the reservoir, holding all of the additional psionic fuel.

The puppet's arms were gripped by Guardian, but it managed to twist most of its body to the back. Helena commanded the skull to bite again.

The puppet's bony jaws clamped down on the reservoir, breaking through the armor with terrifying ease. The glowing fluid inside spilled out, and the puppet greedily absorbed it, the connection between Helena and the puppet intensifying to a nearly overwhelming degree.

She could now feel the touch from the puppet's bone and cloth as if it were her own skin. Where the cloth of the wedding dress brushed against Guardian's armor, it felt almost like she was running her fingers on it.

She could taste the emulsion fuel, even though the puppet had no tongue. It was both sweet and fizzy. A bit like soda, but so much better.

Her vision sharpened, and her hearing too. She could hear even whispered conversations.

"Bite is necrotizing," Terry murmured as she tended to Iron Sentinel. "But there's no poison or infection. This makes no sense."

"I'm not going to turn into a zombie, am I?" Iron Sentinel tried to joke, but the tremble in his voice showed it was a serious fear for him.

"I can't fire; I could hit Thompson. Don't forget it's Guardian in the field. This makes no sense. How could she be so powerful?" Techno-Sage murmured to himself. But now Helena could hear him clearly, even though the puppet was far away from him. "We're missing something."

But most importantly, she could feel the puppet breaking. It was like a dull ache, phantom pain that grew. She was pouring too much power into it. More than it could hold. The power mode would destroy it anyway, but by overloading it, she was accelerating the timeline.

She was supposed to lose anyway.

That had slipped her mind during her brief rampage.

A thought intruded. Was being high like this?

She didn't know. She just sold drugs. She never sampled her product.

But she had a bigger problem. She was supposed to lose, but not like this.

Just falling apart while winning wouldn't send the proper message. The purpose of this was to fake her death and cut ties, not invite further questions.

She needed more time.

She ripped free from Guardian's grasp, dislocating his arms. It was easy, now that his strength was failing due to the ruptured fuel tank.

With an impossible grace, she flipped, her wedding gown flowing like a red banner, and landed on her feet.

Time. More time.

What would a comic book villain do in such a situation? Heros on last legs. What could lead to her plausible defeat?

Gloating. Monologue.

"How pitiful. How utterly pitiful. And is this all that comes from the heroes of this age?" she mocked, implying that she was something ancient and powerful. "Children playing dress-up? Feeble cripples depending on mechanical toys? And you thought that you could face me with only this? I hoped to add a worthy skull to my altar, but it seems that I will be disappointed. Worthless."

Her words hung in the air, a mixture of scorn and derision.

Guardian gritted his teeth, pain evident in his eyes. "Don't listen to her! We've got this!"

"Silence! Without borrowed power, you are weak. And the weak have no voice," she replied through the puppet. She was quite pleased with herself. She was nailing this whole villain monologue.

But her words were not completely untrue. Without amplifiers, the so-called heroes' powers were weak, next to useless. Perhaps just strong enough to change the channel on the TV withot a remote or getting up. Couch potato – what an unfitting name for a superhero.

And during her rampage, she had disabled three of the five. Now, only the healer and the geek remained.

Not the most combat-effective of the team.

Perhaps Terry could be of use. She was, after all, the test pilot for prototypes and thus the one with the most experience with hero suits.

At a glance, Helena saw that it was not to be. Terry was too busy with Iron Sentinel. Helena must have hurt him more than she intended.

That just left Techno-Sage. Not much to work with.

"The skulls. Take worthy skulls. I see," Techno-Sage suddenly said. Helena had no idea what he saw. She had been grandstanding when she made that bit about skulls. "This altar... it's a hodgepodge of different cultures. Those skulls – some are medieval French, some are Viking, others Aztec." True. It was something Lukas bought at an auction for weird rich people with more money than sense. "It's like you've taken elements from various histories and beliefs, mixing them together to create your own mythology."

Actually, she just set it up for ambience.

"But it's not mythology, is it? Those skulls with the altar – that's a primitive psionic amplifier. That is how you're so powerful. Somehow, you're using the power of all those whose skulls you've taken. And that means it's your weakness."

That was such utter nonsense. He didn't just jump to a conclusion, he pole-vaulted.

As Techno-Sage pointed his gauntlet at the altar, Helena wondered if she should stop him or just let him waste time.

It was turning out to be so hard to lose. Mostly because she needed to do all the work. Even with the magnificent suits Rin provided them, they were nothing.

Then an idea struck. Techno-Sage may have made a stupid conclusion for a smart guy, but she could work with it.

Moving faster than the puppet should have, and yet just a shade too slow, she failed to interpose between Techno-Sage and the altar by a hair's breadth.

"Nooo!" she dramatically cried through the puppet. And as the altar ignited, she turned its power on the puppet.

As Rosamund had taught her, telekinesis was just a hair's breadth from pyrokinesis. One just had to make all those molecules move, vibrate, gyrate, dance.

Timing it just right, she ignited the puppet synchronously as the altar burned.

The puppet erupted in flames, the skeletal frame writhing in a dramatic display of agony. The glow from the altar intensified, bathing the room in a fiery light. Helena felt the connection severing, the power draining away as the puppet disintegrated.

Techno-Sage and the others watched in a mix of awe and horror as the Red Widow's apparent source of power was destroyed. The puppet collapsed into a pile of ashes, the last remnants of its form crumbling away.

Helena, safely hidden away, disconnected from the puppet. She opened her eyes, her lips forming a satisfied smirk, and then grimaced as the smell of gasoline assaulted her nose.

There was evidence to take care of, and fire was such a good way to do it.

She barely glanced at the imposing black gate. She had a more pleasant mode of transport arranged just for her.

A white panel with a portal opening into Rin's workshop. She could see him working in the distance.

A small step for her, and yet with it she was on Io, one of the moons of Jupiter.

The artificial clean smell of the Io space base brought back a bunch of pleasant memories. After Rin rescued them, this was where they recovered.

Here they shared meals prepared by Fano, and listened to Rin play the harp.

Before closing the portal, she remembered to ignite the accelerant on the other side of it.

Flames roared to life behind her, consuming any remaining evidence and ensuring the heroes believed the Red Widow had perished in a blaze, along with her smuggling route.

As the portal closed, Helena took a deep breath, savouring the sterile, clean air of the Io base. Then she stepped confidently towards Rin.

As she approached, she saw that he was working on one of the androids. She averted her gaze. The android's chest was open, and she knew better than to try and peer into its inner workings. That way lay madness.

"Welcome back," Rin said without looking up, his hands deftly manoeuvring inside the android. "Now report."

She gulped and began to explain, in detail, everything from the moment the "superheroes" entered to the moment she destroyed the puppet. Rin interrupted from time to time, asking questions that ranged from what she felt at each moment, what her justifications were for the actions she took, whether she would choose differently if she had time to think about it now, to more theoretical questions about what she would have done if the heroes had reacted differently at the time.

It was both nerve-wracking and exhilarating. And during the questions, Rin continued working on the android.

"You have done well. Some places for improvement, but that is only natural. We should always look for ways to be better. Stagnation is death," Rin commented as he finished his work and began to close the android's chest. "You going overboard was not your fault. The reaction between the puppet's gem emulsion and the suit's fuel was not something you could have predicted. Still, it opens interesting avenues of research. In the end, good improvising. It's important to grasp opportunities when they appear."

Helena nodded, feeling a mixture of relief and pride. Rin's praise was rare and valuable. "Thank you, Rin. I'll keep that in mind for next time."

Rin glanced at her, his eyes sharp and assessing. "There will be a next time, and you will be even more prepared. Remember, every encounter is a learning experience. You did well, but never stop improving."

He picked up a collar and placed it around the android's neck. Immediately, it appeared more normal to Helena's eyes.

"I am sorry I lost your gift," she said, referring to the puppet.

"It is within expected predictions," Rin replied. "It would be hard to fake the Red Widow's death without a body. I would offer to make you another, but you have reached the point of development where designing and building your own puppets would be better. It's a pity you utterly destroyed it. I would have liked to examine it for anomalies. But your testimony is enough for me to try to recreate the effect in laboratory conditions."

"I thought it was best to leave no trace," Helena said, wincing a little. It was a mild critique, but it had been going so well. "Who knows what could have been salvaged if I left the puppet there."

"Very little without the help of an expert. And the expert in this case would be me. No matter, what is done is done," Rin said, and turned to the android. "Jay, is the Galvanic Code operational? Can you achieve flow through the Crystal Circuits?"

"Then we need to test it. Helena, this may not be of any use to you, but stay and watch. There's something we need to do together afterward, and this will be quick." Rin moved to a pedestal with geometric patterns carved on top, two squares crossing, forming something like an eight-pointed star.

He picked up two pieces of crystalline ore, glistening blue and purple, from a nearby desk and placed one on the pedestal.

He touched the pedestal, and it glowed. Under Helena's amazed gaze, the ore moved like it was alive, reshaping into a miniature crystal figurine of two intertwined trees. It was exquisite. Each leaf was a tiny crystal, and the bark was intricately detailed.

She didn't recognize the type of trees, but they must have been magnificent—because the figurine was prettier than any tree she had ever seen.

Rin picked the crystal tree up and placed the unshaped ore on the pedestal. "Now you, Jay."

"Yes, Master," Jay said, moving to the pedestal and touching it gently. The same glow appeared.

The ore moved, reshaping into a figurine of Rin. It was much cruder than the previous work, yet still something that could be sold for quite a lot of money.

Rin picked it up and examined it. "Much better than expected for your first try. Even just moving a little would have been enough. But this… There has been some skill transference. Congratulations, Jay, you can now assist in this workshop. At least a little."

"Can I try?" Helena asked, intrigued. She wanted one of those figurines, or even both. They were beautiful.

"It's not configured for your kind," Rin gently said, "But you can take this if you like them."

He handed her the crystal trees and the figurine of himself. Helena took them, marvelling at their intricate beauty.

"Thank you, Rin. These are incredible."

Rin nodded. "Consider them a gift. Now, let's move on to the next task. We are going to perform a ritual of transference. Midnight Matriarch is bound to me, not you. It was useful for when you were younger, but now you're going to college, and it's time for more independence. After the rite, it will be bound to you instead. You will be able to share its senses, and there may be some other overlaps. I have already done this with others – Damien, Sen, and Lukas."