static.

static.

static.

static like snow; static that becomes snow, becomes—

—snow silhouetted against the jagged slice of city sky between the brick walls of an alleyway that stretch impossibly high into

the sky

bright and dark at the same time, dark with night and bright with light pollution, and the snow

falling

to mix with the dirty grey drifts already melting into filthy black water, puddles and rivulets shining like spilled ink, spilled oil

(the colors of everything so strangely distorted that it takes a moment to recognize the dark stain slowly swirling and spreading in the black water as blood)

colors wrong, angles wrong, and a siren wails like a distant scream and

he steps into the mouth of the alleyway and fills up the world.

blue skin washed greyish and un-vivid from the color distortion, blue hands and blue face and wide, wary green eyes

young, so young, heartbreakingly young, the face lacking the black line of facial hair, lacking the shadows beneath the eyes and the hollows beneath the sharp cheekbones that fourteen years of time and supervillainy will carve there.

The sweater he's wearing—orange, but, like his skin, dulled by the distortion of the colors—is far too big for him, the hem reaching down halfway to his knees, the sleeves covering most of his hands, just his fingertips visible, clutching the edges of the material, restless movement and bitten nails and chipped black polish.

The siren screams again in the distance, and a low, rumbling, grating noise joins the sound, discordant and threatening, as the thing that's bleeding out in the alleyway sets eyes on him and growls low in its throat.

Megamind glances down, goes still, the expression in his eyes suddenly more wounded than wary.

(the siren screams in the distance and the snow falls silently around them)

Megamind moves forward, slow, unthreatening, fingers uncurling from his sleeves as he holds out empty palms

/ it's all right; I'm not going to hurt you /

(voice soft, words as warped as the colors, like something heard in a dream, a language you don't speak but can somehow just barely comprehend, just for as long as the dream lasts)

The discordant growl increases in volume, a sharper edge to the threat. Megamind crouches down on the ground beside the growing pool of blood and dirty water and slowly reaches out.

The thing in the alley reacts with the vicious desperation of the dying, a blur of claws and pain and anger. A sharply in-drawn breath—and when Megamind pulls his hand back again, he's bleeding, too.

A clatter of noise—metal and weight—at the mouth of the alley, and, without rising, Megamind looks over his shoulder at the hulking robotic form now silhouetted in the alleyway mouth.

(the siren screams, closer now, and the creature in the alley growls its defensive threat.)

/ sir we need to get out of here / Minion says

/ it's a cat, Minion / Megamind says, still kneeling, dirty water seeping into the knees of the jeans he's wearing.

/ yes, sir / Minion says, distraction in his voice, half-turned inside the glass headpiece of his suit, looking behind them.

/ somebody hurt it /

/ yes, sir / Minion says again. / now leave it alone; we have to go /

(the snow falls, silent and uncaring. Megamind makes no move to rise.)

/ it's hurt / he says.

/ it's dying / Minion says, turning in the headpiece to look at Megamind again, voice gentle but firm. / and I'm sorry about that, but there's nothing you can do /

(a drop of blood slides from Megamind's hand to mix with the blood and water already swirling together on the ground.)

The siren is louder, now, closer, and the growl from the dying cat is weaker and

(the edges of the picture start to go dark, burning away like paper set to flame, until only the face remains and—)

The blue lips press together in a hard line and the black brows snap down and together and the supervillain that fourteen years of time will make him suddenly flashes in his face.

/ watch me. / he says.

(—a gun in his hand and a glowing pulse of—

bluewhitelightning

and then—

static.

static.

static.

—static threading through a series of confused images and sounds—hands and eyes, darkness and bright flashes of light, noise and silence and—

A face, blue, flickering into view, the image stabilizing into—

/ there you are / Megamind says, voice as soft as his expression. / there; you're awake now; everything's okay /

He smiles and reaches out to stroke the glass carapace of the brainbot.

(green text scrolling, superimposed over the image of Megamind smiling)

[ /brainbot consciousness program : successfully installed ]

[ carapace control : optimal function ] [ limb control : optimal

function ] [ flight control : optimal function ] [ sensors : optimal

function ]

[ visual input : /facial recognition ]

[ designation : daddy ( megamind ) ]

_program 1_

_daddy loves you

_protocol 1_

A_commands / directives / requests of designation: daddy

( megamind ) are to be obeyed at own discretion

_protocol 2_

—the code flickers, then the image, seeming almost to loop, to repeat. Again: Megamind's face, leaning over, flickering into view, the same expression of soft worry and wonder mixed together.

But it's not the same image; he's got a bruise on his cheekbone and a band-aid on one temple and there's another brainbot hovering over his shoulder, looking down—the clip shudders slightly, the view shifting to that of the hovering brainbot, looking down at the one that's on the table, waking up.

"There," Megamind says, "there, you—"

A horrible screeching sound, and the bot on the table thrashes wildly, eyestalk whipping around, the shutter open wide; robotic limbs waving, metal claws opening and closing, slamming down on the table. The jagged-toothed jaws snap in the air, and then close sharply over Megamind's wrist.

Megamind's breath hisses through his teeth, and his face goes a shade paler as the brainbot on his shoulder swoops down and wraps its own metallic limbs around the other bot.

Even as it does so, the bot on the table is already releasing Megamind's hand. It shudders and falls back on the table, the shutters of its eyepiece blinking rapidly as it makes a distressed, keening kind of noise. It shrinks back from the other bot, who chatters threateningly at it before releasing it.

"It's okay!" Megamind says. "Zero, it's—it's okay; they didn't mean to."

Zero swoops over again to Megamind, hovering around him, practically vibrating in the air. The bot on the table makes a miserable, mechanical noise and inches forward to Megamind. Zero's makes a kind of hissing noise at it and it goes still again.

"It's okay," Megamind repeats.

He clutches his wounded arm close to his chest, uninjured hand wrapped tightly around his wrist. Even so, he's bleeding, an alarming amount of blood seeping from beneath his fingers, turning the sleeve of the shirt he's wearing red.

"Zero," he says calmly, "why don't you go tell Uncle Minion to bring the first aid kit?"

Another shudder as the point of view flips again, the bot on the table watching Zero fly quickly away, looking up at Megamind.

He smiles at them reassuringly.

"Hey," he says. "Hey, it's okay, Spikeless. It was just an accident; you just got scared. It's going to be okay. Daddy's not mad at you."

"…bowg?"

The noise is much smaller and much more uncertain than the sounds the brainbots usually make. Megamind smiles again.

"Promise," he says. "Daddy's not mad at you. Daddy loves you. It's okay. It's—"

He glances over his shoulder as Minion, accompanied by Zero and a small cloud of brainbots, burst into the room.

The picture wavers, warps, turns into—

—static. static threading through video clips, through—

—Megamind dancing, laughing, while the brainbots fly around him in a cloud—

—Megamind putting up floral wallpaper in a kitchen while he sings along to the radio, then a flash of him dramatically revealing the wallpapered kitchen to an open-mouthed Minion—

—Megamind throwing a wrench in his workshop, playing fetch with the brainbots—

—Megamind sitting on a couch, watching a baseball game, dressed in a well-worn a Metro City Wolverines shirt. A brainbot—Zero—is lying on his arm, shutter of her eyepiece half-closed. Megamind grimaces and starts to shift in his seat and Zero cracks open the shutter of her eyepiece and fixes him with a pointed stare. Megamind sighs and resettles back in the same position, reaching up with his free hand to stroke over Zero's glass braincase. The electricity inside crackles, arcing up to his fingertips, and Zero makes a contented, mechanical humming sound and her eyepiece closes—halfway—then the rest of the way, blinking to-

darkness

which becomes—

—black boots, seen between through a horizontal crack made between the floor and a mattress, an entire group of brainbots huddled together beneath the bed, lightning crackling excitedly in their braincases and

"Oh, I just can't find my bots!"Megamind says, voice slightly too loud, the words exaggerated even more than usual.

One bot shifts slightly, snaking its eyestalk forward to get a better view—this isn't exactly a quiet maneuver, as many of the other bots try to hold it back, afraid, no doubt, of it giving away their hiding place. Megamind, only a foot away, does not even glance over at the source of the noise.

The underside of his bed is filled with so many brainbots that the mattress is bulging upwards, but Megamind appears not to notice this. He proceeds, instead, to look in the most elaborately ridiculous places possible–under the rug, inside a book, in his glass of water by the bedside table.

The brainbots can scarcely contain their glee.

"I can't imagine where they could be!" Megamind says, throwing his arms up as if in frustration.

He glances over at his bed, which is now vibrating with excitement. For a moment, his lips twitch, and then he schools his expression into one of overdramatic disappointment and exhaustion.

"I've been looking for such a long time!" he says, and heaves a sigh. "Maybe I should sit down here and take a break!"

He throws himself onto the bed, and sits there in an attitude of defeat, his head in his hand. The mattress wriggles beneath him. One bot gives a faint bowg of delight before the others shush them.

"I'm so tired," Megamind says, "maybe I should take a nap!"

He flops back onto the mattress; almost all of the brainbots bowg this time, the sound rippling through the group of them like infectious laughter through a group of giggling children.

"Or maybe," Megamind pauses theatrically, "maybe I should…JUMP ON THE BED!"

He leaps up onto his feet, cackling, as the brainbots explode from beneath the bed, all of them bowging loudly, their braincases crackling with excitement. Megamind almost overbalances at the sudden shift of the mattress beneath him, but they catch him as they swarm around him.

They lift him briefly into the air, then let him go; his feet hit the mattress and he bounces up again.

"Oh, there you are! There you are!" he cries, "There's Daddy's clever little cyborgs! I found you!"

"BOWG!

"BOWG BOWG!"

"BOWG! BOWG! BOWG!"

The bots swoop and dart excitedly around him and Megamind bounces, breathless with laughter and

The image shifts, sound distorts into—

—darkness and sirens and another alleyway, and someone running, their feet slamming rapidly on the ground, their breath coming in harsh gasps, someone running around a corner and stumbling into the mouth of the alleyway.

A kid, clearly, silhouetted there against the electric light, wide, terrified eyes visible between the hoodie pulled up over their head and the bandanna wrapped around the lower part of their face. They're carrying a box with a picture of a television set on it, which is nearly half their size, clutching it tightly even as they pant for breath and careen down the alley towards the shadows.

From one of these shadows a black gloved hand seizes the kid's hoodie, hauls them backward into the dark.

The kid gives a half-strangled cry of alarm, eyes going even wider and more terrified, and a second black-gloved hand comes down over the bandanna-covered mouth.

In the darkness behind the dumpster, looking down at the kid, is Megamind.

He's young, still, but older than he was in that first alley, still lacking the facial hair, but the first shadows have appeared around his eyes. His cheekbones are sharper, everything about him more angular, more focused.

It's early enough in his career that he doesn't look exactly like a supervillain yet—a spike-shouldered leather jacket instead of a cape, boots that lace instead of buckle, only the de-gun holstered at his thigh, the lightning bolt emblem picked out in silver and deep blue on the black shirt he has on to hint at the costume he'll wear in the future.

The kid stares up at him, whites showing all around his eyes. Megamind slowly releases him, steps back from him. Raises a finger to his lips, motioning to the kid to be silent, to stay where he is.

The kid stares at him for a long moment—nods, jerky and frantic.

Megamind takes another step back, into the alleyway, into the light, leaving the kid hidden in the shadows.

He smiles, sharp and fast and sudden. The electricity from the hovering brainbot flickers over his face. He draws the de-gun from the holster, smooth and easy, twirls it over one finger, winks at the kid—

and takes off running towards the direction of the sirens, laughing, laughter that leaps and burns, like a torch, like a chemical reaction, like a city on fire.

A shift in the perspective, black sky becoming blacktop pavement becoming—

—a school playground, seen at sunset, the dusk painting long black shadows on the cracked blacktop pavement, the shapes stretched, distorted, alien, The sound of rusty chains creaking, creaking, creaking, as one shadow shape slowly moves—forward, backward, forward, backward.

The perspective shifts again, turning away from the shadows to what's casting them. Red-gold sunlight dazzles, the figures silhouetted against the light, almost as dark and alien as their shadows. Until the image resolves itself into a swing set, and three people sitting on the swings, side by side.

This is a more recent piece of footage; the heavy leather mantle, and the years, sit clearly on his shoulders.

The girls wear ill-fitting school uniforms, and the oldest looks over at Megamind, a sharp cutting sideways glance, direct and almost challenging. The younger girl's expression is strangely unreadable—not vacant by any means, but somehow blank.

It is this girl, the younger one, who pushes her swing back and forth with one dangling foot, creating that rhythmic creak creak creak.

"Didn't think you'd really come," the older girl says, tone as sharp as the glance she fixes on Megamind.

Megamind hums a noncommittal noise and wraps one black-gloved hand around one of the chains holding up his swing. A brainbot swoops silently to hover above his shoulder and the girl scowls at him.

"Latoya," he says, "isn't it?"

"That's right," the girl says, still glaring. "And this is Kendra."

"It's very nice to meet you, Kendra. Latoya." Megamind glances at the younger girl, then looks away again, begins to push his own swing back and forth with one black-booted foot, matching the rhythm of Kendra's movement.

Latoya looks, if possible, more inclined than ever to go for his throat.

"What is it you need?" Megamind asks, voice soft, carefully casual, eyes fixed on the sky, slowly darkening beyond the twisted metal shape of the jungle gym.

Latoya's face darkens, and, for a moment, she looks much older than she can possibly be, mouth bracketed by deep lines, eyes less angry than they are hopeless. She opens her mouth, and—

"Are you going to take us away?"

Megamind and Latoya both glance over at Kendra, Megamind's expression surprised, Latoya's concerned.

"Take you away?" Megamind repeats, tilting his head, looking at the girl.

Kendra looks at him, gaze sliding over his forehead, his jaw, finally settling on his left ear, eyes never quite meeting his. After a beat, Megamind shifts his own gaze to the air slightly to one side of Kendra's face.

"That's what our mama says," Kendra says. "She says if you're bad, Megamind is gonna come and take you away."

Megamind's expression does something fast and complicated—a flicker of something deep and desolate in his eyes, quickly covered with a swift blink and the arch of one eyebrow.

"Ah," he says, "well—"

"I'm bad," Kendra continues, tone unchanged, "I'd like you to take me away, but only if you take Latoya, too."

Megamind's eyebrows draw together.

"Bad," he says. "who told you that you were bad, Kendra?"

"Everybody," Kendra says, still in that same matter-of-fact, conversational tone, still pushing her swing back and forth, back and forth. "Step-daddy, and mama, and Auntie Melanie, and Mrs. Peterson. Step-daddy especially. It makes him mad. What's your favorite dinosaur?"

Megamind's eyelids flicker briefly in surprise.

"Kendra—" Latoya says quickly, "we talked about this, remember? The Overlord doesn't want to talk about—"

"Brontosarus," Megamind says.

Kendra frowns, still moving the swing back and forth, back and forth."That's not its real name," she says. "It's Apatosaurus; the—"

"Kendra," Latoya hisses.

Megamind laughs.

"No, she's right," he says. "I was so disappointed when I found out, I refused to read any books about dinosaurs for months. I still hold out hope that they'll change their minds after all. I like pterodactyls, too."

Kendra makes a face.

"Those aren't even dinosaurs," she says. "They're pterosaurs."

"Kendra!" Latoya says again, sounding somewhere between mortified and angry at Kendra deciding to correct a superviillain.

Megamind laughs again.

"You," he says, "are clearly a stickler for correct terminology. I feel like I'm trying to menace Miss Ritchi with an incorrectly labeled dinosaur-bot." His voice trails off slightly at the end of the sentence, a thoughtful, considering kind of look coming into his eyes.

"I like her," Kendra says. "She's smart and she has pretty hair."

"Yes," Megamind says absently, a faraway, planning-out-future-deathtraps look still in his eyes.

"You should ask her."

Megamind comes back to himself with a little jerk.

"Sorry—what?" he says.

"You should ask her," Kendra repeats.

Megamind's eyelids flicker, lashes giving a flutter, uncertain, like moth wings.

(for a moment it seems that a slight purple flush lights up his cheekbones, but that may be just a trick of the dying light.)

"Sorry," he says again, "ah—ask—ask her what?"

"What her favorite dinosaur is."

Megamind relaxes infinitesimally, fingers loosening around the chain supporting the swing, and he smiles, quick and crooked like a flash of lightning.

"I'm not really sure how I would work that into an evil monologue," he says.

Kendra makes a face which indicates she is not particularly impressed with this excuse.

"You just—"

"Kendra," Latoya says, voice rising, sharpening. "Why don't you take one of the brainbots and show it how long you can hang upside down for?"

Kendra stands up, letting go of her swing to turn towards the brainbot above Megamind's shoulder.

"I'm good at upside down," she says.

The brainbot turns its eyepiece towards Megamind, as if in question. Megamind gives a tiny nod and it bowgs enthusiastically and swoops over to the jungle gym. Kendra follows, leaving her now empty swing dangling. It swings erratically for a long moment before Latoya reaches out and grabs it, holding it still.

"Thanks," she says, her other hand balled into a fist in her lap. "Lonnie—the dinosaur thing—you didn't have to let her talk like that."

"Lonnie," Megamind says, looking directly at Latoya. "That's your stepdad?"

"Kendra's stepdad," Latoya says. "Lonnie's my real dad."

Her lips flatten out, a spark of anger appearing in her eyes.

"It's bad," Megamind says, a statement, not a question, but Latoya jerks her head in affirmation anyway. "You want to tell me what kind of bad?"

Both of Latoya's hands curl into fists in her lap. She looks out across the cracked pavement of the playground to where Kendra is dangling upside down—not from the jungle gym, but from the carapace of the very excited brainbot.

"I tell you—and you're probably gonna say you don't got it that bad," she says, but she glances at Megamind sidelong with something like hope in her face.

Megamind, looking out over the playground at Kendra, presses his lips briefly together.

"If you're bad, Megamind will come and take you away," he repeats Kendra's words softly before letting his lips curl into something that's not really very much like a smile. "I don't think people who don't have it that bad regularly request help from boogeymen. Or supervillains."

Latoya takes a sharp breath through her nose.

"He doesn't hit us, really," she says, "just—he yells at her and tells her she's stupid and—and she's not, she just doesn't—she has trouble focusing on—on normal stuff, and he hates that she can't look at him straight, and he calls her—he calls her a retard, just like those shits at school, and when she gets mad and fights back, she gets in trouble and he tells her she's bad and her mom doesn't stand up to him at all; she doesn't defend her, she just sits there and agrees—"

Latoya cuts herself off with gritted teeth, tears sheening her eyes. She looks away again, out across the playground, and swipes a hand viciously across her eyes.

"You, too?" Megamind asks.

Latoya turns and looks at him again, confusion in her face.

"They treat you like that, too?" he asks.

Latoya gives a one-shouldered shrug, jerky and dismissive.

"Yeah, I guess," she says, "I just know how to, you know, keep out of his way, and Kendra can't."

Megamind nods, mouth compressed into a flat line.

"What do you need me to do?"

Latoya uncurls her hands, flexes the fingers, wraps them tightly around the chains of her swing.

"I want to get her away from him—from both of them; all of them," she says. "You take her away and you take me, too; Kendra and me stay together. Yeah?"

She looks sharply at Megamind, fear just below the surface of the challenge in her eyes. He nods—understanding and agreement, and Latoya relaxes a visible fraction. Only a fraction, though; her gaze is still wary—and expectant. She watches Megamind for a long moment, as if waiting for him to say something more. She presses her lips together.

"Well?" she says.

Megamind tips his head, eyebrows drawing together.

"Well, what?"

"Well, what do I owe you?"

Megamind blinks.

"Owe me?"

Latoya rolls her eyes.

"Yeah, owe you," she says. "Everybody knows how it works when you ask the Overlord for help. I wanna know what I owe you."

Megamind's lips quirk sideways—for a split second the expression looks almost bitter, and then his mouth twists up into a wryly amused smirk instead.

"Ah," he says. "Yes. Of course. Well—shall we say—a small favor, to be redeemed at a later date?"

He raises his eyebrows interrogatively, but Latoya is already shaking her head.

"Uh-uh," she says. "I wanna know what I owe up front. None of that 'favors to be redeemed at a later date' bullshit. That's how you get into trouble."

Megamind's eyebrows rise a half-inch higher.

"I…see," he says. "Well."

He shifts his gaze out to the rest of the playground. Kendra is still hanging determinedly upside-down from the carapace of the brainbot, who is now swooping around with her in slow circles, but Megamind, his gaze unfocused and his expression faraway, doesn't seem to be watching them play.

After a few heartbeats of silence, Megamind blinks, glances over at Latoya, eyes sharp again.

"I'm going to send you and Kendra to the Metro City Children's Home—don't look so skeptical; the facility is under my protection, and the brainbots closely monitor all of the staff, volunteers, and children. If you don't approve once you're there, you can flag down a bot and you will be moved—no additional favors as payment required. All right?"

"All right," Latoya says. "And? What about this favor, then?"

"There's a boy," Megamind says, eyes on her face, expression completely serious, "at the Home. His name is Darius. I want you to be his friend."

"…that's it?" Latoya asks, voice and expression incredulous. "Just—be this kid's friend?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because he doesn't have any."

She narrows her eyes.

"What's wrong with him?"

"Nothing's wrong with him," Megamind says sharply. "He just has difficulty making friends, that's all. Like Kendra."

Latoya, mouth open to reply, pauses, lips pressing together again.

"He's like Kendra?" she asks after a moment.

"Yes."

"…does he have a thing about dinosaurs, too?"

"Currently, I think his main area of interest is Ancient Egypt," Megamind says. "But dinosaurs are almost always an appropriate topic of conversation. Evil monologues aside. Do we have a deal?"

Latoya blows out a breath.

"Yeah, okay," she says. "Guess I'll start reading up on mummies and shit."

"Excellent," Megamind says, "so—"

His voice fades out as the camera angle changes, the brainbot filming swooping up and into the air, then towards the setting sun, which flares orange momentarily and—

static. static.

static and

silence.

silence like the

—humming of a large machine, audible in the background, and Megamind sitting at the console in the Lair, chin propped up in one hand, the array of computer screens looming on the wall above him. He's holding a white drafting pencil in his other hand, sketching in the corner of a blueprint for a giant robot.

Across the screens above him, a program runs, greenish illumination from the computer screens flickering over him like ripples of underwater light. Beneath Megamind's hand, a tiny, detailed flower takes shape—stamens, pistons, petals, stem. Above him, strings of numbers and equations scroll—followed by what is clearly a list of financial transactions.

[ /autopay_annual ] [ donation recipients : metro city public library / metro city children's home / metro city charity hospital / classy seconds thrift store...

In front of the screens, Megamind sketches the flower—cross sections and an exploded diagram, as meticulously rendered as the plans for the machine that take up most of the page, and then a sketch of a flower itself, a single blossom on a long stem.

[ /autopay_annual ] [ donations received ] [ autopay_annual : program complete ] [ autopay_single donations : 2003 ] [ donation recipients: …

the numbers blur and fade and once more there is

static and

"—though, does she never change the batteries on any of these?"

Megamind's voice, and then Megamind himself, holding a screwdriver and looking up—up at the ceiling, where he has the top cover of a smoke detector flipped open. Beyond him, and the stepladder he's standing on, Minion is carrying an unconscious Roxanne towards the doors of her balcony. One of the brainbots accompanying him opens the door for Minion, as Megamind, still muttering to himself, swiftly changes the batteries on the smoke detector.

"—fire safety is really not optional; that woman has the most badly developed sense of self preservation that I have ever encountered; 'oh, I'm Roxanne Ritchi; I don't need to worry about giant lasers or supervillains or common household accidents, oh no. I'm—"

—a click as he flips the cover of the smoke detector on once more, the screen going dark as his voice cuts off into—

darkness and

"—don't try to lie to me any more. It's a terrible waste of my time."

Megamind's voice again in the darkness, but the tone completely different—silky and soft and somehow dangerous, even through the crackle of static that covers the response of whoever he's talking to.

The static, the darkness, recede—into a darkened room with an immense window looking out over the nightscape of the city. Megamind is nearly a silhouette, a black shadow limned in the glow from the city lights, jagged edges of skyscrapers at his back, green eyes oddly luminous. He shifts very slightly, and the light falls on the sharp line of his cheekbone; glints on the spikes on his shoulders, the flash of his teeth.

"I see," he says, "Well. I do hope you and your friends had fun with it, because you're not going to be having any more fun for quite some time. I will cover the missing money, the charity hospital will go ahead as planned, on schedule, and with no more 'unexpected costs', and you and your friends will all owe me, along with the money, several extremely large favors. I expect you to give me all of the names of everyone involved in this little venture of yours—and I do mean all and everyone. Don't go thinking you can deceive me on that account; you're not nearly smart enough, for one thing, and for another, you're certainly not going to be my only source for this information. This is—"

—darkness and silence washes in again, the city lights fading out into

the city

made of light—

"—the map of Metrocity, showing the the lines of territory—the current lines of territory, I said," Megamind, beside the holographic projection, holds up a quelling hand and sends a stern glance around the other occupants of the room, "we are not here to discuss or debate the proper allocation of territories; you'll all have your chance of that next challenge day."

He pauses, and then, evidently satisfied at the lack of argument, gestures at the holographic map.

"So. What we are here to discuss is the areas of each territory which will be affected during the upcoming battle with Metro Man. These—" he gestures again, and numerous parts of the map light up bright and blue, "—are the targets which, following your requests, I have scheduled for destruction; I'll be meeting with each gang individually to finalize the plans for reconstruction and repurposing. I'll also be needing a plan for relocation and evacuation from each of you. Included in the plans should be your budget requests for both the relocation/evacuation and the reconstruction/repurposing stages. All of you should—"

—holographic lights flaring, blurring, drowning in a snowy burst of static, then

( fli cker ing ) ( fl icker ing )

( flickering )

back into view again, the same city made of light, seen from a different angle, projected in a different place. Megamind

standing

in the middle of the city that glows in the middle of the darkened Lair

Megamind

—wearing that orange sweater, faded by age and wear, now, rather than color distortion. Arms, and a ragged red and black plaid blanket wrapped around his body, a fine, continuous shiver running through him, breath visible in white -white holographic light limns his face like frost.

"—really sure, Minion," he says, and the shiver runs through his voice as well, "I watched Lady Doppler try to shift the storm; I could taste the ozone; she wasn't faking. It just didn't work."

"So…" Minion says. "the blizzard—"

"Is not natural," Megamind says grimly. "And it's only going to get worse."

"This is an attack," Minion says. "You think it's us they're targeting? Or Metro Man?"

"I don't care," Megamind says, almost snarls.

He whirls on his heel, the blanket flaring behind him like a moth-eaten cape, and begins to pace through the hologram of the city, wading through light like luminous water.

"They come into my city, no contacting me for permission before launching an attack, no regard for my authority as the reigning supervillain of Metrocity, no attention to my established rules for acceptable villainous behavior—I don't care if they're aiming for Metro Man, the disrespect alone qualifies it as hostile to us! But that's—we'll deal with that; we'll deal with whoever it is later; that's not the point, Minion!"

"Sir?"

Megamind gives a hissing sound of frustration, crosses with swift strides to a nearby console.

"Look," he says, and flips a switch. "The worst of the blizzard is going to hit Metrocity in two days—"

Above the holographic city, the image of a swirling white vortex of light appears, rotating slowly in place. Megamind resumes pacing as it gradually lowers until it is superimposed over the luminous buildings and streets, all but blotting out their light with its own.

"—and everything Lady Doppler could sense, everything that all of the weather-monitoring satellites I've hacked into say—it's going to stay here, Minion, it's going to stay in Metrocity, for an impossible-to-predict amount of time. And considering the pattern of the way the storm started in the first place, it's only going to get worse—rapidly, exponentially worse."

He steps back into the sea of light as the vortex glows brighter yet.

"People are going to die, Minion," he says. "We can mobilize the brainbots to evacuate the streets, maybe even the lower-income housing areas, where the utilities are most likely to break down first. There's not enough sufficiently safe room for that volume of people, but we could approve the use of mass dehydration—which would be a nightmare to try to deal with afterwards—but."

He hitches the blanket up tighter around his shoulders, rubs at his eyes, at the dark circles beneath them, blue-purple marks of sleeplessness and several-days-old eyeliner.

"But what, Sir?"

Megamind takes his hand from his face, eyeliner on his fingertips, smudged even worse around his eyes. He looks at the city, spread out around him in lines of light.

"I told you, Minion," he says bleakly. "The storm is going to stay. And it's only going to get worse. The first evacuation areas—those are just the sections of the city likely to break down first. If the storm stays as long as I think it's going to, the rest of the city is eventually going to go as well. Bit by bit. Water lines freezing. Power lines going down. Everywhere."

He looks up at Minion again, eyes wide, holographic light shimmering across them like the sheen of tears. Blue fingers twist in the fabric of the blanket he's wearing, and suddenly he looks as young as the Megamind who stood in a snowy alleyway reaching for a dying cat.

"I—I can't dehydrate everyone in the city, Minion," he says, sounding lost. "I—" he scrubs a hand over his face again, quick, harsh, sudden. "—well, I could, I suppose," he says, a bitter laugh edging the words, "but that's Plan Z, or possibly Plan Z Minus, because the League of Heroes really would come after me, then, not to mention Metro Man, who I'm sure would absolutely believe that the storm wasn't my fault, and definitely buy that I wanted to dehydrate the entire population of Metrocity for purely altruistic reasons."

He begins to pace again, the restless, feverish movements of a half-delirious wild animal in a too-small cage.

"Sir," Minion says softly, "you know the city—they do have an official superhero, not to mention emergency services. This isn't really your responsibility."

Megamind whirls on him, green eyes blazing in his gaunt face like poison fire.

"Yes, it is."

Minion opens his mouth to reply, then sighs and shakes his head.

"Do you…have a Plan A, Sir?" he asks.

"Not yet."

Megamind turns away to look out across the sea of holographic light again, the line of his shoulders sharp and tense beneath the blanket draped over them.

"But I will."

Minion sighs again.

"Right," he says. "Well. I'm going to go make some coffee."

Megamind doesn't answer, and after a moment, Minion turns away, leaving him there.

The brainbot filming moves closer to him, silent for once, subdued as it hovers gently at his shoulder.

Megamind, face in profile, glares fiercely down at the city, brow furrowed, lips pressed tightly together in a down-turned line. For nearly a minute, he simply stands there, silent, unmoving, not even blinking. And then—

His eyelids flicker, and he tilts his head slowly to the side. He blinks again. Almost like a sleepwalker, he moves to the center of the holographic city, where Metro Tower juts upwards beyond the rest of the buildings, its tall spire nearly level with Megamind's heart.

He gazes at it as if entranced, and slowly, he reaches out a hand, touches the tip of one finger to the tip of the spire.

"Zero," he says, standing perfectly still, eyes intent on the tower, "project me the in-progress schematic for the Heat Ray—placement on the top of Metro Tower."

The brainbot makes a soft whirring noise, and a third hologram, a machine sketched in glowing lines of orange and red, appears atop the tower.

"Quadruple the size."

The machine expands.

As it does so, other brainbots begin to silently swarm towards Megamind, circling slowly above him.

Megamind's lips start to curve. He reaches out his right hand without looking and a brainbot is there, holding out an uncapped permanent marker. Megamind takes it, and also the open notebook another brainbot silently hands him.

With feverish quickness, he begins to scrawl calculations across the page, eyes fixed on the holographic tower still. As soon as one page is finished, a brainbot snatches it away, flies off with it. Immediately, Megamind continues writing on the new page.

Again and again the process repeats—pages covered in swift markings, snatched away by brainbots. At some point, Megamind resumes pacing again as he works, the bots following behind him like a shoal of fish. After a while the brainbots, without any verbal direction or gestures from Megamind, begin to thread a webbing of string across the ceiling, weaving it like a spiderweb.

From the webbing, single lines are released, and to each of these lines, a page is attached.

Megamind tosses the marker aside, the ink run dry; even as he does so, he's reaching with his other hand for the replacement marker a brainbot is handing to him.

He resumes writing again, left-handed this time, adding sketches to the calculations. A diagram of a kind of curved lens, with the notation:

ferrofluid suspension

and

archimedes mirror

This sketch is taken up by a brainbot, but instead of simply hanging this one up, the brainbots copy it amongst themselves, reproducing it over and over again. Finally, the copying concluded, the brainbots hang the reproduced sketches.

These, though, hang lower, hovering just barely above the holographic city, carefully placed in a formation that blankets the whole thing.

Megamind tears the last page from the notebook himself and hands it to Zero, who takes it not to a string, but to the computer console. mechanical appendages click rapidly on the keyboard, and the hologram of the tower flickers, changes—a giant Tesla coil now stands on the uppermost platform of the tower, flanked on either side, and attached to, the pillars of a great archway. Thick wire coils around both columns of the archway, and the whole thing is attached with another coil of wire spiraling around the spire of Metro Tower itself.

Megamind drops the notebook and marker without looking—both are caught and carried away by brainbots. He takes a few steps backwards, still looking at the tower.

"Zero," he says, "input the calculations for the results of the Heat Ray's destruction by Metro Man's laser vision."

Zero's metal appendages fly over the keyboard, tapping rapidly. She pauses, her mechanical eyepiece swiveling up to look at Megamind.

"Run the simulation," he says.

She presses a single key.

The holographic projection of the Heat Ray blooms like a flame-colored flower, then flies apart in silent slow motion, pieces of it hanging suspended in the air like parts in an exploded diagram. From the explosion, a dull orange light washes out and upward. Most of it fades out at the edges, disappearing.

But some of it, instead, strikes the lowest pages of the idea cloud, the papers covered with the reproductions of the diagrams Megamind labeled archimedes mirror.

The light bounces off of the paper, like light off of a true mirror, reflecting back, downwards, towards the storm, the city. And—

The holographic projection of the storm is destroyed in a blaze of orange light.

Megamind laughs, one hand covering his mouth, the maniacal edge to it closer to semi-hysteria than wicked amusement.

"Brainbots," he says, voice uneven with laughter, "commence—commence preparations for—Project Heatwave."

"It's not going to last long, you know, Sir," Minion's voice from the edge of the hologram, and Megamind turns towards him, tottering slightly, clutching his blanket cape and grinning madly.

"Oh, but the effect will," Megamind says. "Even after Metro Man destroys the Heat Ray itself, the Archimedes Mirrors will keep reflecting enough heat to keep the storm from re-forming. Winter in Metrocity is about to be put on hold, Minion. Which I'm sure everyone will enjoy blaming me for—interference with the environment, natural order, seasonal change, evil evil etcy-tera. I'll make up a suitable monologue."

"And after Metro Man destroys the mirrors?" Minion hands Megamind a cup of steaming hot coffee.

Megamind takes it absently, still gesturing with his other hand.

"Oh, but he won't be able to find them! We're going to use the Invisible Shield tech on them. And they're not mechanical, they're electromagnitized ferrofluid, so he won't be able to hear them! Miss Ritchi will locate them eventually, I'm sure; she's clever like that, but it should take even her a little while."

He glances over at Minion, who is staring at him with an unimpressed expression.

"Oh, don't look at me like that, Minion! I'm fully capable of evil monologuing without completely giving my plan away; I'll be careful! And we'll program Spikeless to bite me if I start revealing too much. We'll have more than enough time!"

"More than enough time for what, Sir?" Minion asks, as if he's not sure he wants to know the answer.

Megamind's eyebrows draw together, his mouth going suddenly flat.

"For me to find whoever it is that thinks they can threaten my city," he says, voice soft, fury unfurling through the words slow and sensual as blood in water, "and show them how very mistaken they are."

His hands tighten on the mug he holds and he glances down at them, at the cup of coffee in them—and blinks owlishly, as if he has no idea how it got there.

Minion sighs.

"It's coffee, Sir," he says. "You drink it."

"Ah," Megamind says. "Right."

He lifts the mug to his lips and the camera angle spirals upwards as the brainbots take flight towards the shadowy parts of the Lair, darkness and jutting bits of metal and then just

darkness and

darkness

and

sunlight

shining through the broken panes of a dirty window, and the ghostly image of the brainbot hovering before it, looking at its own reflection. The image, too, even more insubstantial and unreal, of Megamind, standing above what appears to be a pile of dirty blankets, heaped in the corner of an abandoned building.

"—can't stay here; it's shed-u-aled for destruction," Megamind's voice is gentle, pitched low and soothing.

The brainbot turns, gliding over to hover beside Megamind, who is speaking not to the pile of blankets, but to the man huddled in the pile of blankets.

"Destruction by giant robot," Megamind adds. "We have plans to turn it into a shelter, eventually, but in the mean time, there are several current shelters that would be happy to take—"

The man clutches his blankets tighter, shakes his head rapidly. The tinfoil strips that criss-cross the top of the orange hard hat he's wearing glint silver in the dim sunlight.

He's a big man, bull-necked, hands sized like dinner plates, but he shrinks back from Megamind, mountainous shoulders hunched inwards, cringing and defiant at the same time.

"Nonono," he says. "Not going—not safe. You go to those places and then they get you; I'm not going; I'm not—"

"Get you," Megamind repeats, a line appearing between his eyebrows. "You mean—the shelters? It's not like—it's not like a prison, or like—like checking yourself in somewhere. They can't keep you there against your will; you can leave whenever you like."

A laugh jerks out of the man.

"Say that; don't say that. Say they can't keep you, but you can't trust them; can't—"

"Can't trust who?" Megamind asks.

"Government," the man says, practically spits the word, then looks around, eyes wild, thick fingers scrabbling at the blankets. "Won't go there again, won't go with you—"

"Do I look," Megamind asks, one side of his mouth lifted in a wry smile, "like someone who's particularly popular with the government?"

The man's roving eyes move back to Megamind's face. His lips work soundlessly for a long moment. Megamind's smile fades and his frown deepens again. Moving slow, unthreatening, he crouches down in front of the man, fingertips of one gloved hand resting lightly on the dust-thick floor.

"Again," he says. "What do you mean, 'won't go there again'?"

The man blinks, rapidly, mouth still working.

"—I could do things," he whispers finally. "Used to could do things. Small stuff. Like—"

A large hand skitters over the blankets, seizes hold of an empty aluminum can. He pulls it into his lap, lifts one shaky hand, holds it out, palm down, fingers spread. Slowly, with his other hand, he brings the can up, stops with it in the air, beside his empty, outstretched hand. For a long moment, he stares at the can, swaying lightly in place.

Suddenly he tightens the fingers of his empty hand into a fist. At the same moment, he crushes the can in his other hand.

He looks up at Megamind again, drops the can, and then his hands, into his lap.

"See?" he says.

"I think so," Megamind says slowly.

"Can't, anymore," the big man says simply. "The people in gray came and took me away, and now I can't do that anymore. They put a chip in my head, you know," he adds, tone casually conversational. "That's what this is for." He points at the strips of tinfoil on his hard hat. "Static to hide what I'm thinking, so they can't hear. People laugh, but I know what's true."

He nods again, blinking rapidly as his head bobs. And then he squints at Megamind—Megamind, who has gone very quiet and very still.

"You're not laughing," the man says slowly.

"—where did they put the chip?" Megamind asks, eyes intent on the man's face. "Did they put it behind your—"

"—left ear," the man says in unison with Megamind, as both of them reach up to press fingertips behind their own left ears.

"—buzzsaw sound," the man says, seemingly for no reason, but Megamind is nodding like this makes perfect sense. "ZzzzzZZZZZ. All the time. Makes it—"

"—so you can hardly think," Megamind murmurs.

"—so I can't do the thing anymore," the man says. "You—you know—"

"—what's true?" Megamind finishes for him softly. "Yes. I do." He holds out one hand, palm up. "Would you like me to take that chip out for you?"

The man stares at him, mouth working silently; chewing on unsaid words, trying to spit them out.

"It would be very safe," Megamind continues. "Minion is very medically skilled. We could use local anesthetic, so you wouldn't have to be asleep for it. And we could set up mirrors for you, so you could watch the whole thing." He pauses, watching the man's face. "How does that sound?" he asks gently. "Does that sound good?"

The man swallows, quick and convulsive, then nods, a rapid, repetitive series of motions. He reaches out, takes Megamind's hand—his is so large that it all but engulfs Megamind's, but the man clutches it like a lifeline as Megamind rises, pulls him gently to his feet.

"Good," Megamind says, looking up at the man—he towers over Megamind, but he's still gripping Megamind's hand like a frightened child. "Good," Megamind says again, "That's good. What's your—

(flash of light like sunlight glancing off of dirty glass, light mixed with

static and)

"—name, Zero," Megamind says, face coming into focus, framed against a brightdark smear of sunset sky. "You're allowed to change it."

The brainbot makes a low, grinding noise like a mechanical growl which slips fluidly into a higher register, ending on a soft, warbling sound. The view shifts as she moves her eyepiece down to look at the rooftop she and Megamind are both resting on. With one metal appendage, she draws a circle, scratching it into the concrete that lines the roof's edge.

Again, the view shifts as she looks up at Megamind. She reaches out and taps him with an appendage—taps the scratched circle—taps hers own braincase.

"Yes, I know I named you Zero," Megamind says. "But if you don't like it—"

Again the metallic grinding sound, followed by the three taps—Megamind, the circle, herself. Each is delivered with greater force—the one to Megamind, in particular, is more of a jab, than a tap. She follows this up with a repeated tap to the circle, to herself, for emphasis.

"All right; all right," Megamind says, holding up his hands. "I named you Zero; it's your name. But if you feel so strongly about it, then why are you so upset about it?" He reaches out a hand and strokes her braincase lightly, lovingly. "What is it, sweetheart? What's got you so worried, hmm?"

Zero makes a whirring noise and reaches out with an appendage to trace the circle once more, slower, wistful.

She follows the circle with two parallel, horizontal lines, and then stops, fans her mechanical limbs out in a gesture of someone spreading their hands. She tips her eyepiece up to look at Megamind again, then slowly moves it from side to side.

(nothing. negation.)

"Ohh," Megamind says. "Oh, Zero—my beautiful, perfect Zero—it's not like that at all. Here—look—"

He shifts position, bending one knee and reaching down to pull something from the top of his boot. A swift flick of his fingers and twist of his wrist and the butterfly knife unfolds, the fanning blade glinting redly in the dying light.

Holding the knife like a pen, Megamind traces over Zero's circle, then adds a long vertical line coming from the top of the circle. He crosses the top of this line with two short horizontal slashes.

Megamind leans close to Zero, one arm over her, so that she's pressed close to his hip. He taps the new symbol with the tip of the blade.

"This is the hieroglyph that the ancient Egyptians used to represent zero," he says, voice soft, a father telling a bedtime story to a child. "The throat—" he traces the vertical line downwards, "—and the heart," he traces the circle. "It's called nfr, and it's the same hieroglyph they used for 'beauty' and 'perfect'."

Zero reaches out and traces the symbol with tip of one metal appendage.

"When you're graphing something on a grid—" he quickly scratches a cross in the concrete, arrows at the ends of both lines, a circular mark where the two lines converge. "—or even in three-dimensional space—"

Next to the cross he scratches out a cube, three crossed lines inside the cube, six arrow-tipped rays pointing towards infinity in every direction, radiating out forever from the circular center point at their heart.

"—zero is always at the center," Megamind says. "The starting point, the place where everything converges. Zero is the boundary marker between positive and negative numbers—all numbers, positive or negative, are defined by their relationship to zero."

Zero tips her eyepiece upwards, looking at Megamind, who smiles down at her.

"Zero is the reason algebra is possible," he says, tone reverent. "It's what keeps two and twenty and two-hundred from looking the same—they used to, you know; and it was terribly confusing for everyone involved; you had to use context to guess which one people were writing about, and you can guess how well that went."

Zero makes a sharp noise and Megamind laughs.

"Yes," he says. "About that well."

He flicks the knife shut, replaces it in his boot. Zero shifts closer to him, leaning her eyepiece on his thigh.

"You can't ever divide zero," Megamind says. "You can't break it into fractions or decimals. Zero is always zero, always itself…"

Megamind's voice fades out as Zero blinks her eyepiece—slow—slower—and then—

The shutter opens again, slowly, sleepily.

It's dark now, and, the sky black and the lights of the city visible. Zero looks up at Megamind, who is gazing out at the city below them.

"Look at her, Zero," he says, voice hushed, eyes rapt. "Our Metrocity. Isn't she beautiful? Like a galaxy, stars made of electric light…"

Again the slow blink of the shutter, the fading of the image into darkness. Megamind's voice continues on a little longer, threading through the darkness.

"Streetlamp constellations to guide you home…"