[AMY IN DISPATCH (2025)] CHAPTER EIGHT

Prism had been putting it off for three days.

That alone annoyed her. A bad bitch like her shouldn't be stressing over a conversation.

She wasn’t afraid of confrontations; never had been, and never would be! But this wasn’t a fight, or a debrief, or even damage control. This was… gratitude. The uncomfortable awareness that if things had gone only a little worse, if the mousiest girl she’s ever seen in her damn life hadn’t been there, she would have been the reason a civilian’s life was permanently altered.

Permanent. That word stuck with her.

The SDN offices were too quiet for her tastes at this time of day, but that didn't stop a damn good chunk of the nosy-ass people from looking at her a little longer than they needed to, like they were reminding themselves she was allowed to be here.

She spotted the girl called Amy Dallon at one of the filing stations, buried in organizing paperwork that looked about as exciting as watching paint dry. She wore no costume, had no aura of awe surrounding her like some heroes thought they had, just borrowed clothes and the posture of someone trying very hard not to take up space.

That, more than anything, made Prism far more uneasy than she’d ever admit out loud.

Still, the dark skinned villain-turned-hero cleared her throat.

Amy looked up, startled, then smiled in that reflexive way people did when they weren’t sure what was being asked of them yet.

“Hey,” Prism said, fabulous sunglasses tucked in her hand instead of on her head. She’d decided, consciously, not to loom. “Amy... right?”

“Yes, I am Amy.” Amy said quickly, a small, welcoming smile darting into place. “Hi.”

Good, an actual goddamn human response. Not that rehearsed parole-officer crap most people here gave her.

“I was wondering if we could talk,” Prism said. “Just for a minute.”

Amy nodded immediately, in a relieved manner, setting the folder aside. There was no suspicion on her face, and thankfully, no defensiveness so far.

They moved off to the side, near the windows overlooking the city, away from the flow of analysts and superheroes. Prism watched the reflection of light slide across the glass and resisted the urge to fidget or go through her phone, though she wasn't able to stop herself from tightening her hold on it.

“I wanted to thank you,” she said, finally. “For the other day in the break room.”

“The prank?” 

“Yeah.” Prism let out a slow breath. “It wasn’t supposed to involve me, but someone messed with my visor calibration as a joke. I reacted without thinking and—” She swallowed. “I blinded that girl. What I do is usually permanent, even with powers involved. There aren’t many fixes for that kind of damage.”

“But it got fixed,” Amy said simply.

“Because of you.” Prism finally met her eyes. “So… yeah, thanks for that.”

Amy blinked, clearly not expecting it. “You don’t have to thank me. I just did what I could.”

Spoken like a goddamn superhero. 

“You saved more than her eyesight,” Prism said. “The Z-Team already has a reputation problem. If you don't know, we are former villains given a second chance, but obviously on a probationary basis.” Her mouth twisted into a frown. “If that analyst had stayed blind, people would’ve eaten us alive. It would’ve been proof that we shouldn’t be here and that the Phoenix Program is a waste of time.”

Amy frowned slightly. “I wasn't really thinking about that when I healed her.”

Prism believed her. That was the strange part.

“I figured.” Prism let out a short, humorless laugh. “That’s actually why I wanted to talk to you like this. You weren’t angry or judgmental, and you didn’t look at me like I was…”

She hesitated, stopping herself before saying dangerous or irredeemable.

“...Like I was beyond rehabilitation,” she finished, a little lamely.

“Should I have?” came the quick retort, Amy planting her hands on her hips. It almost felt like the young woman was scolding her, but that would be silly, right?

“You’re not from around here,” Prism said aloud, “but a lot of people are fond of judging a book by its cover. Once you cross that line into villainy, regardless of your intentions, that’s all anyone sees. Forever.”

“I don’t really see it that way,” Amy said. Then, more quietly, she added, “Again.”

That caught Prism off guard, causing the black woman to give the shorter girl a closer look, “What happened?”

Amy shook her head. “Let’s just say, I've learned that when you only see things in black and white, you are far more likely to miss why people end up making the choices they do.”

Prism didn't look away.

“People make choices for reasons.” Amy continued, making a conscious effort to ignore the suddenly serious look those eyes locked on her had. “Sometimes bad ones. Sometimes desperate ones. But they all matter. Intent matters.”

That wasn’t naivete, and it wasn’t denial either. To Prism, her words seemed born out of experience.

“...Where are you from?” she asked before she could stop herself.

Amy stiffened, just a little. Enough to be noticeable if you were looking for it. “Somewhere complicated,” she said. “Very complicated.” 

That told Prism more than a full explanation would have.

“Huh,” Prism said quietly. “I didn’t expect that.”

Amy gave a small, crooked smile. “Most people don’t.”

Prism straightened then, sliding her shades back on her face.

“For what it’s worth, girl” Prism said, “I’m glad you were there. And I’m glad you’re… not like what people had initially assumed.”

Amy tilted her head to the side. “What do a lot of people assume around here?”

“That heroes always know who the villains are,” Prism said, her voice regaining a touch of its usual melodic confidence, “And that people like me can never be anything else.”

She turned to leave, then paused, turning to look back over her shoulder.

“Anyway. If you ever wanna talk. Or, I dunno, get a coffee that isn’t shitty office sludge or just wanna party… the Z-Team bullpen might not be as nice as the hero’s, but we’re not all as bad as the rep says.”

She didn’t wait for an answer before finally leaving. Some things didn’t need one, and honestly, she couldn't resist the dramatic exit.

An Amelia wearing an oversized Marquis costume, still several sizes too big, and still complete with the aggressively fake handlebar mustache, slammed her gavel down with gusto.

“ORDER!” Evil Amy declared. “ORDER IN THE COUNCIL OF ME!”

The imaginary courtroom—because it was definitely imaginary, and absolutely not a coping mechanism—snapped to attention.

Amy Prime, in a clean version of the Panacea costume Amy arrived in this world in, leaned back in her chair and pinched the bridge of her nose. “If this is about the snack situation again, I swear to God—”

“It is not about snacks,” Evil Amy said primly. “This is about Prism.”

Crazy Amy, sprawled half upside-down across the table in her blood-stained, torn version of the costume, perked up. “Did we traumatize her? Please tell me we traumatized her!”

“No!” Smart Amy snapped, adjusting her oversized glasses. “That would be counterproductive. Also morally questionable. Also—”

Pure Amy made a small sound. “She was… nice. Rather intense and dramatic, but nice enough.”

“That’s the problem,” Evil Amy said, pointing dramatically with her gavel. “She expected us to be a judge, or at least a jerk, and instead we were… us.”

Amy Prime sighed. “Congratulations. We didn’t immediately screw it up.”

Crazy Amy scowled. “Boo.”

Smart Amy tapped her fingers together. “Her reaction is notable, though. The hero-villain dichotomy here is far more lax than what we’re used to. This world treats villains as a problem to solve; Earth Bet treats villainy as a condition to endure.”

“Which is wild,” Amy Prime muttered. “Because over there—” She gestured vaguely upward, like pointing at a ceiling that didn’t exist. “—there are many villains that have been shipped to another city with a new name and identity.”

Pure Amy shifted in her seat, hands folded tight in her lap. “I think she was surprised we didn’t hate her on sight, given her past crimes as a villain.”

Evil Amy snorted. “We’ve hated way worse people.”

Crazy Amy grinned, sharp and unpleasant. “And loved worse ones.”

There was a brief, uncomfortable silence.

Amy Prime stared at the table. “…Yeah.”

Smart Amy cleared her throat quickly. “The important takeaway is that we’re currently operating in a system that assumes that power doesn't inherently corrupt. This allows for moral flexibility.”

“Accurate,” Evil Amy said with a nod.

Pure Amy hesitated. “Do we… tell them? About the kind of world we came from?”

Every Amy froze. Then, slowly, Crazy Amy sat upright. “Absolutely not. I am not opening that can of worms.”

Amy Prime’s jaw tightened. “No one here needs to know about the horrors of the Endbringers, the Slaughterhouse Nine, or—” She stopped.

Smart Amy finished softly, “—that the last world nearly ended very badly.”

Evil Amy banged the gavel once, quieter this time. “We’re not here by accident. Whatever happened while we tried to stop that—” She adjusted her mustache, suddenly less theatrical. “—spat us out before things went wrong. Or at least… differently wrong.”

Pure Amy looked up. “So we get a second chance?”

Amy Prime let out a humorless laugh. “Or a third. Or this is our last chance.”

Crazy Amy’s grin returned, feral and eager. “Then let’s not waste it.”

Evil Amy nodded, folding her arms. “Agreed. We play nice. We heal people and try to stay away from the plot.”

Smart Amy pushed up her glasses. “Statistically speaking, that may be our best survival strategy.”

Pure Amy smiled, small but sincere. “I’m glad we’re trying.”

From somewhere above them, unseen but felt by all, something vast and patient stirred.

[ADAPTATION]

[CAUTION]

[ANTICIPATION]

Evil Amy grinned wide beneath her fake mustache. “Shaper agrees! New world, new rules.”

Amy Prime sighed. “This is going to be a mess.”

“We’re so back!” Crazy Amy said happily.