Chapter 186 Everyone.

Chapter 186: 186 Everyone.

I’d been in a few interrogation rooms in this life and the last, and the one at the Bureau was actually pretty nice, not gonna lie.

Then again, interrogation rooms meant for mobsters weren’t exactly built for luxury; as long as the space had steel bars and a drain in the floor for the blood, it was considered good enough.

This definitely beat the holding cells at the supermax, anyway. This room was constructed from walls so blindingly white and flawlessly smooth that you could barely even see the seams in the corners.

A single, heavy metal table sat bolted to the floor in the exact center of the room, surrounded by three chairs. One of them was currently occupied by me.

Across from me sat Mister Invincible, and leaning casually against the far wall with his arms crossed was Cloudfire, who looked like he’d rather be literally anywhere else.

At least Extraordinary wasn’t in here. Thank God for small mercies.

I’d heard the deafening, atmospheric sonic boom of his flight a few minutes after they brought me into the facility, so it was safe to say the alien was off-world again.

That wasn’t entirely uncommon for him, he was rarely ever around the city these days anyway. I wondered what that was actually about, but frankly, I didn’t care as long as he stayed far away from me.

At least with him out of the solar system, we wouldn’t be replicating that infamous Injustice impaling scene. (If you know, you know).

The Bureau had strict conflict-of-interest policies anyway, which was the only reason the guy hadn’t been allowed to interrogate the man who put his son in a medical coma.

It was also the reason Khonsu wasn’t here.

The lunar avatar and I had a weird, slightly closer relationship than the rest of the Founders—or at least a mutual respect—so standard operating procedure dictated he had to recuse himself.

They’d confiscated my magnetic bracers and anklets, of course, but they’d let me keep the rest of my armored suit.

They had, however, cuffed me by a thick tungsten chain directly to the table.

I was pretty sure that was entirely for the psychological look of the thing, rather than because Rick honestly thought a chain would stop a master of magnetism.

Either way, I wasn’t exactly happy.

Sure, I realized the legal reasoning for all the bullshit, but it wasn’t exactly endearing me to the Bureau.

I sat back in the metal chair, listening to the joints creak under my weight, and quietly checked to see exactly how far my magnetic fields could stretch out from the room.

Hmm. Not very far at all.

Did they have some kind of active nullifier matrix built into the walls? I knew there were some specific heroes who could biologically lock down another cape’s powers, but when you had such a massive, chaotic variety in abilities—ranging from ancient magic to genetic mutation to schizo-tech—those kinds of biological dampeners weren’t very universally useful.

And of course, they hadn’t had the time to build a cell specifically tailored for my frequency. I wasn’t officially part of their designated rogue’s gallery, and that suited me just fine.

Besides, they still had absolutely no idea what the real ceiling of my strength was, and I wasn’t about to give them any more hints by throwing a tantrum. Because fuck them.

Still, I worked hard to keep my breathing even and stay calm. No good could possibly come from flipping out and attacking the Founders inside their own headquarters.

At least, not yet.

I really did hope I wouldn’t have to violently smash my way out of this pristine facility, but if the final option was between a massive breakout and going to a federal black site for something I didn’t actually do, well...

Don’t get me wrong. On paper, I was entirely in favor of real, psychotic villains being warehoused in supermax jails. Some of those guys out there were just beyond fucked up.

Villainy for the corporate cameras tended to be highly choreographed: quaint, thematic bank robberies and holding major civic centers hostage while waiting for the heroes to show up and punch you for the sponsors.

But the real supervillains? The actual, unhinged criminals? They were not to be fucked around with.

Everyday civilians did not deserve to live in constant, grinding terror of some lunatic with super-strength deciding to pop their head off just to jump the morning line at Starbucks.

And considering the only viable alternative to a secure supermax jail was the heroes just summarily executing villains in the streets, that was a grim, bloody line I deeply hoped never became ’normalized’ by the public.

On a certain, deeply cynical level, I think a core part of my specific job was exactly about that.

When other, genuinely dangerous villains saw me doing high-profile, highly theatrical robberies and raking in massive corporate cash,

I liked to think it angled them towards manageable larceny or public menace rather than the much harder, darker things like mass murder or worse.

I kinda doubted it was universally true, but hell, sometimes you needed to believe a comforting lie to sleep at night.

"So, exactly how long am I supposed to wait in here?" I asked Rick, breaking the silence.

"As long as it takes the forensics team," Mister Invincible said brightly, then smiled. "But hey, if you really need a fun way to spend some time, you could always try and break this heavy steel desk over my head!"

Cloudfire let out a long, deeply exhausted groan from his place against the wall. "Ricky, I swear to God, if you ask the supervillain to hit you one more time, I am going to melt your boots to the floor."

"C’mon, Grey! It’ll be fun!" Rick protested jovially, tapping his indestructible skull. "It passes the time!"

"I think I’ll pass," I said dryly.

Rick shrugged his massive shoulders. "Suit yourself."

I exhaled heavily, leaning my head back and returning to studying the featureless white ceiling.

What an absolute shit show this day had become.

I straightened up in my chair as the heavy, seamless door finally hissed open.

Micheal Carter walked in, wearing his usual, box suit, perfectly paired with a silk tie and the nothing expression.

So it begins. The brains of the operation had arrived.

"Micheal," I greeted neutrally.

"Polaris," Cortex replied in his signature, flat, robotic drone. "How are you?"

"Not great," I said, raising my chained hand so the heavy tungsten manacles clinked loudly against the table.

"Indeed. Our apologies. It is standard federal procedure."

Cortex walked over and settled smoothly into the third chair, neatly shuffling a thick stack of printed reports he had brought with him.

He hadn’t blinked since he entered the room. But I guess I’d be more surprised if he did.

"So, I’m officially arrested," I said, leaning forward. "Did you at least bother to look at the mall’s security tapes before throwing me in the box?"

"I took a comprehensive look at all available camera angles," Micheal droned, his wide eyes fixed on me. "We saw clearly that you were attacked. However, until Mystic fully recovers from cryogenic stasis and informs us exactly why she initiated lethal force, we are operating under the strict legal assumption that you committed a severe, hidden criminal act, and she was simply responding to the threat."

"I told all of you back in the warehouse, she was being mind-controlled!" I argued, my voice rising in sheer frustration. "Look at her eyes!"

"Again, we cannot be definitively sure of any external influence until she wakes up and submits to a psychic evaluation," Micheal stated without an ounce of inflection. "As such, you will be securely held here until you can be transferred to a high-security supermax wing. Only as a temporary precaution, of course."

"Is that right?"

I leaned as far forward as the heavy chains would allow, glaring at the unblinking genius.

"You know exactly what this is?" I said, stabbing my finger aggressively into the table. "This is blatant profiling! You’re holding me in a black site simply because I wear a mask and call myself a villain."

"Hey now, that’s not entirely fair, Miles," Rick interrupted gently, holding up his hands.

"It is entirely fair!" I shot back, turning my glare on him. "I only terrorize the city for corporate money! I literally get paid by your own agents to fight heroes! But she came after me. I didn’t start anything today. I was shopping for a car! But you automatically assume I must have triggered her because I do theatrical evil acts for a paycheck and happen to wear a menacing-looking suit of armor!

"Frankly, I’m deeply offended. I should sue the Bureau for defamation. In fact, where the hell is my lawyer? I’m supposed to be provided one by the state."

"You are not officially being charged with a crime at this specific time," Micheal droned, completely unmoved by my legal outrage.

"Then I can just leave?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I did not say that."

"Oh, this is such utter bullshit!" I snapped, throwing my hands up as far as the cuffs allowed. "I am chained to a table all because your S-class golden girl got herself brainwashed and decided to try and cave my head in!"

Micheal scoffed. "Do you have any idea how incredibly often we hear the ’mind-control’ excuse from incarcerated villains?"

"Do you have any idea how incredibly often you heroes use that exact same excuse?" I countered viciously.

Cloudfire snorted from the wall, a genuine bark of surprised laughter, before he quickly covered his mouth with his hand.

Rick’s heroic frown immediately deepened into something genuinely stern.

"Watch it, Polaris," Rick warned, his booming voice dropping an octave.

"Oh, come on, Rick! Don’t act like I’m making this up!" I said, getting pissed off. "Every single time one of you top-tier capes goes rogue and destroys a city block, it gets magically waved away by your PR teams with the ’brainwashing’ defense!

"A hero gets caught secretly working for a global terrorist group? Oh, it was mind control!

"A cape randomly joins an apocalypse, four-horsemen-themed death cult looking to bring about the literal end of times? Tragic mind control!

"A beloved hero gets caught robbing a string of federal banks and having wildly kinky, public sex on the crown of the Statue of Liberty? Mind control! Definitely wasn’t a choice!

"Hell, a sidekick tweets a horrific racial slur at three in the morning? Must be telepathic mind control!

"And don’t even get me started on what happened at the House of Thrones."

Rick jerked completely upright in his chair, his eyes going wide with absolute horror. The color completely drained from his face.

"How do you know about that!?" Rick demanded, his voice cracking slightly.

"Of course I know about it!" I said, throwing my hands up in exasperation. "Everyone in the underground knows about it!"