The silence was absolute.
"Meet the real Masque," Jay said quietly. "A man who discovered he could reshape appearance into anything he wanted, including transforming himself in his distorted sense of beauty, making himself look like a victim of the very prejudice he claimed to understand."
Beautiful Dreamer spoke first, her voice shaky without its otherworldly resonance. "That's impossible. We've known him for years..."
"You've seen what he wanted you to see. A carefully crafted facade designed to earn your trust, your sympathy, your resources. Tell me, how many times has Masque offered to help with your appearances?"
Scattered murmurs suggested several had asked.
"Never," called out a young man whose face was a mass of bone growths.
"And yet here he sits, having maintained a false form for decades."
Without his powers to maintain the illusion, Masque sat exposed before his community.
"You want to know the real sick part? Some of you—the ones too ashamed to come tonight, too disfigured to show yourselves even here—some weren't born that way. Some were made that way. Masque has been using his powers, all right. Just not how you think."
Sack's hands clenched into fists. "You're saying he made people worse?"
"I'm saying a man who can reshape flesh with a thought, who has lived among you for years, who has watched children grow up hating their faces, has made certain choices about how to use his gifts."
The explosion of rage was primal and immediate. Morlocks who had spent years believing they were irredeemably monstrous suddenly understood their suffering might have been deliberate. Parents realized hope had been within reach all along—but withheld by someone they trusted.
The crowd surged forward like a breaking wave. Masque scrambled backward in terror. Callisto and her lieutenants moved to intercept, but without their enhanced abilities, they were reduced to human reflexes and strength.
The chamber erupted into chaos. Voices raised in fury, scuffling feet, someone screaming. Bodies pressed forward, driven by years of suppressed rage.
Then Jay snapped his fingers.
The sharp sound cut through the noise like a gunshot. Every person froze mid-motion, caught by something that had nothing to do with their missing powers. The recognition of absolute authority—the kind that didn't need to be earned or explained.
When Jay spoke, his voice seemed to come from everywhere.
"Stop."
The single word carried divine weight. The Morlocks found themselves complying.
Jay stepped forward, and the crowd parted without thinking. His movements were unhurried, deliberate, like someone who'd never had a command questioned.
"Justice isn't the same as vengeance. And I won't have this community tear itself apart—even for the right reasons."
He knelt down, bringing himself eye level with the cowering man. His voice was quiet enough that only Masque could hear clearly, but the chamber's acoustics carried fragments to everyone.
"You're going to fix this. Every person you've harmed, every face you've twisted, every life you've made harder—you're going to undo it all. And you're going to do it gladly, because the alternative is so much worse than anything these people might do to you."
Masque's voice was a hoarse whisper. "And if I refuse?"
Jay's smile, visible even beneath his mask, was colder than the deepest tunnel. "Then I'll let them have you."
The threat was real. Everyone felt it.
"I... I accept your terms."
Jay stood, his presence expanding to fill the chamber again. "Masque will be held under guard until every Morlock who wants it has been restored to normal appearance. His powers will be used under supervision, for this community's benefit. He will work, without compensation, until his debt is paid."
It wasn't the instant revenge they'd wanted, but it was something better—hope. Hope that the damage could be undone, that their children might yet see normal faces in mirrors.
Callisto, still adjusting to her reduced senses, spoke up. "And what gives you the right to make such decisions for our community?"
Jay turned to face her, and she took an involuntary step backward.
"The same right that gives anyone authority. The willingness to take responsibility for the consequences. I'm not asking you to follow me blindly, Callisto. I'm asking you to look around and decide whether my leadership has been beneficial for your people."
She did look around—at the supplies that had transformed their quality of life, at Leech sitting in the front row with his normal human appearance, at faces that held hope for the first time in years.
"You've earned the right to be heard," she said carefully. "That doesn't make you our leader."
"No. But it makes me someone worth listening to. And right now, that's enough."
Bobby remained near the entrance, weathered face troubled behind his simple mask. When Jay finally made his way over, the older man was quiet for a long moment.
"That was..." Bobby began, then stopped, searching for words. "I've seen a lot of things in my time, Mr. Power Broker. But I've never seen someone take control of a situation like that."
"Was it too much?" Jay asked, genuinely curious.
Bobby considered seriously. "Probably. But maybe that's what it takes sometimes." He paused, watching Morlocks organize Masque's supervised restoration work. "Just remember what I said before."
"I know. But the alternative is letting people like Masque continue to prey on those who can't protect themselves. And I can't accept that. Plus, it's convenient that it aligns with our goal."
As they prepared to leave, Jay took one last look around the chamber. Morlocks were already organizing themselves, forming committees to oversee the restoration process, ensuring everyone who wanted help would receive it.
Behind his mask, Jay's eyes were already cataloging next steps. Masque's power would accelerate the integration process dramatically. Caliban's tracking abilities would help locate other Morlock communities. Beautiful Dreamer's influence could smooth social transitions.
The pieces were falling into place. The foundation of his network was solidifying.
The Power Broker had work to do, and now he had the authority to do it without question.
[A/N]: I write across multiple fandoms. Support my writing and get early access to 20+ chapters, exclusive content, and bonus material at my P@treon - Max-Striker.