The painting of old Nate had started out as a joke, but after he’d finished it, Hardison found he couldn’t just stop there. He needed to have the whole set. So he painted them all; stunning Sophie, powerful Parker, enigmatic Eliot, even Hardison himself. Old Nate was blown up, but the other four portraits are still kept safely in one of Hardison’s safehouses.

Sophie’s portrait is the busiest, but your gaze is drawn immediately to her dark, smoldering eyes. She holds your gaze there despite the many paintings that hang in the background behind her, despite the expensive vases on delicate antique tables. It takes more willpower than you can explain to avert your gaze and take in the rest of the painting. She’s seated on a dark-red settee, twisted slightly to show off the curve of her body, her hands on her knees. At first, you think the glittering golden fabric covering her is a dress, but you notice her legs end in a fish’s tail, and you realize they’re scales. The portrait is titled “Siren Sophie”.

Parker’s portrait is much starker, almost empty compared to Sophie’s. In a silver rectangular frame, it’s background is completely black. Cutting through the darkness are bright white lasers, spreading out from the centre in a web-like pattern. At several places, a small origami fly is trapped in the web. Upon looking closer, you see they’re folded from 100 dollar bills. In the dead-centre of the painting is Parker, hanging comfortably from her rig. Her legs are bent underneath her, one hand on a thigh, the other wrapped around the dark chord above her to keep herself steady. She’s looking out at you with a half-grin on her face, like you’re just another 100-dollar fly she’s about to ensnare. A circular sign at the top of the frame reads “Spiderwoman”.

Eliot is the only one of the group who is not centered in his own portrait. Instead he stands to one side in his usual hitter-pose: arms crossed, feet firmly anchored, an unimpressed scowl on his face. What isn’t usual is his clothing: he’s wearing a long, dark golden cloak. A matching circlet is in his long, loose-flowing hair. He’s standing in the middle of a yellow desert, impossibly blue sky above him. In the centre of the painting is a huge pyramid, with two more in the background. The title is carved into the simple dark wood frame: “Sphinx Eliot”. You wonder idly what kind of riddle he would pose.

As weird as the first four paintings were, Hardison’s is the most unexpected. You’ve come to expect overconfidence from the boisterous geek. Maybe “Hero Hardison” surrounded by his favorite tech gadgets. You’re unprepared for the honesty you find in the hacker’s self-portrait. The painting looks like you’ve just thrown open the door to go outside. On the doorstep is a young, curly-haired boy that you hardly recognize as Hardison. The boy, dressed in a suit and bow tie, stares up at you with wide eyes. In one hand he holds a worn little suitcase. In the other is a slip of paper that reads: “Please take care of this boy”. The title is written on a similar, slip of paper pinned to the top of the simple frame: “Alec Paddington”.