Even villainy is a boys' club. Nocebo hears that something's going down after it already is; arrives late.
Slams her way loudly into the dockside warehouse, small but aposematic bright. Nocebo is not tall, nor combat-bulked, a relatively tiny figure beside many present, but unmissable: today's leathers and lightly modified motorcycle helmet are hot pink.
"Hi!" she announces, boosted by the helmet's cheek speakers. "You all think you have beef with Mainbrace, but we have an unsettled balance sheet to the tune of a kidney scan after pissing blood for weeks. I've got dibs." She stops and cocks her hip, messenger bag bouncing. "And if anyone has a problem with that, I can make your body think you're poisoned so bad that you instantly start to shit like you've got dysentry. Modern medical science can rehydrate you quicker than you die from it pouring out your ass, but you won't have fun."
People step back. The tight huddle surrounding Mainbrace, where she's slumped against a crate, shuffle open with an odd sort of reluctance.
"You might wanna hurry," Blueface says, with a rock-and-a-hard-place cringe. "Kid Belligerent's got a special knife, right? And he already stabbed her ten minutes ago."
Among the noises people shouldn't have to hear, Mainbrace decides dimly, is the sound of a warehouse of villains going into simultaneous idiopathic anaphylaxis, bodies writhing and choking and whistling hideously through squeezed-shut airways.
"Okay," Nocebo mutters over her, palming her face. "Okay. You're keeping pressure on it?"
"Yes," Mainbrace chokes out.
"Okay." Nocebo wrestles her helmet off with her free hand, digs out a phone, clears her throat at the emergency operator. "I, the villain Nocebo, have your city at my mercy, et cetera. Your hero Mainbrace lies bleeding out in the big blue warehouse on Roth—"
Mainbrace grabs weakly for her sleeve.
"Keep pressure on that," Nocebo hisses at her, hanging up.
"Didn't do this," Mainbrace says.
"It'll get them here." Nocebo strokes her face with her thumb. "How did you think this ended, Mainbrace? I hang up the costume, bake cookies for you? I go straight?" She takes her hand away, stands.
"Hadn't thought as far as the morning after," Mainbrace mumbles. "...Could have made pancakes."
Nocebo stills, facing away. Finally her shoulders heave with something inaudible.
"I think you need to see this," she says, not looking back at Mainbrace, and reaches into her messenger bag. Stoops over Kid Belligerent's feebly hacking form. Coldly eyes the back of his head. Raises the lug wrench.
There are noises people shouldn't have to hear.
After a long, long wordless stretch, sirens come close enough to hear.
"They're playing our song," Nocebo jokes bitterly, pulls back bloodstained hands. "Keep pressure — yeah. Okay."
Mainbrace makes a choked noise.
"You'll be okay," Nocebo says, pulling her helmet on. "You'll be okay."
She walks away. Bounces on her feet a little, just inside the warehouse door; yanks it open and runs — conspicuous, hands stained, to the sound of distant yelling.
