By all appearances, they were too.

“Safe to turn around,” Tattletale told the boys.

They did.  I gestured, and people found seats in the various chairs.

“Feels like we’re different people than we were an hour ago,” Imp said, looking around.

I had a haircut today, but I suppose that’s not quite the same as a complete costume overhaul.

I considered her words.  “I appreciate the sentiment, but I think it’s more accurate to say we’re different people than we were a week ago.”

Fair enough, but veering off topic, if you mean what I think you mean.

There were some nods.  I glanced at the scar on Tattletale’s cheek, at Shatterbird, who stood obediently behind Regent, and at Grue, who had transformed more than any of us.

…okay, fair. Fair. It’s on topic.

And I couldn’t forget the change I’d undergone, even if I didn’t have the objectivity to nail down exactly what about me was different from a week ago.  Sure, my costume was different, and I had the three hundred pound beetle that was resting on the roof.

You seem to have gotten harder. More willing to lash out and deliver disproportionate retribution.

Or proportionate retribution, in the case of the Nine themselves.

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