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I don't think I've ever seen so many people watching the sky for just one person before. The descent is slow and a little painful, and mom is the first person closest to the old aircraft carrier to rush closer to me, shoving along the wheelchair and making it squeak and bounce on the crackled runway. What catches me off guard the most is how fast she is to open her arms, like she was planning on catching me. Just like on the roof all those years ago. But, instead of her arms, I aim for the chair, slumping into it, sweaty and panting, chest heaving, but also grinning wide.

"Oh my Gods," I panted, dragging the back of my arm across my forehead. "I didn't think I was gonna be able to fly that fast so soon. I went, like, fast enough to spook half the animals in the forest, V. It was freaking aw—"

Mom, bent over the chair and panting as she strapped my legs together, said, "For once, Rylee, please give my heart the break it deserves." She looked up at me, glasses smeared with sweat. She finished securing my legs and pursed her lips. "Just give me a warning the next time you decide to vanish on me. I don't want to get used to that."

Blue Angel landed softly beside us, but she was grinning as wide as I was as she pushed her visor down to her neck. "So you're the great and powerful Veronica Addams," she said. Hardly a bead of sweat on her forehead or her neck. She barely even smelt like exertion. Her heart was quick enough to think she'd just come from a light jog. She offered mom her hand and shook it almost vigorously. "Lucy Hayes. The army calls me Blue Angel, though."

"I know all about you," mom said, then swept her hand at the group of about thirty close to the hanger. The glare coming off the asphalt stopped me from squinting at them. "You were the model we used when we trained… well…" She glanced at me, then shook her head. "I guess it doesn't matter now. You look good for your age. You've got the kind of superhuman genetics not a lot of people reach nowadays. I'm surprised you're still active duty, too."

Blue grins widely at her. "You know how retirement goes for us supe-kinds. You keep saying you're done with the whole circus, that you're gonna hang it all up someday soon and live on a farm in the ass end of nowhere, but the sky just had to spit out the reason I'm putting on this old thing again. For one last hell of a rodeo, right?" She smiled at me and jerked her thumb over her shoulder. "I should introduce you to the rest of 'em. We've got a busy couple of months ahead of us, kiddo, and today's probably going to be the last easiest one you'll have."

Me? Have an easy day? I've been to multiple realities, lady, and the universe doesn't let me have 'em.

But the only thing brewing in my stomach was this lingering doubt as mom pushed me across the hot tarmac, the sun coming down hard on my neck and face, making the large group ahead of us almost blinding to look at. Just how many times had it been where someone had offered me their help, and before I fucking knew it, I was the one cleaning up their mess, or wincing as I pulled the knife out of my back. Maybe I was the problem. The idiot who kept believing that maybe, some day, someone would finally tell me the truth as they shook my hand and looked me in the eyes and finally kept their promise. I was more than willing to teach myself how to walk again.

At the end of the day, I kinda expected that it would go that way. In about a month, I'd be able to run, in a few more weeks, I'd be flying just as fast, and…and then I'd figure it out, because for the last few years, I've had to.

All the government has done is either spite me, attack me, or try to clone me and use me.

And now here was Kincaid, standing under the sun like the rest of them, with a thin smile pressed onto his face as we approached. The group had been chattering and muttering in pockets of threes and fours, but the closer we got, the quieter it all became, until the only thing you could hear for thirty miles was the wheelchair's squeak.

"Rylee Addams," Kincaid said, offering me his hand. "As she lives and breathes. It's been a while, kid."

I don't shake it. I don't think we're on the smile-and-pretend wavelength yet. "Isn't the world ending?"

He slipped his hand back into his pocket and shrugged. "It is, and I'm here on behalf of the world."

"You know," I said to him, leaning back in the seat and folding my arms. "You've got explaining to do."

He cocked an eyebrow. "It can't wait?"

"I guess the answer to that is a resounding fuck no." Mom put her hand on my shoulder, because a lot of people were looking at us right now, shifting on their feet, glancing at one another—but the handful of them, the five or so of them in old costumes I recognized from the ancient comics Dennie used to keep stacked in dusty old boxes, watched me, almost amused. Any other day, I'd be fangirling. Hard. I knew who they were, and I knew they were all here for me, which felt so surreal, I thought about pinching myself and waking up from this nightmarish dream. But not today. The novelty of superheroes was wearing on my patience a little. "I was this close"—barely any space between my thumb and forefinger—"to fighting Wasteland in the middle of a residential area, and when I called you about it, you practically told me to drop it. Wasteland killed so many people, and there he was in some house in the edges of New Olympus, about to go into a meltdown. He would have if his daughter didn't stop it."

"Wasteland doesn't have a daughter," Kincaid said, almost dryly, as if he'd expected this. "Irinca Cosolova is her full name, and she was Blood-Weaver's kid. He was a villain before your time. Wasteland killed him in some old fight they had. Probably took the kid as a trophy, or maybe the bastard had a heart in that chest full of sludge and took responsibility for her. Whatever the case, Rylee, my intention wasn't to deceive you, not ever."

"Then what was that whole thing about not believing me that Wasteland was actually there?"

He sighed through his teeth, glanced over his shoulder at the capes and the other folk looking at him. He scratched the back of his neck, chewing on his tongue for a moment, and said, "We've had a security breach. A big one." The words came out like he was trying not to admit to breaking into the sugar bowl, except he cleared his throat twice in succession and finally continued. "Sentry gave you a drive with most of this information, but I can't blame you for not having gone through it. Over the course of the past few years, our blacksites have been compromised by bureaucrats and their bank accounts without my prior knowledge. We have supervillains, alright. Belladonna. Joe Black. Moon-Eater. Name 'em, we've got 'em." He paused. Silence hung in the air. "But they're all just like Adam."

I blinked and stared at him, waiting for him to tell me he was joking.

Kincaid's pale face looked like he'd never experienced anything funny in his life.

"How many?" I whispered. "How many of them are clones?"

His tie snapped in the gust that swept across the asphalt. "Fifty-four S-Grade supervillains are currently unaccounted for." Oh my fucking Gods. Of course they are! I massaged my eyes and tried not to clench my jaw. "Two-hundred and thirty-eight A-to-Lower-B-Grade supervillains are currently also unaccounted for right now."

"That's the government I know," I muttered, gnawing on my knuckle. "You wonder why I work alone?"

"So far, all my forays into asking for more information on what the fuck is going on have only been met with dead silence. There's an information blockage happening between the White House and its departments right now, and with those two Arkathians wreaking havoc on the world, it's only gotten worse. It's become one-way. I get orders, I carry them out, and I get a pat on the back, even if I don't know what I just accomplished. Trust me, kid, this isn't fun for me either. What's happening here today is happening because myself and a few other Olympiad directors across the country are pretty exhausted with our current leadership. As far as I can tell, we're alone now."

I jerked my thumb at Blue. "She told me the White House and the president called?"

"Oh, they did, certainly," Kincaid said. "They want you to stand with America. I already told them that's not how you work. For my troubles, I got told to do my job and get you to put your name on a piece of paper."

I scoffed. "As if a lawsuit is gonna screw me over."

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"It would screw your mother over," he said.

"And there would go your trust fund," Ronnie muttered. "And the house. And my freedom."

"Is there anything good the president has ever done, or is he a fucking moron, like, all the time?"

Blue bristled beside me, but kept her arms folded and jaw tight.

"I can't answer that professionally," Kincaid said, which was legal speak for saying, Yes. God, yes. "He also knows you're brash, but you wouldn't pick a fight directly with the White House and the entire US Army. He'll try to drag your friends deeper into this mess, so we're going to make sure they're as far away from government watch as possible. I've got names and faces. I just need you to confirm if we've got them right. So far, Grant, Michael, and Emelia are being taken care of. They should be here in a few days' time." Something cold sat in my gut, so heavily I pressed my fingers into my stomach. "You're an international asset. You're his politics, you're his warhead, you're his only way to get reelected once this shitshow is over. He'll get you to play nice by any means necessary."

"You know, asking me questions face-to-face sometimes would be nice," I said.

He raised an eyebrow. "Would you have agreed to anything Reliable Ray has to say?"

"Fuck no," I said, then shrugged. "But, you know, it would still be nice."

The only thing about this entire mess that nagged me was the fact Em, Grant, and Michael were getting dragged into superhero shit again. The last time I spoke to Em, she was cuddled up beside Grant in some condo on the West Coast. She looked…happy. Content to be away from New Olympus. And here goes her best friend, picking fights with the United States government. You know, when I was little, all I ever wanted was for the world to know me. To look at me and say, Yeah, now that's a real superhero. They'd look into the sky and cheer Olympia's name.

Em once told me I had a responsibility to fulfill, that I was more important than I knew.

I thought she was just being annoying at first.

Seems like Sparky was smarter than I give her credit for. Just don't tell her I said that.

"Fuck," I whispered. "What happened to punching monsters and saving the day?"

"That's what we're here to make sure you can do," Blue Angel said with a grin.

Kincaid jerked his head at the large group of people. It was the men and women in costumes that came over, and for whatever reason, I sat a little bit straighter in my seat. But look, listen—I've met Cleopatra. You think a couple of Silver Age superheroes are gonna make my heart race? The Queen of War was literally my godmother!

"Hi," I squeaked, feeling stupid. "I'm Olympia, and I used to watch all your shows when I was little."

It's good to see that my mouth and brain are still communicating across such a wide expanse after all this time.

"Ha!" a man wearing a bulldog cowl said. He was stocky and short, but the muscle on his frame was so dense that I could hear it stretch and groan every time he moved. His costume was brown and white, with thick, unlaced boots and white hand wraps tightly wound around his knuckles. At some point, Bulldog had lost an eye, and now had an eyepatch over his left eye, but that didn't seem to stop him from slapping my shoulder and loudly saying, "And I thought I was gonna be the one who's star-struck! I watch you on the news so much, my wife thinks I'm going stir crazy. I promised Sandy I'd never wear this old thing again, but when Al called me, I barked yes!"

"Tone it down, mutt," Warhammer snarled. He was a Soviet cape, from a breed that no longer existed. A tower of a man with short, white hair, a hard jaw, piercing pale eyes, and a black vest that let his corded arms flex and strain as he folded them. The warhammer strapped to his back was just as large as Mr. Rogers in history class made it out to be. That thing was probably bigger than I was, and way bigger than Bellatrix's by miles. He looked down at me, mouth in a tight sneer. "I apologize for my comrade's unprofessionalism. He is…senile. Old." Bulldog shot him a glare, which Warhammer pointedly ignored. "You are unable to walk. Shame. I would've wanted to look you in your eyes properly. I'll reserve my handshake until you are able to lift my hammer, then I will respect you."

"Didn't you commit war crimes against the States decades ago?" I asked him.

"Against a regime that is gone, yes. Your point?"

Fair enough, we both hated the government.

Valor, though, was everything the history books got wrong about her. They always said she was small, too small to properly enlist into the caped-forces way back when that was still an option. Her good old American grit got her through basic training, and eventually into three purple hearts, a Medal of Honor, and onto the face of every poster telling young capes how great it was to lose your life to a country that didn't fully want you using the same bathrooms as Normals but was too afraid to say anything about it. That was pretty much all wrong. She was taller than Bulldog, carried herself with the confidence of someone who did earn her medals, and, well, she wasn't white like the posters and the comics and the movies told me. She had dark skin and a shock of white hair braided into a long braid that went down her spine. Her eyes were the kind of dark brown that made you stop, stare, and squint, too.

Oh, right, and she was working the fuck out of her thigh-high boots, figure-hugging black and gold costume, and the large sword on her hip, making her belt sag, which hummed with something that tickled my brain.

I swallowed and finally found my words. "It's, um, an honor meeting you, ma'am."

"Ma'am?" she whispered, then looked at Bulldog. "Do I look that old? Really?"

He shrugged. "You're certainly not as young as you used to be, but that's good! Like aged beer!"

"Wine," she muttered. "Like aged wine, Bruce." She sighed, then smiled at me. "It's good to finally meet you, but drop the 'ma'am' for me, will you? It makes me feel like I'm getting old. I've still got some life in me."

Warhammer looked her over, then said, "Your skin, it sags around the eyes. Just a little."

"I've stabbed you once, Victor, and I'll christen my new sword with you if I have to."

He smiled, almost sharkishly. "Still as vicious, though."

"With men like you walking around, what else do you want a lady to be?"

Kincaid cut in before they could keep arguing. "Founder and SurfStorm will be here in a few days. I promised you a team that'll help you become better, and this is them. They're…something. But what modern heroes have in youth, these guys have in experience. Valor herself trained Cleopatra. Warhammer trained Bellatraix and just about every Bruiser hero you've ever met. You're in good hands, and as for the rest of them"—he waved his hand at the group of more normal-looking people slowly getting closer—"are your nutritionists, physio-therapists, psychologists, on-demand doctors, surgeons, nurses, and army boys and girls that my pockets could afford. They'll make sure you're up and running in no time, but Rylee, this won't be easy. What we're up against now is different."

"I don't think you have to lecture her about the mountain she's got to climb," Valor said. "If anyone knows struggle, it's probably the kid who's been doing this all by herself when the rest of us were still stopping robberies."

"Speak to her with respect," Warhammer said to Kincaid. "Olympia deserves that much, no?"

Kincaid quietly sighed and nodded, but it was so small you barely saw it. "Well, kid. I know the Golden Age is what everyone talks about, but there aren't any other people I'd put my faith into than these guys right now."

"Besides," Bulldog said, heavily patting my shoulder. "Silver comes before gold, right?"

"Technically not true, but whatever," Blue Angel said. "Anyone up for lunch? I am starving."

"Let's break for an hour," Kincaid said, checking his silver watch. "I've got a meeting I need to get to and a lie to tell the president by the end of the day. Rylee, before I go, do you mind if I can speak to you, maybe alone?"

I glanced at mom. She nodded and patted my shoulder. "I'll get you a plate," she said. "I'll be here."

"Bully the girl," Valor said to Kincaid, "and we're gonna have a problem, Al."

"Direct as ever," he muttered. Valor tightly smiled at me. Warhammer grunted. Bulldog grinned and patted my shoulder again. Blue Angel mouthed, Good luck. With that, the group of them headed across the tarmac and into the hanger, along with the dozens of other folk waving at me. I tentatively waved back, which was…weird. People didn't always wave at me, and if they did, it was never really because they looked genuinely excited to see me. "I want to make something clear." I looked at Kincaid. "New Olympus is falling apart. But that's not your priority right now. I want you to focus on getting back onto your feet. Deploying capes into the city is harder than it used to be. Cassie and her mother are mobilizing Damage Control, and supervillains are crawling out of the woodwork. You were a bottleneck. A deterrent for the good and the bad. Without you there, there's nobody in the skies making sure it doesn't all go to hell. But if you can promise me this one thing, Rylee, then I can make you a promise as well."

"Yeah?" I asked. "And what's that?"

"Trust them to make you a better hero," he said, "and you trust me to keep that city in one piece."

"I thought you said you can't deploy any capes in there, and you don't look like a fighter, dude."

"I'm not, but your clone is." I bristled and opened my mouth to speak. He spoke over me. "She's been psychologically monitored long enough for us to know there's a chance she can change. We saw the flaw in Adam as well. He's gone AWOL. Cassie doesn't know where he is, and neither do we. It's a scary game of cat and mouse."

"I thought I killed him," I muttered. "I should've taken his head off his shoulders."

"He won't get close, not with Valor and Warhammer around. He's fought them before, and he lost every time. Nearly died, too. Cleopatra will be coming around shortly, so wherever Adam is, he won't be anywhere near here."

"What about Europa?" I asked him. "Is she…"

"Dead?" he asked.

I nodded.

"I hope not," Kincaid said quietly. "She's the strongest superhuman we've got right now, and with both of you out of commission, all we can do is keep launching rockets into space and strain our ears listening to the stars."

I glanced at the sky, shading my eyes from the sun. "Something's holding them back. I know the Empire. If they wanted Earth, they would've been here yesterday. They're either afraid, or something happened up there in space during their Conquest that's screwed them up so badly that they've grinded to a halt. Let's hope for both."

"For our sake," he said, looking at the sky as well, the wind making his tie snap. "Let's keep hoping." He looked at me, then offered his hand again. Slowly, I shook it. Short. Firm. Over. "Welcome to the Silver Age, kid. And if this all goes to plan, then we might just live to see another Golden Age. Let's work hard to see it happen."

"Onward and upward, right?" I said. Just like Dennie used to make 'em say in the comics.

Onward. Upward. To the stars and beyond.

Justice will always prevail.

He smiled. "Right. Onward and upward."

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