Nathan entered to find Lady Shereen in the lone armchair in the entryway, her head bobbing as she fought sleep.

“s’he here?” she mumbled, half-conscious, as he placed his arms under hers.

He helped her rise, allowing her to use him for balance as arthritis made it a struggle to move after hours in place.

“No, Ms. Shereen, he’s not. I told Murphy, though. He’ll be here soon. We’ll—” he gestured with one hand before returning it to her side. “We can figure it out.”

“His bed,” she started, staring up at him through eyes fogged with sleep and grief. “Put him in his bed. He did so much, never resting… never. He deserves one night.”

“I will, ma’am,” he lied.

He’d already resolved to have Murphy help him place Anthony in the freezer in the Planetarium. Anthony had it installed for research after dealing with the Undying Man, a villain from Grand City. The man had the power to resurrect the dead in limited numbers that would grow over time with continued influence. According to the U.S. Bureau of Enhanced Affairs classification system, he'd been a low-disaster ranked mask, but the sort who could rise quickly if unchecked.

Something in his chest ached to know Anthony had to be put in that place made for literal monsters, but he took comfort in the fact that he would be home for a final time.

“Wake me when—” Shereen trailed off into a yawn, “when he’s here.”

“I will.” He lied.

She needed rest, and there was no point in waking her just to grieve again. She’d have her share of it over the next few days. He sighed, planted a kiss on her forehead, and led her through the living room, down a hall into her bedroom.

It was something he’d watched Anthony do often, always still in costume, only ever bothering to lower the mask as he guided the woman who was the closest thing he had to a family, to bed. He closed the door silently as he left the room and made his way towards the stairs to the second floor. 

Helping Shereen was no bother for Nathan; she was family, as far as he was concerned. But it was another reminder that Anthony, the man who’d raised him was gone and that he’d inherited this responsibility.

Among others, he thought. 

Beep beep. Beep beep.

The sound sent a chill down Nathan’s spine, yet his blood ran hot with sudden adrenaline, his stomach turning with the nervous contradiction. 

He whirled, hand moving towards the comforting handle of one of his throwing knives before realization, followed by embarrassment, settled in. It was a chime Anthony had set up to alert himself  whenever a “work-related” call came through to the Planetarium.

Nathan's heart still raced as he made his way to the second-floor, the shrill chirps of timed explosives lingering in memory. He had disarmed five, maybe six, on his own. The memories blended after a point—a jarring abstract of panic, knowing the smallest wrong move could condemn himself and others to instant death. He’d been trained for it. Darkstar had drilled him on handling an exhaustive number of explosives.

But in the moment, with instant death literally in his palms, it felt so different.

He swallowed against the dryness in his throat, forcing a cough to chase away the thoughts. His hand lingered on his blade handle before he crossed the office, and when it finally came away, it was with an involuntary tremor. His finger moved along the wall for a particular book on one of the shelves, pressing it down at a corner.

The shelf slid aside, revealing a stairway descending into darkness. He began the familiar trek, the silence broken only by his footfalls against the steel steps, a faint green light marking the way.

At the bottom, a steel door several feet thick sat next to a panel, which he placed an eye against after removing his mask.

“Identified Nathan Barrett, Kid Rocket. Welcome,” a tinny, computer voice chimed. The door groaned open, revealing a rounded path of smooth steel, a catwalk guiding him forward. It continued under the house and beneath the property on which the Neal Family Manor stood, leading to the final destination—Darkstar’s main base of operations.

The Planetarium.

From outside, it looked like an unused farmhouse beside an equally uninspiring grain silo, disguised by old holographic technology taken from the Illusionist, a C-level villain from before Nathan's time. Inside sat perhaps one of the world's most advanced surveillance operations, laboratories, and arsenals. Nathan stepped onto a platform that raised him into the base.

He emerged at the center of a dome-like room, its ceiling a massive screen displaying the universe. Monitors glistened above a curved desk, displaying cameras, status indicators, and other things he’d been taught to watch over the years. It was the nerve center of their operation, from which any threat to Kingsport City could be located.

One screen displayed a multi-feed video showing various local news channels, all discussing the same topic. ‘Darkstar Dead?’ one read. ‘Police confirm beloved hero deceased after the events of ‘The Final Dance’.”

So they’d already given it a catchy nickname. The event was hardly over, and the media had done that thing they always do with the costumed stuff, desperate for their clicks and views.

The Final Dance. Nathan bit down, his teeth gritting. 

He hated it. It felt almost mocking. Darkstar and the Dancer had been linked for as long as he could remember, the two forever crossing paths in opposing missions of hope and horror. Darkstar seemed like order made manifest, everything practiced and perfected, each tool designed for his crusade against the evil in their home. The Dancer was controlled chaos, directed in the most horrific way. He was a mystery, motivated only by the screams of his victims - the cheers of a captive audience, as he called them. They’d fought countless times, Darkstar always sending him away, but never without cost. And this time…

Nathan allowed the chime of an indicator to break his thoughts, making his way over to the desk and clicking a button to answer the call.

He recognized their faces immediately. Even on screen, they loomed larger than life: four of the five remaining heroes of The Sovereign. On the left sat Lord Valor, in armor with silver shoulder plates clasping his purple cape, hood lowered, and goggles of the same shade affixed to his eyes - glowing with a mechanical flare. 

Beside him was Flashbang, her head beneath a silver mask with a glassy blue display where her face ought to be, LED eyes glowing, and antenna-like points at either side. At the far right stood Dathak, The Unceasing, a mountain of a man with a crown of wild hair that blended into his beard - and features that spoke to his primeval nature, with a firm brow ridge that seemed made for a permanent frown. Nathan noted the ancient man's somber expression.

At the center was The Savior, his face timeless, his eyes pits of gold. Nathan always noted he appeared Arab, though the man himself claimed no nation. His hair extended in brown waves past his shoulder a beard that was long, but not unkempt, his very image calling to mind all manner of religious imagery. Nathan could make out the pale white and blue of his costume, cape billowing just out of frame behind him, caught in the affect of his gleaming aura.

“Kid Rocket,” The Savior’s voice was soft but firm. “The Sovereign extends our deepest condolences to you and Anthony’s family.”

“Thank you,” Nathan managed. Murphy had bee right, he was going to get tired of hearing that.

“My prayers are with you, Nathan,” The Savior spoke, his voice carrying a strange sort of knowing. “He was like a brother to me.”

“Tough break, lad,” Lord Valor cut in,, “We’ll make sure the Dancer pays for this.”” This from Lord Valor, the United Kingdom’s own ‘Gentleman Archer’, and the only other stock human on the team besides his late mentor. 

“I’ll make sure of it.”

He knew it was meant as reassurance, but something about the statement irked Nathan, as though the man thought his fancy arrows and armor might succeed where Darkstar had so fatally failed. He knew it was foolish but it bothered him.

“Thanks,” Nathan said curtly.

“He was a formidable warrior,” Dathak offered, placing a fist over his heart as he glared into the camera, the mammoth head on his “cape” falling over his shoulder.

“Your words are appreciated, great warrior,” Nathan replied as he’d been taught.

“I’m sorry, Kid Rocket,” Flashbang, the final present member speaks beneath the speakers of her suit. 

“He was a good guy. Professor Kraken sends his condolences. He’s sorry he couldn’t be here. There’s a hostage situation with Sealord and a cruise ship on the Amalfi Coast he was needed for. He’ll speak to you at the, uh, proceedings.” 

He was thankful she’d avoided the f-word. He hadn’t wanted to even address it yet. 

“Thank you,” Nathan said, meaning every word.

“We’ll convene at The Embassy tomorrow and make a statement. You’re welcome to join us, though no pressure if you need time,” Flashbang added.

“Thanks, but I have a lot to look after here with all the - yeah. And the city, the scum might get the wrong idea. Kingsport still has to be looked after.”

“We understand.”

Thank you, Flashbang. He could have hugged the woman for the out, the mere mention of appearing at The Embassy -  The Soveriegn’s base - now, with what it could imply turning his blood to ice. 

He wasn’t ready.

Another chime and an indicator flare pulled Nathan’s attention. He turned to another screen showing a camera view of the tunnels to the Planetarium. Someone was coming.

“Thank you,” Nathan said to the heroes, “Thank you all. I’ll send information as it comes. For now, I’ve got to—” he cleared his throat, “Uh, duty calls.”

The call ended. Nathan turned back to the camera, wondering who might be approaching. Murphy? No, Murphy never had access to the Planetarium. His heart leaped at a foolish sort of hope.

The floor hissed as it parted, and Nathan’s heart skipped momentarily before Catspaw emerged, her gold and black goggles meeting his gaze.

“Catspaw?” He said her name, almost a question more than a statement. 

“Come,” she spoke. “He’s arrived. We’ll…see to him,” she breathed the words, more emotion in the statement than he’d ever heard from her.

“And then we should talk.”

Nathan already knew what that would entail. She’d been close to Darkstar, a relationship that had baffled him but one that had undoubtedly grown into…whatever it was over the years. The man had come to trust her despite her checkered past, and it seemed, for whatever it was worth, she’d genuinely cared for him, a realization that conflicted with young Nathan’s own understanding of the dynamic between bad and good. Still, anyone who loved Darkstar knew that one thing above all even in death, would be his foremost concern. That Kingsport have its defender.

“Fine,” he breathed, 

“But can we take the talk to the city? I need to clear my head.”

Catspaw smiled, and nodded. “Two of your father’s old rogues seem to think the rules have changed. Let’s say we settle him, say our goodbyes, then remind them whose city this is?”

He knew it was supposed to make him feel better, but the question made him wonder. Darkstar was dead, and he wasn’t sure he was fit to step into his shoes.

 . . .

The night was warm, but somehow the air felt cold on Nathan’s arms as the hearse crawled down the twisting gravel path towards the Neal Family Manor, headlights cutting through the fog and carving phantasmic shapes from its tendrils.

Murphy stepped out to greet them, chancing a momentary glance at Catspaw then meeting Kid Rocket’s gaze with a silent question, finding whatever answer he sought in a nod from the boy.

Nathan glanced up at the woman, hood raised to obscure her face, and thought for a moment he heard her stifle a sniffle as they made to assist Murphy with the plain wooden coffin. It was heavier than he’d expected, and the sudden weight seemed to make it all real in the moment, until he could feel his throat tighten, eyes stinging with moisture again.

Catspaw joined him, standing beside him and relieving the weight as she lifted, ushering him back with a motion of her head. He felt like an undertaker as they moved through the halls to the office, down the passage leading to the Planeterium.

“Welcome back,” he muttered, as the platform hissed, raising them up and into the glistening dome.

“Wow,” Murphy, breathed. “Just…wow.”

Nathan nodded, leading them through a hall across from them through a door to the small morgue. They lowered the box onto one of two steel tables, and Nathan stood beside it, placing a hand on the coffin.

“Welcome back, Darkstar.”

. . .

After 10 minutes of awkward conversation, Murphy had left the two costumed individuals and the corpse of the man who’d linked them.

They’d stood in silence for some time, before Catspaw spoke up, reaching beneath her goggles momentarily to wipe at tears he knew were there.

“So - you ready for that talk?”

He nodded, desperately in need of distraction. He recalled the wording of her invitation, ‘two old rogues’, curiosity rising as he led her towards the arsenal.

“Who are we after?”

“C-listers,” she said, “Boa and Gridiron. Been rampaging through the South Side. You still up for it?” 

He nodded once more, fixing several blades into the holster across his suit.

“I don’t think I have a choice”