Ophilia's mind was racing a hundred miles an hour, and her pulse was hammering even harder to keep up with the constant stream of nerves that cursed through her. Her long curly hair was swept back into a pony tale and her short pleated tennis skirt swished around her legs as she paced the length of her office. The same office that had seen the interviews for every candidate being considered for the Conquistadors, every candidate save one, Marionette.

Any minute now, Nemesis would show up looking for her, expecting to interview the last candidate. The team would go live in less than a week and Ophilia had run out of excuses to put off telling him that she was Marionette, and that she wanted a spot on the team. She'd given him the file last night, trying to make it seem like an afterthought, right before he left. She had wanted no part of watching him skim through it or seeing the look on his face when he saw the damaged goods.

She went to the large ornate window and looked out of it, but she was too keyed up to actually see anything. Between Raphael crashing in on her unexpectedly that morning and this meeting with Nemesis, she was almost out of her mind. The unsettling sensation of nervousness was something fairly foreign to her and she turned inward, trying to will herself to be calm in those final moments before he arrived. Despite her attempts, there was a thick sensation of unease that she couldn’t quite push away, her instincts were begging her to table this for another day, but her heart told her the longer it waited the worse it would be.

Luke Merriweather stood in the doorway admiring the view, his mask pulled down around his neck but otherwise decked out in his Nemesis uniform. The administrative office inside the Cathedral—the Conquistadors' prospective headquarters—was spacious, equal parts function and opulence. It was a room designed to impress, and it certainly did. Or it would have, if Luke hadn't been here a dozen times before in the past week or so. He and Phi—Ophilia DiSantiago—had discussed, interviewed and vetted a dozen masks—potential candidates, Luke mentally amended. They were just about finished, with only one or two still on the table before the final decisions were made.

Still, Luke ignored the austerity of the room; the mahogany-and-carbon furniture, décor just so, conference table set up like something in a Grisham novel-turned-movie. He leaned against the door frame, arms crossed, and watched Phi at the window. She was beautiful, no one could deny. But he couldn't help think of her as a DiSantiago, and though he hadn't come up with much information beyond the press releases, he wasn't entirely certain the family was on the up-and-up.

Oddly enough, it wasn't the short skirt or the tanned and toned legs that extended from them that piqued his interest. Rather, it was the almost-tangible feeling of anxiety she exuded. Something was bothering her, and it was likely related to the Conquistadors. Likely related to the file she'd given him last night. Which was another argument waiting to happen, he thought. Whatever it was that was bothering her, Luke wanted to know what it was. He didn't do anything halfway, and if he was going to join—and lead—a team of heroes in this city, everything damn well better be aboveboard. He had enough misgivings about their 'sponsors' as it was.

Let's get to it, he mentally prompted. He quietly took a breath and stood up straight, then knocked on the door.

"Hey," he said, looking for all the world as if he'd just walked up. "Am I early?"

"No, you can't be early to a place you're always welcome." She spoke the words as she turned around to face him, her pretty smile was in place, but he knew her well enough now to recognize it as one of her masks. Her words though, seemed genuine and her eyes held that familiar sparkle that they got whenever he made one of his entrances.

"I had an unexpected visit from my cousin this morning, so I thought I'd push back our interview just a bit. I wanted to chat with you about some things, regarding the team members and such." She took several steps towards him stopping at the couch opposite her desk, instead of going to the more formal accoutrements of the adjoining conference room.

The vigilante made his way into the room with a smile and a nod. He was perfectly fine with a more casual setting before the rigors of actual work took their toll. He was reminded of how much he'd hated the paperwork involved with the HCPD every time he and Ophilia sat down to dissect a new potential team member.

"Sure," he said, gesturing for her to sit. "This cousin, someone I should know about?"

Ophilia plopped down onto the comfortable couch and could feel the tension that still lingered in her shoulders. She couldn't get over how much stress one bad day could have on her, and it wasn't even afternoon yet. She rolled her neck a bit to look at Luke and gave him a slow smile. "Yeah. This is someone that you should know about. It's Raphael DiSantiago, code name Orion..."

Her words kind of hung in the air as she watched Luke settle, briefly asking herself one more time if coming clean was the best option, and her gut once again telling her that is was not. She pushed forward anyway, because it felt right, and just now her commitment to the team and her partner, Nemesis, was outweighing her sense of family loyalty and common sense.

"What I'm going to tell you... I don't want any of the others to know about, including Jag. Are you okay with that?" The smile had fallen from her face and what remained seemed to be a combination of worry and stress.

Luke took a seat at the opposite end of the couch, crossing one leg over the other so that his ankle rested on the opposite knee. "If no one else needs to know then yeah, I'm okay with that." She definitely had his interest, though his expression was one of polite attentiveness only. He hadn't thoroughly vetted Raphael DiSantiago as yet, but there were enough rumors and whispers that led Luke to believe he'd find something if he dug hard enough.

"This is a delicate matter and to be honest I don't know how to frame it. There is no way to frame it that won't tarnish or confirm some of the more unsavory rumors that you've heard or suspected about my family." She paused for a moment and looked heavenward. "Please bear in mind that I have a real commitment to this team...and I picked you because you're what I want the Conquistadors to aspire to be."

Ophilia swallowed hard and met Luke's gaze as she allowed herself to break the blood bond that bound every DiSantiago. "Raphael is a bad man. I have no proof of his crimes but I know they exist. I need you to know now...that I have no choice on whether he is on the team or not. ...I know that he's going to be a walking time bomb and if he explodes, I need you to know that... that, I don't condone the kind of man he is. Some of our family are prone to messes and until recently he was in charge of cleaning those up."

Luke didn't answer immediately. He dropped his leg to the ground and leaned forward slowly, resting his elbows on his knees. "Wow." He rubbed at his neck which was, as usual, sporting a day's worth of stubble. "Wow," he said again. "Okay." He ran a hand over his face. "So…what are you telling me? Raphael is a plant?"

She nodded her head and let out a sigh of relief. It felt good to say that out loud and she was pleased by Luke's mild reaction so far to the news. "Yes, I have every reason to believe so. And even if it isn't true, it would be stupid for me not to suspect it. My gut tells me that he's here to manage things if the interest of the family begins to deviate from the interest of the team. If a problem were to arise, I suspect that Raphael will be told to deal with it." She shrugged her dainty shoulders to emphasize her next point, "...but whether he would choose Angelo over the team, that I don't know for sure. I'm big on second chances...maybe there's hope for him."

Luke nodded. He was silent for a long time, just staring at the floor with his hands in front of him. "So," he began slowly, "What you're saying is that Raphael is here to watch us, to subvert us, and possibly to hurt us. Which means that your family, either by design or by ignorance, knows and condones this. Which means we're not a team at all, but a tool." He turned piercing blue eyes on Ophilia. His face was flat, emotionless, but his eyes shined dangerously. "Does that sound about right?"

Caught and held by those eyes, Ophilia swallowed hard, her body temporarily struck still by his intimidating look. Her mind whirled and she fought hard not to back pedal and stammer out an excuse as to how he'd misunderstood her or that she didn't choose her words right. With a significant amount of effort she broke away from his gaze and looked at the wall behind her desk, struggling madly to find words that usually came so easily to her.

"My family didn't survive to be one of the oldest and most powerful families in the world, without reason. They're a suspicious lot and we keep an eye on one another, partly to protect the family's name and for some it's more a game of power." She paused for a moment as she felt a sense that she was taking this in the wrong direction, but finding the right direction was proving impossible. Something told her that Luke wasn't after a lesson in family politics and she found herself in the precarious position of being out played. What would happen right now if he walked? The team was scheduled to go live shortly, almost the entire roster had been selected, what would she do if he walked out?

She turned her head back around to look at him again, almost but not quite meeting his eyes. "I guess that does sound about right, but don't think for one second that diminishes in my eyes what we can do with this team. Let's use your example, say we are a tool, it's not about that. It's how we choose to use the tool. We've gathered enough power under this roof to be very dangerous and that was going to happen with or without us. This team will continue to go on, with or without us. What's important is that we're here to make sure it's used for good. I really don't know what my family's grand plan is, or if there is one, but I don't blame them for putting a plant on the team.”

“Who’s ‘we’?” Nemesis fired back. He stood abruptly. “You keep saying ‘we’. ‘We’ the team? ‘We’ your family? You’re a DiSantiago. It’s the DiSantiagos that have sponsored this team, and it’s the DiSantiagos, who have ensured that if we don’t do what they want they’ll take us down, and it’s the DiSantiagos that you seem to be happy with defending, despite their ulterior motives. I’m suddenly beginning to believe all the rumors I’ve heard. You might not blame them for what they’re doing but I sure as hell do.” He gestured wildly, vaguely. “I mean, are you even listening to yourself? No one should wield that much power, but you’re perfectly okay with someone having enough power to take us down if we don’t dance to the pull of their strings.” He shook his head. “You fucking hypocrite. You and your whole damn family can go fuck yourselves.”

The blood drained from Ophilia’s face as she listened to Nemesis. She shook her head, silently expressing denial at his accusations, but was too startled and hurt to reply.

He made to leave, then turned back around. “Your family is fucked. I will be doing everything I can to take all of them down just as hard and as fast as I can, and that includes you if you get in my way. You be sure and tell ‘em that, if they don’t know already.”

And with that Nemesis spun on his heel and strode out the door.

Ophilia was numb as she stared blankly at the other end of the couch. Her spirit felt as devoid as the room that she sat in. Her surroundings began to get a hazy cast over them and she shut her eyes tightly, absolutely forbidding any tears from making an escape. She desperately wanted to run after him, or force him to stop, but her pride and common sense stopped her in respective order.

{Phi…you okay?} The concern over the bond that she shared with her brother, Bastian, was palpable.
God she hated that bond sometimes. {Leave it Bastian. I’m fine.} Even before the thought was out she heard his personalized ring tone on her phone, but ignored it. Instead she stood up and went through the motions of securing her office, tucking away the files under lock and key, and turning off the lights. Finding some solace in making perfect order of the few things she could control.

Her throat stung with her efforts to remain calm, hoping only that she could find her way home without incident or interruption. Feelings of failure and betrayal were pushing so hard on her that she couldn’t begin to sort them out. She had put too much faith in Nemesis, she had trusted him too soon, she had even betrayed her family in doing so.

She had muddled the lines as well, she could feel it, there was too much pain for this to be a failed business proposition. Appropriate feelings would be anger and desperation to fix what was now broken, or a drive to find another leader from her list. …but right now she was far too hurt to take care of what needed to be taken care of. What was most upsetting though, was that her mind was making excuses for Nemesis. Just because he failed her expectations didn’t make him any less the man that she knew he was.

Fucking hypocrit, his words were a loop in Ophilia’s head and she couldn't shake them free. Each time she heard them it stabbed her again and again. Her stomach lurched dangerously and she knew that she was going to be sick. She diverted her course to the bathroom, and that’s where her brother found her fifteen minutes later. On the marbled tile floor, completely spent and exhausted, and not a thread width’s closer to being in control.