Chapter 103 Sign.

Chapter 103: 103 Sign.

"I engineered Miles’s suit, did I not?" Edna said, her eyes narrowing as she mentally tabulated measurements without writing a single thing down.

"You did," I said, nodding.

"But you did not let me build it," she added, whirling around to point a sharp, accusing finger at my chest. "I gave you the schematics, the very soul of the garment, and you took my genius to some grease-monkey mechanic in a basement to stitch together! It was an insult. A profound, personal insult!"

I shrugged, entirely used to this particular tirade. "I’ve never knocked your skill, Edna. You’re a genius. But I can’t fly to the fashion district to have you repair my gear every time a cape throws me through a brick wall at three in the morning. I need someone on call. Plus, the magnetic metallurgy required for my powers is highly volatile. It would have been difficult to get right."

"Difficult for a moron, perhaps!" Edna scoffed, waving her hands in the air. "I was weaving unstable molecules and hyper-conductive alloys while you were still wearing velcro shoes! But fine. Fine! I do not hold a grudge. I am above such petty human emotions. And you still wear my silhouette. You wear it well. I appreciate the raw utility you bring to it. You do not look entirely like a buffoon, which is the highest compliment I can offer."

Well, I couldn’t quite suppress a small glow of pride at that.

Praise from Edna was rarer than a humble superhero, and hearing she approved of how I rocked her design was the best validation you could get in this industry.

"But enough of the past," Edna snapped, clapping her hands together. "What are the operational parameters for the girl? What is the theater of combat?"

I thought back to my meeting with Lacey and her corporate ideas for the Superstars job. "I think we’ll be going for a reveal," I said. "Something lightweight and flexible that can fit discreetly under normal street clothes, but is flashy and eye-catching when she strips the civilian layer off." My eyes trailed back up to Psyren’s chunky headgear. "And make sure to integrate those acoustic dampening headphones into the cowl. We need them to look like part of the design, not medical equipment."

"And the powers?" Edna demanded, tapping her foot impatiently.

"Psychic," Psyren said, leaning on one hip.

"Punk-rock mind control and low-tier telekinesis," I clarified.

Lilith literally gasped, sucking in a breath so deep I thought the top buttons of her blouse might actually weaponize and take someone’s eye out as they quivered against her swelling demonic chest.

"Mind control!?" Lilith squealed, instantly wrapping her arms around Psyren from behind and resting her horned chin on the psychic’s shoulder, completely ignoring the concept of personal space. "Oh, Milesy! That is so hot! Like, make-them-bark-like-a-dog mind control, or make-them-worship-you-as-a-goddess mind control? Because I have the most wicked ideas for a corset!"

"Release the client, you overgrown succubus, or I will staple your tail to the floor!" Edna barked. Lilith pouted and let go, but Edna was already pacing, her eyes wide behind her massive glasses. "Mind control. Yes. Yes! Black as a starless night, highlighted with glowing, aggressive neon. We draw the eye. We command the attention! You will be a walking focal point, a blade in the dark. It is psychological warfare woven into ballistic mesh! Roger! The tablet!"

"Right here, Edna!" Roger yelped, scurrying forward and practically dropping a sleek digital drafting pad into her outstretched hands.

Edna snatched it, her stylus flying across the screen in short, violent, blindingly fast motions. "Oh, you do not know how desperately I needed this," she muttered, her accent thickening as she worked. "I have so much business for the so-called ’heroes.’ You would not believe the bureaucratic nightmares I endure. It is a tragedy. A crime against art!"

"You can’t publicly associate with criminals, Edna," I noted, playing devil’s advocate. "The feds would love an excuse to audit this place and shut you down."

"Oh, let them try, I will bury them in litigation until their grandchildren are bankrupt!" Edna scoffed without looking up from her screen. "They think I am some amoral monster. But that is beside the point! My point is that designing costumes for heroes is dreadfully stifling. It is all focus groups and PR departments! ’Oh, Edna, primary colors test better with the mid-west demographic!’ ’Oh, Edna, the PTA says black is too intimidating!’ Idiots! Soulless, corporate idiots! They want capes and spandex and bright blue tights. But villains? Villains understand drama. Villains understand fear. And the spikes! How I long to put spikes on things!"

"Try to restrain yourself from turning her into a tactical porcupine," I said, starting to feel a little uneasy.

"Oh, please," Edna snorted, shooting me a withering glare. "I have finer taste than that. My spikes are functional, designed to shatter knuckles in close-quarters combat. You will look simply terrifying, child. Ah! The inspiration is flowing! Roger, fetch the kinetic-weave carbon samples!"

"And a mask," I reminded her firmly. "She’ll need a mask."

Edna stopped drawing, slowly lowering her tablet. She looked at me like I had just suggested she dress Psyren in a garbage bag. "A mask? To cover this facial structure? Do you have brain damage? She has cheekbones that could cut glass! I will not hide her behind a burlap sack!"

I shook my head, refusing to budge an inch. There was a reason Rule Number 1 was Always Wear a Mask. "She’s not going to be a villain all the time, Edna," I told her. "She’s going to have a civilian life outside of menacing corporate capes. She needs a mask to separate the two. Otherwise, it’ll be like she’s wearing your masterpiece wherever she goes. It ruins the theatrical impact. Every time someone sees Psyren the villainess, we want them to be in absolute awe. It’s a bit hard to maintain that aura of terror if people see her at McDonald’s getting a Mac burger."

"I could just mind-control the entire restaurant to act like there’s nothing wrong anyway," Psyren noted slyly.

"You absolutely better not," I said.

"See what I have to work with?" Psyren sighed dramatically, gesturing to me.

"Oh, you poor thing," Lilith cooed, leaning over and aggressively ruffling Psyren’s pink hair. "Some men just have absolutely no taste for the dramatic!"

"Hey now, I have plenty of taste for the dramatic," I defended myself. "I just know it’s a bad idea to be dramatic twenty-four-seven. It’s bad for longevity."

"We are only teasing you, Miles, do not be so sensitive," Edna said with a sudden, sharp bark of laughter. She shoved the drafting tablet back into Roger’s waiting hands and marched toward me, her tiny hands practically shooing me away. "But enough of this! You are polluting my creative oxygen. Time for you to leave! Out. Out! The master must work, and I need absolute privacy with the girl to sculpt this vision."

I reluctantly let the four-foot powerhouse hustle me back toward the glass doors of the studio. I trusted Edna’s craftsmanship with my life, but I didn’t exactly trust the company she kept.

"Don’t sign anything until I come back to pick you up!" I shouted to Psyren over Edna’s head as the blast doors started to close. "Lilith is probably going to try and hire you as a runway model, but watch out if she asks you to sign the contract in blood!"

"Oh, Milesy, you ruin all my fun!" Lilith whined from the background, waving happily.

"Will do, boss!" Psyren called out, grinning impishly.

The heavy doors hissed shut, locking with a solid, metallic thud, leaving me standing in the sterile glass hallway with Roger Benz.