Chapter Text

Chapter One

Nova was nervous. Of course she was. She heard the crowd outside, clapping and cheering, excited for the next step of their entertaining show. Because that's what it was.

An entertainingshow.

The neutralisation of the prisoners, except her and Ace.

Her execution.

Her uncles execution.

An entertainingshow.

She had heard Winstons story. How he was used as a young boy. Like a puppet. It broke her heart and she felt just so ashamed because she never had talked with him about his past. Because she would never have the opportunity to talk with him again.

The clapping had stopped and the Captain spoke again. She didn’t listen to him. All she could think about was how she had tried to kill him. Strangely, she no longer wished she had succeeded. Rather, she now wished she had never tried.

All of a sudden, she felt a push in her back. One of the guards roughly asked her to move forward. It was time. Just before the prisoners entered the stage, she caught Ace's gaze. He was looking at her urgently, a faint smile on his lips. It almost reached his cold eyes. Nova straightened up and withstood his gaze. Stopped shaking and drove out of her mind the dark thoughts that had been plaguing her for weeks. She was not a frightened girl. She was a fighter. And she would fight untill the bitter end.

Ace and her were the last in the long row of prisoners. It was nearly hilarious how anxious the guards threatened the two of them with their weapons. A 17 year old teenager and a old man. How terrifying. A murmur went through the crowd. All the cameras turned to them. Better said, they turned to Ace. He looked so old, so exhausted, so broken that it was impossible to imagine that this prodigy had once thrown the world into chaos. Because that's all he was to them. A prodigy, a villain, a threat.
They overlooked the man, uncle and mentor that he was. 
He was a danger to them and for that he had to die. 
For that, she had to die. 

The neutralization of the prisoners was a single show. Men and women in lab coats and with large syringes in their hands walked forward completely synchronously, standing on the left side of each prisoner. Then they bent over, pushed up the sleeves of the puke-green overalls and dramatically raised their right hand with the syringe. So they paused for a moment while the tips of the syringes sparkled in the lightning storm of the photographers. As if they had just received an order through their headsets, they rammed the needles like one person into the veins of the prisoners, who were forced to scream in pain and surprise. Then the men and women withdrew and left the prisoners to their fate. The audience waited tensely. As with Winson, Gargoyle and Trevor before, the prisoners opened their eyes in terror. Nova heard some of them first murmuring quietly and then shouting "NO!" louder and louder. Some tried to escape, stumbled over the chains and panicked. And some just stood there, looking at their hands and crying quietly.

And once again, Novas heart broke while apparently the whole world began to cheer. 

Would the audience cheer like that once she was executed by Frostbite? Even though she was still a minor? Would her own team - no, her former team - also cheer? 
No, she couldn't imagine that. But they wouldn't do anything against the execution. They were too loyal to the Renegades for that. Her betrayal was still too fresh and too deep for that. They would still have had to take care of her, and that was simply impossible. 

And she doubted that the rest of the Anarchists would come. Everyone's on their own. If you screw up, that's your problem. 
They've probably been far, far away from Galton by now. On a stolen yacht in the middle of the sea. A yacht with a graveyard to make Phobia feel good.

At this thought she had to smile involuntarily.

The Captain ripped her out of her mind. "Now we come to one of our last items on the agenda. A very... unfortunate event." He turned to Nova. His all-too-familiar sky-blue eyes fixed on her accusingly. "Nova Jean McLain," he began, "we took you in as one of our own. We gave you a job, a home. At least officially. Inofficially, we took you in as a member of our family. Trusted in you. Damn, you were even a guest at my own table!". This outburst made Nova flinch against her will. The captain's eyes sparkled with anger, probably not only because she had betrayed him, but mainly because she had caused his son such pain. But then he looked sheepishly at the reporters, who were busily jotting down every word. Apparently this little outburst of rage hadn't been planned. It made him seem incapable of being so close to her and yet not realizing the truth. Nova wasn't sure whether to feel honored or intimidated.
"Anyways," the Captain tried again, "we accepted you into our ranks as Insomnia. Well, how could we have guessed that you were actually Nightmare, the anarchist who almost killed me on parade?"
Okay, why did she feel so bad now? Why did his words hit her so deeply? She should be proud of her actions, but instead... she felt terrible.

"Nightmare."

She couldn't read Hugh's face. "The Council has ruled: For your actions - criminal damage, theft, fraud, espionage, obstructing an investigation, sabotage, covering for villains, grievous bodily harm, neutralizing Renegades, attempted assassination to a councilor etc. etc. - you will be executed by Genissa Clark. Any last words? Then feel free to say something... the last time" He pointet at the microphone and walked back to the council members without saying anything further.
Nova swallowed. It was the first time she had been told even a fraction of the crimes she had committed. Of course she had known from the beginning that it was a lot, but still it was a bit overwhelming in the sheer quantity.

At first she wanted to run away. She didn't want to pick up the microphone, didn't want her next words to be her last. 

She didn't want to die.

But then she thought again of Ace's look and everything she had fought for. Thought of his vision of freedom, equality, security and peace. Of her friends, there in the audience, to whom she still owed an explanation. Of the anarchists, to whom she still owed a future. Of her family, to whom she still owed justice.
And so she plucked up all her courage, stepped up to the microphone and began to speak.