His assistant shows me the stupidly huge award I’m supposed to present to Clayton, a steel shield with the city crest on it and various lofty ideals inscribed around its border, all polished to a mirror finish. His assistant stresses how important it is not to get fingerprints on the front of it, making me swear to lift it with both hands, before she dashes off to fix something else.
I read the words on the page, my pre-written, pre-approved adulations, but none of it sticks in my brain. My attention drifts to the sounds behind me, the scuffle of the service elevator opening up and something heavy being wheeled out, set up in the corner.
“Boss said wait for the speeches before we let this one out,” a voice mutters some distance behind me.
“Did he say which speech?”
“No, just like when the speeches start.”
I’m terrified of turning around, to do more than peek over my shoulder as they bicker over the exact right moment. They covered whatever they’re talking about with a large tarp, but I recognize the glow of the luminescent liquid in the bottom few inches it doesn’t cover.
My heart thuds in my chest so hard I nearly choke.Ellis.
Watching Clayton parade around in his powered armor through the slim part in the tall velvet curtains, I realize that’s why he insisted on wearing it tonight. Clayton is going to fight Ellis, here.
And just like every mutant he’s fought before, it’s been a set up.
In that moment, all I can think is we need to get Ellis out now. There isn’t time for me to hang my head and cower, waiting for a better time, a better plan. Every time I’ve shrunk back, thinking it would preserve me, has only ever prolonged the suffering.
It has to be now or never. I scurry ungracefully over to the tank, crouching down where there’s a lot of buttons, hoping one of them will help.
Searching the control panel frantically for something to turn it off, to open the lock, I quickly realize none of the tiny text the buttons or dials are labeled with makes any sense to me.
I know the time is running out. I can hear Clayton approaching, climbing the stage stairs to come back here. Each heavy, jackbooted footfall closer echoes inside me, a countdown to our doom.
Why couldn’t there be just a big, bright red “OFF” button somewhere?
Clayton’s cold metal grip closes painfully around one of my wrists. I cry out as my skin is pinched in several places. The sensation is only made worse by the sudden yank that twists my arm back. I try to untwist, but he wrenches me up to stand and slams me against Ellis’s tank.
The back of my head impacts the glass, and for a moment the only thing I can do is try to blink the stars out of my eyes. The power of his cybernetic arm is too much for me as its grip pins my hand painfully above my head.
I put my other hand out to push him away, but his body crushes mine against the tank, pinning it awkwardly to my chest. Wincing, I look directly into his eyes, horrifically familiar.
“Really, Lacey. It’s not that difficult to just do what you’re told.”
I seethe pathetically, unable to break free of his grip. My hand clutches between us, grasping for anything at all, and my fingers snag on something clipped inside the ruffles of my dress’s neckline. A button presses in under my fingertip, and I realize what it is.
The lavalier microphone.
My hand is trapped uselessly between our bodies as he pins me between him and the tank; I manage to pluck it off and conceal it in my hand. “You’re a fraud. All of it, you never saved anyone.”
“Really, Lacey, you were there. I saved you every time,” he croons softly. His breath smells like bourbon and the garlic from the crab hors d’oeuvres.
“Every time but one,” I correct him, and his expression tightens with anger. “Not when it was real. You could only play hero when you knew I was heading into danger. You sent me to those experts on the ooze, you knew I would find them succumbing to it! You used me!”
I try to stick it on his jacket, but I don’t know if it catches on the fabric of his tux before he notices the movement, and I shoveat his chest to distract him. Even I’m a little disappointed in it, two out of ten on that shove.
“All along, you were making the mutants under the Steel Spire. No one ever knew,” I say quickly, as his eyes brighten eagerly at my unsuccessful struggle.
“Part of settling my lawsuit was that the public would never know my company was responsible for the ooze. It was only meant to avoid a PR crisis.” He grins at me, like he’s proud of himself for that one. “After that, people simply assumed the mutants were being created by the ooze. You blame me, but I didn’t have to do a thing.”
“You’re not going to get away with this!” I snap, but even I can feel how empty it sounds.
“They already love me,” he scoffs, rolling his eyes like it’s beneath him to explain this to me. He twists my arm above my head a little further, before releasing my wrist to push me onto the ground.
I land hard on my hip, my shoulder smacking a table. The award wobbles precariously behind me on it.
“Who’s going to stop me? Him?” Clayton gestures back to Ellis floating helplessly in the tank and actually laughs at the idea.
