District Nine was holding a community festival.
Nobody knew whose idea it had been.
This was generally considered suspicious.
The leading theories included:
the city council,
local businesses,
a neighborhood committee,
a cult,
or Hex.
Most people blamed Hex.
Including Hex.
---
The festival occupied nearly six city blocks.
Food stalls lined the streets.
Children ran between attractions.
Local musicians performed.
Merchants sold handmade crafts.
Someone had somehow convinced three different districts to participate.
The city was alarmingly cheerful.
---
Lord Malachai attempted to avoid the entire thing.
This lasted approximately twelve minutes.
A local organizer found him almost immediately.
"Excellent."
Malachai immediately disliked that tone.
"We need judges."
"No."
"We already printed your name."
"..."
"We also printed Elara's."
Malachai stared.
The organizer smiled.
The smile of someone who feared nothing.
Possibly because they didn't understand what they were doing.
---
Several hours later, Malachai found himself seated at a judging table.
Beside him sat:
Elara,
Nyxara,
Solin,
a retired hero,
and Mrs. Holloway from District Nine.
Nobody knew why Mrs. Holloway was there.
Nobody questioned it.
---
The event:
Annual District Nine Pie Competition
Malachai wanted to leave.
Elara wanted to leave.
Solin wanted to leave.
Nyxara was having the time of her life.
---
Contestant Number One presented a blueberry pie.
Elara immediately became suspicious.
The bakery owner somehow appeared from nowhere.
"Please remain impartial."
"I am."
"You looked at it before anyone else."
"...That proves nothing."
The bakery owner looked unconvinced.
---
Contestant Number Three presented a pie shaped like District Nine.
Contestant Number Five presented a pie shaped like Malachai.
The resemblance was questionable.
The effort was impressive.
---
Contestant Number Seven presented:
A pie shaped like Hex.
The judges unanimously disqualified it.
Not because of quality.
Because nobody wanted to encourage that behavior.
---
Elsewhere, the younger heroes were experiencing another crisis.
A retired villain was helping run a charity booth.
A retired hero was helping him.
Neither appeared bothered.
The younger heroes were.
Very.
---
"You fought each other for twenty years."
"Correct."
"And now you're selling raffle tickets together."
"Correct."
The younger hero looked betrayed.
The retired villain shrugged.
"We're retired."
"That doesn't explain anything."
"It explains everything."
---
Nearby, Nyxara had somehow acquired raffle tickets.
Many raffle tickets.
Far too many raffle tickets.
Solin was afraid to ask.
---
"You bought forty-seven tickets."
"I support community initiatives."
"You are the community initiative."
"Thank you."
"That wasn't a compliment."
---
At the main stage, the annual children's art competition began.
This proved to be a mistake.
---
Third place:
A dramatic drawing of Elara fighting a dragon.
Elara had never fought a dragon.
Nobody corrected the child.
---
Second place:
A drawing of Nyxara stealing a tank.
Nyxara looked genuinely impressed.
"I like this one."
Solin sighed.
"Of course you do."
---
First place:
A drawing of Lord Malachai helping someone move a couch up a staircase.
The crowd applauded.
The judges applauded.
The child looked proud.
Malachai stared at the picture.
Then stared at the child.
Then back at the picture.
"...This happened."
The child nodded.
"Mom said you helped."
"I did."
The judges awarded first place immediately.
No one could argue.
The event was technically accurate.
---
Meanwhile, a side attraction had become unexpectedly popular.
Villain Organization Recruitment Awareness Booth
The booth was supposed to explain workplace safety.
Instead it had become a gathering point for support staff.
---
A cultist stared at one of Malachai's informational pamphlets.
"You offer mental health resources?"
"Yes."
The cultist looked emotional.
"We get robes."
The Malachai employee patted his shoulder.
"I'm sorry."
---
Nearby, the infamous raccoon debate had returned.
The mercenary remained convinced.
"I am telling you."
"No."
"I am."
"No."
"Our new hire is five raccoons in a coat."
The argument had entered its third month.
Evidence continued accumulating.
Nobody was happy.
---
At another table, the invisible henchwoman discussion had also resurfaced.
A rival supervisor looked exhausted.
"We still don't know if she's wearing the uniform."
A Malachai employee nodded sympathetically.
"Tragic."
"She's also Employee of the Month again."
"How?"
"We don't know."
The supervisor looked close to tears.
---
By evening the festival had become a massive success.
Children laughed.
Families relaxed.
Businesses prospered.
District Nine felt alive.
Not because of any single person.
Because everyone had contributed.
---
Far above the crowds, Elara stood on a rooftop overlooking the lights.
The little girl appeared beside her.
Again.
At this point Elara had accepted this as a force of nature.
"They liked your pie judging."
"I did not judge."
"You gave scores."
"..."
"That's judging."
The child had a frustrating habit of being correct.
---
Below them, the festival continued.
The bakery owner laughed with customers.
Nyxara cheated at a raffle.
Solin pretended not to notice.
Retired heroes and villains argued over card games.
Children ran through decorated streets.
District Nine lived.
---
Far away, hidden behind layers of stolen archives and observation screens, the Deceiver watched.
The festival interested them.
Not because of Malachai.
Not this time.
The district itself.
The people.
The connections.
The attachment.
Something unexpected had happened.
The emotional center of the district was no longer a person.
It was the community itself.
The network had become self-supporting.
That complicated things.
Considerably.
The Deceiver leaned back thoughtfully.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
A plan quietly changed.
A variable shifted.
A new possibility emerged.
And for the first time in weeks—
the Deceiver smiled because their original assumptions had been wrong.
Which meant there was still more to learn.
Far below, the festival lights continued glowing into the night.
And Lord Malachai the Dread spent twenty-seven minutes explaining proper couch-lifting techniques to three construction workers because someone had asked.
Which somehow became the most popular event of the evening.