"Yeah! Not much content yet though."

"Good for you. Camera robots? Do you have an editor and so in or do you just do it yourself?"

"Myself, for now," they sigh.

"...I wonder if you could join the Protectorate. It might be good in the long run if you get forgiven for actions until now. But that has a high risk of someone knowing your power, so probably not actually."

"Not to mention the fact that... I accidentally killed a guy with it. That's pretty hard to forgive, I think."

"It was meant to be a stun gun," they explain lamely.

"I see... An industrial accident was my fault. Move on, do better, right?"

"I mean, sure, except for the whole 'arrested for a good chunk of my life' part."

"If it was genuinely an accident, don't you think you could get them to wipe the record somehow? I admit I'm not super familiar with the law here."

"The kind of accident it was was 'there were more of them than of me and they expected it to be lethal,' which to the law looks a lot like 'I ducked up weapon choice.' Not much leniency for that."

"Mm. The past follows, broken, in our footsteps... The rules seem to bend around capes, though. Have you actually talked to them about it? It's not like they can ambush you while you send an email or make a phone call. Or, have you talked to a lawyer about it?"

"No, and no. The law bends around capes until they become dangerous or reckless enough that they're not playing the game anymore. Murder is beyond that line."

"If you don't want to even ask, I suppose that's your decision. But I think it's a mistake."

"What do you suggest? 'Hey, I know I killed a guy, but it won't happen again, I promise!'"

"I'll swear to a lie detector it was an accident, I learned my lesson and am much more careful now, it can't be undone but I want to make up for it... And if they do condemn you, say the way to make up for it is prison, you have lost nothing but the time taken to ask and looking remorseful to them. And that is my last word, I need to get back to Buffalo and finish my job."

"You're underestimating the power of bureaucracy," they sigh. "Good luck with Buffalo."

"You can't win if you don't try. Good luck with nominal villany." She flies off, accelerating to near-plane speeds over a minute or two.

Capes flying this way and that really fast isn't terribly uncommon, and as long as that's all they're doing no one will stop them.

And she finds a quiet bar, because those aren't actually terribly rare.

She orders a beer, 'I've had a long day just give me something to drink' brand, paying in cash.

Sip. "Yeah. You have no idea just how long." Sip, sip.

"I hear ya," he says, and starts cleaning a pretty clean glass with a towel, in the tradition of barkeeps since olden times. "You see the news? Behemoth. Tragic." He shakes his head slowly.