“Alice thought the whole thing very absurd, but they all looked so grave that she did not dare to laugh”

- Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland

Three Years Ago

Oz didn’t feel well today.

He thought his throat glands were swollen.

He had a slight headache, which could be a brain tumor.

His eyes felt strained, obviously an indication of a stroke.

And the lighting in the embassy had made his skin itch.

Every second he’d been there, he could feel cancerous melanomas slowly forming in his skin cells, like plants thriving under a glow lamp.

He had been having a bad night.

He hated parties. He hated all of the people, and the noise, and questionable food which anyone could have tampered with.

He hated awkward small-talk, he hated having to wear dress clothes since there was never enough time to ensure they were properly sanitized, and he hated wasting time which would be better spent on more important Freedom Squad duties than “mingling.” Oz had only recently joined the city’s largest super-team, but he wasn’t finding his new coworkers especially endearing.

But Oz was used to that. He never really felt like he fit in anywhere.

The world was preoccupied with nonsense and Oz always felt like the last sane man alive.

Strictly speaking, Oz was against most forms of “fun.” Despite what the word implied, fun just…

wasn’t very fun. It was annoying. And it forced you to be around annoying people, who were most likely intoxicated.

There was more to life than listening to the ramblings of crazy people, and hoping to escape their company before they began vomiting their last meal all over the floor.

Oz had warned several partygoers that their drinking was possibly the sign of a deeper alcohol abuse problem, but they hadn’t welcomed his advice or business cards for local chapters of AA, for some reason.

Then his supervisors in the Freedom Squad had forbidden him from trying to help people at the party recognize their own self-destructive addictions.

Which, to Oz, made absolutely no sense. Helping people was about more than just rescuing them from villains or burning buildings.

Helping people sometimes meant that you needed to rescue them from themselves.

But, then again, that was why he was being punished with this assignment in the first place.

Oz’s employers didn’t like him; he didn’t fit in with the Freedom Squad.

They looked down on him because Oz had gone into heroics without the near mandatory years as a sidekick and without graduating from the Horizons Academy, where most prospective heroes matriculated before entering the profession.

Oz had found his way directly onto the Freedom Squad team, and the rest of them didn’t like it.

Particularly since he’d done so directly from his prison cell.

Plus, they found him creepy.

The Freedom Squad recognized his power and allowed him to join, but had still stuck Oz at a flimsy desk in their dimly lit basement.

The cold drafts there doomed him to arthritis and the florescent lights overhead slowly poisoned his body with deadly rays, while the constant buzzing drove him mad.

His employers gave him all of the jobs that they considered themselves too important to do, which meant that Oz spent most of his time dealing with the police and going out on patrols with the other people the team thought expendable.

Tonight was no exception. The Freedom Squad had sent him to the formal event because everyone on duty was required to go.

Even him. So, he just sort of stood in the corner for most of the night, trying to avoid the idiots around him.

Oz had gotten good at that over the years.

Most people steered clear of him by instinct, recognizing…

Well, they were undoubtedly recognizing what his aunt had always called his family’s “curse.” But Oz didn’t believe in curses or “bad blood.”

That’s what he had told his psychiatrist in prison, anyway, but she hadn’t listened. And the other inmates were entirely unwilling to attend his PowerPoint lectures on the issue.

At the moment though, he was driving one of the partygoers home from the event at the Agletarian embassy. And Oz didn’t really know why he was doing that. It certainly didn’t seem like something he would ordinarily do.

It was very curious.

A complete stranger was sitting inside his vehicle.

She was sitting there, a foot away, and Oz could smell her perfume.

Oz HATED perfume. It got caught in his throat and made him retch.

It was some horrible oily miasma of toxic chemicals, dripping down a stranger’s sweaty body, which tried to choke the life from his lungs every time he was around it.

Perfume was a nightmare! …In this case though, he found the soft jasmine scent completely feminine and enjoyable.

It was very, very pleasant.

Which also didn’t seem especially “Oz” to Oz.

What was going on with him?

Was this a symptom of some deeper problem? His mind instantly raced through every disease, condition, and ailment he’d ever studied, searching for a medical explanation for his strange activities tonight.

And he didn’t sense any unknown pathogens in the car with him. But that was sometimes like trying to listen for a specific whisper in a stadium crowded with people screaming.

“So… you’re with the Freedom Squad, then?

” The redhead asked, sounding oddly uncertain about the news.

Most people were excited to meet one of the heroes who protected the city.

Not that Oz really considered himself in that way, since he spent a large part of his time doing paperwork and trying to mitigate the corruption and idiocy of his bosses.

But still… it would have been nice if the woman was impressed with him.

He’d always wanted to be extraordinary.

But no one was ever really impressed with Oz.

It was one of the reasons why he’d never been able to make parole.

Well, that and the fact that he told the woman on the parole board that the mole on her neck could be cancerous.

Which it almost certainly was, no matter what she claimed. He had probably saved her life.

But that wasn’t the kind of heroics that people appreciated. That was the kind of heroics that left you standing alone at the party, avoiding people.

“Yes.”

The redhead nodded and began fiddling with the knobs on the radio, switching off his history lecture and turning on techno club music instead .

Oz stared at the woman’s graceful fingers as they twisted the volume higher, amazed both that she would change the station and that he wasn’t at all upset that she had turned on such aggressively awful music.

She had such beautiful hands.

Which… was probably a creepy thought to have. Oz wasn’t sure. He couldn’t recall ever having thought that before, so he wasn’t sure if it was something that other people thought about or not.

People confused Oz.

He didn’t really spend a lot of time around them.

For one thing, people were the primary vectors for any number of deadly diseases, parasites, and germs, all of which were constantly stalking Oz. He had to be on his guard every second of every day. They could ambush him at any moment.

For another… Oz… Oz didn’t really trust himself enough to be around people for long.

He was too afraid of… Well, he just didn’t want to slip, like the other people in his family had.

He didn’t believe in “bad blood” but he’d certainly seen its alleged effects, and he didn’t want that to happen to him.

He was a good person. A hero. He was in no way evil; he was trying his best to live a moral life.

He needed to keep his footing firm.

…For a split-second, he was surrounded by garbage again, feeling cold, rotting blood drip on his face.

As quickly as the memory started, it was gone, and the nightmarish smell of the dump was replaced by the alluring scent of jasmine.

“I haven’t seen you around before.” She said, sounding vaguely curious. She looked at him with inquisitive eyes. “Where have they been hiding you, huh?”

“Connecticut.”

“Is that where you’re from?”

He shook his head. “No. You?”

She shrugged. “I’m from all over.”

“You don’t really like sharing details about yourself, do you?”

“My life is a jigsaw puzzle, Oz. I could show you pieces of it, but neither of us would have any idea what the fuck the bigger picture is.” She shrugged, as if helpless to control her own life. “Besides, you’re what? Mister open, all of a sudden?”

“Well, at least I’m willing to share my name and occupation.

” He defended, turning left and trying to ignore the impulse to turn down the radio.

The volume was undoubtedly harming his ear drums. He could feel them dying, their screams mixing with the wails of the so-called “instruments” used in this particular song.

“And why I was at a party inside a foreign embassy.”

“Maybe I just like being ‘mysterious.’” She teased. “I very rarely get the chance. I’m not very exciting.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

She absently stared out the window, watching the city’s nightlife. “Do you like being a hero?”

It was a change of subject and Oz took a second to silently debate whether it was a diversionary tactic to return the topic to him, or if she just really found her own life uninteresting.

“Sometimes.”He finally answered.

“I don’t really understand how anyone could like the things the Freedom Squad does.” She decided, sounding righteously indignant. “The entire purpose of superheroes is to keep people down using intimidation. And you bastards in the Freedom Squad, you’re the worst of all.”

“I don’t know that I’d say ‘ worst’ ,” he hedged, recognizing that the woman had a point, “I’d say that we’re…”

“You look around this city and you know what I see?”

Oz had no idea. “Buildings?”