Cohost writing prompt: @Making-Up-A-Villain — Villain who has a map
Staccato inches open the hideout's steel door, mouth twisting nervously, eyes fixed on City Protector Windstar's grim face.
"We need to talk," Windstar says, and Staccato flinches.
"That's what you said last time we talked," she says. "I don't remember us having much left to talk about."
Windstar glares as if looks could skin, and puts out a firm hand to push the door open. She marches in, Staccato stumbling back out of her path, and stalks unerringly through the narrow, unmarked coridors to the Control Centre.
It looks impressive in Staccato's gloating broadcasts. Off camera, it's obviously a set, only the cinematic suggestion of an expansive high-tech room. Windstar throws herself into a chair.
"What was that, earlier?" she says darkly.
"What was it?" Staccato gestures weakly at the camera setup. "It was. What it sounded like? Surrender to my demands, or my fungus colossus, step on the mayor, muahahaha?" She limply makes jazz hands.
"No," Windstar says, voice hard. "Not your fucking budget kaiju. You had something up on the display behind you when you were delivering the speech. A message for us."
"The. The broadcast backdrop?" Staccato blinks at her. "This is about that?"
"Don't you fuck with me," Windstar says. "Backdrop. Backdrop of what, Stac?"
"A map of the city," Staccato says pitifully. "I just grabbed a random one? Like always, to mess with anyone looking at my broadcasts too hard for clues?"
"A random map." Windstar cracks her knuckles. "A random map. A random map showing what?"
"I don't know! A random one! Probably from an old job—" Staccato pokes at a console, and the backdrop flickers back to life; she squints up at it. "—oh. Oh that map."
"You have a map of where each of us live," Windstar says ominously.
"No!" Staccato shakes her head. "No, look—"
"I knew it had to end," Windstar says bitterly. "I knew I was in too deep when I — let my guard down enough to fall asleep afterwards. Oh, you must have laughed at me, going through my phone for addresses—"
"No," Staccato says. "No, fuck you, Mel, that's not what happened. You people just aren't careful. I was working on this for years before we — this is just statistical, from City Protector sightings, social media shit. I picked the scale on that map deliberately, you know? Because at that scale you can't tell how precise the map pins are, and 'City Protector Earthheart lives somewhere inside this thirty-block circle' isn't that impressive. And I stopped, I stopped narrowing it down because we — because of us. Because I realised that if I knew where you live for real, I—" and she looks away, kills the display. "I didn't want to find out any more. Not like that."
"You expect me to believe that?"
"I've had eight months," Staccato says. "You gave me your shiny hero Dear John text message, I've had time, I've — if I was going to target your team's addresses I'd have done it, right, instead of dicking about with budget kaiju."
"Look at me," Windstar says. "Look me in the eye and tell me—"
"Fuck you," Staccato says, staring her right in the face, lip trembling. "You fell asleep here, that last time, and you know what, I didn't, I couldn't, spent the whole night watching your face and not daring to move in case I somehow fucked it up, and then you wouldn't even say it to me in person. Fuck you, get out, get out, and don't fucking come back here unless it's to put me out of my fucking misery."
Windstar clenches and unclenches her fists, gnawing on the inside of her mouth. "Stac—"
"Fuck you, superhero," Staccato says, folding her arms tight around herself and turning away.