The first experiment was a photograph.
Nothing more.
No fabrication.
No manipulation.
No lies.
Just a real photograph uploaded anonymously to several public networks.
A retired hero.
A retired villain.
A card table.
Coffee.
Laughter.
The internet immediately lost its mind.
---
"That's fake."
"It literally isn't."
"No hero would sit with a villain."
"My grandfather is in that photo."
"Your grandfather is a retired supervillain."
"He also bakes."
"THAT DOESN'T HELP."
---
The discussion spread quickly.
Not because it was scandalous.
Because it was confusing.
People preferred clear categories.
Heroes.
Villains.
Good.
Bad.
The photograph complicated everything.
The Deceiver watched quietly.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
---
Elsewhere, inside a modest café hidden away from most public attention, several retired heroes and villains sat around their usual card table.
The photograph had become the topic of the day.
Unfortunately.
A retired villain looked over a tablet.
"We're trending."
A retired hero groaned.
"I hate that sentence."
"You should."
"I fought an eldritch dragon."
"And now you're losing to social media."
The retired hero looked offended.
"That dragon was easier."
Several people nodded.
Because it was true.
---
Nyxara and Solin occupied another nearby table.
The hero was reading public comments.
The villain was enjoying them entirely too much.
"Oh look."
Nyxara pointed.
"They think I've corrupted you."
"They've thought that for years."
"They're finally spelling my name correctly."
"Progress."
Nyxara looked delighted.
A younger hero passing through the café froze upon recognizing them.
Again.
This was becoming routine.
The young man looked toward Solin.
Then Nyxara.
Then back toward Solin.
"...You really are dating."
Solin sighed.
"Yes."
"Voluntarily?"
"Mostly."
Nyxara looked offended.
"That sounded rude."
"It was."
---
Across the city, the second experiment began.
The questions.
Always the questions.
Not invasive.
Not threatening.
Simply... curious.
A local journalist interviewed residents.
"What do you think about the Void Princess?"
Responses varied.
Wildly.
One elderly woman adjusted her glasses.
"Very polite."
A construction worker shrugged.
"Terrifying."
A shop owner considered carefully.
"Helpful."
A teenager immediately answered:
"Cool."
The journalist blinked.
"Cool?"
"She jumped across a building."
"...Fair."
---
By afternoon, portions of the interviews had spread online.
Elara discovered this accidentally.
Which was unfortunate.
Because Hex discovered it intentionally.
Which was worse.
"Oh this is excellent."
"It is not."
Hex floated upside down beside her.
The screen displayed comments.
Thousands of them.
Some positive.
Some negative.
Many deeply confusing.
One caught her attention.
> She looks scary but she always helps people.
Elara stared quietly.
Another appeared.
> I don't know if she's a villain anymore.
Another.
> I think she just doesn't know how normal people work.
"...That one is accurate," Hex admitted.
Elara ignored him.
Warmth settled uncomfortably in her chest again.
The same feeling she experienced around the child.
The bakery.
District Nine.
Connection.
Attachment.
She wasn't entirely certain she liked it.
---
Captain Vale's experiment arrived next.
Though she never realized it was one.
A package appeared anonymously within her office.
Inside:
Old records.
Photographs.
Mission reports.
Nothing classified.
Nothing dangerous.
Just history.
Malachai before Uialon.
Disaster zones.
Reconstruction efforts.
Civilian support operations.
A younger Malachai carrying supplies.
Sleeping beside exhausted workers.
Helping rebuild shelters.
Vale stared at the images for a long time.
The frustrating part?
They appeared authentic.
The even more frustrating part?
They matched every archived record she'd already found.
No deception.
No manipulation.
Just truth.
A truth she increasingly wished was simpler.
---
The final experiment was reserved for the Old Guard.
And unlike the others—
they recognized it immediately.
Several retired survivors gathered quietly within a private room above an old restaurant.
Coffee.
Cards.
Conversation.
Normality.
At least until one of them spoke.
"They contacted me."
The room fell silent.
No one asked who.
Everyone knew.
A retired villain slowly lowered his cup.
"What did they ask?"
The answer came immediately.
"The same thing they've asked everyone else."
Silence.
A retired hero closed his eyes.
The Celestial Knight sat quietly near the far end of the table, expression unreadable.
Finally:
"What kept him from becoming Uialon sooner?"
Nobody spoke.
Nobody laughed.
The atmosphere simply died.
Because that was the wrong question.
Dangerously wrong.
The retired villain eventually exhaled slowly.
"They're not studying the Angel."
"No."
"They're studying Malachai."
"Yes."
Another silence followed.
Heavier this time.
The Celestial Knight finally spoke.
His voice remained calm.
"They're looking for the anchor."
That statement settled across the room like a funeral bell.
Because everyone there understood exactly what he meant.
Love.
Family.
Friends.
Purpose.
Hope.
The things that had kept a broken man standing.
The things that had prevented a catastrophe from becoming permanent.
The things that mattered.
And therefore—
the things that could be targeted.
---
Far away, hidden behind stolen archives and reconstructed histories, the Deceiver reviewed the results.
Photographs.
Interviews.
Public reactions.
Hero responses.
Villain responses.
Old Guard reactions.
Every thread connected exactly where expected.
Solin defended Nyxara.
District Nine defended Elara.
Vale questioned her assumptions.
The Old Guard became nervous.
Not because they feared exposure.
Because they understood the implications.
The Deceiver smiled softly.
The hypothesis was confirmed.
The connections were real.
The attachments were genuine.
The family existed.
Not a literal family.
Something stronger.
A network.
A web.
A support structure holding together an entire era.
The Deceiver leaned back slowly.
For months they had studied the past.
Now they finally understood the present.
And understanding always came before experimentation.
A new board appeared across the screens.
Names.
Photographs.
Relationships.
Connections.
The first pieces of a much larger design.
The Deceiver studied it carefully.
Then smiled.
"Good."
Outside, rain continued falling across a city that had no idea someone had finally found exactly where to apply pressure.
And for the first time since beginning their investigation—
the Deceiver started making plans.