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A Worse Idea 62

A Metahuman Affairs agent called Prometheus late into the night — sometime around 3 AM. He’d been getting a wonderful sleep — he only slept for a couple hours a night, so he usually tried to make sure that the hours were good ones.

He knew what they were going to say before they said it. Still, he held out hope.

“We found this Shade girl you were looking for,” the agent said.

Was there any hope, he wondered? Something that could keep Anne from descending into madness?

“It’s an ugly scene,” the agent said.

Prometheus’s shoulders sank. He didn’t know what he would do. More important, he didn’t know what Anne would do.

“I’m on my way,” he said.

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