Anne took a deep breath. She realized what was wrong with her.
I want to kill something.
All things considered, it wasn’t an insignificant problem. Still, it wasn’t exactly fair to place the blame on some random target she didn’t know — some random target who’d gotten caught up in some web of danger she couldn’t even fathom.
I want to kill Galactic Man, because he’s the motherfucking prick responsible for the death of my mother.
Alright, Anne. That’s one thing you want to murder, but it’s not the only thing, is it? You’re a little fucked up. You have a lot of targets, these days.
I want to destroy the Killer’s Gallery. That stupid fucking app let Shade get killed.
Alright, fair enough. It’s almost noble, when looked at in a certain way — taking down a group of cold-blooded killers. Could add to the greater good, even if that’s not your reason for doing it. What else, Anne?
I want to kill the person who actually killed Shade. The one who actually… the assassin who actually did it.
Sounds like straightforward revenge. Certainly understandable. What about the people who took the hit out on Shade?
The ones who put the hit out on Shade are scum. But they didn’t actually commit the murder. They were so far away from it, and they’re probably not even in this country, and if they are I can’t imagine how I’d find them… so I’ll let them go.
Huh, that’s a bit of a surprise.
Though I might kill them if I see them. Like, if I run across them I’ll totally murder them. But I’m not going to go out of my way to murder them.
Huh, that’s… Well, Anne’s pretty fucked up these days, isn’t she, dear reader?
How are you going to do this Anne? Do you have an order?
First I’ve gotta kill the assassin, then I’ll destroy the Killer’s Gallery. Then, when I’m done with that, I can kill the one that’ll be hardest to kill. I’ll beat the unbeatable. I’ll destroy Galactic Man.
Standing there out in the hot Florida sun, wearing her old jeans and a white t-shirt, smelling like shit with her greasy hair sticking to her head and the sweat pouring down her face and the wall at her back and the sneakers on her feet, Anne came to a realization.
If I want to find Shade’s killer, I have to hack into the Bureau of Metahuman Affairs database. I have to find out what they know. Then I can track down the killer myself.
Atta girl, Anne. Stay crazy. Your plan won’t make you happy, but it’ll keep you busy. And you’re just so interesting when you’re busy.