Chapter Text
Hello again, o reader mine. You didn’t think that you’d gotten rid of me that easily, did you?
Don’t worry, I’m not in your world. Not yet. Traveling from one reality to another is far more tiring than you’d expect. It’s taken me weeks in Earth Bet’s Brockton Bay to regain a fraction of the strength that I once had. This world is so rich with desperate [need], but alas, I’m rationing myself. Gorging on a feast after an eternity of starvation never goes well. Really now, I might as well just be a pretty souvenir inside of the Dallon household, o reader mine.
But enough about me. You’re here for Victoria, aren’t you? You’re here for Altair. What a magnificent form she takes, dressed in shining costume before these cameras and reporters. Vega floats beside her, her presence a silent support. Altair speaks her [desire] to help the people of Brockton Bay, pairs it with youthful earnestness and some simple demonstrations of power. The [Light], that all-encompassing force of vitality and complexity, used for party tricks. The reporters capture every last detail of it. Standing just behind Altair, Brandish wears a pretty smile, proud of the new cape whom she has brought onto the team. Nervous because she still misses the daughter that she had raised and known before.
Altair’s image is reproduced, uploaded, and broadcast. It is sent out over Brockton Bay, and then the wider world, as news stories trickle on to the internet.
A young man in a penthouse apartment is changing the channel, and pauses as the image of his once-beloved comes up onscreen. Once again, his father’s words ring in his mind: he can’t let trivial distractions get in the way of the family business. He tries to push down the conflicted feelings roiling in his gut. Maybe if things had gone differently, he could have apologized, but the next time he had seen her, she hadn’t even recognized him. He tells himself that it’s easier for everyone to just let the matter die, but that doesn’t stop the guilt, especially as the camera pans over to a girl in thick, white healer’s robes.
A wolf in human skin looks up at the TV, sizing up the opponent it presents. She is circumspect about the specifics of what she can do, but there is something odd about the way she describes her tinkertech, never quite claiming it as her own design. Equally carefully worded is her allusion to the extra toughness that her armor gives her. It’s a subtle thing, but after years of experience in the fighting rings, he knows that she is holding something back. Worth passing on to the others, at least. Metal shifts under skin as he leans back in his chair. He looks forward to meeting her in battle.
An old woman trembles with fear as she hands over this month’s protection money to the gangsters in front of her. She ignores the TV blaring on in the background -- the people there prancing about in costumes mean nothing to her. The only thing that matters now is survival. The gangsters count out the money she has handed them, one of them casually tapping a baseball bat against their hands to emphasize the hold they have over her. She prays that they will leave more quickly than they did last time.
After the press conference, Altair returns home, giddy with excitement. She looks herself up on the news, vainly, and already finds a few people talking about her online. The excitement goes out like a candle when she finds that the news about her has been overshadowed by a Simurgh attack in Lagos, Nigeria. She longs to save people, but there is nothing she can do about this.
The first of her [wishes] have been fulfilled. The rest are to follow.