"Honestly? The Sentinel is mean, rude, hurtful, and unprofessional," I say, the next morning, after I've washed my face, taken a shower, and brushed my teeth per Wes's reminders. I am also all better, or at least, decidedly more composed and compartmentalized, after having spent an entire night going through the five stages of healing, and ending with Spite.

From her spot sitting at my kitchen table, Wes yawns loudly without covering her mouth, stretching as she does so like a cat. "I mean," she grouses, "I've been saying that."

"And you," I say, pointing at her, "are absolutely right. I was in every right to do my own job, and here they come to question my qualifications and physically threaten me, just because their military-grade defense systems got tripped. Is it my fault I can hack? Is it my fault your systems are whack? Android, you need some goddamn tact."

"Exact," Wes says, barely listening to me anymore. "Ly right." She looks tired enough to drop to sleep right there. She hadn't exactly stayed up the entire night, but Wes doesn't do all-nighters. She goes to bed at ten every night and has a specific six-step skin-care routine she follows before she goes to bed. "Down with robots."

I feel bad. "Hey. I'll buy you breakfast?"

"Make that dinner," she says, eyelids drooping hard. "By the way, I called in for both of us while you were in the bathroom pep-talking yourself in the mirror that you are a Strong Supervillain Who Doesn't Need A Superhero's Approval to Know That You Are Worth It. Good message, and I approve."

"Please don't make fun of my pep talks," I say, hurt, but also surprised. If Wes made a phone call and I hadn't even noticed, then I must've needed that shower more than I thought. Bless her for having known. "They are very important to me."

Wes's mouth draws into a smile, even though her eyes are closed. "Too bad," she says. "I've got the right." She yawns again. "Anyway, I called in to say that we're taking the day off, and it looks like Josh is giving you another chance. The robbery went off without a hitch because both of the biggest superheroes available in the area were distracted."

"Is that a victory?" I ask.

"Yes," Wes says.

"Hooray," I say, happier.

"Yes," Wes says. "So now, I'm going to sleep in your bed, and you can sleep on the couch."

"But my couch is cheap," I say. "The bed is nicer." Also: "I don't want to sleep yet, though." Doesn't feel right to do it right now.

Wes waves. "Exactly. So the bed's mine." She closes and locks the door behind her, leaving me to stand as I am in the middle of the kitchen.

I fiddle. No idea what to do.

I knock on the door. "Wes."

A grunt responds to me. She's already half asleep.

Poor Wes. I really don't deserve her.

"I'm going to head out. I don't want to stay inside."

She grunts again.

I don't head out right away. I pace my living room, a small square space that sort of connects directly into the kitchen.

My housing complex isn't the nicest thing, and the apartment I was given even less nice, but it's the first thing that I leased as soon as I got out of the Institute with the graduation grant. It might be plain walls covered with cheap developed photos painter's taped to a wall, and a few fairy lights dangling from the ceiling to make the small, dark rooms a bit more welcoming and bigger feeling in spite of all the boxes I've yet to unpack. It might also be terrible, default furniture, a full but tiny sink of dirty dishes, and one dying plant in a too small pot in the corner I hurriedly water.

But it's mine. And it's the second big thing that's really been mine on my own, outside of my friends. The first big thing, really, is...

I pull my phone from pocket, flipping the wallet case open to the spot I keep my license card. The long form certification is in the Archives kept by the League. Every legal super--villain, neutral, or hero--exists in those files. First thing I'd done post-graduated and post-graveyard early watch shift was pass out. Second thing I'd done was go get it laminated before I handed it in. Third thing was linger in the hallways of the Archives, staring at all the class portraits of graduating classes before me, before finding mine--RIVER NG--staring back at me.

"River Ng," I read, brushing my fingers over the raised edges of my license. "Supervillain." It's a novice card that'll only upgrade as I get more experience, but this was what it was all for. Starting my own legend. My reputation.

I wonder if Josh will treat me differently when I go back to work. That's what bothers me the most, I think, that I didn't make a good first impression, and I even made a worse second. And what people will think.

I'm scared.

Half of me understands that nobody in the world cares about other people's business because they're too busy worrying about their own business. The other half knows that people thrive for gossip. Even if it ended up great in the end, won't someone know I ended up crying like a baby and needing my best friend to hold me?

On the wall beside my door and across from the closet, is a mirror. It's old and left behind by the last tenant, but the River Ng I see on the other side looks a lot better than I thought I would. My eyes aren't puffy, and I almost look like normal. Running a hand along the curve of my head, even the gestures makes it seem like I could be anyone on the street. My hair’s getting kind of shaggy; I should go for a buzz soon.

I open up my phone--dammit, 3%--and deliberate, before I mentally charge it up. It rises quickly to 50%, giving me a slight headache. My head throbs as I stubbornly scroll through my contacts.

I need to make a call.