The crowd laughed and laughed.
The tiny transmitter crackled inside her ear.
“And so it begins,” came Ingrid’s voice, wry and unamused.
“Let them laugh,” Phobia responded. “They won’t be laughing for much longer. Nightmare, are you in position?”
“Roger,” Nova said, careful to move her lips as little as possible, though she doubted anyone in the crowd was paying attention to her. “Just need to know which rooftop you want me on.”
“The Council hasn’t left the warehouse yet,” said Phobia. “I will alert you once they do.”
Nova glanced across the street, to the second-level window of an office building, where she could barely see Ingrid—or the Detonator, as the public knew her—peering out through the blinds.
The booing of the crowd started up again, more enthusiastic than before. Over the heads of the spectators, Nova caught glimpses of an elaborate parade float. On it was a miniature-scale version of the Gatlon skyline and standing among the buildings were actors wearing over-stylized costumes meant to resemble some of the most well-known members of Ace’s gang. Nova recognized Rat and Brimstone, both killed at the hands of Renegades, but before she could be offended on their behalf, she spotted a dark figure near the top of the float. A surprised laugh escaped her, easing some of the anxiety that had been building all morning.
“Phobia,” she said, “did you know they were going to put you on the villain floats this year?”
A hiss came back to her through the ear piece. “We are not here to admire the parade, Nightmare.”
“Don’t worry. You look good up there,” she said, eyeing the actor. He had donned a long black cloak and was carrying an enormous plastic scythe with a bunch of rubber snakes glued to the handle. But when he opened his cloak, rather than being consumed by shadows, the actor revealed a pale, skinny physique wearing nothing but lime green swimming briefs.
The crowd went berserk. Even Nova’s cheek twitched. “They may have taken a few liberties.”
“I think I like it better,” said Ingrid with a snort, watching the parade from the window.
“It certainly inspires terror,” agreed Nova.
Phobia said nothing.
“Is that…？” started Ingrid. “Oh my holy bomb squad, they have a Queen Bee this year.”
Nova looked again. At first the actress was concealed on the other side of the cityscape, but then she moved into view and Nova’s eyebrows shot upward. The woman’s blonde wig was twice the size of her head and her sequined black-and-yellow dress could not have been any gaudier as it sparkled in the afternoon sunlight. She had black mascara running down her cheeks and was embracing a large stuffed bumblebee to her bosom, wailing about the unfair treatment of her little honey makers.
“Wow,” said Nova. “That’s actually not a bad impersonation.”
“I can’t wait to tell Honey,” said Ingrid. “We should be recording this.”
Nova’s eyes darted around the crowd for what might have been the thousandth time. Standing still made her edgy. She was wired for movement. “Are you offended they don’t have a Detonator?” she asked.
There was a long pause before Ingrid said, “Well, I am now.”
Nova turned back to the parade. She stood on her tiptoes, trying to make out if any of their other comrades were among the costumes, when a loud crash startled the crowd. The top of the tallest building on the float—a replica of Merchant Tower—had just blown upward, and a new figure was emerging, laughing madly as he raised his hands toward the sky.
Nova clamped her jaw shut, the moment’s amusement doused beneath a rush of fury.
The Ace Anarchy costume was the closest to reality—the familiar black-and-gold suit, the bold, iconic helmet.
The audience’s surprise passed quickly. For many, this was the highlight of the parade, even more of a draw than seeing their beloved Council.
Within seconds, people had started to reach for the rotten fruits and wilted cabbages they’d brought with them for just this purpose. They started pummeling the villain float, shouting obscenities and mocking the villains on board. The actors took it with remarkable resilience, ducking down behind the buildings and screeching in feigned horror. The Ace Anarchy impersonator took the brunt of the attack, but he never dropped character—shaking his fist and calling the children at the front of the crowd stinking rascals and little nightmares, before he finally ducked down into the hollow building and pulled the top back over himself, setting up the surprise for the next street of onlookers.