The Vasquez Family Dinner Hour (Or: How to Explain Polyamory Without Mentioning Superheroes)
Rosa Vasquez entered her kitchen carrying enough Chinese takeout to feed a small army, which was pretty much standard operating procedure when you were raising five teenagers with metabolisms that defied several laws of thermodynamics. She was still wearing her nurse scrubs—pale blue with little cartoon stethoscopes that Darla had picked out—and her dark hair was pulled back in the kind of practical ponytail that suggested she'd spent the day dealing with medical emergencies and probably at least three different people who'd injured themselves in increasingly creative ways.
She paused in the doorway, taking in the scene with the practiced eye of someone who'd learned to read domestic situations with the same precision she used for patient triage: Billy sitting at the kitchen table looking slightly guilty about something, Mary clutching what appeared to be tactical planning materials while trying to look casual and failing spectacularly, and Harry Peverell—because of course it was Harry—rising from his chair with that fluid grace that made simple movements look like they'd been choreographed by someone who understood physics as a form of artistic expression.
"Harry!" Rosa's face lit up with genuine pleasure, the kind of warm smile that had convinced five different teenagers that they were safe, wanted, and home. "I was hoping it was you. Mary's been practically floating since she heard your voice, and Billy's been grinning like someone just told him Christmas was being moved to next week."
She set the takeout bags on the counter with practiced efficiency, then turned to study Harry with the kind of focused attention that suggested she was cataloguing every detail about his appearance, mood, and general state of wellbeing because that's what Rosa did for people she cared about.
"You look good," she said with satisfaction, like she'd been personally responsible for his continued health and was pleased to see her efforts paying off. "That suit is new, isn't it? Very sharp. Very... expensive-looking. Are you eating enough? You look like you might have lost weight since your last visit, and I know you have that tendency to skip meals when you're busy with whatever mysterious business ventures keep you traveling to interesting places and returning with fascinating stories."
Harry's smile was warm and genuine, the kind of expression that made it clear he was actually happy to see her and not just being polite because he was well-mannered and British.
"Rosa, you're an absolute treasure," he said, moving forward to give her a proper hug—the kind of embrace that suggested real affection between people who'd known each other long enough to move past formal politeness. "And yes, the suit is new. I had a meeting with some... business associates... who required a certain level of sartorial intimidation. You know how it is with international negotiations and the importance of looking like you can afford to walk away from any deal."
Rosa stepped back to look at him properly, her nurse's instincts automatically checking for signs of injury, illness, or general trouble that he might be trying to hide behind expensive tailoring and British understatement.
"Hmm," she said, her voice carrying that particular note of maternal suspicion that suggested she wasn't entirely buying his casual explanation. "Business associates. Right. The kind of business associates who require bulletproof suits and probably hazard pay for their secretaries."
Billy choked slightly on the sip of water he'd been taking, because Rosa was disturbingly perceptive about things like the dangerous nature of Harry's professional life, even if she didn't know the specific details about interdimensional magic and superhero team coordination.
"Something like that," Harry agreed mildly, his expression giving absolutely nothing away about the fact that his most recent "business meeting" had involved magical tactical planning and the systematic dismantling of assassination attempts. "Though I should point out that most of my suits are bulletproof by default. It's a very reasonable precaution when you work in... international consulting."
"International consulting," Rosa repeated, her tone suggesting she was filing this under 'euphemisms Harry uses when he doesn't want to explain why his job involves people shooting at him.' "Of course. Very dangerous field, international consulting. All those hostile takeovers and aggressive merger negotiations and probably the occasional literal interpretation of 'cutthroat business practices.'"
Mary, who had been watching this exchange with the fascinated attention of someone watching a master class in polite interrogation techniques, finally found her voice.
"Rosa," she said, her voice carrying that particular note of barely contained excitement that suggested she was about to say something that would probably embarrass everyone involved, "Harry brought pastries from Delacroix's again. The really expensive ones. The kind that probably cost more than our weekly grocery budget and taste like they were personally blessed by French pastry gods."
"Mary, honey," Rosa said, beginning to unpack the Chinese takeout with methodical efficiency, "you know you don't have to justify why you're excited to see Harry. We're all excited to see Harry. He's charming, he brings excellent food, and he makes Billy act like a responsible human being instead of whatever that thing he does when he's trying to pretend he's not getting into trouble."
She glanced at Billy with the kind of look that suggested she was perfectly aware he'd been getting into exactly the kind of trouble she'd specifically asked him to avoid.
"Speaking of which," Rosa continued, her voice taking on that deceptively casual tone that meant she was about to ask questions that Billy probably didn't want to answer, "Mrs. Henderson mentioned seeing some unusual weather patterns around our backyard. Lightning strikes. Multiple lightning strikes. On clear days. Which is meteorologically interesting and probably not something that happens naturally in suburban neighborhoods."
Billy's enhanced hearing picked up the sound of Mary's heartbeat accelerating and Harry's barely audible intake of breath that suggested he was trying not to laugh.
"Lightning strikes?" Billy said, his voice pitched slightly higher than usual in a way that probably wasn't fooling anyone, especially not Rosa, who'd spent years learning to detect when teenagers were lying about important things. "That's... weird. Maybe Mrs. Henderson needs to get her eyes checked? Or maybe there was some kind of... atmospheric disturbance... or electrical interference from Eugene's robotics projects?"
Rosa studied him with the kind of focused attention that made hardened criminals confess their sins and ask for lighter sentences, then apparently decided to table that particular line of inquiry for later when she could interrogate him more thoroughly without witnesses.
"Hmm," she said. "Well, I'm sure it was nothing important. Just like I'm sure you'll tell me all about it when you're ready to explain why our electric bill has been mysteriously higher than usual and why you've been doing your laundry more frequently, which suggests either a sudden development of personal hygiene consciousness or regular contact with activities that result in unusually dirty clothing."
Billy made a mental note to be more careful about his laundry habits and possibly invest in whatever magical cleaning services Harry probably used to keep his suits looking pristine despite his tendency to get involved in supernatural combat situations.
"So, Harry," Rosa said, apparently deciding to shift her investigative focus to their guest, "how long are you in town this time? Because Mary's been practicing her conversation skills and I think she's been hoping for an opportunity to demonstrate her intellectual development and possibly her ability to discuss complex topics without hyperventilating."
Mary's face turned approximately the same shade as a ripe tomato, which was definitely not the subtle approach she'd probably been hoping for.
"Rosa!" she protested, though her voice carried more embarrassment than actual indignation. "I don't hyperventilate! I just... breathe enthusiastically when I'm excited about intellectually stimulating conversations!"
"Of course, honey," Rosa said with the kind of fond amusement that suggested she was absolutely going to continue this line of teasing because it was clearly entertaining for everyone except Mary. "Enthusiastic breathing. That's definitely what we'll call it."
She turned back to Harry with a grin that suggested she was about to escalate her campaign of gentle torture designed to make her foster daughter die of embarrassment in her own kitchen.
"You know," Rosa continued, her voice carrying that particular note of false innocence that meant trouble was coming and probably couldn't be stopped, "Mary's been asking a lot of questions about your personal life lately. Very casual questions. Things like whether you're dating anyone, and what kind of person you usually find interesting, and whether you prefer intelligent conversation to... other qualities... in potential romantic partners."
Mary looked like she was seriously considering the possibility of crawling under the table and hiding until everyone in the room forgot she existed, which was probably going to take several decades and possibly require witness relocation.
"Rosa, please," Mary whispered, her voice carrying the kind of mortified desperation that suggested she was considering dramatic options like moving to another state or possibly another dimension entirely. "I was just... curious. For academic reasons. It's called social research. Anthropological study of interpersonal relationships and mate selection criteria among successful professional adults."
"Anthropological study," Rosa repeated, her grin widening. "Of course. Very scientific. I'm sure your research methodology was extremely rigorous and definitely not influenced by personal interest in the subject matter."
Harry, who had been watching this exchange with obvious delight, finally took pity on Mary's suffering and stepped into the conversation with the kind of diplomatic skill that probably came from years of navigating complex interpersonal situations involving people with supernatural powers and emotional problems.
"I'm flattered by Mary's academic interest," he said smoothly, his voice carrying just enough warmth to make it clear he wasn't offended by the attention while managing to sound completely professional about the whole situation. "Though I should probably clarify that I'm definitely not available for romantic consideration, regardless of how intelligent and charming the potential candidate might be."
Mary's expression shifted from mortified embarrassment to obvious disappointment mixed with curiosity, because apparently even romantic rejection couldn't completely suppress her need to understand complex social situations.
"Oh," she said, trying to sound casual and probably failing completely. "Are you... is there someone special? I mean, if you don't mind me asking. For anthropological research purposes. Obviously."
Rosa's eyebrows rose with interest, because apparently Mary wasn't the only one who was curious about Harry's personal life and relationship status.
"Yes, Harry," Rosa said, settling into a chair with the obvious intention of getting comfortable for what was clearly going to be an interesting conversation. "Tell us about your love life. Mary's not the only one who's been wondering whether someone as charming as you could possibly be single by choice rather than just between relationships."
Harry's expression grew genuinely fond, the kind of look that suggested he was thinking about people he cared deeply about and was happy to have them in his life, even if he couldn't discuss the specific details of their relationships.
"Not remotely single," he said, his voice carrying that particular note of satisfied contentment that meant he was very happy with his current romantic situation. "I'm in a... rather complex relationship situation, actually. Multiple partners, all of whom I care about very much, all of whom are remarkable women with their own demanding careers and fascinating lives."
The kitchen fell silent for a moment as everyone processed this information and probably tried to figure out whether they'd heard him correctly.
Billy blinked, because this was news to him, as he only knew about Wonder Woman and Mera. It also explained a lot about Harry's general air of satisfied contentment and why he always seemed to be juggling multiple important phone calls from people who sounded like they missed him.
Mary's eyes widened with what appeared to be genuine fascination rather than disappointment, because apparently the anthropological research angle was actually legitimate and she found complex relationship dynamics intellectually interesting rather than personally threatening.
Rosa just nodded like this was exactly the kind of information she'd expected to hear, because Rosa had always been remarkably unsurprised by unconventional relationship arrangements and generally supportive of whatever made people happy as long as everyone involved was consenting adults who treated each other well.
"Polyamory," Rosa said matter-of-factly, beginning to portion out Chinese food with practiced efficiency. "Good for you. That takes excellent communication skills and a lot of emotional maturity to handle successfully. Are they all aware of each other, or is this more of a... sequential dating situation?"
"Oh, they're all very aware of each other," Harry said, his smile growing warmer and more genuine. "In fact, they're all friends in their own right, which makes the whole arrangement considerably easier to manage. No jealousy, no territorial disputes, no competition for my time and attention. They're all remarkable women who understand that love isn't a finite resource that gets depleted when it's shared."
Mary leaned forward with the focused attention of someone who'd just discovered a fascinating new topic for academic research and possibly personal philosophical development.
"That's amazing," she said, her voice carrying genuine admiration and curiosity. "How do you manage the logistics? I mean, scheduling alone must be incredibly complex, and that's before you consider the emotional maintenance and communication requirements and making sure everyone feels valued and appreciated."
"Carefully," Harry replied, his eyes dancing with amusement at Mary's characteristically systematic approach to analyzing interpersonal relationships. "Lots of calendar coordination, very honest communication about needs and expectations, and the understanding that sometimes relationships require flexibility and compromise from everyone involved."
"What are they like?" Mary asked, apparently having decided that if she couldn't date Harry herself, she could at least satisfy her curiosity about the women who were clearly important enough to capture his attention and affection. "I mean, if you don't mind talking about them. What do they do for work? What are their interests?"
Harry's expression grew thoughtful, like he was considering how much he could say without revealing information that might compromise anyone's secret identity or personal safety.
"Well," he said carefully, "there's Diana. She's... involved in international relations and diplomatic work. Very passionate about justice and social causes, incredibly intelligent, and she could probably arm-wrestle a professional wrestler and win. She has this amazing ability to make people feel safe and protected just by being in the same room."
Billy's enhanced hearing picked up the slight change in Harry's heartbeat that suggested he was being very careful about how he described Diana, probably because "international relations" was a significant understatement for "Amazon princess and Justice League founding member."
"Then there's Karen," Harry continued, his voice warming with obvious affection. "She's actually working for my mother in... aviation consulting. Very technical work, lots of travel. She's brilliant, absolutely fearless, and has this incredible laugh that could probably power a small city with pure joy. Also, she's protective of the people she cares about in ways that would make a mother bear reconsider her approach to defending her cubs."
Rosa raised an eyebrow, because Harry's description was managing to be both completely accurate and utterly misleading, which suggested he'd had considerable practice discussing his relationships without revealing potentially dangerous information.
"Shiera works in... archaeological consulting," Harry said, his smile growing more mischievous. "She travels a lot for work, has fascinating stories about historical discoveries and ancient civilizations, and she has this amazing ability to make you feel like you're the most interesting person in the room even when she's clearly the one with the most exciting life."
Mary was taking mental notes with the focused attention of someone who was genuinely interested in understanding how successful relationships worked, possibly for future reference when she was old enough and mature enough to handle complex romantic situations.
"Mera is involved in... marine biology and ocean conservation," Harry continued, clearly enjoying the challenge of describing his girlfriends' careers without mentioning anything about superpowers or royal duties. "She's passionate about environmental protection, incredibly elegant, and she has this regal quality that makes you automatically check your posture and wonder if you should be addressing her as 'Your Majesty' or something equally formal."
"And the other two?" Rosa asked, because apparently she'd been keeping count and was genuinely interested in hearing about all of Harry's romantic partners.
"Lilith is in... botanical consulting and environmental restoration work," Harry said, his voice carrying that particular warmth that suggested she was especially important to him. "She has this amazing ability to make anything grow, and she's passionate about healing damaged ecosystems and helping things flourish. She's also incredibly nurturing—the kind of person who makes you feel like everything will be okay just by being near her."
Billy was beginning to realize that Harry was describing his girlfriends' superhero activities in the vaguest possible terms, which was actually pretty impressive considering how specific their actual jobs were and how difficult it must be to translate "fights crime with plant-based magic" into "botanical consulting."
"And Nyra works in... wildlife conservation and habitat protection," Harry finished, his grin suggesting he was particularly pleased with that description. "She's fierce, incredibly graceful, and she has this protective instinct that makes her absolutely devoted to the people she considers family. She's also the most tactically brilliant person I've ever met when it comes to tracking and hunting... problematic situations."
Mary nodded thoughtfully, clearly processing this information and probably organizing it into whatever mental filing system she used for interesting anthropological data about successful adults and their relationship strategies.
"They all sound amazing," she said sincerely, her earlier disappointment apparently completely replaced by genuine admiration for Harry's romantic situation and possibly some academic curiosity about polyamorous relationship dynamics. "And it makes sense that you'd be attracted to intelligent, successful women with demanding careers. You seem like the kind of person who would appreciate partners who challenge you intellectually and have their own interesting lives."
"Thank you, Mary," Harry said, his voice carrying genuine warmth and appreciation for her mature response to information that could have been awkward or disappointing. "They're all remarkable women, and I'm very lucky to have them in my life."
Rosa was watching this exchange with obvious satisfaction, like a director who'd just watched her cast deliver exactly the performance she'd hoped for.
"Well," she said, beginning to serve dinner with practiced efficiency, "that explains why you always look so happy and satisfied with life. Good relationships tend to have that effect on people. And it sounds like you've found yourself a very supportive chosen family of strong, intelligent women who understand your work situation and probably keep you grounded when your professional life gets too exciting."
"They do," Harry agreed, accepting his plate with obvious appreciation for both the food and Rosa's acceptance of his unconventional relationship arrangement. "They're all incredibly understanding about the demands of my work, and they provide excellent perspective when I'm dealing with... complicated professional situations."
Billy was pretty sure that "complicated professional situations" was Harry's euphemism for "interdimensional magical crises and superhero team coordination," but Rosa seemed to take it at face value as the kind of vague description that successful businessmen gave when they couldn't discuss the specific details of their work due to confidentiality agreements.
"So," Rosa said, settling into her chair with obvious satisfaction at having successfully extracted interesting personal information from their most mysterious family friend, "how long will you be staying this time? Because Mary's been hoping for an opportunity to show you her latest academic projects, and Billy's been looking forward to hearing about your latest travels, and frankly we all enjoy having you around because you make our dinner conversations significantly more interesting."
Harry glanced at Billy with that subtle look that suggested he was thinking about assassination attempts and tactical planning and the kind of professional obligations that couldn't be discussed over Chinese takeout with well-meaning foster parents.
"I'll be in town for a few days at least," he said carefully, his voice carrying that particular tone that suggested he was being diplomatic about a potentially open-ended timeline. "I have some... business matters to handle... that might require flexible scheduling depending on how various situations develop."
"Business matters," Rosa repeated, her tone suggesting she was filing this under her mental category of 'things Harry says when he's about to get involved in dangerous situations that he can't explain without worrying people.' "Of course. Well, you know you're always welcome here for as long as you need to stay. Mary can help you with whatever research or planning you might need to do, and Billy's always available if you need someone with... local expertise... about the city."
Billy nodded, recognizing Rosa's careful phrasing as her way of indicating that she knew there was more to the situation than Harry was saying, but that she trusted him to handle whatever was going on and to keep her family safe in the process.
"Thank you, Rosa," Harry said, his voice carrying genuine gratitude for her understanding and support. "That means more than you know. And I promise that whatever business I need to handle here, I'll make sure it doesn't put this family in any danger."
Rosa studied him for a moment with those sharp nurse's eyes that had learned to read between the lines of what people said when they were trying to protect their loved ones from worrying about serious problems.
"Harry," she said quietly, her voice carrying that particular note of maternal authority that made even grown men reconsider their life choices, "I know you can't tell me everything about your work, and I understand that some things are better left unexplained for everyone's safety. But if you ever need help—medical attention, alibis, somewhere safe to recover from whatever exciting adventures your international consulting involves—you call me immediately. No questions asked. No explanations required. Just... be safe, and remember that this family cares about you."
Harry's expression grew genuinely touched, the kind of look that suggested Rosa had just said exactly what he needed to hear and possibly reminded him why he cared so much about protecting the people who'd chosen to include him in their lives.
"Thank you," he said softly, his voice carrying that particular warmth that meant he was genuinely moved by her offer of unconditional support. "I'll remember that. And Rosa?"
"Yes?"
"This family is very important to me too. All of you. I won't let anything happen to any of you."
The promise in his voice was quiet but absolute, the kind of certainty that suggested he'd already made decisions about what he was willing to do to keep them safe and that those decisions probably involved the creative application of magical violence against anyone who threatened the people he'd chosen to protect.
Mary was watching this exchange with obvious fascination, apparently recognizing the subtext even if she couldn't identify the specific nature of whatever Harry was promising to protect them from.
Billy felt a warmth in his chest that had nothing to do with the Chinese food and everything to do with the realization that he had a family—both the one sitting around this table and the extended chosen family of people like Harry who'd decided that his safety and happiness were worth fighting for.
Outside, the sun was setting over Fawcett City, painting the sky in shades of gold and crimson that would have been beautiful under normal circumstances.
Inside the Vasquez kitchen, expensive Chinese takeout was shared, stories were exchanged, and bonds were quietly strengthened in the way that families do when they're preparing to face whatever challenges come next.
And somewhere across the city, Dr. Sivana was checking his watch and beginning the final preparations for an operation that he was absolutely certain would end with Billy Batson permanently stripped of his powers and probably dead before midnight.
It was going to be a very interesting evening for everyone involved.
---
## Meanwhile, in the Lair of Questionable Science...
Meanwhile, in his basement laboratory of dubious architectural stability and highly questionable safety protocols, Dr. Thaddeus Sivana was having what he would later describe as "the most professionally satisfying hour of my distinguished career in superhero elimination," assuming he lived long enough to describe it to anyone and that there was anyone left who cared about his professional opinions.
The laboratory hummed with the kind of malevolent energy that suggested expensive equipment was being used for purposes that definitely violated several international treaties and probably most of the fundamental ethical principles that governed scientific research. Banks of monitors displayed real-time data streams that painted the evening sky in shades of electromagnetic analysis and tactical probability assessments, while arrays of precisely calibrated instruments prepared to reduce one teenager's magical abilities to an interesting footnote in the history of "people who used to be able to punch through buildings but now can't."
"Final systems check," Sivana muttered, his skeletal fingers dancing across control panels with the practiced efficiency of someone who'd spent years perfecting the art of turning theoretical physics into practical applications of villain-grade destruction. His voice carried that particular note of academic satisfaction that suggested he was about to submit his final dissertation on the subject of "Why Teenage Superheroes Should Have Chosen Different Career Paths."
On the primary display, a detailed map of Fawcett Central Park glowed with tactical markers that indicated optimal positioning, escape routes, civilian density patterns, and emergency response times with the thoroughness of someone who'd clearly spent considerable time studying the logistics of committing felonies in public spaces.
"Harmonic frequency generators: online and calibrated to target subject's specific vocal resonance patterns," Sivana announced to his empty laboratory, because apparently even supervillains needed to hear themselves confirm that their elaborate death traps were functioning properly. "Subharmonic projection array: positioned and tested. Electromagnetic containment field: charged and ready for deployment. Civilian evacuation protocols: deliberately ignored because heroes have such inconvenient habits about protecting innocent bystanders."
He paused to adjust his wire-rimmed glasses, which had developed the kind of smudges that suggested he'd been working intensively with equipment that produced a lot of heat, electromagnetic radiation, and probably several forms of energy that weren't entirely legal according to most international science safety regulations.
"And our contingency for Eidolon interference..." Sivana's grin was sharp enough to perform minor surgery and possibly cause structural damage to nearby objects through sheer malevolent enthusiasm.
He gestured toward a secondary bank of equipment that looked like someone had taken a particle accelerator, crossed it with a medieval torture device, and then decorated the whole thing with enough blinking lights to power a small airport. The machinery pulsed with energy that made the air taste like copper pennies mixed with the dreams of theoretical physicists who'd made really poor life choices.
"Dimensional anchor array," Sivana said with obvious pride in his engineering accomplishments. "Specifically designed to prevent interdimensional magical transportation, limit magical energy projection to baseline human levels, and generally make life extremely unpleasant for anyone who thinks they can simply teleport out of a carefully constructed tactical situation."
The thing about supervillains is that they always sound so reasonable when they're explaining how they plan to murder teenagers and neutralize interdimensional wizards. Like it's just another item on their professional to-do list, somewhere between "file quarterly tax returns" and "conquer the world using superior technology and questionable ethical standards."
"Duration of containment field?" Sivana asked himself, apparently having developed the kind of work habits that involved regular self-assessment and quality control reviews of his own villainous planning processes. "Approximately forty-seven minutes of complete magical suppression, followed by a gradual degradation over the subsequent six hours. More than sufficient time to complete the primary objective and achieve tactical withdrawal before the target's interdimensional friends can mount an effective rescue operation."
He checked his chronometer—a device that looked like someone had crossed a wristwatch with a small computer and possibly a minor explosive device, because Sivana apparently believed that even timekeeping should involve elements of technological intimidation.
"T-minus nineteen minutes to operation initiation," he announced, his voice carrying that particular note of anticipatory satisfaction that meant someone was about to have a very bad evening and it definitely wasn't going to be him.
The laboratory's communication array crackled to life with a sound like electronic demons having a disagreement about proper radio protocols, and Vandal Savage's voice filled the room with all the warmth and charm of a funeral director discussing payment plans.
"Doctor," Savage's voice carried that distinctive tone of barely contained impatience that suggested he was coordinating multiple operations simultaneously and probably didn't have time for unnecessary conversation. "Status report."
"All systems operational and ready for deployment," Sivana replied with the professional pride of someone who'd just completed a very complicated project ahead of schedule and under budget, assuming the budget included line items for "equipment to neutralize gods" and "containment systems for interdimensional interference." "The target will be in position within the next twenty minutes, based on established behavioral patterns and the predictable heroic response to manufactured crisis situations."
"Civilian evacuation?" Savage asked, because apparently even immortal megalomaniacs had to worry about liability issues and public relations concerns.
"Minimal but acceptable," Sivana replied, which was supervillain code for "enough innocent people will be in danger to ensure the hero responds personally, but not so many that the authorities can claim this was an act of terrorism rather than a targeted elimination of specific strategic assets."
"And our assets are in position for immediate tactical withdrawal once the primary objective is achieved?"
"Escape routes confirmed, transportation standing by, contingency plans in place for seventeen different possible complications," Sivana confirmed, because he might be a supervillain with questionable ethics and a tendency toward maniacal laughter, but he was also a professional with excellent organizational skills and a comprehensive understanding of project management principles.
"Excellent," Savage said, his voice carrying that note of cold satisfaction that suggested he was already mentally composing victory speeches and possibly planning whatever came next in his presumably very long-term agenda of world conquest and moral flexibility. "Initiate the operation, Doctor. And remember—failure is not an option, because I have a very limited tolerance for incompetence and an extensive understanding of creative approaches to expressing disappointment in subordinates who don't meet performance expectations."
The communication array went silent with the kind of definitive click that suggested the conversation was over and Sivana was now entirely on his own with his expensive equipment, his elaborate plans, and the growing realization that success would make him the most celebrated supervillain in recent history while failure would probably make him the most spectacularly dead one.
"Right then," Sivana said to himself, cracking his knuckles with a sound like twigs snapping in a forest that had given up on the whole "peaceful natural setting" concept in favor of becoming a backdrop for questionable scientific endeavors. "Time to remind the world why superior intellect combined with unlimited resources and flexible moral standards will always triumph over raw power guided by naive idealism and an unhealthy obsession with protecting people who can't protect themselves."
He began the final activation sequence, his fingers moving across the control panels with the practiced efficiency of someone who'd spent years perfecting the art of turning theoretical physics into practical applications of strategic villain-grade problem-solving.
On the monitors, energy readings began to spike as the harmonic frequency generators came online with a sound like electronic wasps having a very angry discussion about territorial boundaries and professional jurisdiction.
In approximately eighteen minutes, Billy Batson would discover what it felt like to be permanently, irrevocably human.
And Harry Peverell would discover whether his considerable magical abilities were sufficient to protect everyone he'd sworn to keep safe from the kind of people who thought that murdering teenagers was a reasonable solution to strategic problems.
Sivana adjusted his glasses one final time and initiated the countdown sequence.
It was going to be either the most successful evening of his professional career, or the last evening of his professional career. There really wasn't much middle ground when it came to plans that involved neutralizing gods and irritating interdimensional wizards with anger management issues.
But then again, Sivana had always been an optimist about the practical applications of superior technology and questionable ethics.
Time to find out if his optimism was justified or spectacularly misplaced.
---
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