Chương 91: 6.12 How many Samanthas does it take to change a lightbulb?

2104: 03: 06: 21: 33: 11 Somewhere in the middle of Greenside, in a nice restaurant taking on the façade of an Irish pub, nine vigilantes sat surrounding a large circular table, empty dessert plates and full glasses with all manner of drinks in front of each. Today – tonight, rather – was a historic day (to me at least): the re-founding of the New Seattle Sentinels.

All the Sentinels – including the new people that had agreed to join – had gathered to make agreements, set up lines of communications, create plans, divide patrol territory, etcetera, and ultimately (and likely metaphorically) sign a pact of cooperation for not just the betterment of themselves, but for the whole of Charm. Outside the Sentinels proper, Aetherna and of course Amber and I, there were three new masked I hadn't seen before, all adults and all vigilantes: Blade Eater, Changelinger and Doombell.

The solo heroes, Rhennish had informed us, had all declined to join, citing their contracts with the government as their excuse. Blade Eater, despite the edgy-sounding name and the dark black costume – a cordovan hat, eye-covering bandana, ruffled shirt and trousers and riding boots; all black – was kind of a jokester, though his reputation spoke more of bloodshed than jokes, and his humor was a sharp one.

Then again, he'd explained his name was an homage to sword swallowing rather than something like catching blades in his teeth, so maybe he wasn't all edge. It was all linked to his power: summoning powered blades from his mouth, along with the mastery to use said blades. It sounded very inconvenient. Changelinger didn't really have a costume at all, but rather a variety of folkloric forms he could shift through without having to go back to his real form like me.

His preferred form seemed to be that of a tall elf – or fae as he liked to call them. What the difference was, I didn't know. Each of his forms apparently had a different set of powers, and an energy limit to each that meant he had to switch at times – even simply being one drained said energy, albeit only a little. That was all we could get from him in the introduction, and he hadn't opened up much since; he was more than a bit shy.

Doombell was dressed in a black-and-white nun outfit for the most part, though the robe part ended at her waist to continue with poofy black trousers and thick black boots similar to mine. Her mask was a simple, yet effective veil that reminded me a bit of the one I'd gotten at the Wardens base on Rennie Island. Out of the three newcomers, she was the severest of them all; a tough, stubborn hardass with a blatant mean streak.

Outside of superstrength and regenerative healing, the woman could call a bell she would then strike with a suspiciously mace-like clapper, sending out a shockwave that made the earth seem to tremble, though in reality it only mentally affected those she wanted it to. Apparently the clapper itself wasn't necessary nor anything special, but simply part of her theming; she could pound the bell with her fist if she wanted to and get the same effect.

Again, all were here to meet with one another and strike an agreement. And after all that was said and done, there would be a big announcement that the Sentinels had been reborn, something something a joyful day, bright future for Charm, etcetera etcetera. Yet for all that this was supposed to be a great day, my mind was elsewhere. Even a week later, Mom's thoughts on villainy – and the future, and all the other heady thoughts she uttered and I'd had for months now – resurfaced again and again.

Even talking it over with my therapist hadn't helped; I kept obsessing over it. Outside of time spent in class, with friends, masking, or doing anything else engaging, my mind always returned to my dreams as a hero, my paranoia around my Heroic Impulse, and the doom-bound Madness waiting for me in some uncertain future. Perhaps- no, surely now was not the time to think about it. It didn't help that I didn't really care much for what everyone here was saying.

Creating vague divisions based around the city's districts, telling who called who for quick emergency backup, and who can order who around; it all seemed pretty obvious to me, and yet they kept talking about it like it wasn't! Each would patrol like usual, contact the person closest if they needed help – or, you know, would contact the 'proper' heroes – and no one would order another around except in cases like Amber and I; or Rhennish, Mantella and March; or Aetherna and Changelinger.

It was really just that easy. And yet, they kept meticulously going over everything, each too steeped into their own uncertainty and skepticism to simply accept what was in front of them. What we should be discussing was what we knew, what we could do, and when we would do it. But they didn't, and so my mind kept wandering. In truth, I didn't know what I wanted to do. Yes, sure, going on the offensive was the obvious answer, but then what?

Capture a couple of villains only for more to inevitably pop up in this never-ending rat race? Over the past two months, the heroes had collectively captured eight villains – all of them solos, half of them juniors – while more than a dozen had crawled out of the woodworks, again most of them juniors and solos. As Mom said, capturing wouldn't accomplish anything in the long run. Heroism had turned from, well, heroism into something rote. Like it was weed whacking instead of… Of what, exactly?

Wasn't I supposed to be in it to help people? So what if the capture-the-villain part of it had turned into a chore. Save those who needed saving, help those who cannot help themselves. Protect the dream, as Mom had said. And at that realization I found it again, the Heroic Impulse strumming its chord, creating the discordant note that subtly guided my mind's thoughts, effectively saying that fighting villains was how I could help protect that dream.

That my desires should be focused there, and continue to be focused there. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website. Like many times before, I cut the thread. They were becoming harder to detect, and I feared the day the Heroic Impulse would grow so subtle in its machinations that I couldn't discern between mine and its. Then I'd be back at square one, back in the days before I killed Nth-Sight.

Even if I remembered those times fondly, I doubted they would be as fun the second time around, nor as free of interference as I remembered them to be – or had believed them to be, rather. Of course I'd likely be long dead or Mad by that time, so why bother thinking about it. Why bother thinking about anything for that matter.

"-but who would take Bayside? Aberdeen?" Aetherna asked.

"We still don't have full coverage of the city." Back to that topic again? I thought we'd dealt with it already.

"There's no need," Mantellan said, sounding as tired as I was irritated.

"The gaps are well taken care off; the Guardians respond quick to Bayside and Aberdeen, while with Jauntiste the Wardens cast an even wider net from Rennie Island. It is the periphery – northern Northside, The Hub, Riverside, Greenside – that we need to focus on." To be honest, all this talk about nothing; it was pissing me off.

"I thought we were supposed to be their counterbalance, their betters," Doombell said bitterly, voice as smooth and heavy as words were harsh, "not their cleanup crew." Even behind her mask Naomi looked bored to the point of daydreaming. Hell, she might even be asleep from the way she was leaning backwards in her chair.

Amber likewise had resigned her efforts to keep up – for appearances if nothing else – with the conversation by throwing in her two cents every once in a while, having long seen the futility of trying to work out Doombell's – and to a lesser extent, Aetherna's – complaints. Why bother rehashing the same arguments over and over again if no one was willing to take the leap. It was clear that the only people who still cared to argue were Aetherna, Mantellan, Rhennish and Doombell.

Blade Eater had long since stopped talking, keeping himself busy with cutlery tricks. Changelinger said and did nothing, but then again he hadn't said much to begin with.

"It's not about cleanup, or about counterbalance, or prominence," Rhennish said pointedly.

"It's about doing what's practical, what's possible. We cover what they don't, attack where they can't, and focus on dealing with villains and crime where we can. That's the foundation, and we can work up from there. All in due time." That, finally, seemed good enough for Aetherna. But not Doombell.

"Time will tell, huh," she scoffed, sending me fuming.

"If it worked like that, these two-" she gestured vaguely towards Amber and I, "-wouldn't be the most prominent ones of this group." A complete lie and obvious bait. Either Doombell was arguing for the sake of arguing rather than to get anything real out of it, or she distrusted the Sentinels to the point of wanting to break them up by attacking their ego. Mantellan and Rhennish didn't bite and kept their focus on trying to take away whatever issues Doombell had with them, but nothing seemed to be working.

The conversation got stuck in a loop and Rhennish was too gentle to break it, Mantellan too old, and Doombell either too stubborn or deliberately perpetuating it.

"What do you want then?" Mantellan asked shortly, directly. Still tired, but with steel in his voice all the same. Maybe Mantellan was not too old to break the loop.

"Why're you here if you don't want to join?"

"I grew up in Charm," Doombell said.

"As did my parents. My grandparents came from New Seattle, and my great-grandparents died there. Everything they told me about the past spoke of how the Sentinels were the team to look up to. The real heroes, long before those weak imitations came and built systems to keep people like you – like us – out. Those stories were the reason I became a vigilante in the first place instead of a government stooge. A leashed attack dog, made weak on purpose by petty bureaucracy." She stood up from her chair.

"The Sentinels, on the other hand? They were men of action, of strength." She flexed her arms. They were pretty big. I wondered how much of it was superpowers and how much was regular training." A wall against the vilest villainy! Who wouldn't play second fiddle to the Guardians, the Wardens or anyone else!" She chuckled.

"So it was under Jagar Natha, at least. But apparently, his death took your spirit too!" The original Sentinels bristled at that, Naomi waking up from her fugue state at the words. Yet I was quicker on the retort.

"For a woman of action," I ground out.

"You sure love the sound of your own voice." I blamed pseudo-Sam for this. She wasn't nearly as subtle as the Heroic Impulse, and normally much easier to rein in, but damn if it didn't feel good to indulge her right now. To release some of that anger. Which was odd, because from the stories Mom had told, other-Sam hadn't been an angry person, so why would pseudo-Sam be? Doombell growled, actually growled at the statement.

"Yeah? And what're you gonna do about it?"

"Try me, bitch," I growled back.

"Say when and where." For a silent second, she glared before, "Ha!" barking a laugh and saying, "At least there are still women of action here!" She sat back down again, and from there the rest of the night went much smoother. I rolled my eyes. What a bi- I reigned pseudo-Sam back in. I had no desire to start issues right after solving them.

As expected, the issue of 'territories' was rather simple: Amber and I in Northside, Doombell and Blade Eater – who'd apparently been long familiar with each other, although less amicably than Amber and I – in Riverside, the original Sentinels in Little Europe and western Greenside, and Aetherna and Changelinger in eastern Greenside and Portside. The Hub was mostly shared between Aetherna, Changelinger, Amber and I, while Aberdeen and Bayside was more or less left to whoever was nearby and the heroes in general.

I still didn't see the need for this kind of division. Maybe it was ego or something? It all just seemed so petty. As for other agreements, the SentiNet collecting information from all over was connected to whatever sources each of us had. Amber and I provided the least for obvious reasons, though it wasn't like Doombell's was anything to write home about either. Aetherna's and Blade Eater's were more substantive, so with all of them put together the result was greater the sum of its parts.

At least something was going right. After all was said and done, a group photo was made through a handy application of Mantellan's power. It would be posted, shared and sent along with a to-be-agreed-upon bit of text to news outlets, influencers, the Guardians and Wardens, the solo heroes and even the known accounts of villains to signal everyone's Sentinels affiliation and to 'set the records straight', as Rhennish said.

Apparently this was one of those Treaty compliance policies that weren't on its own actually part of the Treaty, but came about informally through trial and error, best practices, negotiations, precedent, historical showings of the Triumphant Twelve, etcetera. Something like that. And now, finally, after nearly four hours of introductions, dining, negotiation, complaining and whatever else I hadn't had the attention span for; only now were we free to go.

Aetherna and Changelinger went amicably, Blade Eater jokingly, and Doombell annoyingly, with a final jab in my – our – direction.

"If either of you want a proper mentor again," Doombell said to Amber, Naomi and I with a smile full of teeth, "you know how to contact me." And then, like a bat out of hell, she dashed away and vanished. Apparently her superstrength came with a side of speedster too. I glared at the opening she left through. Even though Doombell'd agreed to become a Sentinel, I still hated her, sunlike anger burning bright and hot in my heart.

Not only had she been constantly needling and, apparently, testing all of us; she was now being outright insulting! A hand touched my shoulder.

"Are you alright, Sam?" Amber asked. Naomi was right beside her, looking equally as worried. My mind snapped back like a rubber band, breaking the chain of emotions coming from pseudo-Sam for the second time tonight – if that was indeed what it was.

"Yes. Sorry." Both my friends continued to stare, but neither seemed willing to speak. After a moment, Amber sighed and lifted her hand from my shoulder. Rhennish and Mantellan shared a look, but said nothing. I cleared my throat.

"Anyway," I said, breaking the ice, "That went well."

"Hm," Rhennish hm-ed non-committedly.

"As well as it could have, I suppose. Though I'd hoped the meeting would go a bit better than just 'well'." Mantellan snorted.

"Ai, but such is fate." He chuckled.

"Heroes, vigilantes, villains, rogues; masked never change, no matter how many years pass." Naomi sniffed.

"We're nothing like that." Amber and I nodded in agreement, though I felt Amber had less of a ground to stand on than Naomi and me.

"Truly, March? You felt no vindication after Jester here started cussing out Doombell?" Naomi looked away.

"And who was it that was yelling at Jester not two weeks ago, and now acts like she's her best friend?" Naomi audibly groaned, causing Mantellan to chuckle.

"This is what I mean: drama queens, one and all!" Now Rhennish chuckled along, and soon all of us were.