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The pair were delivered in a cargo box. Industrial steel coiled around them and an extra band around knees and ankles, locking the two upright, back to back. A drip line plugged into each; long needles delved deep between spinal blocks of bone. Bags taped to ceiling. A folded note had been wedged between them.

'I can't decide.' Written in cut out segments of newspaper.

Terry had decided. A long time ago. He knew which one was villain, which hero. But he did his duty: moved them inside, set up studio lights and hoisted a camera onto bulky tripod. Lit a cigarette and sucked a guilty drag as he waited for them to wake. Started recording as the first slowly lifted her head and rolled metallic gaze towards him.

"Terry Williams," she rasped, her voice the warped tones of computer generated sound. "I thought you were fired."

"I was."

The second frowned, blinked and started awake. Orange hair frayed and wild, face spotted with freckles and burns, a fullness of lip spoke of forgotten beauty.

"Where am I?" Shrill. Noticed camera, lights, and Terry. "What's this? What are you doing? Do you know who I am?" Moved to stand. Robotic legs buzzed, flexed and slammed against binds. Steel screamed alarmingly, but held. Face slackened. Flushed red. "No!" She bucked. "Let me go! Do you hear me? You will burn in hell for this! Let me go!"
Behind her, unnoticed, the other laughed. Prerecorded bark of novel amusement stained with whir of engine electrics.

Terry seated himself carefully. Picked up notebook and tried to think of how to arrange his face. Inhuman chuckle mixed with frenzied shouts, echoed in underground room, snatched from space through planted microphone.

"Your names."

Once white sheets hung behind them, obscuring the world from watchful lens. The shape of old bike visible in the soft cotton.

"Crusader!" Scream bounced off walls. "You know it! Don't ask!"

A fresh bought of laughter trickled through metal lips.

"Your real name," Terry tried again.

Thin red brows descended. "That is my real name."

Gaze fell to notebook. Hands sweaty, voice uncertain. "Your name before."
"My name before," she echoed.
"Before you were Crusader."

Her head dipped, cheeks warmed with blood, legs twisted in constraints. "You know that too."

"State it for the record."

"Mad," she replied softly.

"What?"

"Miss Madeline Mason!" Screamed. "You know it."

Heel dug into cement floor. Cracked it. The stifled sound of parkway traffic rumbled, a dog barked and the lights hummed. Above a pair of flies zigzagged lazily through air and dust.

"And," Terry prompted the other. "State your name for the record."

Fingers drummed on knee with gentle chink, breath whistled between frozen lips, oil trickled from gash in shoulder. "Gloria Mason." Sounded almost human.

Madeline and Gloria Mason. A pair that had changed the world. Or reveled it. Depended on who you spoke to. And all in under a month. One day there was a superhero, part robot and part human, the next she was a god. Then there was another who spoke for God. And then street war. Countries demanded the exoskeletons, upgraded and improved and now they weren't so special. The prototypes to a new era.

"I have been asked to record," turned notebook page, "your opinions and resolutions on the subject of the superhero incident." Practiced speech sounded hollow to own ears.

"And because of our criminal status the news team hired you, the rouge camera man, to get the story," Gloria stated the fact. Rolled shoulders and made a show of testing her bonds. "Just like old times." Paused as she considered. "Only, this time your not on my side, are you." Not really a question.

"I'm not on any side."

"Everyone is on some side," Madeline sneered. "Pick then. Mine or hers."

"T-that isn't what I am here to talk to you about."

"Oh yes," Madeline leered forward, twisting Gloria away, "you're here for an interview. To figure out who is in the right and who in the wrong. World's biggest story. Bet they'll pay you a heap."

He had a list of questions. They all seemed silly now. Where are you from? Cultural backgrounds? Motives for becoming superhuman? He asked.

"Motives?" Madeline snarled. "To stop my sister."

"To walk," Gloria said simply. "My legs didn't work."

"There were other options," sister countered. "You didn't have to strap on those things and prance about the city calling yourself superhero."

"I didn't have to wobble on prosthetic sticks either."

"Why did you want to stop your sister?"

Madeline's lips curled and nostrils flared. "Smashing public property, bashing small time criminals and defying all legal and governmental action. Take your pick."

"She was desperate," Gloria added, "to be better than me. Hated the idea for being left behind by crippled sister."

"You were calling yourself a god!"

"I was a god."

"There! You see!" Pitched swelled with triumph. "She admitted it! Sick Glory you were always sick. Ever since you were crushed. Sick and drunk on power. I tried to save her. Talked to her, took her to church and organized carers to tend to her. But all she cared about was vodka and defying God."

Gloria's slow chuckle returned, buzzed and thrummed from back of throat. Iron capped knuckles gleamed, polished from use, and electronic eyeballs swiveled to meet Terry's. Didn't say a word.

She'd once looked like her sister. Hair blazing and skin delicately freckled. Blue eyes had always been hard and cold, jawline stiff and muscles wound taunt. Before it had been cut out her voice had been deep, resounding and commanding. Rarely spoke. Didn't need to. Flesh no longer graced her face or frame, wires threaded instead of veins and sunlight not food charged oiled joints. Brain and spine rumoured to be human. Must be, or drip line wouldn't have worked.

"Why did you think you were a god, Gloria?"

"I was."

"Why?"

"Look it up."

Terry looked down uncertainly. Flicked through notebook pages.

"A god," Gloria explained darkly, "is a being of supreme or greater power than mortal man. Cortex was a god in the new world, as was I."
"Cortex never claimed to be a god," Madeline hissed.
"Check your history books," Gloria demanded. Turned attention back to Terry. "But I was greater than Cortex in his new world. I still am. All those others, they mimic her." Jerked head towards Madeline. "My first design. But it was flawed. She's still mortal under all that. A suit. Me. This is me. I am a god and those that followed were right to." Stilling pause, gaze unflinching. "And were wrong to leave."

Swallowed. "So, you admit you became... superhuman to achieve godhood."

"As does everyone who plugs any of this equipment in," meaningful nod at Madeline. "Despite what they claim."

"I was never a god! I serve God to stop maniacs like you from taking over the world."

"You were the one, dear sister, that marched an army on Parliament."

"To save them."

"From what?"

"Themselves."

Gloria hopped closer to the camera, leaning forward and meeting world's eye. "You want to know who was right and who was wrong. Look at the actions. Madeline would seize this country from the government to ensure 'God's will' was carried out, that I an abomination for my own deed of removing the crime family Castillo would be destroyed." Words rung over Madeline's furious snarls. "She thrust children into police lines and promised places in heaven to those who would 'subdue' my followers. She locked away people just for refusing to conform to her beliefs and would have ripped me apart for the same reason."

"You killed people, Glory! You killed them if they would not acknowledge you god!"

"Murderers, human traffickers, drug dealers. I would not shield them from justice unless they promised me they would follow."

"She's mad," Madeline hissed through barred teeth.

"And you claim sanity?" Head lent in curious tilt. "I know madness. I walk on the fringes. Dive in from time to time. But you, sister, are lost and you don't even know it."

"You let a stranger lop off your limbs, cut out your heart and sink probes into your brain!"

Ignored. Gloria slumped back and seemed to power down. Became too still. "Anymore questions, Terrence?"

There were. Too many to ask. Couldn't bring himself to voice them.

"Then I have a question for you; if we were to break out, who would you back?"

"Me," Madeline demanded. "He wouldn't be fool enough to fall for your lies a second time." Pale blue eyes penetrated, fragile brows lowered and tugged at burnt skin, a drop of blood where wire sunk into neck. "Think reasons; she would seek to brutally punish and kill all criminals for a taste at godhood, while I would create a world in which no one would be criminal."

"Forget reasons," Gloria countered, "think actions. She used propaganda to spread hatred and cause a bloody revolution that sought to destroy all freedoms of choice. I stepped between the bullet and the innocent. Took the guilty away."

His questions forgotten, the pair caught in onslaught of savage words and camera capturing it all. He had decided, years ago, that Gloria was god. A superhuman saving innocents from rampant crime and hate. Then, he had swung to Madeline's way of reasoning and waved signs demanding the end of street justice, gore worshiping cults and police tolerance. Soon he had left that too.

"Define me villain if it makes you happy," Gloria said. "But you know what I am."

"Call me a bad guy all you want," Madeline sneered. "I am pure."

Description
body div#devskin0 hr { }

The pair were delivered in a cargo box. Industrial steel coiled around them and an extra band around knees and ankles, locking the two upright, back to back. A drip line plugged into each; long needles delved deep between spinal blocks of bone. Bags taped to ceiling. A folded note had been wedged between them.

'I can't decide.' Written in cut out segments of newspaper.

Terry had decided. A long time ago. He knew which one was villain, which hero. But he did his duty: moved them inside, set up studio lights and hoisted a camera onto bulky tripod. Lit a cigarette and sucked a guilty drag as he waited for them to wake. Started recording as the first slowly lifted her head and rolled metallic gaze towards him.

"Terry Williams," she rasped, her voice the warped tones of computer generated sound. "I thought you were fired."

"I was."

The second frowned, blinked and started awake. Orange hair frayed and wild, face spotted with freckles and burns, a fullness of lip spoke of forgotten beauty.

"Where am I?" Shrill. Noticed camera, lights, and Terry. "What's this? What are you doing? Do you know who I am?" Moved to stand. Robotic legs buzzed, flexed and slammed against binds. Steel screamed alarmingly, but held. Face slackened. Flushed red. "No!" She bucked. "Let me go! Do you hear me? You will burn in hell for this! Let me go!"
Behind her, unnoticed, the other laughed. Prerecorded bark of novel amusement stained with whir of engine electrics.

Terry seated himself carefully. Picked up notebook and tried to think of how to arrange his face. Inhuman chuckle mixed with frenzied shouts, echoed in underground room, snatched from space through planted microphone.

"Your names."

Once white sheets hung behind them, obscuring the world from watchful lens. The shape of old bike visible in the soft cotton.

"Crusader!" Scream bounced off walls. "You know it! Don't ask!"

A fresh bought of laughter trickled through metal lips.

"Your real name," Terry tried again.

Thin red brows descended. "That is my real name."

Gaze fell to notebook. Hands sweaty, voice uncertain. "Your name before."
"My name before," she echoed.
"Before you were Crusader."

Her head dipped, cheeks warmed with blood, legs twisted in constraints. "You know that too."

"State it for the record."

"Mad," she replied softly.

"What?"

"Miss Madeline Mason!" Screamed. "You know it."

Heel dug into cement floor. Cracked it. The stifled sound of parkway traffic rumbled, a dog barked and the lights hummed. Above a pair of flies zigzagged lazily through air and dust.

"And," Terry prompted the other. "State your name for the record."

Fingers drummed on knee with gentle chink, breath whistled between frozen lips, oil trickled from gash in shoulder. "Gloria Mason." Sounded almost human.

Madeline and Gloria Mason. A pair that had changed the world. Or reveled it. Depended on who you spoke to. And all in under a month. One day there was a superhero, part robot and part human, the next she was a god. Then there was another who spoke for God. And then street war. Countries demanded the exoskeletons, upgraded and improved and now they weren't so special. The prototypes to a new era.

"I have been asked to record," turned notebook page, "your opinions and resolutions on the subject of the superhero incident." Practiced speech sounded hollow to own ears.

"And because of our criminal status the news team hired you, the rouge camera man, to get the story," Gloria stated the fact. Rolled shoulders and made a show of testing her bonds. "Just like old times." Paused as she considered. "Only, this time your not on my side, are you." Not really a question.

"I'm not on any side."

"Everyone is on some side," Madeline sneered. "Pick then. Mine or hers."

"T-that isn't what I am here to talk to you about."

"Oh yes," Madeline leered forward, twisting Gloria away, "you're here for an interview. To figure out who is in the right and who in the wrong. World's biggest story. Bet they'll pay you a heap."

He had a list of questions. They all seemed silly now. Where are you from? Cultural backgrounds? Motives for becoming superhuman? He asked.

"Motives?" Madeline snarled. "To stop my sister."

"To walk," Gloria said simply. "My legs didn't work."

"There were other options," sister countered. "You didn't have to strap on those things and prance about the city calling yourself superhero."

"I didn't have to wobble on prosthetic sticks either."

"Why did you want to stop your sister?"

Madeline's lips curled and nostrils flared. "Smashing public property, bashing small time criminals and defying all legal and governmental action. Take your pick."

"She was desperate," Gloria added, "to be better than me. Hated the idea for being left behind by crippled sister."

"You were calling yourself a god!"

"I was a god."

"There! You see!" Pitched swelled with triumph. "She admitted it! Sick Glory you were always sick. Ever since you were crushed. Sick and drunk on power. I tried to save her. Talked to her, took her to church and organized carers to tend to her. But all she cared about was vodka and defying God."

Gloria's slow chuckle returned, buzzed and thrummed from back of throat. Iron capped knuckles gleamed, polished from use, and electronic eyeballs swiveled to meet Terry's. Didn't say a word.

She'd once looked like her sister. Hair blazing and skin delicately freckled. Blue eyes had always been hard and cold, jawline stiff and muscles wound taunt. Before it had been cut out her voice had been deep, resounding and commanding. Rarely spoke. Didn't need to. Flesh no longer graced her face or frame, wires threaded instead of veins and sunlight not food charged oiled joints. Brain and spine rumoured to be human. Must be, or drip line wouldn't have worked.

"Why did you think you were a god, Gloria?"

"I was."

"Why?"

"Look it up."

Terry looked down uncertainly. Flicked through notebook pages.

"A god," Gloria explained darkly, "is a being of supreme or greater power than mortal man. Cortex was a god in the new world, as was I."
"Cortex never claimed to be a god," Madeline hissed.
"Check your history books," Gloria demanded. Turned attention back to Terry. "But I was greater than Cortex in his new world. I still am. All those others, they mimic her." Jerked head towards Madeline. "My first design. But it was flawed. She's still mortal under all that. A suit. Me. This is me. I am a god and those that followed were right to." Stilling pause, gaze unflinching. "And were wrong to leave."

Swallowed. "So, you admit you became... superhuman to achieve godhood."

"As does everyone who plugs any of this equipment in," meaningful nod at Madeline. "Despite what they claim."

"I was never a god! I serve God to stop maniacs like you from taking over the world."

"You were the one, dear sister, that marched an army on Parliament."

"To save them."

"From what?"

"Themselves."

Gloria hopped closer to the camera, leaning forward and meeting world's eye. "You want to know who was right and who was wrong. Look at the actions. Madeline would seize this country from the government to ensure 'God's will' was carried out, that I an abomination for my own deed of removing the crime family Castillo would be destroyed." Words rung over Madeline's furious snarls. "She thrust children into police lines and promised places in heaven to those who would 'subdue' my followers. She locked away people just for refusing to conform to her beliefs and would have ripped me apart for the same reason."

"You killed people, Glory! You killed them if they would not acknowledge you god!"

"Murderers, human traffickers, drug dealers. I would not shield them from justice unless they promised me they would follow."

"She's mad," Madeline hissed through barred teeth.

"And you claim sanity?" Head lent in curious tilt. "I know madness. I walk on the fringes. Dive in from time to time. But you, sister, are lost and you don't even know it."

"You let a stranger lop off your limbs, cut out your heart and sink probes into your brain!"

Ignored. Gloria slumped back and seemed to power down. Became too still. "Anymore questions, Terrence?"

There were. Too many to ask. Couldn't bring himself to voice them.

"Then I have a question for you; if we were to break out, who would you back?"

"Me," Madeline demanded. "He wouldn't be fool enough to fall for your lies a second time." Pale blue eyes penetrated, fragile brows lowered and tugged at burnt skin, a drop of blood where wire sunk into neck. "Think reasons; she would seek to brutally punish and kill all criminals for a taste at godhood, while I would create a world in which no one would be criminal."

"Forget reasons," Gloria countered, "think actions. She used propaganda to spread hatred and cause a bloody revolution that sought to destroy all freedoms of choice. I stepped between the bullet and the innocent. Took the guilty away."

His questions forgotten, the pair caught in onslaught of savage words and camera capturing it all. He had decided, years ago, that Gloria was god. A superhuman saving innocents from rampant crime and hate. Then, he had swung to Madeline's way of reasoning and waved signs demanding the end of street justice, gore worshiping cults and police tolerance. Soon he had left that too.

"Define me villain if it makes you happy," Gloria said. "But you know what I am."

"Call me a bad guy all you want," Madeline sneered. "I am pure."