Burner informs me it is not bad to want to find out, but that I might want to consider who I'm fixating on to be my nemesis. "Because River," he says, "I don't know if you know this, but you are smelling of some future potential for Foe Yay. And it might not mean anything bad down the road, but I want to tell you--as your friend who cares about you--that I don't want you getting hurt for something so one-sided."

"Foe--" I splutter. "What--"

"Foe Yay," Burner clarifies, again. "You know, what me and Lockdown have? The entire nemesis thing?"

"I heard you," I exclaim. Whatever expression is on my face, Burner's own smirky one seems to react to it. "But--" I try to think of how to start this. "With the Sentinel--" No, never mind that. "Are-- Are you crazy?"

It comes out louder than I think, because the crowd of regulars who frequent the Chum Bums all turn to look at me. It's quiet enough to hear a pin drop. It's quiet enough that I know all at once Sakina's current murmured phone call with her fiancée, the stovetop sizzling at regulated heat, the cash register cycling through input numbers, the supervillain Tymoteusz is googling for COFFEE HANGOVER HELP CURE, the coffee machine is two minutes from finishing a fresh batch, the currents sliding through the overhead lights, the thermostat gently plodding on, the freezer in the back that keeps the meat frozen chung-chung-chunging away, someone named @amityrx is livetweeting about some of Sentinel's fans being everywhere--

Embarrassed, I drop my eyes to the table and sink into the seat. Shoulders riding up and slouch growing slouchier, I try to disappear into the chirpy colours of the booth. I close my senses, and breathe.

"You okay? " Burner asks, not even particularly bothered by the gazes. In the Institute, he'd have been shrinking down with me, trying to make himself smaller, but he owns the space he takes up without even blinking. Life after graduation really makes your skin tougher.

"Sorry." Eventually, proper sound resumes for me in the diner, but I'm still hyper vigilant of any and all messages and data transfers leaving the area. "I'm okay now."

"Didn't know me suggesting that you and the Sentinel might be mutual nemesis would've freaked you out so bad."

"Burner," I hiss, sliding the heels of my hands over my eyes till everything's dark, "they've tried to kill me." I don't even know where to begin. But now that the idea is stuck in my head though, I can't get rid of it. How would the Sentinel even approach being someone's nemesis? Actively trying to kill them? What if it wasn't? What if... A controversial thrill I don't understand fills me. Someone that powerful being my nemesis--

"Just be real with me," Burner interrupts. "Do you think you'll want the Sentinel as your nemesis?"

I drop my hands. "I wouldn't ever consider it," I say, raising my eyes to his. "And I'm not looking for an early funeral."

"Alright, hear you loud and clear," Burner says, hands up in universal no-weapons--except his hands are actual classified, super-powered weapons on their own, so that's a moot point. "No nemesis."

I'm not sure how I feel about the Sentinel being my nemesis. Seeing the Sentinel every day, having them directly thwart everything I ever attempt, or trying to get in their way--all it'd end up for the most part would be me dying. I put my hand to my throat instinctively. "Like...I think I'm actually more scared of them," I admit, "and I'd actually rather not see them again in any personal situations."

"Except, in spite of that, you're curious," Burner points out. He picks up his coffee again and blows over it to heat it up again, and drinks it. "You want to know more about something particularly personal to the Sentinel, even though all signs should point to self-preservation. You know what? That's how it starts."

Because he's hitting the nail on the head, I opt for taking a really big sip of water, making a face at him over the rim of it. "I'm not six, Burner," I say. "I'm just... Can't someone just be really curious without--"

"Curiousity leads to interactions. Interactions leads to learning you have common interests or conflicting ones." Burner leans back on the chair, contemplative. "In any case, the more you get along or don't get along with them, the more likely it is that you might find you prefer each other over other people."

"Oh my god," I say, in realization. "Fortune visited me and said I'd be meeting my nemesis. Burner, am I meant to cosmically, destiny-level be the Sentinel's nemesis? She drew a goddamn circuit diagram on my face and everything."

"Dunno, just sounds like she was messing with you," Burner says. Doesn't even bat an eyelash at the fact that it's Fortune of all people, which means he's either met her a couple of times at work, or just really doesn't care about what she brings to the table. "But she's Fortune, not Fate. Seems it's just chance and the decision's up to you."

Choice. I have a choice.

It's kind of mind-boggling. "It's weird," I admit. "All my life, you know, I was always told what to do or what to expect. And then, you know, the entire Institute thing--"

At that moment, Burner's phone rings in his pocket.

"You should pick that up," I say. "It's Lockdown."

Burner glances down at it. "Yeah," he says. "But you were talking."

I'm floored. "But he's your nemesis--"

"Someone being my nemesis doesn't mean I drop my friends when they need to talk something out," Burner says. "That's not how I work, remember?"

"Right," I say. "Right." Regardless, I can't drop the falling feeling of discomfort in my stomach. Something's itchy about the call Burner received. "I'm just--I'm just having a feeling about that call, though."

Burner grows serious. "What do you mean?" He pulls his phone out of his pocket.

"Uh." I try to concentrate on the signal, but the call cuts off abruptly, as if Lockdown either ended the call, or-- Quickly, I cross-check the missed call number with the one in Burner's phone, saved under 🔥Hottest🔥 Ass 🔥Babe🔥. "It's just... Everyone leaves an imprint of themselves in the phone lines. And he's not calling from his private phone, Burne--"

I trail off abruptly.

Burner's looking down at his phone, face grim. He's gotten a text from a groupchat called PRIORITY SH that says, ASHE EAST PARK, accompanied by some other nonsensical terms I don't understand and a geographical location I somewhat do.

"Burner," I say. "You're melting the--"

He blows on it and the plastic goop that used to be the phone case stops. Then, he shoves it in his pocket. "Sorry, Omar!" He calls to the front. "Put the bill on my tab!" He grabs my arm, and the back of my shirt. "Come with me," he says, and hauls me over his shoulders and out of the diner.