#vd writes

A little note: I changed Yara's pronouns. I tweaked zir character a little bit and these fit zim better.

---

“It's really noisy up there today,” Sova commented, glancing up at the higher stages of the city.

“There has been a massive breakout of X in the prison apparently,” Kánya mentioned off-handedly, and the others made a sound of acknowledgement.

“Well, the more people break out jail, the more interesting customers we'll get,” Yara shrugged, earning an eye roll from zir friends.

They continued walking down the beach, enjoying the peace and quiet. They tried to go out like this at least once a month, mostly to get some fresh air that wasn't filled with smoke from cigarettes and various other substances. The other reason was Rakun. They would never tell him to his face, but they all agreed that if he stayed holed up in his room all the time, he'd probably go mouldy or something, so they needed to air him out. Even Paloma joined them today, which was a welcome surprise, because they were usually away from home, wandering through nearby forests and mountains whenever they were off the clock.

“What's that?” Róka pointed into the distance suddenly, breaking the silence.

Curious, Vidra ran ahead to take a closer look. As soon as she realised what she was looking at, she gasped.

“No fucking way.” She waved at her friends to come to her, shouting: “Guys! You're not gonna believe this!”

The others hurried closer, intrigued by whatever it was that Vidra just found.

“It's Lunatic,” she announced when her friends were close enough to hear.

“Seriously?”

“He's beautiful,” Yara noted.

“He's not breathing,” Kánya pointed out, worried.

“Even better,” Yara grinned, fully expecting zir friends' response.

“Yara, please shut your mouth.”

Meanwhile, Paloma emerged from behind their friends and knelt next to Lunatic's body. They checked his pulse, the straw they were chewing on falling from their mouth when they felt a faint beat. Their usual absent-minded look vanishes in favour of a concentrated one as they begin checking for injuries, mumbling their findings: “Broken rib, blood loss, drowning, mild hypothermia…”

“Can we help?” Vidra asked as soon as she noticed what they were doing.

“We need to carefully move him into a warm place and get him into dry clothes. The wounds will need treatment and he might need a blood transfusion,” Sova listed.

“Is that all, Paloma?” Kánya turned to their medical expert and received a nod in response. “Alright, Rakun, Vidra, pick him up and bring him home. Paloma, stay with them. The rest of us will run ahead. Sova, you'll find a first aid kit, Róka and Yara will prepare a bed, and Rakun, I'll give him some of your clothes if that's okay.”

“Yeah, no problem.”

“Isn't our only free bed in that old BDSM chamber in the basement?” Róka wondered.

“That's fine by me,” Yara agreed enthusiastically.

—

It took a few days before Yuri felt ready to join his new housemates for their 3pm lunch, which was also their first meal of the day because they worked at night and slept all morning. It didn't matter much to him, since he lived in the basement and couldn't really tell the time.

He'd met some of the other people living in this house in the past few days. He went over recent news with Kánya, Róka's younger sister, who looked and acted like she was older and had some strong opinions on just about any topic. Sometimes they were joined by Sova, a NEXT with the power to memorise books she read, who contributed to the more philosophical and moral debates with meaningful quotes and occasionally her own opinion.

—

“Ugh, this guy,” Kánya grimaced upon seeing a photo of Gregory Sunshine in the newspaper.

“Do you know him?” Yuri wondered.

“More intimately than I'd like to,” she rolled her eyes.

“We served him once,” Sova explained. “He was the type of customer we prefer: drunk, so not fully aware of what he's doing, and very rich. He paid us well.”

“But he was so annoying about it! Usually, these types just chat and grope around, maybe ask for something quick, but this one dragged it out into infinity, babbling on and on about how hot his boss was and how much he'd like to have her instead. I'm all for rich customers, but the ones that say things like that are bad for my self-esteem.”

While Kánya talked, Sova was studying the article, with Yuri looking over her shoulder, listening and skimming the text at the same time.

“Look, there's a picture of his boss as well,” Sova pointed out.

“Hadd lássam,” Kánya grabbed the paper to take a look. “Okay, fair, she's hot, but still! Doesn't mean I need to hear about it while I'm on his lap!”

“Apparently, he's the one behind the whole X ordeal,” Sova continued reading, unbothered by her friend's rant. “Many people got hurt or worse because of or by him.”

“Yes, you really don't need to worry about the opinion of someone like him,” Yuri pulled a face of his own.

“Do I detect a personal grudge?” Kánya prompted him to elaborate.

He never told anyone about the things he's done as Lunatic. Nobody knew his identity, after all. However, these two weren't asking him to talk about himself. They were asking him to slander a criminal.

Yuri has never spoken these feelings out loud, either. The repulsion, the deep disgust, the violent hate, all these venomous feelings he kept hidden behind a mask of professionalism. Here, he could voice them easily and without judgement. This wasn't the courtroom, where he had to be the personification of the law. Here, for the first time in his life, he was his own person.

He was Lunatic, but not really.

“I had the displeasure of meeting him, too. He's the one who gave me these,” Yuri gestured to some of his injuries. “He and Audun...”

—

He didn't get a chance to meet Paloma, the former medical student who had treated his injuries and who came up with a rehabilitation programme for him, because they weren't home often, but Vidra visited him every day after lunch to go through the exercises with him. Conversations with her were jarring, she was very direct and held nothing back, but it was also refreshing in a way, and Yuri found himself looking forward to her visits.

Speaking of refreshing, that also applied to his interactions with Yara, though in a vastly different way. To say zie was completely crazy would be an understatement, but he's come to realise that he isn't much better himself. He'd normally never even consider saying the nonsensical things that popped up in his head from time to time out loud, but when he heard zim speaking nonsense of zir own without worrying about what the others thought of zim, it suddenly wasn't that unthinkable. Their conversations, if it can even be called that, would be either completely incomprehensible or horrifying and deeply traumatising to anyone else, but he was thrilled by them.

—

Yara only came by to care for the instruments stored in the room at first.

“I've always been a bit envious of your NEXT power, you know?” zie began one day while lovingly rubbing leather oil into one of the whips.

“Really?” he asked, not really following zim, but when did he ever?

“Don't get me wrong, my power's great. It gets me the freakiest of customers. But I've always wondered what would it be like to burn someone. You know what I mean?”

Oh, he knew. All too well. A shiver ran down his spine and his face split in a maniacal grin, which zie reciprocated.

“It seems fun,” zie continued, “letting a person slowly and painfully evaporate layer by layer.”

“The flames are alive,” he tried to describe, “and ever-hungry. They melt the skin of the bones, swallow the muscles and finally bite into the bone. It's delicious. And the screams of the target are the cherry on top. It doesn't fill your stomach, but your heart.”

“Ahhh, I need to find me someone who is into that,” zie squealed in delight, abandoning the whip and wiping zir hands on a wet towel. “A hot metal rod was fun, but I'd like to actually set someone on fire, just a little. It would be so pretty to watch. And I'm sure the sounds would be as great as you say. I still remember the Lady Killer's, you know? I didn't see it, I was serving someone at the time, but I'll never forget those screams in my life. I bet he's never screamed like that for anyone else, just for you. God, I wish that was me! I just know I could get the most beautiful sounds out of people if they let me burn them.”

“I've always enjoyed burning people only partially, like when I'd stop them from committing a crime. I planned to do that more often — preventing murders from happening by scaring criminals so much that they wouldn't dare. I never actually went through with it because it was too risky, but I've toyed with the thought many times. Just give them a scare, make them sweat and tremble in terror. Burns take ages to heal and they always scar, so they'd carry that mark forever as a reminder of what they've tried to do,” Yuri admitted.

“Oh, that sounds so good!” Yara climbed into his lap with zir back to his chest and pointed at a large wooden instrument made of several thick logs. It seemed well-used and very old, slowly beginning to decay. “Show me, please?” zie pleaded. He chuckled, unable to resist zir puppy eyes.

Lighting his hand on fire, he placed it on top of the instrument, burning a handprint matching the one on his chest deep into the wood.

“More, please. Burn the whole thing,” Yara begged eagerly, unable to tear zir eyes from the impeding destruction. He indulged zim, pulling his hand away slightly and letting his flames loose. Full power, just for the fun of it. And fun it was, Yara's laughter was soon joined by his own.

—

In general, he was slowly getting used to being alive again. He tried not to think too much about the past or the future, but it was time he faced reality. And that starts with going to lunch.

The dining room, living room and kitchen combined meet him as soon as he climbs the stairs from the basement and opens the door, everyone else save for Róka already seated at the table.

It's not every day you meet such a mismatched group of different people only connected by a profession, but Yuri has been working with Sternbild's superheroes for several years now, so it's not too off-putting.

“Good morning!” Kánya notices his presence first. Yuri doesn't point out that morning is long since over. “Do we have an extra chair for Lunatic?”

Lunatic.

They never asked for his real name. Not that he would've told them, but it was so strange to him. These people saw the scar on his face and didn't bat an eye. Despite knowing nothing about him besides the fact that he's killed people, they accepted him and decided to protect him from the law, give him food and shelter and as much time as he needs to recover.

“Got it!” Vidra cheers, holding a chair above her head before placing it at the table. Just like all furniture it their house, it's second (or third, or fifth)-hand, doesn't match any other piece, and creaks dangerously when he sits down. A plate of noodles with what seems to be cream appears in front of him, promptly followed by a fork, a spoon, and finally a glass of water. He manages a smile as he thanks them.

He doesn't ask what it is he's eating, he's learnt first-hand that Róka will only answer with some long word or two in Hungarian, followed by a very vague explanation accompanied by a lot of hand gestures, which told him absolutely nothing. But he also learnt that she is an incredible cook and that nothing she served him was ever short of delicious.

The mood at the table is cheery as they begin to eat, apparently elated to have Yuri finally join them. As it turns out, the noodles are quite challenging to eat in a manner that isn't messy. Everyone seemed used to it and took it with humour, amused by Yuri's obvious cluelessness. When he pulls the ends of his hair away from the sticky cream for the second time, Yara wordlessly offers him a hair tie. It's pink with a sparkly plastic flower, but he gratefully accepts it and ties his hair back. As he runs his hands through his hair to smooth it out, he notices its state. God, he needs a shower. A very, very long, hot shower.

Soon enough, he figures out that he needs to wind the noodles on the fork and then scoop them up with the spoon. Nevertheless, half or the people at the table were ignoring the spoon part and paid no mind to having cream everywhere.

Strangely enough, it reminds him of when his mother used to make pancakes. He would get cream everywhere then as well, because no matter if he ate them with his hands or with knife and fork, there was always just too much cream. It would drip down on the plate, on the tablecloth, and occasionally on his clothes as well. He remembers the one time his father had used the excess cream from his plate to paint a moustache on his face, pretending to be the ridiculous villain he had caught the day prior.

“Hey, Lunatic? You still with us?”

Róka's question pulls him out of his thoughts. He realises that he's been just staring at his food for a few minutes now.

“I miss sweets,” he says, though it explains nothing.

To no one save for Yara.

“Me too, too bad they're so expensive. What kind were you thinking of?”

Yuri smiles as he begins recounting the memory.

“My mother used to make pancakes with cream, though she'd always put in too much and—”

His fork and spoon fall out of his hands and on his plate with a clatter as reality hits him like a freight train. He's avoided thinking about it ever since he woke up, but now, everything came back to him at full force.

He let his face fall into his hands as his brain went into overdrive, catching up to the reality of him going missing for several weeks. Lunatic is dead, but Yuri Petrov isn't.

“What's wrong?” Vidra asks.

“My mother… Her remains are probably still at the crematory. They'll just toss her into some mass grave if I don't pick them up soon… I need to go…”

He attempts to stand up, but Paloma's surprisingly firm hand on his shoulder stops him. They push him back down with a stern shake of their head.

“Paloma's right, you're in no shape to go anywhere,” Kánya agrees. “Can we pick them up for you somehow?”

“No, that wouldn't work. Whoever picks them up has to pay for the cremation… I need to go to my apartment, get my credit card and… Oh no, what if I was declared missing? That would complicate everything. I've never missed a day of work, my coworkers are bound to wonder when I disappear for weeks… Then again, I doubt any of them care enough to report me…”

Yuri needs to do something. He needs to get up, he needs to move, he needs to—

“Hey, hey, calm down. We'll figure it out,” Vidra tries.

“Yeah, let's make a list,” Kánya decides.

Sova fishes a pen and a paper from somewhere.

“No, no, finish your food first. Brain doesn't work on an empty stomach,” Róka reasons.

“Neither does the digestive system when you're panicking,” Paloma points out quietly.

“But—”

“Enough!” Yuri stands abruptly, eyes bursting into flames. A split second later, he realises what he just did. Everyone is looking at him, startled.

Oh, that's right. They just realised they brought a dangerous mass murderer into their house.

His flames vanish as he collapses back into his chair, whispering.

“I'm sorry… I just—”

He exhales slowly, fighting to get his emotions under control, before he's met with another realisation:

“I don't even know if I want my life back…”

The room goes quiet as everyone processes the statement. It makes Yuri a bit nervous, he has no idea what could they possibly have to say to that. To some degree, they had to be aware that he didn't want to be saved. That he tried to take his life for a reason. Yet, they saved him.

To everyone's surprise, it's Paloma who breaks the silence first.

“Do you hate your job?”

That is the last question he expected to be posed. He tries his best to answer.

“No… Yes? I don't know.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. Where did his usual eloquence go? “I wanted to be the voice of justice, that's why I chose it. And it was good at the beginning, but the longer I worked, the more serious cases I got. Complicated ones, too. My colleagues and superiors trusted that I would stay impartial and wouldn't be moved by my personal feelings. That became stifling. I had to let child rapists free on lack of evidence. I had to allow murderers to get out of prison early for good behaviour. I had to give countless criminals reduced sentences for barely any reason. I realised that I was never the voice of justice. I was the voice of the law, which was far from flawless. My colleagues just let it slide. I could not. That's why I became Lunatic — to deliver the punishment I otherwise couldn't.”

“Did you like that better?” Yara asks in a tone that indicates zie's expecting a negative answer, and Yuri confirms zir suspicions with a shake of his head.

“It was incredibly satisfying at first. Criminals disappeared one by one and people were realising that something needs to change. But that was it. No one actually did anything. Nothing changed, nothing at all. HeroTV just made me a part of their play-pretend spectacle of justice and moved on. I refused to take part in their stupid popularity contest, so I pulled back and began working more discreetly. I thought if I couldn't change people's minds, I would just have to do all the work myself. But the more lives I took, the harder it was to escape the voice of Th- …my own conscience. I couldn't help but wonder if I'm really any better than all those criminals.”

“Does it matter?” Vidra interrupts him suddenly. He gives her an inquisitive look. Of course it matters, why would it not— “Fact is, I'd be dead if it wasn't for you. And not just me, that asshole wouldn't've stopped until the cops caught him, and you know better than us how long that would take.”

“People have many facets. You can't just say someone is better or worse in general, you can only be better or worse at something,” Sova pipes up. As usual, Kánya picks up her theoretical argument and puts it into practice.

“She's right. You're worse than, say, us, because you've killed people. But at the same time, you're better than us because we've never saved anybody.”

“You saved me,” Yuri points out, purely on reflex because he's too shocked to reply to anything else.

“Yeah, but I'm sure you have saved much more people than just Vidra and potentially us. I think that cancels out the murders.”

“Outweighs them, even. In my opinion,” Róka joins her sister.

“Killing is wrong, but there's no reason to die for it,” Paloma mumbles from their corner of the table.

That is something Yuri has an answer to.

“I believe that people have to die to atone for killing. That's why I always knew that the last murderer I'll kill will be me.”

“Wait, that's your reasoning?” Vidra frowns. “I thought you killed those fuckers because that was the only surefire way to stop them.”

Everyone at the table agrees vocally, save for Rakun, who seems to be deep in thought. Suddenly, he looks Yuri dead in the eyes.

“Are you telling me that when we found you on the beach, you jumped there yourself? That it wasn't an attack, but suicide?”

The room goes eerily quiet as everyone turns towards him, expressions ranging from surprise to disbelief to outright disapproval.

“Yes,” he confirms. “I miscalculated the amount of time it would take for me to burn, that's how I ended up in the sea.”

“You jumped from a high place and set yourself on fire?” Róka repeats.

“And then you almost drowned? You gotta tell me about that in detail later.” Opposite to Róka, Yara sounds excited.

“That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard,” Rakun concludes. “Why would you do that?”

“I just told you, to atone for the killing,” Yuri argues, feeling a bit insulted.

“Yeah, I got that, but why?”

“I think what Rakun means,” Kánya interjecs, “is that there is a big difference between you and the criminals. Tell me, if all criminals were gone, would you stop killing?”

Yuri opens his mouth to answer, but then he closes it again.

Oh.

Oh.

They wouldn't. If the Lady Killer wiped out all the prostitutes in Sternbild, he'd just move on to other women. So would that bomber from Justice Tower, the robbers who killed his mother, and all the other criminals he's killed.

The question is, would he stop killing? Could his sense of justice ever be sated? Or would he just move on to other kinds of criminals? Is he really as good of a person as they believe him to be? Or is he just as bad as—

“Cool, now that we all understand each other, would you mind finishing your food? I don't want it to go to waste and if the cream dries on the plates, it will be a massive pain to clean. We'll figure out the rest later.”

Yuri figures he might as well continue his moral crisis while eating and joins the others in mumbling an apology to Róka.

In theory, he knows a suicide attempt survivor do. He's dealt with this topic before, he was trained on it at work. Distract themselves from thinking about what drove them to suicide in the first place, reestablish a routine, and focus on the things they like about living. It's much harder to do in practice, though. He's constantly torn between countless emotions that lead a raging war inside of him. Staying logical and thinking objectively is almost impossible, even though it used to be his strong suit.

But strangely enough, he doesn't feel like dying again, and he suspects that these people are the reason for that. It's still baffling to him how much care they're willing to give to a stranger, and yet scold and argue with him just as easily.

And the strangest thing is that he wants to lend them an ear, that he wants to believe them. He wants them to persuade him to change his mind, to adjust the code of justice he always abode by.

It's a new feeling, but he decides to give it — give them — a chance. Maybe he can allow himself to change his mind just this one time.

---