FORGERY . . . THE BOYS ! [1]

prologue.

. . . 1984 . . .

The barracks are overcrowded and swarmed with shades of army green and sweat-slicked bodies. The stink of it rolls off of them in waves, pulsating through the air like its own heartbeat. Grass crunches underneath the weight of heavy booted footsteps outside of the tent they were assigned to, a cramped little thing, an afterthought, smushed in the corner of the camp like the plan B that they clearly were.

It was infinitesimally clear that they were not wanted. It showed in the glaring looks cast their way, the hushed whispers, the sneers on lips that flashed snarling teeth.

Well, what could you do. A job was a job, wasn't it? And this was the biggest yet! Assigned to be the first Supes in the war. Wasn't that something?

He could taste the opportunities about to open up to him on the tip of his tongue, as sweet as vanilla, as intoxicating as brandy, as adrenaline pumping as coke.

So, he let them glare and whisper and sneer and snarl. It was not the first time, surprisingly, that people had done that to him, though that reaction lessened as he climbed the charts and his rankings and appeal grew. It didn't get easier to shut them out, just easier to shut them up.

Next to him, Crimson Countess held onto his elbow and leaned up to purr something into his ear. The words did not catch, scratching down his eardrum and rolling off and into the grass like bullets on his skin. He did not care what his media girlfriend had to say. She was pretty, gorgeous, even. But she was not the one that he would sneak off with into their shoddy tent that night.

"What was that, sweetheart?" He asked, letting his smile catch the sunlight and brighten his voice. Well, he didn't have to like the relationship, but the sun sure did, didn't it? It liked to like him in this situation with her. Or maybe it just liked him. Who wouldn't? Look at those perfect teeth, made effective with free dental care and only the best, too.

She snarled. Just a little. How strange. From her? "I said, don't you think this will be good for us? For Payback?"

"Of course," he answered, blinking in momentary surprise. Why did he have to answer that? Wasn't it obvious to her? Was she this dense? "A huge step up for the lot of you."

He patted her on the shoulder, squeezing the soft skin underneath the red leather of her suit to make it appear at least a little romantic, before turning away. It didn't matter to him if it helped her climb ranks, or the rest of the crew. Really, good for them, but what did he care about it? He didn't. Why waste time pretending to?

He disappeared into the open, flapping fold of their tent. It wasn't small because Edgar would settle for nothing less for them, thank fuck, but it was nothing compared to the Tower. Cots for each of them were scattered haphazardly in the open space underneath the domed polyester. Go bags sat either leaned against the legs of the beds or on the built in pillows, clothes strewn across the cots or the floors. A little table was set up in the corner, his corner, her corner. Their corner.

That's where she was.

Rose Quartz.

His walking pink fucking beacon, bent over the table, her nose snorting up a line like it was her only airway. She looked beautiful like that. He could have watched her for days. The rose colored leather of her suit clung to her body and shaped around it like a glove, her fingers raised to her nose to wipe the excess off and scrape it along the inner line of her gums. When she stood up straight, the breath was knocked straight out of his chest like he was seeing her for the first time all over again.