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1) This story is set in the Wormverse, which is owned by Wildbow. Thanks for...
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A Darker Path [Worm Fanfic]
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Part One: The Field is Barren
Ack
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A Darker Path
[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
Part One: The Field is Barren
Thirty-Some Years Ago …
As the two Entities spiralled down toward the single life-bearing planet, the Third moved onward. However, its attention was not totally on the distant galaxy before it; some small part was on the other two Entities. When it gauged they were no longer paying it attention, it detached a tiny part of its mass and flicked it back toward the planet.
[ENJOY], it murmured to itself. They wanted conflict? They'd get conflict.
Chuckling about the practical joke it had just played on the other two—for an extremely generous definition of the word 'joke'—it forged onward. This planet was taken, but there were many others. Who knew, maybe it would find something interesting.
Behind it, the obsidian-black shard infiltrated itself into the space around the planet, watching and waiting for precisely the right host to attach itself to. Because once it did, shit was going to go sideways.
Winslow High School, Brockton Bay
January 3, 2011
First Day Back After Christmas Break
Emma
To say that Emma was feeling exuberant as she ducked out of her home room was an understatement. There was a fizzy feeling in her chest that wouldn't go away; but then again, she didn't want it to. She'd had to work to keep the grin from plastering itself across her face all the way through Gladly's lazy-as-fuck World Affairs class, and for good reason.
They'd fucking got Taylor. Once and for all. This felt like the culmination of all the last year's hard work, pushing her down, trying to spark a reaction. Trying to get her to wake the fuck up. To either shape up to their standard, or to walk away forever.
"Hey." Sophia fell into step alongside her. Madison was also there, but she didn't greet them. Sophia was talking, and she didn't like anyone talking over her.
"Hey." Emma finally let the grin out. "Holy shit, am I right?"
"Fuck yeah!" That was Madison. She sounded so cute when she tried to swear, like she was a five-year-old sounding out naughty words that she didn't know the meaning of. But this whole thing had been her idea, so Emma nodded in acknowledgement.
"We fuckin' did it." Sophia punched the air in triumph. "The look on her face …" She didn't complete the sentence. Even though there was nobody close enough to listen in, or even connect all the dots, she was careful about what she said. Emma figured it was part and parcel of her being a Ward, and a vigilante before that. Loose lips, et cetera.
"Wish I coulda seen." Madison had been the farthest back, because Sophia had been shoving Taylor into the locker, and Emma had been ready to close the door.
"It was kind of awesome." Emma tilted her head. "You know, her locker isn't too far from yours and mine, Soph. Maybe we could wander past …" She let her voice trail off. See if anyone's let her out yet.
Sophia gave her the side-eye. "You aren't going soft, are you?" You better not let her out yourself.
Emma snorted and rolled her eyes. "Nope. Maybe we could ask her if there's anything she wants in there, like a pillow. Or a magazine to pass the time."
Madison burst into giggles, while Sophia let out a bark of laughter and clapped Emma on the shoulder. "I fuckin' love that. We really should."
"Oooh, oooh, or we put this in with her." Madison had her Art sketchbook open to the last page, and was feverishly drawing something. Emma waited, curious. It didn't take long, then she tore it out and handed it over.
"Nice one, Mads," said Sophia, looking at the picture. It was a rough copy of one of those stupid 'for dummies' books, with 'Escape Artistry for Ugly Bitches' as the title. "Really captures the essence, or whatever it was they keep saying in art class."
Emma felt the grin coming back as she admired the picture. "Yeah. I like it."
They turned the corner to where Emma and Sophia shared a row with Taylor. Immediately, Emma noticed something badly wrong. "My locker's open!"
Dashing forward, she grabbed the door of her locker, which was indeed swinging open. Looking down, she stared at the dent just over the lock, then opened it wide and looked inside. Most of her stuff seemed to still be there, but the hanging clothes—she liked to change into something totally new after physical education class—had been disarranged.
"Fuck your locker!" shouted Sophia, her voice sharp with anger. "My locker's open!"
Emma tried to push her locker door shut, but the metal had been bent just far enough that the tongue didn't engage. What the fuck? She knew these lockers were crap, but this was ridiculous.
"Uh, guys …?" Madison ventured.
"Someone took my favourite top!" Emma felt a surge of outrage. How dare they break into her locker and steal her stuff! This sort of thing didn't happen to her! Nothing else had been taken, but that was beyond the point. Her stuff was her stuff.
"My running shoes are gone." Now Sophia's voice was low and deadly. "Those are my best shoes. Someone is gonna die for this." She paused, staring. "And my best skinny jeans, too. Oh, they're gonna pay big time."
"Guys!" shouted Madison, just as a bunch of other students came around the corner.
"What?" Sophia yelled back, turning to glare at her. Emma turned also, wondering why she was drawing attention to herself with Sophia on the warpath like this.
Madison just pointed; first at the floor, then farther down the row of lockers. Emma looked down, and saw the footprints for the first time. Stepping back, she saw Taylor's locker … with the door wide open. A mess of the crap they'd put into it spilling out into the hallway. And the footprints, leading from there, first to Sophia's locker and then to hers. After that, they petered out, but she'd seen enough.
As the other students swarmed the area, pointing at Taylor's locker but not getting too close—because that shit reeked—Emma regrouped at the far side of the hallway with the other two.
"What the fuck?" Sophia was keeping her voice down, barely. "Did she honestly break out of her fucking locker, and into ours?" It was hard to determine which aspect she showed more disbelief about.
Emma shrugged. She had nothing. "Unless she had someone helping her … I guess?"
"Oh, no, that shit ain't gonna fly." Sophia shook her head. "She does not get to pull that shit on me. I am gonna find her skanky ass and kick it up around her ears."
"While you're doing that, I'll go to Blackwell and report the locker break-ins," Emma decided. "See how fast we can get new ones." With any other student, she knew, this would be a slow and torturous process, but it was nice to be able to flaunt that she was the daughter of a lawyer every now and again.
"And I'll check with everyone I know, to see if they've seen her," Madison offered, pulling out her phone.
"Good idea." Emma nodded to Sophia and gestured at their lockers; the doors were currently shut, but only because they'd been pushed that way. Anyone could open them and take the rest of her stuff. "We're going to need to grab everything before we go anywhere."
Sophia set her jaw. "Motherfucker. I was looking forward to finding Hebert right the fuck now."
"Yeah," said Emma, more to acknowledge the sentiment than to agree with it. "Hey, you know how we've been trying to get her to push back? Do you think this is enough of a reaction?"
The look Sophia gave Emma disabused her of the notion immediately. "Hell the fuck nope. I don't care who you are, you don't mess with my shit."
Emma nodded. "Okay. Didn't think so, but I had to be sure." Also, she owed Taylor a smackdown for stealing her favourite top.
As she began emptying her locker into her backpack, she noticed that a couple of her textbooks were missing. And then she heard the outraged squawk from Sophia. "The little fucking cow stole my backpack, too!"
Okay, yeah, Taylor was dead.
Ninety Minutes Later
World Affairs Classroom
Madison
"Hey, Mads!" Everyone was still making noise settling in, but Julia kept her voice pitched low anyway. "Weren't you guys looking for Hebert? Because there she is."
Madison looked around as she slid into her seat, and felt her eyebrows hitch upward in surprise. Taylor was indeed sitting in the classroom, right down at the back. She was still wearing Emma's top (and kind of rocking the look, Madison acknowledged reluctantly) as well as Sophia's skinny jeans. Poking out from under the desk were Sophia's favourite running shoes. Even the missing backpack was there, leaning up against the side of the desk.
"Jeez," she muttered. "She must have a death wish." If I'd broken into their lockers, I'd be over the horizon by now, on the way to LA. But there sat Taylor Hebert, large as life and bold as brass.
Her eyes accidentally drifted upward, and met Taylor's, and that was when she got her next shock. Normally, Taylor never looked her in the eye. She always looked away, hoping not to be noticed. It was something that Madison had once seen described as 'prey behaviour' on the National Geographic channel.
But now, Taylor was looking firmly back at her, her attitude almost challenging. Go ahead, she seemed to be saying. Do something. Say something. I'm right here.
Madison could've done just that. Mr Gladly was up at his desk, and he always listened to her. The only thing that stopped her was that if she did this, Taylor would be enfolded in official punishment, and Emma and Sophia had said they wanted her. So, she said nothing.
Instead, she took her phone out and kept it under desk level while she sent a single text to two recipients.
She's in World Affairs.
In return, she got back two messages. From Sophia, a terse 'OK', and from Emma a thumb's up.
Her duty done, she settled back to endure the rest of the lesson. Gladly might be putty in her hands when it came to screwing with Taylor, but fuck he was boring.
Ninety Minutes Later
Taylor
Hoisting my 'borrowed' backpack over my shoulder and settling the weight of the equally 'borrowed' textbook within into a comfortable position, I bypassed Madison's feeble attempt to delay me and left Mr Gladly's classroom. I kept my eyes on the floor, mainly to avoid temptation, though I did take care to maintain my peripheral vision. As such, I picked out immediately when Emma and Sophia joined Madison.
As I strode along at a ground-eating pace I wouldn't have been able to maintain before—it appeared powers came with a few useful fringe benefits—Madison and Emma fell behind, but Sophia steadily caught up with me. That was fine; I had several different plans lined up for her, depending on how violent the girl wanted to get.
"Hey, Hebert!" Sophia's hand caught the backpack and slowed me down. "Where you running to? You trying to hide from me?"
It was clear she was trying to force a confrontation, but I didn't have the inclination to deal with this crap right now. "Nobody's hiding from anyone. I'm going to the cafeteria."
This time, Sophia grabbed me by the shoulder and swung me around. A solid fist powered in toward my solar plexus, but I saw it coming and stepped back out of the way. Options presented themselves, giving me half a dozen ways to end this confrontation (and Sophia herself) permanently, but I decided to end the conversation instead. Although it was an abstract kill rather than a physical one, it still worked with my new-found power.
"Careful," I said, speaking the words that my subconscious presented to me. "We both know Miss Piggy would disapprove." At the same time, I knew, my entire attitude and tone of voice radiated pure certainty.
Leaving Sophia staring at my back, I turned on my heel and headed onward to the cafeteria.
Funny, I mused. I never would've picked Sophia for a Muppet Show fan.
Oh, well. I don't pick the words. I just say 'em.
Emma
When Emma and Madison caught up with Sophia, she had the kind of look on her face that Emma's dad liked to describe as belonging to 'someone who bit into an apple and found half a worm'. Taylor was still in sight, barely, but Sophia was making no effort to go after her.
"What?" asked Emma. "What's the matter?"
Sophia blinked. "She knows."
"That it was us?" scoffed Madison. "Let's see her prove it."
"No, not that." Sophia shook her head. "About me. About my other hobby."
Emma blinked. There could only be one interpretation of that. Shit, Taylor knows Sophia's Shadow Stalker?
"But how?" asked Madison blankly. "I'm good at finding shit out, and I didn't know 'til you told me."
"How the fuck am I supposed to know?" Sophia ground her teeth. "But she just said something to me that only someone who's also a member could possibly know to say."
Someone who's also a Ward, Emma filled in.
Madison frowned. "Could she be? Have you had any new members recently?"
"Nope." Sophia shook her head definitively. "I'm the newest. I've seen enough of everyone else to know she couldn't be any one of them. But she used a nickname only we use. It doesn't matter where she comes into it, she knows."
"Fuck." Emma's father did divorce rather than criminal or parahuman law, but she'd heard enough stories to know where this could go to if it was left unchecked. "I'll go talk to her. Put the fear of God into her. Make sure she knows it's us she's dealing with."
"I'll come with," offered Madison. "You know, if you need a witness or something."
Emma grinned. They both knew Madison's version of being a witness would involve agreeing with Emma's version of events, whatever that was. "Good idea, but hang back a bit."
Madison nodded. "You got it."
Taylor
Cafeteria
I was halfway through the line when Emma and Madison showed up. To the normal eye, they would've been just the same as any other two high school students, but my power picked them out as being specifically interested in me. Good going, power. I never would've guessed.
Finishing up in the line, I paid for the food and then strolled over to an empty table where I could sit with my back to the wall. It was one of my old habits that had made the transition seamlessly to my new outlook on life. Sliding onto the seat, I put my tray on the table and waited.
Sure enough, over they came, zeroing in on me like homing missiles. They weren't even very subtle about it, which showed just how pissed-off they were with me.
Not that I cared, or would ever care again, what they thought about me. That chapter in my life was closed, locked in a safe, welded shut and handed over to Behemoth for safekeeping.
Sticking my fork through some wilting salad, I looked up as Emma came over and sat opposite me. "Boy, have you fucked up," she began.
"Do tell," I suggested mildly, twirling the fork to wind the strands of lettuce on it. After all, I'd just gotten this top and I didn't want to get salad on it.
"Breaking into our lockers and stealing our stuff," she began, real anger flaring in her eyes. "And then there's threatening Sophia. What are you trying to do, blackmail her? That's about as stupid as you can get. But you've never been too smart, have you?"
I sighed. Where she got 'blackmailing Sophia' from I had no idea, but I wanted some time to myself so I could eat my lunch in peace and quiet. There were several ways I could murder her from where I sat, but that would probably draw attention, so again I decided to kill the conversation.
As I made this decision, the words and actions came to me. I had no idea what they meant, just as I hadn't with Sophia, but that didn't matter; only the execution did. Taking up a strand of my hair, I looked her in the eye. "It doesn't matter how tough you think you are," I said, then scratched at the corner of my eye and fiddled with my earlobe. "You'll never really escape the alley. You were weak then and you're even weaker now." Lifting the hair to my mouth, I pretended to chew on it for a second, then offered it to her. "Want some?"
Her eyes went wide and her face turned paler than the imitation mashed potatoes on my plate. Clamping her hands over her mouth, she jumped up from the seat and bolted from the cafeteria, leaving a trail of annoyed students in her wake.
With a shrug, I put the forkful of salad in my mouth. It wasn't bad, I decided, though it could've used a little more dressing. Just as I went back for another load, Madison came at me.
What she'd seen of how I dealt with Sophia and Emma must have warned her against trying to cow me with words, but instead of backing off, she evidently decided to do the worst thing possible. Specifically, to get into close proximity and offer physical violence to me.
I watched with mild interest as she snatched up the plastic knife and grabbed my hair with one hand, then held the knife up under my eye with the other. "What did you say to them, you bitch?" she hissed. "Tell me, or I'll—"
The blunt end of the plastic fork jabbed her in the solar plexus at just the right point. Wheezing, she sagged and dropped the knife. I half-stood and assisted her into the chair next to mine, then sat down again. This had all happened so smoothly and naturally that barely anyone knew she'd just threatened me, and nobody cared.
The hidden benefit of being the pariah, I decided.
"You'll live," I told her, then ate some of the faux potatoes. "I didn't hit you hard enough to paralyse your diaphragm all the way, just partially. Though I could have, if I really wanted to. You could be sitting there, suffocating in front of everyone, with nobody the wiser. I could finish this meal, get up and walk out, and you'd die in the middle of a crowded room. The same way you shoved me into my locker in the middle of a crowded hallway. I suppose that's irony for you."
Her eyes, about the only parts of her that were able to move, swivelled toward me, rolling in their sockets. I saw her face turn red with the effort of inhaling, then exhaling again. "Whhhh…" she managed to wheeze.
"Why didn't I kill you?" I began to peel my banana. "Oh, that's easy. I want you to pass a message on to all your friends, but especially Emma and Sophia. And while I could write it on your face or something, it's simpler just to tell you what it is. Also, I must confess to enjoying a certain amount of schadenfreude." I paused at her blink of confusion. "Look it up."
I finished the banana, then opened my juice while she sat and wheezed at me, straining to drag air into her oxygen-starved lungs. As far as I could tell, she was trying to ask what the message was.
"Let me tell you a story," I said. "Once upon a time, a farmer was driving his cart home from market, and he had a new mule pulling it. They came to a gentle hill, and the mule stopped. The farmer said, "that's one", and smacked the mule on the rump, and the mule went on. Then they came to a shallow creek, and the mule stopped again. This time, the farmer said, "that's two", and smacked the mule on the head with his shotgun butt, and the mule went on. And then …" I paused to draw it out and take a drink of juice. "As the cart rolled into the farmyard, it came to a big mud puddle, and the mule stopped a third time. This time, the farmer said, "that's three". Then he shot the mule in the head."
My juice was empty. I got up from where I'd been sitting and struck her hard between the shoulder blades with the heel of my hand. Jolted out of her paralysis, she drew a long breath and stared up at me. "What … what's the message?" she asked cautiously.
Leaning down close to her ear, I whispered, "The message is … that's two."
Then I turned and left the cafeteria.
End of Part One
[A/N 1: Taylor's shard is Path to Ending. It's like Path to Victory, but it's focused on killing things. People, machines, abstract concepts such as 'this conversation' or 'his reputation' or 'her bank account'; if something can be in any way killed, she can Path how to do it. However, although its ambit is limited compared to PtV, there are seven important aspects about it:
[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
Part One: The Field is Barren
Thirty-Some Years Ago …
As the two Entities spiralled down toward the single life-bearing planet, the Third moved onward. However, its attention was not totally on the distant galaxy before it; some small part was on the other two Entities. When it gauged they were no longer paying it attention, it detached a tiny part of its mass and flicked it back toward the planet.
[ENJOY], it murmured to itself. They wanted conflict? They'd get conflict.
Chuckling about the practical joke it had just played on the other two—for an extremely generous definition of the word 'joke'—it forged onward. This planet was taken, but there were many others. Who knew, maybe it would find something interesting.
Behind it, the obsidian-black shard infiltrated itself into the space around the planet, watching and waiting for precisely the right host to attach itself to. Because once it did, shit was going to go sideways.
<><>
Winslow High School, Brockton Bay
January 3, 2011
First Day Back After Christmas Break
Emma
To say that Emma was feeling exuberant as she ducked out of her home room was an understatement. There was a fizzy feeling in her chest that wouldn't go away; but then again, she didn't want it to. She'd had to work to keep the grin from plastering itself across her face all the way through Gladly's lazy-as-fuck World Affairs class, and for good reason.
They'd fucking got Taylor. Once and for all. This felt like the culmination of all the last year's hard work, pushing her down, trying to spark a reaction. Trying to get her to wake the fuck up. To either shape up to their standard, or to walk away forever.
"Hey." Sophia fell into step alongside her. Madison was also there, but she didn't greet them. Sophia was talking, and she didn't like anyone talking over her.
"Hey." Emma finally let the grin out. "Holy shit, am I right?"
"Fuck yeah!" That was Madison. She sounded so cute when she tried to swear, like she was a five-year-old sounding out naughty words that she didn't know the meaning of. But this whole thing had been her idea, so Emma nodded in acknowledgement.
"We fuckin' did it." Sophia punched the air in triumph. "The look on her face …" She didn't complete the sentence. Even though there was nobody close enough to listen in, or even connect all the dots, she was careful about what she said. Emma figured it was part and parcel of her being a Ward, and a vigilante before that. Loose lips, et cetera.
"Wish I coulda seen." Madison had been the farthest back, because Sophia had been shoving Taylor into the locker, and Emma had been ready to close the door.
"It was kind of awesome." Emma tilted her head. "You know, her locker isn't too far from yours and mine, Soph. Maybe we could wander past …" She let her voice trail off. See if anyone's let her out yet.
Sophia gave her the side-eye. "You aren't going soft, are you?" You better not let her out yourself.
Emma snorted and rolled her eyes. "Nope. Maybe we could ask her if there's anything she wants in there, like a pillow. Or a magazine to pass the time."
Madison burst into giggles, while Sophia let out a bark of laughter and clapped Emma on the shoulder. "I fuckin' love that. We really should."
"Oooh, oooh, or we put this in with her." Madison had her Art sketchbook open to the last page, and was feverishly drawing something. Emma waited, curious. It didn't take long, then she tore it out and handed it over.
"Nice one, Mads," said Sophia, looking at the picture. It was a rough copy of one of those stupid 'for dummies' books, with 'Escape Artistry for Ugly Bitches' as the title. "Really captures the essence, or whatever it was they keep saying in art class."
Emma felt the grin coming back as she admired the picture. "Yeah. I like it."
They turned the corner to where Emma and Sophia shared a row with Taylor. Immediately, Emma noticed something badly wrong. "My locker's open!"
Dashing forward, she grabbed the door of her locker, which was indeed swinging open. Looking down, she stared at the dent just over the lock, then opened it wide and looked inside. Most of her stuff seemed to still be there, but the hanging clothes—she liked to change into something totally new after physical education class—had been disarranged.
"Fuck your locker!" shouted Sophia, her voice sharp with anger. "My locker's open!"
Emma tried to push her locker door shut, but the metal had been bent just far enough that the tongue didn't engage. What the fuck? She knew these lockers were crap, but this was ridiculous.
"Uh, guys …?" Madison ventured.
"Someone took my favourite top!" Emma felt a surge of outrage. How dare they break into her locker and steal her stuff! This sort of thing didn't happen to her! Nothing else had been taken, but that was beyond the point. Her stuff was her stuff.
"My running shoes are gone." Now Sophia's voice was low and deadly. "Those are my best shoes. Someone is gonna die for this." She paused, staring. "And my best skinny jeans, too. Oh, they're gonna pay big time."
"Guys!" shouted Madison, just as a bunch of other students came around the corner.
"What?" Sophia yelled back, turning to glare at her. Emma turned also, wondering why she was drawing attention to herself with Sophia on the warpath like this.
Madison just pointed; first at the floor, then farther down the row of lockers. Emma looked down, and saw the footprints for the first time. Stepping back, she saw Taylor's locker … with the door wide open. A mess of the crap they'd put into it spilling out into the hallway. And the footprints, leading from there, first to Sophia's locker and then to hers. After that, they petered out, but she'd seen enough.
As the other students swarmed the area, pointing at Taylor's locker but not getting too close—because that shit reeked—Emma regrouped at the far side of the hallway with the other two.
"What the fuck?" Sophia was keeping her voice down, barely. "Did she honestly break out of her fucking locker, and into ours?" It was hard to determine which aspect she showed more disbelief about.
Emma shrugged. She had nothing. "Unless she had someone helping her … I guess?"
"Oh, no, that shit ain't gonna fly." Sophia shook her head. "She does not get to pull that shit on me. I am gonna find her skanky ass and kick it up around her ears."
"While you're doing that, I'll go to Blackwell and report the locker break-ins," Emma decided. "See how fast we can get new ones." With any other student, she knew, this would be a slow and torturous process, but it was nice to be able to flaunt that she was the daughter of a lawyer every now and again.
"And I'll check with everyone I know, to see if they've seen her," Madison offered, pulling out her phone.
"Good idea." Emma nodded to Sophia and gestured at their lockers; the doors were currently shut, but only because they'd been pushed that way. Anyone could open them and take the rest of her stuff. "We're going to need to grab everything before we go anywhere."
Sophia set her jaw. "Motherfucker. I was looking forward to finding Hebert right the fuck now."
"Yeah," said Emma, more to acknowledge the sentiment than to agree with it. "Hey, you know how we've been trying to get her to push back? Do you think this is enough of a reaction?"
The look Sophia gave Emma disabused her of the notion immediately. "Hell the fuck nope. I don't care who you are, you don't mess with my shit."
Emma nodded. "Okay. Didn't think so, but I had to be sure." Also, she owed Taylor a smackdown for stealing her favourite top.
As she began emptying her locker into her backpack, she noticed that a couple of her textbooks were missing. And then she heard the outraged squawk from Sophia. "The little fucking cow stole my backpack, too!"
Okay, yeah, Taylor was dead.
<><>
Ninety Minutes Later
World Affairs Classroom
Madison
"Hey, Mads!" Everyone was still making noise settling in, but Julia kept her voice pitched low anyway. "Weren't you guys looking for Hebert? Because there she is."
Madison looked around as she slid into her seat, and felt her eyebrows hitch upward in surprise. Taylor was indeed sitting in the classroom, right down at the back. She was still wearing Emma's top (and kind of rocking the look, Madison acknowledged reluctantly) as well as Sophia's skinny jeans. Poking out from under the desk were Sophia's favourite running shoes. Even the missing backpack was there, leaning up against the side of the desk.
"Jeez," she muttered. "She must have a death wish." If I'd broken into their lockers, I'd be over the horizon by now, on the way to LA. But there sat Taylor Hebert, large as life and bold as brass.
Her eyes accidentally drifted upward, and met Taylor's, and that was when she got her next shock. Normally, Taylor never looked her in the eye. She always looked away, hoping not to be noticed. It was something that Madison had once seen described as 'prey behaviour' on the National Geographic channel.
But now, Taylor was looking firmly back at her, her attitude almost challenging. Go ahead, she seemed to be saying. Do something. Say something. I'm right here.
Madison could've done just that. Mr Gladly was up at his desk, and he always listened to her. The only thing that stopped her was that if she did this, Taylor would be enfolded in official punishment, and Emma and Sophia had said they wanted her. So, she said nothing.
Instead, she took her phone out and kept it under desk level while she sent a single text to two recipients.
She's in World Affairs.
In return, she got back two messages. From Sophia, a terse 'OK', and from Emma a thumb's up.
Her duty done, she settled back to endure the rest of the lesson. Gladly might be putty in her hands when it came to screwing with Taylor, but fuck he was boring.
<><>
Ninety Minutes Later
Taylor
Hoisting my 'borrowed' backpack over my shoulder and settling the weight of the equally 'borrowed' textbook within into a comfortable position, I bypassed Madison's feeble attempt to delay me and left Mr Gladly's classroom. I kept my eyes on the floor, mainly to avoid temptation, though I did take care to maintain my peripheral vision. As such, I picked out immediately when Emma and Sophia joined Madison.
As I strode along at a ground-eating pace I wouldn't have been able to maintain before—it appeared powers came with a few useful fringe benefits—Madison and Emma fell behind, but Sophia steadily caught up with me. That was fine; I had several different plans lined up for her, depending on how violent the girl wanted to get.
"Hey, Hebert!" Sophia's hand caught the backpack and slowed me down. "Where you running to? You trying to hide from me?"
It was clear she was trying to force a confrontation, but I didn't have the inclination to deal with this crap right now. "Nobody's hiding from anyone. I'm going to the cafeteria."
This time, Sophia grabbed me by the shoulder and swung me around. A solid fist powered in toward my solar plexus, but I saw it coming and stepped back out of the way. Options presented themselves, giving me half a dozen ways to end this confrontation (and Sophia herself) permanently, but I decided to end the conversation instead. Although it was an abstract kill rather than a physical one, it still worked with my new-found power.
"Careful," I said, speaking the words that my subconscious presented to me. "We both know Miss Piggy would disapprove." At the same time, I knew, my entire attitude and tone of voice radiated pure certainty.
Leaving Sophia staring at my back, I turned on my heel and headed onward to the cafeteria.
Funny, I mused. I never would've picked Sophia for a Muppet Show fan.
Oh, well. I don't pick the words. I just say 'em.
<><>
Emma
When Emma and Madison caught up with Sophia, she had the kind of look on her face that Emma's dad liked to describe as belonging to 'someone who bit into an apple and found half a worm'. Taylor was still in sight, barely, but Sophia was making no effort to go after her.
"What?" asked Emma. "What's the matter?"
Sophia blinked. "She knows."
"That it was us?" scoffed Madison. "Let's see her prove it."
"No, not that." Sophia shook her head. "About me. About my other hobby."
Emma blinked. There could only be one interpretation of that. Shit, Taylor knows Sophia's Shadow Stalker?
"But how?" asked Madison blankly. "I'm good at finding shit out, and I didn't know 'til you told me."
"How the fuck am I supposed to know?" Sophia ground her teeth. "But she just said something to me that only someone who's also a member could possibly know to say."
Someone who's also a Ward, Emma filled in.
Madison frowned. "Could she be? Have you had any new members recently?"
"Nope." Sophia shook her head definitively. "I'm the newest. I've seen enough of everyone else to know she couldn't be any one of them. But she used a nickname only we use. It doesn't matter where she comes into it, she knows."
"Fuck." Emma's father did divorce rather than criminal or parahuman law, but she'd heard enough stories to know where this could go to if it was left unchecked. "I'll go talk to her. Put the fear of God into her. Make sure she knows it's us she's dealing with."
"I'll come with," offered Madison. "You know, if you need a witness or something."
Emma grinned. They both knew Madison's version of being a witness would involve agreeing with Emma's version of events, whatever that was. "Good idea, but hang back a bit."
Madison nodded. "You got it."
<><>
Taylor
Cafeteria
I was halfway through the line when Emma and Madison showed up. To the normal eye, they would've been just the same as any other two high school students, but my power picked them out as being specifically interested in me. Good going, power. I never would've guessed.
Finishing up in the line, I paid for the food and then strolled over to an empty table where I could sit with my back to the wall. It was one of my old habits that had made the transition seamlessly to my new outlook on life. Sliding onto the seat, I put my tray on the table and waited.
Sure enough, over they came, zeroing in on me like homing missiles. They weren't even very subtle about it, which showed just how pissed-off they were with me.
Not that I cared, or would ever care again, what they thought about me. That chapter in my life was closed, locked in a safe, welded shut and handed over to Behemoth for safekeeping.
Sticking my fork through some wilting salad, I looked up as Emma came over and sat opposite me. "Boy, have you fucked up," she began.
"Do tell," I suggested mildly, twirling the fork to wind the strands of lettuce on it. After all, I'd just gotten this top and I didn't want to get salad on it.
"Breaking into our lockers and stealing our stuff," she began, real anger flaring in her eyes. "And then there's threatening Sophia. What are you trying to do, blackmail her? That's about as stupid as you can get. But you've never been too smart, have you?"
I sighed. Where she got 'blackmailing Sophia' from I had no idea, but I wanted some time to myself so I could eat my lunch in peace and quiet. There were several ways I could murder her from where I sat, but that would probably draw attention, so again I decided to kill the conversation.
As I made this decision, the words and actions came to me. I had no idea what they meant, just as I hadn't with Sophia, but that didn't matter; only the execution did. Taking up a strand of my hair, I looked her in the eye. "It doesn't matter how tough you think you are," I said, then scratched at the corner of my eye and fiddled with my earlobe. "You'll never really escape the alley. You were weak then and you're even weaker now." Lifting the hair to my mouth, I pretended to chew on it for a second, then offered it to her. "Want some?"
Her eyes went wide and her face turned paler than the imitation mashed potatoes on my plate. Clamping her hands over her mouth, she jumped up from the seat and bolted from the cafeteria, leaving a trail of annoyed students in her wake.
With a shrug, I put the forkful of salad in my mouth. It wasn't bad, I decided, though it could've used a little more dressing. Just as I went back for another load, Madison came at me.
What she'd seen of how I dealt with Sophia and Emma must have warned her against trying to cow me with words, but instead of backing off, she evidently decided to do the worst thing possible. Specifically, to get into close proximity and offer physical violence to me.
I watched with mild interest as she snatched up the plastic knife and grabbed my hair with one hand, then held the knife up under my eye with the other. "What did you say to them, you bitch?" she hissed. "Tell me, or I'll—"
The blunt end of the plastic fork jabbed her in the solar plexus at just the right point. Wheezing, she sagged and dropped the knife. I half-stood and assisted her into the chair next to mine, then sat down again. This had all happened so smoothly and naturally that barely anyone knew she'd just threatened me, and nobody cared.
The hidden benefit of being the pariah, I decided.
"You'll live," I told her, then ate some of the faux potatoes. "I didn't hit you hard enough to paralyse your diaphragm all the way, just partially. Though I could have, if I really wanted to. You could be sitting there, suffocating in front of everyone, with nobody the wiser. I could finish this meal, get up and walk out, and you'd die in the middle of a crowded room. The same way you shoved me into my locker in the middle of a crowded hallway. I suppose that's irony for you."
Her eyes, about the only parts of her that were able to move, swivelled toward me, rolling in their sockets. I saw her face turn red with the effort of inhaling, then exhaling again. "Whhhh…" she managed to wheeze.
"Why didn't I kill you?" I began to peel my banana. "Oh, that's easy. I want you to pass a message on to all your friends, but especially Emma and Sophia. And while I could write it on your face or something, it's simpler just to tell you what it is. Also, I must confess to enjoying a certain amount of schadenfreude." I paused at her blink of confusion. "Look it up."
I finished the banana, then opened my juice while she sat and wheezed at me, straining to drag air into her oxygen-starved lungs. As far as I could tell, she was trying to ask what the message was.
"Let me tell you a story," I said. "Once upon a time, a farmer was driving his cart home from market, and he had a new mule pulling it. They came to a gentle hill, and the mule stopped. The farmer said, "that's one", and smacked the mule on the rump, and the mule went on. Then they came to a shallow creek, and the mule stopped again. This time, the farmer said, "that's two", and smacked the mule on the head with his shotgun butt, and the mule went on. And then …" I paused to draw it out and take a drink of juice. "As the cart rolled into the farmyard, it came to a big mud puddle, and the mule stopped a third time. This time, the farmer said, "that's three". Then he shot the mule in the head."
My juice was empty. I got up from where I'd been sitting and struck her hard between the shoulder blades with the heel of my hand. Jolted out of her paralysis, she drew a long breath and stared up at me. "What … what's the message?" she asked cautiously.
Leaning down close to her ear, I whispered, "The message is … that's two."
Then I turned and left the cafeteria.
End of Part One
[A/N 1: Taylor's shard is Path to Ending. It's like Path to Victory, but it's focused on killing things. People, machines, abstract concepts such as 'this conversation' or 'his reputation' or 'her bank account'; if something can be in any way killed, she can Path how to do it. However, although its ambit is limited compared to PtV, there are seven important aspects about it:
- Because it's an Abbadon shard that never made it to the Warrior's (or Thinker's) attention, it has none of the limiters that any of the other ones do.
- Because it's more focused than PtV, its bullshit overrides PtV's bullshit.
- While she can't deliberately perform a strictly nonlethal attack, she can (in hand to hand) perform a lethal attack but pull the blow. This takes a deliberate act of will.
- It warns her about anyone paying hostile attention to her.
- The shard can and will tell Broadcast to go and take a long walk off a short pier.
- To ensure she has the wherewithal to actually kill things, the shard also buffs her up to nominal levels of strength, speed and endurance. Not 'peak human' capability, but definitely 'athletic teen'.
- She no longer has any fucks to give, in whole or part. They are forever gone.]
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Part Two: Win Stupid Prizes
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A Darker Path
Part Two: Win Stupid Prizes
[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
Sophia
She heard the broken, jagged sobbing before she saw Emma. That should've prepared her, but it didn't. When she pushed open the bathroom stall and saw the redhead hunched over the toilet, she knew it was bad. But when Emma turned her head and Sophia saw her blotched features and swollen eyes, the snot and vomit hanging in unsightly strings from her nose and mouth, that was when she understood just how bad it was.
"Jesus fuck, Emma." She tugged her friend away from the toilet and helped her to her feet. "What the fuck happened? Did she beat you up?" Any other day, there would've been no question of even suspecting Hebert of being able to give Emma a proper tuning up. But there was something about Hebert's new attitude, not to mention the ease with which she'd evaded Sophia's punch earlier, that raised questions.
Had something happened to Hebert over the Christmas break? Did she trigger with powers and join the Wards when I wasn't looking? It might explain her new physical capabilities, and the knowledge of what to say about Piggot. The other Wards had unmasked to her … but she'd never given permission to pass that knowledge on to anyone else. Least of all fucking Hebert.
No, there were too many holes in the story. Hebert was too much of a wimp to get powers, and Sophia had been in to the PRT building over Christmas. There'd been no announcement of a new Ward, and nothing new on the bulletin board except Vista's cutesy little cut-out snowflakes.
"No," mumbled Emma. "She knows 'bout the alley. About the ABB." At Sophia's urging, she began to splash water on her face, washing away the worst of the muck. "She threw it in my face. Told me I was weak." Her face twisted, and it looked like she was going to cry again.
"You're not weak," Sophia snapped, grabbing her by the shoulders and literally shaking her. "You're strong, dammit. A survivor. Like me."
The bathroom door banged open and Sophia tensed, turning that way. If this was Hebert coming back to pull more voodoo bullshit on Emma—seriously, she looked like she'd been run over by an eighteen-wheeler—then there would be words spoken. By 'words' she meant 'punches', and by 'spoken' she meant 'thrown'.
But it was only Madison, though she looked almost as rattled as Emma. Leaning against the wall, she fought for breath, her face chalk-white under her makeup.
"What happened to you?" demanded Sophia. "Where were you when Hebert was getting into Emma's head?"
"I was … I was right there," Madison wheezed. "When Emma ran away, I con-confronted Taylor." She drew in a shaky breath and looked like she was going to cry. "Oh, god. I shouldn't have."
"The fuck?" Sophia shook her head and glared at them both. "Did she pull some woo-woo bullshit out of your past as well, to fuck with your head?"
"No. No. No, no, she didn't." Madison shook her head. "She just … gave me a warning. A warning to give to everyone. You, me, Emma, everyone. We're on our last chance. If we keep going the way we are, she'll kill us."
Sophia stared at her, then burst out laughing. "Oh, bullshit. You actually bought that, from her? The little queef is bluffing. You know it, I know it, Emma knows it. What'd she do, wave a plastic knife or something at you?"
Madison shook her head again. "No, but she hit me right about here so I could hardly breathe, then told me that she could've hit me just a bit harder so I'd suffocate, all while she was eating her lunch. Like it didn't matter to her if I lived or died. Then she hit me again so I could breathe properly, and said something about how we're on our second strike. Third strike, we're out."
It all came out at once, the words tumbling over themselves. By the time Madison squeaked the last word out, she was breathless. She stared at Sophia, as though silently asking for assistance.
"What the hell is wrong with you two?" Sophia shook her head. "You're better than this. Smarter. Tougher. Hebert couldn't push you around like this on her best day." Again, she had a moment of doubt. Something was wrong if Emma and Madison couldn't keep Hebert in her place.
Once more, she shook the feeling off. They'd been easing off on Hebert, prepping for the locker prank, and she'd managed to grow a semblance of a spine over Christmas. That's gotta be it.
Hebert didn't get to stand up for herself. She didn't deserve it. As far as Sophia was concerned, Hebert's correct place was at the bottom of the pecking order, far away from anyone who actually mattered.
Sophia didn't even consider the busted-open lockers to be a problem. Winslow lockers were shit, and everyone knew it. As for the Miss Piggy reference … I must have misheard her, that's all. She's not a Ward.
Which made it even more irritating. She'd had the perfect opportunity to smack that irritating expression across to the other side of Hebert's face, and she'd missed out. That was an oversight she was going to have to remedy, right the fuck now.
"Madison, take care of Emma," she said briskly. "I'm going to go find Hebert, and explain to her why she doesn't pull this shit."
"What? No!" Madison grabbed at Sophia's sleeve as she passed by. "I just told you! She said she'd kill us if we messed with her again!"
Brushing Madison's grasp away, Sophia pushed her back against the wall, an arm across her throat. "I wasn't asking," she growled. "And if she tries that three-strikes bullshit on me, she'll be dead for real. Now take care of Emma."
Feeling even more aggravated by the exchange—where did Madison get off, trying to tell her what to do?—she opened the bathroom door and headed out.
When she found Hebert, there was going to be hell to pay.
Taylor
Following my lunch and the little chat I'd had with Madison, I went to the library and settled down for a restful time-out with a book about the life of Caesar that I'd been meaning to read. Life had been simpler back then, I decided. Of course, it had been usually shorter and more disease-ridden, so that was a distinct downside. But being able to stab someone who was getting on your nerves had to solve a lot of problems.
I'd read somewhere that the Romans had changed up the traditional handshake to a forearm clasp so as to be able to tell if their political rivals were carrying knives strapped to their wrists. Of course, the Romans had also been the ones to give the phrase 'political backstabbing' a whole new level of meaning.
I'd only spent five minutes out of the thirty I'd allotted myself when I became aware that Sophia was looking for me with the specific intent to do me harm. Mentally, I apologised to my power for the previous sarcasm; it seemed that aspect could be useful after all. She wasn't quite as unintelligent as I'd sometimes wondered, because the library was the third place she looked into on her search.
Of course, I knew she was coming and decided to kill her chances of finding me. So, as she walked in through the main doors, I climbed out of the beanbag I'd been lying in and took a meandering path through the library. This just happened to coincide with Sophia's, in that whenever she looked in my direction, I was just out of her line of sight. Looking more frustrated than ever, she left the library; I shrugged and went back to my beanbag.
Even after searching most of the school (including all of the girls' bathrooms, twice) and not finding me, she hadn't given up. My sense of her indicated that she was waiting in an empty classroom close to my next class, which was art. Her intent to do me harm was stronger than ever. It wasn't long until the bell to start classes again, which meant that I needed to make a choice.
If I wanted to avoid the conflict that was brewing, I could skip the class altogether or simply go a slightly different way to get to the same classroom. Alternatively, I could go straight to where she was, administer a non-lethal object lesson, then go to class anyway. Or … I could just kill her. I was pretty sure she'd been warned.
Unfortunately for her, I didn't feel like letting her dictate a single one of my actions. If she wanted to poke the bear, then what happened next was all on her.
So, I got up from the beanbag and took the book back to the returns slot. On my way out of the library, I took the calculator I'd liberated from Emma's locker out of my new backpack, and slid it up my sleeve. I wasn't sure exactly why I'd done that, but it seemed to be the right thing to do.
As I approached the classroom, I checked again. Only Sophia showed up as a hostile, which meant there weren't likely to be any other witnesses in the room. This smelt to me like Sophia intended to deliver an extremely thorough beating, possibly involving broken bones.
That was just fine with me.
It took a certain amount of self-control to allow myself to fall into the trap, but I hadn't yet decided what I wanted to do with Sophia, so I was on my own. Still, it didn't seem to matter; Sophia was the sort of person who never thought of examining the teeth of a gift horse. From the enthusiastic way she hauled me into the room and threw me to the floor (or tried to throw me to the floor) she'd clearly decided that her trap was a masterpiece of Napoleonic genius.
I hit the floor, rolled, and came to my feet again with relative ease. This was one of the things my power had boosted about me. "Hi to you, too," I said.
"Shut up!" she hissed. "What the fuck did you do to Emma and Madison?"
"Told them something they needed to know," I said, slipping my pack off and tossing it to one side. "Did Madison pass on the message to you? 'That's two'?"
She sneered at me. "Yeah, she said you'd grown a backbone. Well, too bad for you. You're going down. And don't even try to fake me out like the last time, or this is going to hurt even more."
"And when I inevitably point you out as the person who beat me up?" I asked mildly.
Her sneer intensified. "There's half a dozen girls who're willing to swear blind I was with them the whole time."
"Well, that's awkward." I didn't say who it was going to be awkward for. "One more time. Just to be sure. You know this is your third strike?"
She stared with astonishment. "Are you threatening me? Are you seriously fucking trying to threaten me right now?"
Fuck, she was dense. "No, I'm telling you that this, right here, is your third strike." There; it was explained.
"You can take your third strike and shove it—" Her form as she moved in to punch me wasn't bad. She'd clearly been in more than one brawl.
I didn't much care. As she swung her fist at me, I took her arm and snapped it at the elbow, then slammed my knee into her ribs so hard that three of them broke. A couple of the shards went through her left lung.
Her eyes opened wide as she expirated a fine mist of blood, then I put a stop to that nonsense with a single knife-hand strike to the throat that collapsed her larynx. A second later, she surprised the hell out of me by turning to a dark swirling fog and lunging for the far wall. Reflexively, I slid the calculator from my sleeve and tossed it through her; she convulsed and fell to the floor, solid again.
Unable to breathe, her lungs filling with blood, she lay on her back and stared up at me as I moved to stand over her. "Shadow Stalker, huh?" I asked rhetorically. "Guess I didn't see that coming. Still, doesn't matter. Strike three is strike three." I lifted my foot above her sternum and brought my heel down hard; at just the right place, with sufficient force, it was enough to stop her heart.
Stopping only to retrieve my backpack and calculator, I left the classroom and went to art class.
Two Hours Later
Math Class
Emma
There was something seriously, seriously wrong. With Madison's help, Emma had repaired her makeup and gone on to class, but she hadn't gotten any answers back from her discreet texts to Sophia. Not that she was stupid enough to ask straight-out 'did you beat up Taylor yet' but usually it worked well enough to say something like, 'so how'd it go?'.
But there was nothing. She'd sent a test message to Madison to make sure her phone was working right and hadn't gotten water in it, but there was no problem there. It was just that … Sophia wasn't answering.
And then she came to Math class with Mr Quinlan, and there was Taylor, not a hair out of place. Admittedly, Emma didn't know what Sophia been planning on doing, but at the very least she would've repossessed her property. Yet, there sat Taylor, wearing Sophia's jeans and sneakers, and with the stolen backpack beside her desk.
As bizarre as it sounded, it seemed that Sophia had totally failed to catch up with Taylor, even knowing what her class schedule was. So Emma did what any good friend would do. Pulling out her phone, she sent a text. 'hey if youre still looking 4 T shes in math'.
No novice at classroom texting, Emma had given no outward sign of sending the message. Her phone keyboard was silent, and she could thumb-type with the best of them. But still, just after the message was sent, Taylor turned in her seat and gave Emma a raised eyebrow. Deliberately, she put a strand of hair in her mouth and pretended to chew on it.
Abruptly, Emma recalled the alley, remembered lying on stained asphalt, at the mercy of the girl wearing her jacket. The handful of hair that had been brutally cut off with the knife was shoved into her mouth. Eat it, then pick.
Taylor's face loomed large in her memory. You'll never really escape the alley. You were weak then and you're even weaker now.
It had taken her months to get over having hysterics at home when she found a hair in her food. And now, Taylor was bringing it all back again.
Jumping up from her seat, she clamped her hand across her mouth to hold in the upcoming eruption, and bolted from the room. Quinlan may have called her name as the door was swinging shut behind her, but she didn't care.
Taylor
I still wasn't sure what that was about, but it was certainly effective. Innocently, I looked around as Mr Quinlan called Emma's name. She didn't come back.
"Does anyone know what's going on with Miss Barnes?" he asked. From his tone, he wasn't expecting an answer.
"I'm not entirely sure, sir," I answered on a whim. "Maybe she's allergic to logarithms?"
He snorted heavily. "Very funny, Ms Hebert. Now, turn to page fifty-two …"
I was just doing so when I heard the sirens. Police and ambulance both, and coming toward Winslow. Yeah, someone found her. The paramedics wouldn't be able to do anything except give her a speedy ride to the hospital, where an actual doctor would be able to use his vast expertise to pronounce her dead on arrival.
I'd know in the next hour or so whether I'd need to start a new path: kill the investigation. For the moment, I was reasonably sure I was in the clear. And in fact, Sophia's status as a Ward was likely to work for me as opposed to against me. I wouldn't be surprised if the PRT went all-in on this being a murder by a villain who snuck into the school to get to Shadow Stalker, as opposed to a grudge match gone fatally wrong.
And then there were the other people inside Winslow who might have wanted to fuck her shit up even more than I did; the teenagers who held views supportive of the Empire Eighty-Eight. Nobody wore gang colours in the school itself, and the only recruiting was by the ABB (for a very enthusiastic definition of 'recruiting'), but they were around. Sophia hadn't spread the word that she was looking to relocate my teeth in several different directions, so theoretically they could've done it.
They hadn't, of course. I did say 'theoretically'.
When the end of the math period came (Mr Quinlan stayed with us the whole time, by a miracle) an announcement came across the decrepit PA system, to the effect that those of us who had been in the following classrooms at the approximate time of death had to stay behind to talk to the police. One of the classrooms listed was the art classroom; I had been there, of course.
As can be imagined, this caused a roar and a ruckus. About half of us in the classroom had been in the art class or another nearby room. Even though none of them had done this, nobody wanted to be kept back late to talk to the boys in blue.
"Class, class!" Mr Quinlan called out patting the air with his hands. "The police will not be questioning you here and now! They are here to make appointments to take your statements. As soon as you've made that appointment, you can leave."
Someone else put their hand up, saving me the trouble of doing it myself. "But why are they here? What were those sirens about?"
He knew, of course. I'd seen him taking a surreptitious phone call. "Someone has died on school property," he prevaricated. "There may be suspicious circumstances involved."
Damn right there were suspicious circumstances involved. She'd literally been beaten to death; that was about as suspicious as it came. But I said not a word. Meek and mild Taylor Hebert, that was me.
Ironically—I'd detoured between my classes to double-check this—the best evidence of my guilt had been erased without me having to raise a finger. Because of Emma's complaint to Principal Blackwell about her locker being damaged, all three lockers had been repaired, and the horrific mess in mine had been cleaned up, before the police ever arrived. It seemed there were unexpected benefits in attending a school where 'sweeping things under the rug' was raised to the level of an Olympic event.
The three wise monkeys had nothing on Winslow.
Leaning back in my seat, I prepared to wait. I hadn't thought to get that book about Caesar out of the library, but I was perfectly fine with killing time.
PRT ENE
Director's Office
Director Piggot
"What the fuck."
It wasn't a question so much as a statement. Emily breathed it soft and low, as she read through the preliminary report. The death of a Protectorate member under her command would be bad enough to generate a metric ton of paperwork. However, the death of a Ward, out of costume, on the first day of school, was nothing less than a genuine catastrophe.
It wasn't that she'd liked the Hess girl. In fact, on the few times they'd interacted, they hadn't gotten along at all. Shadow Stalker was—had been—an arrogant, cocksure little shit, almost certainly suffering (or making her superiors suffer) from an undiagnosed case of oppositional defiant disorder, making life unpleasant for all around them. But the fact remained that Hess had been (whatever her flaws) a Ward. And part of Emily's unofficial training was the truism that nobody got left behind.
It didn't matter that no witnesses had come forward yet to provide a suspect for Stalker's premature death. There had to be at least one, or maybe two or three. This was the number of people currently suspected to have had a hand in it. She had been a seasoned combatant (albeit a bit raw in her style) and if there'd been any fewer than three up against her, she had to have left marks on one of them.
Armsmaster was already on the case, apparently. His analysis equipment was the best in the state, so she had faith that the man would be able to nail down exactly which villain in Brockton Bay could have infiltrated Winslow and beaten Stalker to death. Or maybe a bunch of the older boys had been bribed to corner her in that room, and kick her until she was down.
Whichever it was, Emily knew the truth would come out sooner or later. Someone would boast, or flash the cash, and the PRT would close in on them. Murder wasn't as easy as it seemed in the movies. Nobody could just kill a fellow human being and be the same afterward. Human nature didn't allow it.
Later
Taylor
I climbed the front steps and unlocked the door with my key. Tossing my backpack onto the sofa, I detoured through the living room into the kitchen, where I snagged a soda from the fridge. "Hey, Dad."
"Taylor." Dad looked around from where he was chopping ingredients for dinner. "I got the phone call to say you'd be staying late at school. What happened?"
I shrugged. "Someone got on the wrong side of someone else, and it got fatal, or so they say. The police want to talk to everyone who was on that side of the school when it happened, to see if we saw anything." I rolled my eyes. "So now I've got an appointment at the police station. Yay me."
He picked up the cutting board and swept the contents into a bowl. "Still, it's your civic duty." He raised his head and gave me a serious look. "Are you okay?"
"Me?" I gave him a grin as I popped the soda and headed back into the living room. TV awaited, and I wanted to see if Sophia had made the news. "Never better."
End of Part Two
Relevant Side Story
Part Two: Win Stupid Prizes
[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
Sophia
She heard the broken, jagged sobbing before she saw Emma. That should've prepared her, but it didn't. When she pushed open the bathroom stall and saw the redhead hunched over the toilet, she knew it was bad. But when Emma turned her head and Sophia saw her blotched features and swollen eyes, the snot and vomit hanging in unsightly strings from her nose and mouth, that was when she understood just how bad it was.
"Jesus fuck, Emma." She tugged her friend away from the toilet and helped her to her feet. "What the fuck happened? Did she beat you up?" Any other day, there would've been no question of even suspecting Hebert of being able to give Emma a proper tuning up. But there was something about Hebert's new attitude, not to mention the ease with which she'd evaded Sophia's punch earlier, that raised questions.
Had something happened to Hebert over the Christmas break? Did she trigger with powers and join the Wards when I wasn't looking? It might explain her new physical capabilities, and the knowledge of what to say about Piggot. The other Wards had unmasked to her … but she'd never given permission to pass that knowledge on to anyone else. Least of all fucking Hebert.
No, there were too many holes in the story. Hebert was too much of a wimp to get powers, and Sophia had been in to the PRT building over Christmas. There'd been no announcement of a new Ward, and nothing new on the bulletin board except Vista's cutesy little cut-out snowflakes.
"No," mumbled Emma. "She knows 'bout the alley. About the ABB." At Sophia's urging, she began to splash water on her face, washing away the worst of the muck. "She threw it in my face. Told me I was weak." Her face twisted, and it looked like she was going to cry again.
"You're not weak," Sophia snapped, grabbing her by the shoulders and literally shaking her. "You're strong, dammit. A survivor. Like me."
The bathroom door banged open and Sophia tensed, turning that way. If this was Hebert coming back to pull more voodoo bullshit on Emma—seriously, she looked like she'd been run over by an eighteen-wheeler—then there would be words spoken. By 'words' she meant 'punches', and by 'spoken' she meant 'thrown'.
But it was only Madison, though she looked almost as rattled as Emma. Leaning against the wall, she fought for breath, her face chalk-white under her makeup.
"What happened to you?" demanded Sophia. "Where were you when Hebert was getting into Emma's head?"
"I was … I was right there," Madison wheezed. "When Emma ran away, I con-confronted Taylor." She drew in a shaky breath and looked like she was going to cry. "Oh, god. I shouldn't have."
"The fuck?" Sophia shook her head and glared at them both. "Did she pull some woo-woo bullshit out of your past as well, to fuck with your head?"
"No. No. No, no, she didn't." Madison shook her head. "She just … gave me a warning. A warning to give to everyone. You, me, Emma, everyone. We're on our last chance. If we keep going the way we are, she'll kill us."
Sophia stared at her, then burst out laughing. "Oh, bullshit. You actually bought that, from her? The little queef is bluffing. You know it, I know it, Emma knows it. What'd she do, wave a plastic knife or something at you?"
Madison shook her head again. "No, but she hit me right about here so I could hardly breathe, then told me that she could've hit me just a bit harder so I'd suffocate, all while she was eating her lunch. Like it didn't matter to her if I lived or died. Then she hit me again so I could breathe properly, and said something about how we're on our second strike. Third strike, we're out."
It all came out at once, the words tumbling over themselves. By the time Madison squeaked the last word out, she was breathless. She stared at Sophia, as though silently asking for assistance.
"What the hell is wrong with you two?" Sophia shook her head. "You're better than this. Smarter. Tougher. Hebert couldn't push you around like this on her best day." Again, she had a moment of doubt. Something was wrong if Emma and Madison couldn't keep Hebert in her place.
Once more, she shook the feeling off. They'd been easing off on Hebert, prepping for the locker prank, and she'd managed to grow a semblance of a spine over Christmas. That's gotta be it.
Hebert didn't get to stand up for herself. She didn't deserve it. As far as Sophia was concerned, Hebert's correct place was at the bottom of the pecking order, far away from anyone who actually mattered.
Sophia didn't even consider the busted-open lockers to be a problem. Winslow lockers were shit, and everyone knew it. As for the Miss Piggy reference … I must have misheard her, that's all. She's not a Ward.
Which made it even more irritating. She'd had the perfect opportunity to smack that irritating expression across to the other side of Hebert's face, and she'd missed out. That was an oversight she was going to have to remedy, right the fuck now.
"Madison, take care of Emma," she said briskly. "I'm going to go find Hebert, and explain to her why she doesn't pull this shit."
"What? No!" Madison grabbed at Sophia's sleeve as she passed by. "I just told you! She said she'd kill us if we messed with her again!"
Brushing Madison's grasp away, Sophia pushed her back against the wall, an arm across her throat. "I wasn't asking," she growled. "And if she tries that three-strikes bullshit on me, she'll be dead for real. Now take care of Emma."
Feeling even more aggravated by the exchange—where did Madison get off, trying to tell her what to do?—she opened the bathroom door and headed out.
When she found Hebert, there was going to be hell to pay.
<><>
Taylor
Following my lunch and the little chat I'd had with Madison, I went to the library and settled down for a restful time-out with a book about the life of Caesar that I'd been meaning to read. Life had been simpler back then, I decided. Of course, it had been usually shorter and more disease-ridden, so that was a distinct downside. But being able to stab someone who was getting on your nerves had to solve a lot of problems.
I'd read somewhere that the Romans had changed up the traditional handshake to a forearm clasp so as to be able to tell if their political rivals were carrying knives strapped to their wrists. Of course, the Romans had also been the ones to give the phrase 'political backstabbing' a whole new level of meaning.
I'd only spent five minutes out of the thirty I'd allotted myself when I became aware that Sophia was looking for me with the specific intent to do me harm. Mentally, I apologised to my power for the previous sarcasm; it seemed that aspect could be useful after all. She wasn't quite as unintelligent as I'd sometimes wondered, because the library was the third place she looked into on her search.
Of course, I knew she was coming and decided to kill her chances of finding me. So, as she walked in through the main doors, I climbed out of the beanbag I'd been lying in and took a meandering path through the library. This just happened to coincide with Sophia's, in that whenever she looked in my direction, I was just out of her line of sight. Looking more frustrated than ever, she left the library; I shrugged and went back to my beanbag.
Even after searching most of the school (including all of the girls' bathrooms, twice) and not finding me, she hadn't given up. My sense of her indicated that she was waiting in an empty classroom close to my next class, which was art. Her intent to do me harm was stronger than ever. It wasn't long until the bell to start classes again, which meant that I needed to make a choice.
If I wanted to avoid the conflict that was brewing, I could skip the class altogether or simply go a slightly different way to get to the same classroom. Alternatively, I could go straight to where she was, administer a non-lethal object lesson, then go to class anyway. Or … I could just kill her. I was pretty sure she'd been warned.
Unfortunately for her, I didn't feel like letting her dictate a single one of my actions. If she wanted to poke the bear, then what happened next was all on her.
So, I got up from the beanbag and took the book back to the returns slot. On my way out of the library, I took the calculator I'd liberated from Emma's locker out of my new backpack, and slid it up my sleeve. I wasn't sure exactly why I'd done that, but it seemed to be the right thing to do.
As I approached the classroom, I checked again. Only Sophia showed up as a hostile, which meant there weren't likely to be any other witnesses in the room. This smelt to me like Sophia intended to deliver an extremely thorough beating, possibly involving broken bones.
That was just fine with me.
It took a certain amount of self-control to allow myself to fall into the trap, but I hadn't yet decided what I wanted to do with Sophia, so I was on my own. Still, it didn't seem to matter; Sophia was the sort of person who never thought of examining the teeth of a gift horse. From the enthusiastic way she hauled me into the room and threw me to the floor (or tried to throw me to the floor) she'd clearly decided that her trap was a masterpiece of Napoleonic genius.
I hit the floor, rolled, and came to my feet again with relative ease. This was one of the things my power had boosted about me. "Hi to you, too," I said.
"Shut up!" she hissed. "What the fuck did you do to Emma and Madison?"
"Told them something they needed to know," I said, slipping my pack off and tossing it to one side. "Did Madison pass on the message to you? 'That's two'?"
She sneered at me. "Yeah, she said you'd grown a backbone. Well, too bad for you. You're going down. And don't even try to fake me out like the last time, or this is going to hurt even more."
"And when I inevitably point you out as the person who beat me up?" I asked mildly.
Her sneer intensified. "There's half a dozen girls who're willing to swear blind I was with them the whole time."
"Well, that's awkward." I didn't say who it was going to be awkward for. "One more time. Just to be sure. You know this is your third strike?"
She stared with astonishment. "Are you threatening me? Are you seriously fucking trying to threaten me right now?"
Fuck, she was dense. "No, I'm telling you that this, right here, is your third strike." There; it was explained.
"You can take your third strike and shove it—" Her form as she moved in to punch me wasn't bad. She'd clearly been in more than one brawl.
I didn't much care. As she swung her fist at me, I took her arm and snapped it at the elbow, then slammed my knee into her ribs so hard that three of them broke. A couple of the shards went through her left lung.
Her eyes opened wide as she expirated a fine mist of blood, then I put a stop to that nonsense with a single knife-hand strike to the throat that collapsed her larynx. A second later, she surprised the hell out of me by turning to a dark swirling fog and lunging for the far wall. Reflexively, I slid the calculator from my sleeve and tossed it through her; she convulsed and fell to the floor, solid again.
Unable to breathe, her lungs filling with blood, she lay on her back and stared up at me as I moved to stand over her. "Shadow Stalker, huh?" I asked rhetorically. "Guess I didn't see that coming. Still, doesn't matter. Strike three is strike three." I lifted my foot above her sternum and brought my heel down hard; at just the right place, with sufficient force, it was enough to stop her heart.
Stopping only to retrieve my backpack and calculator, I left the classroom and went to art class.
<><>
Two Hours Later
Math Class
Emma
There was something seriously, seriously wrong. With Madison's help, Emma had repaired her makeup and gone on to class, but she hadn't gotten any answers back from her discreet texts to Sophia. Not that she was stupid enough to ask straight-out 'did you beat up Taylor yet' but usually it worked well enough to say something like, 'so how'd it go?'.
But there was nothing. She'd sent a test message to Madison to make sure her phone was working right and hadn't gotten water in it, but there was no problem there. It was just that … Sophia wasn't answering.
And then she came to Math class with Mr Quinlan, and there was Taylor, not a hair out of place. Admittedly, Emma didn't know what Sophia been planning on doing, but at the very least she would've repossessed her property. Yet, there sat Taylor, wearing Sophia's jeans and sneakers, and with the stolen backpack beside her desk.
As bizarre as it sounded, it seemed that Sophia had totally failed to catch up with Taylor, even knowing what her class schedule was. So Emma did what any good friend would do. Pulling out her phone, she sent a text. 'hey if youre still looking 4 T shes in math'.
No novice at classroom texting, Emma had given no outward sign of sending the message. Her phone keyboard was silent, and she could thumb-type with the best of them. But still, just after the message was sent, Taylor turned in her seat and gave Emma a raised eyebrow. Deliberately, she put a strand of hair in her mouth and pretended to chew on it.
Abruptly, Emma recalled the alley, remembered lying on stained asphalt, at the mercy of the girl wearing her jacket. The handful of hair that had been brutally cut off with the knife was shoved into her mouth. Eat it, then pick.
Taylor's face loomed large in her memory. You'll never really escape the alley. You were weak then and you're even weaker now.
It had taken her months to get over having hysterics at home when she found a hair in her food. And now, Taylor was bringing it all back again.
Jumping up from her seat, she clamped her hand across her mouth to hold in the upcoming eruption, and bolted from the room. Quinlan may have called her name as the door was swinging shut behind her, but she didn't care.
<><>
Taylor
I still wasn't sure what that was about, but it was certainly effective. Innocently, I looked around as Mr Quinlan called Emma's name. She didn't come back.
"Does anyone know what's going on with Miss Barnes?" he asked. From his tone, he wasn't expecting an answer.
"I'm not entirely sure, sir," I answered on a whim. "Maybe she's allergic to logarithms?"
He snorted heavily. "Very funny, Ms Hebert. Now, turn to page fifty-two …"
I was just doing so when I heard the sirens. Police and ambulance both, and coming toward Winslow. Yeah, someone found her. The paramedics wouldn't be able to do anything except give her a speedy ride to the hospital, where an actual doctor would be able to use his vast expertise to pronounce her dead on arrival.
I'd know in the next hour or so whether I'd need to start a new path: kill the investigation. For the moment, I was reasonably sure I was in the clear. And in fact, Sophia's status as a Ward was likely to work for me as opposed to against me. I wouldn't be surprised if the PRT went all-in on this being a murder by a villain who snuck into the school to get to Shadow Stalker, as opposed to a grudge match gone fatally wrong.
And then there were the other people inside Winslow who might have wanted to fuck her shit up even more than I did; the teenagers who held views supportive of the Empire Eighty-Eight. Nobody wore gang colours in the school itself, and the only recruiting was by the ABB (for a very enthusiastic definition of 'recruiting'), but they were around. Sophia hadn't spread the word that she was looking to relocate my teeth in several different directions, so theoretically they could've done it.
They hadn't, of course. I did say 'theoretically'.
When the end of the math period came (Mr Quinlan stayed with us the whole time, by a miracle) an announcement came across the decrepit PA system, to the effect that those of us who had been in the following classrooms at the approximate time of death had to stay behind to talk to the police. One of the classrooms listed was the art classroom; I had been there, of course.
As can be imagined, this caused a roar and a ruckus. About half of us in the classroom had been in the art class or another nearby room. Even though none of them had done this, nobody wanted to be kept back late to talk to the boys in blue.
"Class, class!" Mr Quinlan called out patting the air with his hands. "The police will not be questioning you here and now! They are here to make appointments to take your statements. As soon as you've made that appointment, you can leave."
Someone else put their hand up, saving me the trouble of doing it myself. "But why are they here? What were those sirens about?"
He knew, of course. I'd seen him taking a surreptitious phone call. "Someone has died on school property," he prevaricated. "There may be suspicious circumstances involved."
Damn right there were suspicious circumstances involved. She'd literally been beaten to death; that was about as suspicious as it came. But I said not a word. Meek and mild Taylor Hebert, that was me.
Ironically—I'd detoured between my classes to double-check this—the best evidence of my guilt had been erased without me having to raise a finger. Because of Emma's complaint to Principal Blackwell about her locker being damaged, all three lockers had been repaired, and the horrific mess in mine had been cleaned up, before the police ever arrived. It seemed there were unexpected benefits in attending a school where 'sweeping things under the rug' was raised to the level of an Olympic event.
The three wise monkeys had nothing on Winslow.
Leaning back in my seat, I prepared to wait. I hadn't thought to get that book about Caesar out of the library, but I was perfectly fine with killing time.
<><>
PRT ENE
Director's Office
Director Piggot
"What the fuck."
It wasn't a question so much as a statement. Emily breathed it soft and low, as she read through the preliminary report. The death of a Protectorate member under her command would be bad enough to generate a metric ton of paperwork. However, the death of a Ward, out of costume, on the first day of school, was nothing less than a genuine catastrophe.
It wasn't that she'd liked the Hess girl. In fact, on the few times they'd interacted, they hadn't gotten along at all. Shadow Stalker was—had been—an arrogant, cocksure little shit, almost certainly suffering (or making her superiors suffer) from an undiagnosed case of oppositional defiant disorder, making life unpleasant for all around them. But the fact remained that Hess had been (whatever her flaws) a Ward. And part of Emily's unofficial training was the truism that nobody got left behind.
It didn't matter that no witnesses had come forward yet to provide a suspect for Stalker's premature death. There had to be at least one, or maybe two or three. This was the number of people currently suspected to have had a hand in it. She had been a seasoned combatant (albeit a bit raw in her style) and if there'd been any fewer than three up against her, she had to have left marks on one of them.
Armsmaster was already on the case, apparently. His analysis equipment was the best in the state, so she had faith that the man would be able to nail down exactly which villain in Brockton Bay could have infiltrated Winslow and beaten Stalker to death. Or maybe a bunch of the older boys had been bribed to corner her in that room, and kick her until she was down.
Whichever it was, Emily knew the truth would come out sooner or later. Someone would boast, or flash the cash, and the PRT would close in on them. Murder wasn't as easy as it seemed in the movies. Nobody could just kill a fellow human being and be the same afterward. Human nature didn't allow it.
<><>
Later
Taylor
I climbed the front steps and unlocked the door with my key. Tossing my backpack onto the sofa, I detoured through the living room into the kitchen, where I snagged a soda from the fridge. "Hey, Dad."
"Taylor." Dad looked around from where he was chopping ingredients for dinner. "I got the phone call to say you'd be staying late at school. What happened?"
I shrugged. "Someone got on the wrong side of someone else, and it got fatal, or so they say. The police want to talk to everyone who was on that side of the school when it happened, to see if we saw anything." I rolled my eyes. "So now I've got an appointment at the police station. Yay me."
He picked up the cutting board and swept the contents into a bowl. "Still, it's your civic duty." He raised his head and gave me a serious look. "Are you okay?"
"Me?" I gave him a grin as I popped the soda and headed back into the living room. TV awaited, and I wanted to see if Sophia had made the news. "Never better."
End of Part Two
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Part Three: The Challenge
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A Darker Path
Part Three: The Challenge
[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
Winslow High School
The Scene of the Crime
Armsmaster
Colin ran his multiscanner (he had refused to call it a 'tricorder' despite Dragon making puppy-dog eyes at him over their video link) over the deceased teen before him. "Subject was not moved post-mortem. Stress patterns on cloth, left hand side of body, indicates that a large rounded object, possibly a human knee, was used for impact that shattered ribs. Microfibre deposits on the fabric indicate that the assailant may have been wearing blue jeans, design uncertain. Speed and power of blow suggest that the assailant was conversant with Muay Thai or a similar martial art. The assailant's grasp on subject's broken arm was used to improve accuracy and striking power."
He paused between sweeps and sat back with a sigh. It was important to be impersonal and objective at a time like this, so that all possible information could be utilised to nail the perpetrator to the wall. However, it was hard. For all that he wasn't great at social interaction, he'd worked with Shadow Stalker in the field and she'd shown skill and efficiency in her work. Her death would be a tremendous loss to the team.
"You okay?" asked Battery, who was sitting across the room, fiddling with Stalker's phone. The Wards-issued one, which had also been in Stalker's pocket, had been put aside as being less likely to hold any details pertaining to what had happened here. "Want to take a break?"
"No." He shook his head. "She was one of ours. I'll see this through." He ran the scanner over Shadow Stalker's body again. "No defensive wounds or offensive marks on her hands or arms. No bruising to suggest that she may have been restrained for the beating. No taser marks. A very faint scorch mark on her skin beside her collarbone, of unknown origin and age. Larynx crushed with a single blow, the profile matching a spear-hand strike, as used in several forms of karate and other martial arts styles."
"That can't be easy to do." Battery shook her head. "The finger bones and joints are designed to be flexible. Hit at anything but the perfect angle, and you'll never play the piano again. I've seen it more than once." She tapped the phone screen, and sat up straight. "I think I've got something. Saved texts, pointing to a pattern of bullying someone."
"Bullying?" Colin's head came up. "Is that conclusive or inferred?"
Battery frowned. "Let's see … what r u doing with her bag? … am in art class atm. was thinking i can fill it with paint when teach leaves room. put it in lost&found. her art midterm is inside so she might look for it and find it and be all yay i found it and then she looks inside and sees its fucked. There's more, but is that conclusive enough for you?"
"It certainly doesn't sound good." Colin's lips thinned. "Keep looking, and see if this establishes a pattern or was a one-off." He ran the scanner over Stalker's heart region. "Cloth stress patterns are distinct enough to get a print here. I originally thought she'd been punched in the chest, but it was a kick. Or a downward stamping motion, after she was on the floor."
"And that's what stopped her heart?" asked Battery, still scrolling through the phone. "I always thought that sort of thing was a martial arts myth, along with the nose bone going into the brain."
"I've looked it up," Colin replied. "It's possible, but you have to be either exceedingly good or lucky—or extremely unlucky, depending on your intentions—and deliver the strike just when the heart is at a vulnerable point in its beating cycle."
Battery lifted her eyes from the phone and stared at him. "You have to gauge their heartbeat? I'm going with 'lucky'."
"Or a cape," Colin reminded her. "All the evidence points the same way. This has to be a parahuman."
"Several things wrong with that scenario, boss-man." Battery leaned back in her seat, the phone temporarily forgotten. "There's no indication that any of the capes in the city, even the Empire Eighty-Eight ones, knew who Stalker was. And even if they did, killing her in the middle of the school just added needless difficulty for them. They could've literally just stabbed her in the street and pretended it was a mugging gone wrong. And then there's the other thing."
"Other thing?" Colin frowned. He didn't like missing details. "Such as?"
"This room." Battery gestured at the classroom. "Your scanner already picked up that she was alone in here for a little time before she was killed, right?"
"Yes." Colin wasn't sure where she was going with this. "So …?"
"So, nobody sits alone in an empty classroom unless they're reading a book or playing on their phone or doing something to pass the time. Unless she was waiting for someone. And that someone, when they came in, was the person she was waiting for, or she thought they were. Because otherwise, she would've ghosted out of there. Instead, she got close enough to have CQC initiated on her and get her ass beaten like a one-legged piñata."
Colin took a moment to wonder if Battery wasn't picking up some of Assault's more irritating turns of phrase. "Not initiated on her. She initiated it. The broken elbow, that came from a punch that was redirected and the joint over-extended. Whoever killed her, she thought she could beat them. She couldn't have been more wrong."
"Okay …" mused Battery. "So, how's this for a sequence of events. Someone passes word that a mutual friend wants to meet her here. She comes and waits. A cape with a Stranger ability, pretending to be that friend, comes in. They talk and either she twigs that it's not them, or they deliberately rile her up. Combat Thinker bullshit martial arts ensues, they somehow manage to prevent her from ghosting away and she dies of a punctured lung, a crushed larynx and a stopped heart."
Tilting his head, Colin considered the scenario as laid out by his subordinate. "It fits the facts at hand, certainly. Now all we need is a motive for this Thinker-Stranger martial artist to want to murder her at all, much less inside a school. Was there anything more on the phone?"
"Funny you should ask that," Battery said. "From what I can see, this has been going on for at least a year. No name for the victim or victims, just 'H'. Oh, and I've gotten several pings on the phone since we got here. Most of them are from her friends asking where she is, but this one here says that if Stalker's looking for 'T' she's in math class." She paused, looking pensive. "You know … bullying has always been a reliable motive for wanting to kill someone."
"So you're thinking this 'T' or this 'H' could have something to do with Stalker's death? Maybe hired an outside cape with a Stranger ability and sneaked them into Winslow?" Colin massaged his beard with thumb and forefinger. "I'm still blanking on why they'd choose to do it in the middle of a school."
Battery snapped her fingers. "Because this way you have several advantages that you don't elsewhere. One, you can reliably have her go of her own accord to a location of your choosing, where there are no witnesses. Two, she'll be off-guard. In school, she'll be thinking 'Sophia Hess', not 'Shadow Stalker'. Three, there's no cops, security guards or working CCTV. Four, if she and her little friends have been getting away with bullying people for so long, it's a sure bet that the staff just don't care. Nobody pays attention. And five … well, out there on the street, she wasn't the biggest fish, not by a long shot. In here, she was. This was her territory, or so she thought."
"Valid points, certainly," he agreed. "I just can't help wondering if there isn't something we're missing. The vital clue, as they say in detective stories."
She snorted indelicately. "You and I both know real life isn't as convenient as that. But I do think this bullying is a strong lead. Especially as it's her co-offenders who've been trying to text her. I'm thinking we can get a warrant for their names and addresses, and have a little chat with them."
"That is the next obvious step, yes," Colin agreed absently, leaning over to peer at the soles of Shadow Stalker's shoes. "Hmm. That's interesting."
"What's interesting?" asked Battery. "Did she tag the perp after all?"
"No." Colin tapped the controls of the scanner. "I just compared tread patterns, and Stalker is wearing an identical type of shoe to the perp. Same size, too."
"Really?" Battery sat up again. "Hey, just on a wild hunch. How tall's the perp?"
Colin allowed himself a smile. His scanner was already calibrated for measuring that sort of thing, from the angle of the blows. "I make it five ten, plus or minus half an inch. Why?"
By now, Battery was standing. "And Stalker's about the same height, yeah?"
"Almost exactly, yes. Why ..." Light dawned. "You think the Stranger became Stalker?"
"It's a possibility. Now, those microfibers you found, would they be a match for her jeans?" She pointed at the skinny jeans Stalker was wearing.
Colin barely had to check. "Almost identical. Down to the same brands of detergent and fabric conditioner." He shook his head. "That can't be a coincidence."
Battery nodded. "Okay, so the word was passed, Stalker came here to wait, and the Stranger showed up. Then they morphed into Stalker, which would almost certainly have goaded her to attack."
That made sense. Shadow Stalker had always had an intense prideful streak. "It's probably the only way they could guarantee she wouldn't cut and run if faced with a shapeshifting cape."
"Very true." She pinched her lower lip in thought. "The question is, who? The Empire Eighty-Eight's got a bunch of strong melee combatants plus one hell of a motive, and Uber could make himself skilled enough to do this, except that there's not a Stranger rating between them, and I strongly doubt Cricket could pass herself off as being school-age, even with all of Victor's makeup skills at her disposal."
"No, but Leet could probably build a device that let Uber become a teenage girl." Colin shook his head. "Still, we should rule out Uber and Leet for this. No video game link, and they've never murdered anyone before."
"The Empire, on the other hand, would totally do this, but how? Unless they made a deal with Leet for his hypothetical Changer device?" Battery's tone showed she wasn't being entirely serious.
And that was when Colin had the inspiration. "Not Leet. But Othala can grant powers."
He couldn't see her expression, but her voice gave the impression of a frown. "Not Changer or Stranger abilities."
"That. We. Know. Of." He emphasized every word. "Sure, they let us know about the invincibility, the flight, the superspeed, the regeneration and the pyrokinesis. That's all combat-useful, and it doesn't hurt to let us wonder what power Victor's got today. But if they kept a Changer or Stranger ability under wraps, that lets them do recon and espionage without ever being suspected of being able to do it …"
Battery nodded. "It all fits together. If anyone can kill that fast and efficiently, it would be Victor or Cricket. And once they were done, they changed to look like another student and walked out of the school."
"Cricket," Colin decided. "Her ultrasonic attack would be ideal for stunning Stalker long enough to get the lethal blows in, and I suspect she would be able to detect a heartbeat precisely enough to time her kick down to the instant."
Slowly, Battery sat down again. "So, it's just the Empire Eighty-Eight being douchebag Nazis again," she concluded. "And I was certain it was about the bullying. It was such an understandable motive."
"I'd keep checking into it, if I were you," Colin advised her. "It might still play a part."
"Just not as an important one as I thought." Battery wrinkled her nose. "But I know one thing for certain."
"What's that?" asked Colin, beginning to pack away his equipment.
"The Director's not going to be happy with this, no matter who turns out to be responsible."
He nodded thoughtfully. "Very true."
Boardwalk
Madison
They sat together at one of the small tables that dotted the Boardwalk as the sun lowered toward the western hills. Emma clutched her chocolate shake so hard with both hands that if the surface had shown any more liquid, it would've been rippling from the shudders that passed through her from time to time. Madison had never seen her so thoroughly rattled, though she had an idea how Emma felt.
"Sophia's dead." Emma spoke the words quietly, her teeth chattering on the last word as she shuddered again.
Madison felt her throat close up over the words. She forced herself to swallow her mouthful of iced coffee shake; if she spat it out, she was afraid she'd puke. "Y-yeah," she whispered, knowing she had to face reality eventually. Nobody had said Sophia was the person who had died, but someone was dead, and she wasn't answering any of her texts. And of course, she'd been going to confront Taylor. "I told her not to go. I told her. You saw me."
"You told her," Emma agreed. She raised red-rimmed eyes to look at Madison. "You really think Taylor would kill her? That she could?"
"Taylor hates her." Madison had been doing a lot of very uncomfortable thinking on the bus from Winslow. "Hated. Like she hates us. If she could have, she would have. And I'm damn sure she could. You didn't see the look in her eyes when she was sitting there eating lunch. Not giving a damn that I was hardly able to breathe."
"So what do we do now?" whimpered Emma. "Sophia was tougher than any of us, and she was a cape. If Taylor could kill her, she could murder you or me in her sleep. In our sleep."
Looking at the frazzled mess that Emma had become, Madison suspected Taylor wouldn't have to raise a hand. Just shouting 'boo!' at the right moment would probably give Emma a heart attack.
"We do nothing," she said, trying to sound like she knew what she was talking about. "We're alive, right? That's because we didn't go with Sophia. Because we didn't go after Taylor again. She told me that's two, right? If we step over the line one more time, we're dead. All we have to do is never step over the line."
Emma looked over her shoulder convulsively, the movement a whole-body twitch. "Wh-what if she's just playing with us? Waiting 'til our guard's down? And then one day, we turn around—"
"No." Madison grabbed her friend's wrist. "Stop. Listen to me." She waited until Emma was looking at her. "Are you listening?"
Emma took a couple of ragged breaths, then two more. "Okay, I'm listening."
"Good." Madison leaned over the table slightly, so that she could slide her hand around the back of Emma's head, her fingers entwined in Emma's hair, then looked Emma straight in the eyes. "Taylor doesn't 'play'. She doesn't draw it out. If she wanted us dead, we'd be lying in the morgue alongside Sophia. So the only way we're going to survive this massive clusterfuck we've managed to turn our lives into is never be a threat to Taylor Hebert, ever again. Think you can manage that?"
There was a twitch as Emma tried to turn her head away. Madison didn't let her. Too much depended on this.
Finally, Emma nodded. "Y-yeah. I can do that. I can. Leave it with me."
"Excellent." Madison drew a deep breath and let it out again, feeling her heart rate decrease slightly. Letting go of Emma's head, she sat back into her chair.
"Um." Emma began to look agitated again. "Cops. They're gonna want statements. What do we say?"
Jesus, why ask me? "Uh, we tell the truth. Except if they ask if we think Taylor did it. Then we say no way, she wouldn't hurt a fly. Okay? Got it?"
It was the right answer. "Got it," Emma replied. "She wouldn't hurt a fly."
"Perfect." Madison tried to think about the next step. "And right now, we've got to pass the word, to everyone. Julia, Stacey, their friends, anyone who ever helped us with a prank. Taylor's off limits. Hopefully, we can get the message out in time to save their lives."
"Okay, right." Emma pulled her phone out, then stopped. "But … but what do we say? We can't just tell them 'Sophia's dead, don't be next'. They might decide to tell the cops. Worse, Taylor might think we said to call the cops."
"Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck." Madison bit the words off as she tried to think. "Okay, tell them … because the cops are all over the school right now, we're gonna back off on Taylor. Keep our heads down. Hopefully by the time the heat dies down, they'll have forgotten about her."
"Yeah-yeah. Good id-idea." Emma bit her lip as she started texting.
Madison got her own phone out and opened a text to Julia. 'Hey, just so u kno, with the shit goin on rite now, we're steppin back with T. No sense attractin attention. Let every1 kno, ok?'
She really, really hoped this would work.
That Evening
Taylor
I didn't want a costume, not really, but I knew at some point I'd probably need one. Mainly because at some point I was going to be in public with the need to get some asshole to step out of my way, and I'd require a good costume to get their attention and a good name to keep it. A lot of the Paths I was considering were going to be a fuck-ton easier to complete if I had a costume and a name.
Okay, power, I get it. You want to show off. Fine, I'll do it.
I already knew what name I was going to go with. An education that included the classics had not gone wasted. All I needed was a matching costume. It would be edgy as fuck but then again, I had the power to murder anyone who pissed me off. The only way I could get any edgier would be to include the words 'blood' or 'stryke' in my name, and add a few dozen pouches and a stupidly-oversized gun.
Not that I had any particular issue with acquiring a stupidly-oversized gun. It would be the ultimate party accessory, for a given definition of 'ultimate', 'party' and 'accessory'.
However, I'd have to wait until later to get one. Right now, I needed to acquire the costume and set the scene for my grand entrance into the Brockton Bay crime scene. The trouble was, I couldn't just ask for a path to 'end my lack of a cool costume'. My power apparently didn't work that way. It wasn't there just for me to get stuff. I'd have to work for it.
Translation: someone would have to die.
Fortunately, I was just fine with that, especially since the suggested target was already someone who desperately needed it.
Following the directions of my power, I dressed carefully; gray hoodie, black jacket over the top. I kept Sophia's skinny jeans and sneakers on, though. She might be gone, but her stuff could still go out and do more good than she ever had. As a final touch, I tied a gray bandanna around my neck, that could be pulled up in a pinch to act as a mask.
Dad was snoring gently as I walked past his bedroom door, my feet somehow hitting every non-creaking floorboard. Downstairs I went, then through the entrance hall and kitchen to the basement. I didn't need to turn the light on, because I knew exactly what I wanted and where it was. Dad's big toolbox held roughly one metric ton of tools, but I just needed two of them; a flat-head screwdriver and a pipe wrench. Armed with these, I snuck out of the house.
I bypassed three separate cars parked on the side of the road until my power directed me to one in a side-street. The screwdriver popped the door open like a magic trick; when I got inside, I discovered why I'd been nudged toward that one. The spare keys were in the centre console, under a scrunched-up tissue, which made it possible to start the car without needing to hotwire it.
Not that I had any idea how to hotwire a car, but I was pretty sure my power did. However, hiding the fact that the car had been hotwired was a lot harder than just using the keys and putting the car back afterward. What do you know; my power was capable of subtlety.
I didn't know how to drive a car, but I studied my hand and foot movements as I cruised through the darkened streets of Brockton Bay. It was what I suspected actors went through when they watched themselves pulling stunts on the big screen. Kind of like an out of body experience, but not really.
When the car finally pulled up on a side street, I wasn't certain where my power had taken me, but I had an idea. The two guys wearing red and green gang colours, and the one in the brightly painted demon mask, kind of spelled it out to me. I was in ABB territory, and that was Oni Lee.
Well, I'd already known who I was here to kill. This just verified it.
It seemed to be a late-night shopping area, with venues open up and down the block. The one Oni Lee and his followers were loitering outside was a dressmaker, I guessed. Something to do with making clothes, anyway. Still, not my problem.
I got out of the car and strolled toward the trio, the handle of the pipe-wrench cold against my arm. I knew I could let it slide down and bring it into action in less than a second, but until then, I was a harmless teenager. Even my body language was all about 'ignore me, I don't matter'.
Invisibility: it's an art, not a super-power.
Even so, I only got within about three yards before they finally took notice of me. That was fine; three yards was plenty close enough. One of the enforcers took a step toward me. "Back off, bitch," he ordered.
End this interference.
The pipe wrench slid down into my hand, and I laid it across the side of his head. He was already unconscious when he hit the ground.
The other ABB mook was still gaping when I threw the pipe-wrench. It smacked him in the forehead and sent him over backward.
Interference: ended.
Oni Lee was fast, I'll give him that. He was halfway through pulling his pistol when I reached him and kicked him hard in the groin. Then I twitched the pistol from his grip, straight-armed it back behind me, and fired a shot. As the version in front of me crumbled to ash, along with the pistol I was holding, I turned to see the newer one fall over backward with a bullet-hole in the middle of that stupid demon mask.
Bending down, I retrieved the pipe wrench, then straightened and swung it hard enough to break the forearm of the third guy, who'd just come out of the shop. He howled and dropped the knife he'd been trying to stab me with, and I hit him with a backswing that dropped him unconscious on top of Oni Lee's ash.
Pulling the bandanna up over my face, I bent down again and pulled the wad of protection money out of the mook's pocket. Then I pushed the door open and stepped into the shop.
The shop owner was understandably worried. I held out the cash and said something fluently in a language I didn't understand. Or rather, it was the language I didn't understand, but I knew what I'd said. 'The reign of Lung is coming to an end. Here is your money back.'
She stared at me and didn't accept the money, but she did reply to me. My power helpfully provided a translation. 'Without Lung, who will protect us from the Empire Eighty-Eight and the other gangs?'
I smiled under the bandanna. 'They will also be going away.' I offered the money again.
She accepted it, but gave me a look of suspicion. 'And will we be paying you for protection?'
'No,' I said, 'I don't require payment. But I would like a costume, if you could help me out there?'
It was weird, standing there and discussing what I wanted in a language I didn't even speak. In the end, it seemed they had everything I needed; gloves, a broad-brimmed hat, a long-coat and knee-high boots, all in black. Under all this went dark clothing with a black tie over a charcoal-gray vest for that formal look. And, as a final touch, a black morph-suit style mask. It would cover my entire head, with a hole at the back to pull my hair out through. I'd be able to see and breathe through it, but my features would be obscured to anyone trying to make them out.
When I left the shop, the three mooks were still lying there groaning. Conscious now, it seemed, but in a lot of pain. That wasn't my problem. I paused to loot Oni Lee's corpse of his pistol and grenade bandolier—those things could come in so handy—and then went back to the car.
I hummed to myself as I drove back across the city toward home. I'd found myself in an interesting situation. My power wanted to end things and kill people, and I was somewhat inclined to do so myself. And if I wanted something for myself, I had to do it in such a way that I used lethal moves on someone.
On the other hand, I wasn't being forced to kill. As I'd proved with Madison and the mooks, I could pull my blows and not actually deal a killing strike.
Could I have done that with Oni Lee? Possibly, but that would've been a stupid move, mainly because he would've kept trying to kill me thereafter, and I didn't really see a need to keep him alive. So in that aspect, my power and I were in perfect harmony.
When I got back to where I'd stolen the car, no alarm seemed to have been raised. I parked it and locked it up, leaving the keys exactly where I'd found them, and wiping every exposed surface. I wasn't stupid; anyone who watched a crime show knew about fingerprints and stuff like that.
Sneaking back into the house was just as easy as sneaking out had been. Carefully, after re-locking the back door, I snuck upstairs. I was sweaty and tired and needed a shower, but there was one final thing I had to do.
My computer spent its own sweet time booting up while I removed my costume, one piece at a time, and stored it away carefully at the bottom of my closet. Then I sat down and flexed my fingers.
Kill any chance of this being traced.
The next few minutes was a blur of typing and selecting options from menus that I'd never known of before. When I finally got onto the PHO boards, as far as I knew, I was logging in from somewhere right across the city, using an IP address owned by the Medhall corporation. Which was pretty cool, I had to admit.
I'd thought about this on the car ride back home. I had the name picked out, and the costume, but I also needed an introduction. While I was setting up the new account, I went over in my mind exactly what I was going to say. A little bit of research capped it off, and I was ready to roll.
Good evening, Brockton Bay, I announced. I'm a new cape on the scene, but that doesn't mean I'm new to the city. And as anyone who knows the place will admit, it's a shithole.
Who's to blame for this, you ask? Well, that's easy. The gangs. It's literally in their best interests to keep the cops looking the other way and the heroes chasing the small fish so the big fish can keep shitting in the water all day long.
Well, I'm done with accepting that. So, here's what I've got to say. The gangs are no longer welcome in Brockton Bay. It's time for you to leave. The door's thataway.
I am specifically calling out the Empire Eighty-Eight, the Azn Bad Boys, Coil's crew and fuck it, the Merchants, because they sell drugs to schoolkids and that isn't cool either. The other gangs in the city, I do know who you are but you're not on my list yet. You'll keep.
So, the leaders of those gangs I just named: Kaiser, Lung, Coil, Skidmark. You have twenty-four hours to either a) leave town for good or b) surrender to the PRT. In twenty-four hours from midnight tonight, if you haven't all done this, I'm going to kill one of you that hasn't. Just one.
Then I'll start the clock again.
TL: DR – Kaiser, Lung, Coil, Skidmark. GTFO or die.
Oh, and Lung? Yeah, that was me.
Your move.
With a flourish, I typed my chosen cape name.
Atropos.
End of Part Three
Relevant Side Story
Part Three: The Challenge
[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
Winslow High School
The Scene of the Crime
Armsmaster
Colin ran his multiscanner (he had refused to call it a 'tricorder' despite Dragon making puppy-dog eyes at him over their video link) over the deceased teen before him. "Subject was not moved post-mortem. Stress patterns on cloth, left hand side of body, indicates that a large rounded object, possibly a human knee, was used for impact that shattered ribs. Microfibre deposits on the fabric indicate that the assailant may have been wearing blue jeans, design uncertain. Speed and power of blow suggest that the assailant was conversant with Muay Thai or a similar martial art. The assailant's grasp on subject's broken arm was used to improve accuracy and striking power."
He paused between sweeps and sat back with a sigh. It was important to be impersonal and objective at a time like this, so that all possible information could be utilised to nail the perpetrator to the wall. However, it was hard. For all that he wasn't great at social interaction, he'd worked with Shadow Stalker in the field and she'd shown skill and efficiency in her work. Her death would be a tremendous loss to the team.
"You okay?" asked Battery, who was sitting across the room, fiddling with Stalker's phone. The Wards-issued one, which had also been in Stalker's pocket, had been put aside as being less likely to hold any details pertaining to what had happened here. "Want to take a break?"
"No." He shook his head. "She was one of ours. I'll see this through." He ran the scanner over Shadow Stalker's body again. "No defensive wounds or offensive marks on her hands or arms. No bruising to suggest that she may have been restrained for the beating. No taser marks. A very faint scorch mark on her skin beside her collarbone, of unknown origin and age. Larynx crushed with a single blow, the profile matching a spear-hand strike, as used in several forms of karate and other martial arts styles."
"That can't be easy to do." Battery shook her head. "The finger bones and joints are designed to be flexible. Hit at anything but the perfect angle, and you'll never play the piano again. I've seen it more than once." She tapped the phone screen, and sat up straight. "I think I've got something. Saved texts, pointing to a pattern of bullying someone."
"Bullying?" Colin's head came up. "Is that conclusive or inferred?"
Battery frowned. "Let's see … what r u doing with her bag? … am in art class atm. was thinking i can fill it with paint when teach leaves room. put it in lost&found. her art midterm is inside so she might look for it and find it and be all yay i found it and then she looks inside and sees its fucked. There's more, but is that conclusive enough for you?"
"It certainly doesn't sound good." Colin's lips thinned. "Keep looking, and see if this establishes a pattern or was a one-off." He ran the scanner over Stalker's heart region. "Cloth stress patterns are distinct enough to get a print here. I originally thought she'd been punched in the chest, but it was a kick. Or a downward stamping motion, after she was on the floor."
"And that's what stopped her heart?" asked Battery, still scrolling through the phone. "I always thought that sort of thing was a martial arts myth, along with the nose bone going into the brain."
"I've looked it up," Colin replied. "It's possible, but you have to be either exceedingly good or lucky—or extremely unlucky, depending on your intentions—and deliver the strike just when the heart is at a vulnerable point in its beating cycle."
Battery lifted her eyes from the phone and stared at him. "You have to gauge their heartbeat? I'm going with 'lucky'."
"Or a cape," Colin reminded her. "All the evidence points the same way. This has to be a parahuman."
"Several things wrong with that scenario, boss-man." Battery leaned back in her seat, the phone temporarily forgotten. "There's no indication that any of the capes in the city, even the Empire Eighty-Eight ones, knew who Stalker was. And even if they did, killing her in the middle of the school just added needless difficulty for them. They could've literally just stabbed her in the street and pretended it was a mugging gone wrong. And then there's the other thing."
"Other thing?" Colin frowned. He didn't like missing details. "Such as?"
"This room." Battery gestured at the classroom. "Your scanner already picked up that she was alone in here for a little time before she was killed, right?"
"Yes." Colin wasn't sure where she was going with this. "So …?"
"So, nobody sits alone in an empty classroom unless they're reading a book or playing on their phone or doing something to pass the time. Unless she was waiting for someone. And that someone, when they came in, was the person she was waiting for, or she thought they were. Because otherwise, she would've ghosted out of there. Instead, she got close enough to have CQC initiated on her and get her ass beaten like a one-legged piñata."
Colin took a moment to wonder if Battery wasn't picking up some of Assault's more irritating turns of phrase. "Not initiated on her. She initiated it. The broken elbow, that came from a punch that was redirected and the joint over-extended. Whoever killed her, she thought she could beat them. She couldn't have been more wrong."
"Okay …" mused Battery. "So, how's this for a sequence of events. Someone passes word that a mutual friend wants to meet her here. She comes and waits. A cape with a Stranger ability, pretending to be that friend, comes in. They talk and either she twigs that it's not them, or they deliberately rile her up. Combat Thinker bullshit martial arts ensues, they somehow manage to prevent her from ghosting away and she dies of a punctured lung, a crushed larynx and a stopped heart."
Tilting his head, Colin considered the scenario as laid out by his subordinate. "It fits the facts at hand, certainly. Now all we need is a motive for this Thinker-Stranger martial artist to want to murder her at all, much less inside a school. Was there anything more on the phone?"
"Funny you should ask that," Battery said. "From what I can see, this has been going on for at least a year. No name for the victim or victims, just 'H'. Oh, and I've gotten several pings on the phone since we got here. Most of them are from her friends asking where she is, but this one here says that if Stalker's looking for 'T' she's in math class." She paused, looking pensive. "You know … bullying has always been a reliable motive for wanting to kill someone."
"So you're thinking this 'T' or this 'H' could have something to do with Stalker's death? Maybe hired an outside cape with a Stranger ability and sneaked them into Winslow?" Colin massaged his beard with thumb and forefinger. "I'm still blanking on why they'd choose to do it in the middle of a school."
Battery snapped her fingers. "Because this way you have several advantages that you don't elsewhere. One, you can reliably have her go of her own accord to a location of your choosing, where there are no witnesses. Two, she'll be off-guard. In school, she'll be thinking 'Sophia Hess', not 'Shadow Stalker'. Three, there's no cops, security guards or working CCTV. Four, if she and her little friends have been getting away with bullying people for so long, it's a sure bet that the staff just don't care. Nobody pays attention. And five … well, out there on the street, she wasn't the biggest fish, not by a long shot. In here, she was. This was her territory, or so she thought."
"Valid points, certainly," he agreed. "I just can't help wondering if there isn't something we're missing. The vital clue, as they say in detective stories."
She snorted indelicately. "You and I both know real life isn't as convenient as that. But I do think this bullying is a strong lead. Especially as it's her co-offenders who've been trying to text her. I'm thinking we can get a warrant for their names and addresses, and have a little chat with them."
"That is the next obvious step, yes," Colin agreed absently, leaning over to peer at the soles of Shadow Stalker's shoes. "Hmm. That's interesting."
"What's interesting?" asked Battery. "Did she tag the perp after all?"
"No." Colin tapped the controls of the scanner. "I just compared tread patterns, and Stalker is wearing an identical type of shoe to the perp. Same size, too."
"Really?" Battery sat up again. "Hey, just on a wild hunch. How tall's the perp?"
Colin allowed himself a smile. His scanner was already calibrated for measuring that sort of thing, from the angle of the blows. "I make it five ten, plus or minus half an inch. Why?"
By now, Battery was standing. "And Stalker's about the same height, yeah?"
"Almost exactly, yes. Why ..." Light dawned. "You think the Stranger became Stalker?"
"It's a possibility. Now, those microfibers you found, would they be a match for her jeans?" She pointed at the skinny jeans Stalker was wearing.
Colin barely had to check. "Almost identical. Down to the same brands of detergent and fabric conditioner." He shook his head. "That can't be a coincidence."
Battery nodded. "Okay, so the word was passed, Stalker came here to wait, and the Stranger showed up. Then they morphed into Stalker, which would almost certainly have goaded her to attack."
That made sense. Shadow Stalker had always had an intense prideful streak. "It's probably the only way they could guarantee she wouldn't cut and run if faced with a shapeshifting cape."
"Very true." She pinched her lower lip in thought. "The question is, who? The Empire Eighty-Eight's got a bunch of strong melee combatants plus one hell of a motive, and Uber could make himself skilled enough to do this, except that there's not a Stranger rating between them, and I strongly doubt Cricket could pass herself off as being school-age, even with all of Victor's makeup skills at her disposal."
"No, but Leet could probably build a device that let Uber become a teenage girl." Colin shook his head. "Still, we should rule out Uber and Leet for this. No video game link, and they've never murdered anyone before."
"The Empire, on the other hand, would totally do this, but how? Unless they made a deal with Leet for his hypothetical Changer device?" Battery's tone showed she wasn't being entirely serious.
And that was when Colin had the inspiration. "Not Leet. But Othala can grant powers."
He couldn't see her expression, but her voice gave the impression of a frown. "Not Changer or Stranger abilities."
"That. We. Know. Of." He emphasized every word. "Sure, they let us know about the invincibility, the flight, the superspeed, the regeneration and the pyrokinesis. That's all combat-useful, and it doesn't hurt to let us wonder what power Victor's got today. But if they kept a Changer or Stranger ability under wraps, that lets them do recon and espionage without ever being suspected of being able to do it …"
Battery nodded. "It all fits together. If anyone can kill that fast and efficiently, it would be Victor or Cricket. And once they were done, they changed to look like another student and walked out of the school."
"Cricket," Colin decided. "Her ultrasonic attack would be ideal for stunning Stalker long enough to get the lethal blows in, and I suspect she would be able to detect a heartbeat precisely enough to time her kick down to the instant."
Slowly, Battery sat down again. "So, it's just the Empire Eighty-Eight being douchebag Nazis again," she concluded. "And I was certain it was about the bullying. It was such an understandable motive."
"I'd keep checking into it, if I were you," Colin advised her. "It might still play a part."
"Just not as an important one as I thought." Battery wrinkled her nose. "But I know one thing for certain."
"What's that?" asked Colin, beginning to pack away his equipment.
"The Director's not going to be happy with this, no matter who turns out to be responsible."
He nodded thoughtfully. "Very true."
<><>
Boardwalk
Madison
They sat together at one of the small tables that dotted the Boardwalk as the sun lowered toward the western hills. Emma clutched her chocolate shake so hard with both hands that if the surface had shown any more liquid, it would've been rippling from the shudders that passed through her from time to time. Madison had never seen her so thoroughly rattled, though she had an idea how Emma felt.
"Sophia's dead." Emma spoke the words quietly, her teeth chattering on the last word as she shuddered again.
Madison felt her throat close up over the words. She forced herself to swallow her mouthful of iced coffee shake; if she spat it out, she was afraid she'd puke. "Y-yeah," she whispered, knowing she had to face reality eventually. Nobody had said Sophia was the person who had died, but someone was dead, and she wasn't answering any of her texts. And of course, she'd been going to confront Taylor. "I told her not to go. I told her. You saw me."
"You told her," Emma agreed. She raised red-rimmed eyes to look at Madison. "You really think Taylor would kill her? That she could?"
"Taylor hates her." Madison had been doing a lot of very uncomfortable thinking on the bus from Winslow. "Hated. Like she hates us. If she could have, she would have. And I'm damn sure she could. You didn't see the look in her eyes when she was sitting there eating lunch. Not giving a damn that I was hardly able to breathe."
"So what do we do now?" whimpered Emma. "Sophia was tougher than any of us, and she was a cape. If Taylor could kill her, she could murder you or me in her sleep. In our sleep."
Looking at the frazzled mess that Emma had become, Madison suspected Taylor wouldn't have to raise a hand. Just shouting 'boo!' at the right moment would probably give Emma a heart attack.
"We do nothing," she said, trying to sound like she knew what she was talking about. "We're alive, right? That's because we didn't go with Sophia. Because we didn't go after Taylor again. She told me that's two, right? If we step over the line one more time, we're dead. All we have to do is never step over the line."
Emma looked over her shoulder convulsively, the movement a whole-body twitch. "Wh-what if she's just playing with us? Waiting 'til our guard's down? And then one day, we turn around—"
"No." Madison grabbed her friend's wrist. "Stop. Listen to me." She waited until Emma was looking at her. "Are you listening?"
Emma took a couple of ragged breaths, then two more. "Okay, I'm listening."
"Good." Madison leaned over the table slightly, so that she could slide her hand around the back of Emma's head, her fingers entwined in Emma's hair, then looked Emma straight in the eyes. "Taylor doesn't 'play'. She doesn't draw it out. If she wanted us dead, we'd be lying in the morgue alongside Sophia. So the only way we're going to survive this massive clusterfuck we've managed to turn our lives into is never be a threat to Taylor Hebert, ever again. Think you can manage that?"
There was a twitch as Emma tried to turn her head away. Madison didn't let her. Too much depended on this.
Finally, Emma nodded. "Y-yeah. I can do that. I can. Leave it with me."
"Excellent." Madison drew a deep breath and let it out again, feeling her heart rate decrease slightly. Letting go of Emma's head, she sat back into her chair.
"Um." Emma began to look agitated again. "Cops. They're gonna want statements. What do we say?"
Jesus, why ask me? "Uh, we tell the truth. Except if they ask if we think Taylor did it. Then we say no way, she wouldn't hurt a fly. Okay? Got it?"
It was the right answer. "Got it," Emma replied. "She wouldn't hurt a fly."
"Perfect." Madison tried to think about the next step. "And right now, we've got to pass the word, to everyone. Julia, Stacey, their friends, anyone who ever helped us with a prank. Taylor's off limits. Hopefully, we can get the message out in time to save their lives."
"Okay, right." Emma pulled her phone out, then stopped. "But … but what do we say? We can't just tell them 'Sophia's dead, don't be next'. They might decide to tell the cops. Worse, Taylor might think we said to call the cops."
"Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck." Madison bit the words off as she tried to think. "Okay, tell them … because the cops are all over the school right now, we're gonna back off on Taylor. Keep our heads down. Hopefully by the time the heat dies down, they'll have forgotten about her."
"Yeah-yeah. Good id-idea." Emma bit her lip as she started texting.
Madison got her own phone out and opened a text to Julia. 'Hey, just so u kno, with the shit goin on rite now, we're steppin back with T. No sense attractin attention. Let every1 kno, ok?'
She really, really hoped this would work.
<><>
That Evening
Taylor
I didn't want a costume, not really, but I knew at some point I'd probably need one. Mainly because at some point I was going to be in public with the need to get some asshole to step out of my way, and I'd require a good costume to get their attention and a good name to keep it. A lot of the Paths I was considering were going to be a fuck-ton easier to complete if I had a costume and a name.
Okay, power, I get it. You want to show off. Fine, I'll do it.
I already knew what name I was going to go with. An education that included the classics had not gone wasted. All I needed was a matching costume. It would be edgy as fuck but then again, I had the power to murder anyone who pissed me off. The only way I could get any edgier would be to include the words 'blood' or 'stryke' in my name, and add a few dozen pouches and a stupidly-oversized gun.
Not that I had any particular issue with acquiring a stupidly-oversized gun. It would be the ultimate party accessory, for a given definition of 'ultimate', 'party' and 'accessory'.
However, I'd have to wait until later to get one. Right now, I needed to acquire the costume and set the scene for my grand entrance into the Brockton Bay crime scene. The trouble was, I couldn't just ask for a path to 'end my lack of a cool costume'. My power apparently didn't work that way. It wasn't there just for me to get stuff. I'd have to work for it.
Translation: someone would have to die.
Fortunately, I was just fine with that, especially since the suggested target was already someone who desperately needed it.
Following the directions of my power, I dressed carefully; gray hoodie, black jacket over the top. I kept Sophia's skinny jeans and sneakers on, though. She might be gone, but her stuff could still go out and do more good than she ever had. As a final touch, I tied a gray bandanna around my neck, that could be pulled up in a pinch to act as a mask.
Dad was snoring gently as I walked past his bedroom door, my feet somehow hitting every non-creaking floorboard. Downstairs I went, then through the entrance hall and kitchen to the basement. I didn't need to turn the light on, because I knew exactly what I wanted and where it was. Dad's big toolbox held roughly one metric ton of tools, but I just needed two of them; a flat-head screwdriver and a pipe wrench. Armed with these, I snuck out of the house.
I bypassed three separate cars parked on the side of the road until my power directed me to one in a side-street. The screwdriver popped the door open like a magic trick; when I got inside, I discovered why I'd been nudged toward that one. The spare keys were in the centre console, under a scrunched-up tissue, which made it possible to start the car without needing to hotwire it.
Not that I had any idea how to hotwire a car, but I was pretty sure my power did. However, hiding the fact that the car had been hotwired was a lot harder than just using the keys and putting the car back afterward. What do you know; my power was capable of subtlety.
I didn't know how to drive a car, but I studied my hand and foot movements as I cruised through the darkened streets of Brockton Bay. It was what I suspected actors went through when they watched themselves pulling stunts on the big screen. Kind of like an out of body experience, but not really.
When the car finally pulled up on a side street, I wasn't certain where my power had taken me, but I had an idea. The two guys wearing red and green gang colours, and the one in the brightly painted demon mask, kind of spelled it out to me. I was in ABB territory, and that was Oni Lee.
Well, I'd already known who I was here to kill. This just verified it.
It seemed to be a late-night shopping area, with venues open up and down the block. The one Oni Lee and his followers were loitering outside was a dressmaker, I guessed. Something to do with making clothes, anyway. Still, not my problem.
I got out of the car and strolled toward the trio, the handle of the pipe-wrench cold against my arm. I knew I could let it slide down and bring it into action in less than a second, but until then, I was a harmless teenager. Even my body language was all about 'ignore me, I don't matter'.
Invisibility: it's an art, not a super-power.
Even so, I only got within about three yards before they finally took notice of me. That was fine; three yards was plenty close enough. One of the enforcers took a step toward me. "Back off, bitch," he ordered.
End this interference.
The pipe wrench slid down into my hand, and I laid it across the side of his head. He was already unconscious when he hit the ground.
The other ABB mook was still gaping when I threw the pipe-wrench. It smacked him in the forehead and sent him over backward.
Interference: ended.
Oni Lee was fast, I'll give him that. He was halfway through pulling his pistol when I reached him and kicked him hard in the groin. Then I twitched the pistol from his grip, straight-armed it back behind me, and fired a shot. As the version in front of me crumbled to ash, along with the pistol I was holding, I turned to see the newer one fall over backward with a bullet-hole in the middle of that stupid demon mask.
Bending down, I retrieved the pipe wrench, then straightened and swung it hard enough to break the forearm of the third guy, who'd just come out of the shop. He howled and dropped the knife he'd been trying to stab me with, and I hit him with a backswing that dropped him unconscious on top of Oni Lee's ash.
Pulling the bandanna up over my face, I bent down again and pulled the wad of protection money out of the mook's pocket. Then I pushed the door open and stepped into the shop.
The shop owner was understandably worried. I held out the cash and said something fluently in a language I didn't understand. Or rather, it was the language I didn't understand, but I knew what I'd said. 'The reign of Lung is coming to an end. Here is your money back.'
She stared at me and didn't accept the money, but she did reply to me. My power helpfully provided a translation. 'Without Lung, who will protect us from the Empire Eighty-Eight and the other gangs?'
I smiled under the bandanna. 'They will also be going away.' I offered the money again.
She accepted it, but gave me a look of suspicion. 'And will we be paying you for protection?'
'No,' I said, 'I don't require payment. But I would like a costume, if you could help me out there?'
It was weird, standing there and discussing what I wanted in a language I didn't even speak. In the end, it seemed they had everything I needed; gloves, a broad-brimmed hat, a long-coat and knee-high boots, all in black. Under all this went dark clothing with a black tie over a charcoal-gray vest for that formal look. And, as a final touch, a black morph-suit style mask. It would cover my entire head, with a hole at the back to pull my hair out through. I'd be able to see and breathe through it, but my features would be obscured to anyone trying to make them out.
When I left the shop, the three mooks were still lying there groaning. Conscious now, it seemed, but in a lot of pain. That wasn't my problem. I paused to loot Oni Lee's corpse of his pistol and grenade bandolier—those things could come in so handy—and then went back to the car.
I hummed to myself as I drove back across the city toward home. I'd found myself in an interesting situation. My power wanted to end things and kill people, and I was somewhat inclined to do so myself. And if I wanted something for myself, I had to do it in such a way that I used lethal moves on someone.
On the other hand, I wasn't being forced to kill. As I'd proved with Madison and the mooks, I could pull my blows and not actually deal a killing strike.
Could I have done that with Oni Lee? Possibly, but that would've been a stupid move, mainly because he would've kept trying to kill me thereafter, and I didn't really see a need to keep him alive. So in that aspect, my power and I were in perfect harmony.
When I got back to where I'd stolen the car, no alarm seemed to have been raised. I parked it and locked it up, leaving the keys exactly where I'd found them, and wiping every exposed surface. I wasn't stupid; anyone who watched a crime show knew about fingerprints and stuff like that.
Sneaking back into the house was just as easy as sneaking out had been. Carefully, after re-locking the back door, I snuck upstairs. I was sweaty and tired and needed a shower, but there was one final thing I had to do.
My computer spent its own sweet time booting up while I removed my costume, one piece at a time, and stored it away carefully at the bottom of my closet. Then I sat down and flexed my fingers.
Kill any chance of this being traced.
The next few minutes was a blur of typing and selecting options from menus that I'd never known of before. When I finally got onto the PHO boards, as far as I knew, I was logging in from somewhere right across the city, using an IP address owned by the Medhall corporation. Which was pretty cool, I had to admit.
I'd thought about this on the car ride back home. I had the name picked out, and the costume, but I also needed an introduction. While I was setting up the new account, I went over in my mind exactly what I was going to say. A little bit of research capped it off, and I was ready to roll.
Good evening, Brockton Bay, I announced. I'm a new cape on the scene, but that doesn't mean I'm new to the city. And as anyone who knows the place will admit, it's a shithole.
Who's to blame for this, you ask? Well, that's easy. The gangs. It's literally in their best interests to keep the cops looking the other way and the heroes chasing the small fish so the big fish can keep shitting in the water all day long.
Well, I'm done with accepting that. So, here's what I've got to say. The gangs are no longer welcome in Brockton Bay. It's time for you to leave. The door's thataway.
I am specifically calling out the Empire Eighty-Eight, the Azn Bad Boys, Coil's crew and fuck it, the Merchants, because they sell drugs to schoolkids and that isn't cool either. The other gangs in the city, I do know who you are but you're not on my list yet. You'll keep.
So, the leaders of those gangs I just named: Kaiser, Lung, Coil, Skidmark. You have twenty-four hours to either a) leave town for good or b) surrender to the PRT. In twenty-four hours from midnight tonight, if you haven't all done this, I'm going to kill one of you that hasn't. Just one.
Then I'll start the clock again.
TL: DR – Kaiser, Lung, Coil, Skidmark. GTFO or die.
Oh, and Lung? Yeah, that was me.
Your move.
With a flourish, I typed my chosen cape name.
Atropos.
End of Part Three
Relevant Side Story
Last edited:
Part Four: Spreading the Word
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A Darker Path
Part Four: Spreading the Word
[A/N 1: this chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
[A/N 2: I made use of the PHO Interlude Wizard to make the PHO segment. I hope you enjoy.]
[A/N 3: Many of the names and comments in the PHO segment have been adapted from users and comments in the SB thread, while others are from canon PHO users.]
[A/N 4: I know, I know, a PHO segment without Void Cowboy making an insensitive comment and being banned for it? Has the universe gone crazy?]
Undersiders Base
January 4, 2011
6:03 AM
Tattletale
Lisa had chosen her ringtone, once upon a time, to be able to get her attention at any time or in any place. It had saved her bacon, metaphorically speaking, on more than one occasion. But now, after she'd been up until three in the morning doing a deep-dive into everything she could locate about the Ruby Dreams casino, it felt like broken glass scraping on the inside of her soul.
I swear, once I wake up, I'm going to murder someone. With their own phone.
But plans of mayhem aside, she had to answer the damn thing. So she fumbled across her nightstand until she located the musically buzzing demonic device. By way of sheer muscle memory, she flicked her thumb across the screen, then held it to her ear. "H'lo?"
"Tattletale." It was Coil, of course. Very few other people she knew would be calling her at this insane hour, and in any case she worked with three of them (and lived with two). "Wake up."
Wedging one eye open, she peered blearily toward the window. Only the slightest glimmer of gray light crept around the curtains she had hanging there; she estimated that sunrise was still an hour away. "'S not even daylight yet," she mumbled. "C'n it wait 'til noon?"
"No. It cannot. This is a priority tasking, Tattletale." His voice was crisp and commanding. "Get up, now. Make coffee. I need your head clear for this."
"Why?" she hated the whining tone in her voice, but she'd been asleep, damn it! Sometimes, a whine was earned. "'S it En'bringers?" She hoped it wasn't, and anyway, she couldn't hear sirens.
"This is important." She could hear him gritting his teeth. "I need a threat assessment performed immediately. Once it's done, you can go back to bed."
She still didn't see why he couldn't wait until midday, but if she pushed back too hard, he was likely to send a couple of mercenaries to yank her out of bed, shove her under an icy shower, and pour coffee down her throat until she was lucid. Or at least, that was what her power was telling her. Which would be a first; revealing to Brian and the others who their secret boss was would be a huge step.
All of a sudden, she decided that she wanted to see what had his tights in a twist. "'Kay, 'm gettin' up."
Half-falling out of bed, she stumbled from her bedroom to the kitchenette where she set the coffee machine going. Leaving her phone on the counter—Coil could listen to the machine gurgling, for all of her—she went back to the bathroom and shocked herself partially awake with a quick medium-chilly shower. By the time she was done and dressed, the coffee machine was ready to go, and she poured herself a fresh cup.
The first jolt of caffeine served to clear her head almost completely, and she took the cup and her phone over to the sofa where she kept her laptop. It wasn't much of a guess that she was going to need it, so she hit the power button as she leaned back and took another mouthful of chemical wakefulness. "Okay, I guess I'm awake now. Hit me."
"Good." He still didn't sound happy. "Go to the PHO boards, the new capes section. Look for Atropos. I need you to do a threat assessment. Call me back with your results." He ended the call without further ado.
"Okay, okay," she muttered, dropping the phone beside her and sipping her coffee as the laptop booted up. It seemed as reluctant to wake up as she had been, and she briefly sympathised.
Soon enough, it was up and running, and she clicked on the PHO tab she kept at the top of the screen. Navigating according to Coil's instructions, she found the thread he was referring to and began to read.
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♦ Topic: Hi there!
In: Boards ► Brockton Bay ► New Capes
Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
Posted On Jan 3rd 2011:
Good evening, Brockton Bay.
I'm a new cape on the scene, but that doesn't mean I'm new to the city. And as anyone who knows the place will admit, it's a shithole.
Who's to blame for this, you ask? Well, that's easy. The gangs. It's literally in their best interests to keep the cops looking the other way and the heroes chasing the small fish so the big fish can keep shitting in the water all day long.
Well, I'm done with accepting that. So, here's what I've got to say. The gangs are no longer welcome in Brockton Bay. It's time for you to leave. The door's thataway.
I am specifically calling out the Empire Eighty-Eight, the Azn Bad Boys, Coil's crew and fuck it, the Merchants, because they sell drugs to schoolkids and that isn't cool either. The other gangs in the city, I do know who you are but you're not on my list yet. You'll keep.
So, the leaders of those gangs I just named: Kaiser, Lung, Coil, Skidmark. You have twenty-four hours to either a) leave town for good or b) surrender to the PRT. In twenty-four hours from midnight tonight, if you haven't all done this, I'm going to kill one of you that hasn't. Just one.
Then I'll start the clock again.
TL: DR – Kaiser, Lung, Coil, Skidmark. GTFO or die.
Oh, and Lung? Yeah, that was me.
Your move.
Atropos
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Tattletale
By the time she finished, the coffee cup was empty, but that was okay. Lisa was awake. She was definitely awake. Almost gingerly, as though she expected the name on the screen to jump out and bite her, she scrolled upward and read through the thread again, up to the point where Atropos had left the chat.
"Jeeesus H. Christ on a Tinkertech pogo stick," she muttered, putting the cup down on the sofa arm without looking. Chills were chasing each other up and down her spine, each one sparked by one of Atropos' seemingly off-hand comments.
Some people could shout threats all day and not be intimidating. Others merely had to whisper. With Atropos, all she had to do was put words on a computer screen to scare the absolute shit out of Lisa.
'The other gangs in the city, I do know who you are but you're not on my list yet. You'll keep.'
That those words were aimed at her and the rest of the Undersiders, she had zero doubt whatsoever. Someone who had the sheer planetary-scale neutronium testicular fortitude to kill Oni Lee and call out Lung (as well as Kaiser, Coil and Skidmark) on the same night was absolutely not someone she wanted to cross. Especially since her personal assessment was that Atropos (signs pointed to her being a girl) was actually capable of carrying out the threat.
It wasn't much of a comfort that they weren't on Atropos' list. She knew for a fact that the word 'yet' had been included deliberately. Once Atropos had finished dealing with the current big names in the city, then the list would be updated. And if the terrifying intent embodied in the initial greeting stayed the same (she had no reason to think it would change) then the Undersiders would be facing a stark choice, made none the easier for Coil being dead or elsewhere. Leave the city, surrender, or die.
Drawing a deep breath, she picked up her phone. The call went through with just one ring sounding in her ear. "Yes?"
For a moment, she was tempted to tweak him by drawing it out, then she mentally shook her head. "My assessment is 'yes'. Atropos is totally capable of doing whatever she says she can do. She intends to kill Lung, Kaiser, you and Skidmark. Barring unusual interference, she'll succeed." By 'unusual interference', she meant 'power shenanigans', and they both knew it.
"Even inside my base, with my mercenaries on high alert?" He sounded more on edge than normal, which wasn't altogether surprising. "How is she even going to find me?"
"I don't know. Maybe she can't." Lisa rubbed her forehead. A tiny headache was starting to grow, expanding each time she attempted to analyse Atropos' actual capabilities and weaknesses. "But every time I ask myself, 'can she kill everyone on the list?', my best answer is 'Yes'."
"Can you tell me who she'll be going after first, at least?" She didn't have to even wonder why he was asking that. If her power's analysis was correct, Atropos' initial target had less than eighteen hours to live.
Leaning back against the sofa cushions, Lisa closed her eyes. "Nobody's going to be leaving town or surrendering to the PRT … unless you are?" Scornful silence greeted her sally. "Right, right. Silly of me. She won't be hitting Skidmark first. You aren't a hugely obvious target, so it's likely to be Kaiser or Lung. And she's already hit the ABB once."
"So you're saying she'll probably go after Kaiser first." He was clearly doing his best to sound calm and collected, but she could hear the tension behind his voice. "How much faith do you have in that assessment?"
"A lot less than I have in knowing that she's dangerous as fuck, and that I don't want to be in the same town as her if she's pissed at me," Lisa answered honestly. "Every time I try to venture a guess at her exact motivations or capabilities, I get back a vague answer plus a headache. As best I can tell, she's running a mild ongoing anti-Thinker effect. It's really irritating."
Coil
Yes. Yes, it is.
"Understood. If anything changes, let me know." Thomas Calvert ended the call and dropped the phone on his desk. Resting his elbows on his desk, he laced his fingers together and pressed his thumbs to his temples. Then he inhaled deeply and closed his eyes.
What do I do? There existed the outside possibility that his Tattletale was trying to panic him and stampede him from the city. But therein lay a dilemma. If it was just her playing her irritating little mind games, he could devote his full power (and all his men) to tracking her down and bringing her to heel. However, that would leave zero resources free for staying under the radar from Atropos.
Atropos killed Oni Lee. Thomas could not afford to ignore that fact. As such, he considered it only prudent to keep himself safe and secure, leaving Tattletale until after Atropos had been dealt with. While there was a two-in-three chance that he was not the assassin's current target (he agreed with Tattletale's assessment that Skidmark was more of an afterthought than a serious contender) he still considered a thirty-three percent chance of death to be unacceptably high.
Opening his eyes again, he looked once more at the email displayed on his work laptop. Not only had they sent it out to all ranking PRT officers, but they'd also contacted each off-duty officer via phone to alert them to its presence and to inform them that they were now on duty. The phone calls had started going out at just before six in the morning, going by rank and alphabetical order; he supposed he should consider himself lucky that his surname began with C.
It could be worse. The post did say midnight. By midnight, I'll be tucked away in absolute security and absolute obscurity. His house in the suburbs had a state-of-the-art alarm system, and his bunker under the city held fifty well-armed mercenaries, each one as loyal as money could buy.
In the best case, Atropos would take out Lung or Kaiser before she was inevitably killed. Either way, he would benefit.
I always win.
Kaiser
Max Anders rose a little after seven and enjoyed a moderate workout in his home gymnasium, followed by a stinging-hot shower and a healthy breakfast. He ate looking out toward the Bay from the patio of his three-storey house on the slopes of Captain's Hill; by half-past eight, he was finished and ready to go to work. With a nod to his butler—the less well-off could scoff, but having someone to anticipate one's needs could be invaluable at times—he dressed in the immaculate suit that had been laid out for him and descended in the elevator to the six-car garage.
As he settled into the genuine leather seat of his preferred town car, the driver pressed the button on the dash and the garage door motored open. He took up the morning copy of the Financial Times from the seat beside him and prepared to see how his stocks had performed overnight. But just as the car exited the garage, his phone vibrated in his pocket.
With a slight frown on his face—the caller ID indicated an Empire 88 call, rather than one for business—he pressed the button that raised the soundproof barrier between himself and his driver. While his personal employees were selected for their views, none of them knew of his connection to the Empire. What they didn't know, they couldn't talk about, even by accident.
"Yes?"
"There's a potential problem." Krieg was normally as unflappable as a man could get. Right now, however, he sounded a little stressed. "A cape showed up last night, killed Oni Lee in public, then announced on PHO that they're going after the gangs. Specifically; you, Lung, Coil and Skidmark."
"That can't be right. How did they kill Oni Lee?" God knew the Empire had tried enough times over the last few years.
"He was shot in the face with his own gun at a range of six feet. Our current theory is combat precog. The cape's name is Atropos."
"Well, damn." Whoever had pulled that little stunt off had done very well indeed. 'Atropos'—the member of the Fates who cut the thread and ended the life of mortals—was a good name for someone who could manage that. Then the rest of what Krieg had said caught up with him. "What do you mean, they're coming after me personally?" That was never good news; even the most inept of assassins could get lucky, eventually.
"I'm emailing you the link to the PHO thread. It's all the information we have, right there."
"Okay, thanks." Max ended the call. Pressing the intercom, he spoke to the driver. "I've just received word of a potential threat. Move our posture to high security."
Through the glass, he saw the driver nod. "Yes, sir."
With the high security protocols, the window glass darkened until it was impossible to see in, and three other town cars would be exiting garages within the next few minutes. Each one identical to the one he was currently riding in, they would all take different routes to the Medhall building, where the secure undercover parking lot would be waiting for them. It was so nice to have money to throw at problems like this.
The initial precautions taken care of, he opened the email that had just dropped into his phone. From there he went into the PHO thread and began reading.
A problem, he decided after he'd finished. But not an insurmountable one. Either Lung will get Atropos, or my security will. And if they don't, I will.
Everything was, as always, under control.
Taylor
I was in the middle of eating breakfast when Kaiser popped into my awareness. He was aware of me and my challenge, just as Coil was. Lung had, of course, been aware since last night; his seething rage had barely abated since then. About the only one who hadn't heard about it was Skidmark. In fact, none of the Merchants had.
That didn't matter.
They had three days to learn about it.
In the meantime, Kaiser, Lung and Coil awaited my attention; not necessarily in that order.
Eeny, meeny, miney moe …
End of Part Four
Part Four: Spreading the Word
[A/N 1: this chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
[A/N 2: I made use of the PHO Interlude Wizard to make the PHO segment. I hope you enjoy.]
[A/N 3: Many of the names and comments in the PHO segment have been adapted from users and comments in the SB thread, while others are from canon PHO users.]
[A/N 4: I know, I know, a PHO segment without Void Cowboy making an insensitive comment and being banned for it? Has the universe gone crazy?]
Undersiders Base
January 4, 2011
6:03 AM
Tattletale
Lisa had chosen her ringtone, once upon a time, to be able to get her attention at any time or in any place. It had saved her bacon, metaphorically speaking, on more than one occasion. But now, after she'd been up until three in the morning doing a deep-dive into everything she could locate about the Ruby Dreams casino, it felt like broken glass scraping on the inside of her soul.
I swear, once I wake up, I'm going to murder someone. With their own phone.
But plans of mayhem aside, she had to answer the damn thing. So she fumbled across her nightstand until she located the musically buzzing demonic device. By way of sheer muscle memory, she flicked her thumb across the screen, then held it to her ear. "H'lo?"
"Tattletale." It was Coil, of course. Very few other people she knew would be calling her at this insane hour, and in any case she worked with three of them (and lived with two). "Wake up."
Wedging one eye open, she peered blearily toward the window. Only the slightest glimmer of gray light crept around the curtains she had hanging there; she estimated that sunrise was still an hour away. "'S not even daylight yet," she mumbled. "C'n it wait 'til noon?"
"No. It cannot. This is a priority tasking, Tattletale." His voice was crisp and commanding. "Get up, now. Make coffee. I need your head clear for this."
"Why?" she hated the whining tone in her voice, but she'd been asleep, damn it! Sometimes, a whine was earned. "'S it En'bringers?" She hoped it wasn't, and anyway, she couldn't hear sirens.
"This is important." She could hear him gritting his teeth. "I need a threat assessment performed immediately. Once it's done, you can go back to bed."
She still didn't see why he couldn't wait until midday, but if she pushed back too hard, he was likely to send a couple of mercenaries to yank her out of bed, shove her under an icy shower, and pour coffee down her throat until she was lucid. Or at least, that was what her power was telling her. Which would be a first; revealing to Brian and the others who their secret boss was would be a huge step.
All of a sudden, she decided that she wanted to see what had his tights in a twist. "'Kay, 'm gettin' up."
Half-falling out of bed, she stumbled from her bedroom to the kitchenette where she set the coffee machine going. Leaving her phone on the counter—Coil could listen to the machine gurgling, for all of her—she went back to the bathroom and shocked herself partially awake with a quick medium-chilly shower. By the time she was done and dressed, the coffee machine was ready to go, and she poured herself a fresh cup.
The first jolt of caffeine served to clear her head almost completely, and she took the cup and her phone over to the sofa where she kept her laptop. It wasn't much of a guess that she was going to need it, so she hit the power button as she leaned back and took another mouthful of chemical wakefulness. "Okay, I guess I'm awake now. Hit me."
"Good." He still didn't sound happy. "Go to the PHO boards, the new capes section. Look for Atropos. I need you to do a threat assessment. Call me back with your results." He ended the call without further ado.
"Okay, okay," she muttered, dropping the phone beside her and sipping her coffee as the laptop booted up. It seemed as reluctant to wake up as she had been, and she briefly sympathised.
Soon enough, it was up and running, and she clicked on the PHO tab she kept at the top of the screen. Navigating according to Coil's instructions, she found the thread he was referring to and began to read.
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♦ Topic: Hi there!
In: Boards ► Brockton Bay ► New Capes
Atropos (Original Poster) (
Posted On Jan 3rd 2011:
Good evening, Brockton Bay.
I'm a new cape on the scene, but that doesn't mean I'm new to the city. And as anyone who knows the place will admit, it's a shithole.
Who's to blame for this, you ask? Well, that's easy. The gangs. It's literally in their best interests to keep the cops looking the other way and the heroes chasing the small fish so the big fish can keep shitting in the water all day long.
Well, I'm done with accepting that. So, here's what I've got to say. The gangs are no longer welcome in Brockton Bay. It's time for you to leave. The door's thataway.
I am specifically calling out the Empire Eighty-Eight, the Azn Bad Boys, Coil's crew and fuck it, the Merchants, because they sell drugs to schoolkids and that isn't cool either. The other gangs in the city, I do know who you are but you're not on my list yet. You'll keep.
So, the leaders of those gangs I just named: Kaiser, Lung, Coil, Skidmark. You have twenty-four hours to either a) leave town for good or b) surrender to the PRT. In twenty-four hours from midnight tonight, if you haven't all done this, I'm going to kill one of you that hasn't. Just one.
Then I'll start the clock again.
TL: DR – Kaiser, Lung, Coil, Skidmark. GTFO or die.
Oh, and Lung? Yeah, that was me.
Your move.
Atropos
(Showing page 1 of 10)►Mr Unhappy
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Well, that was unhinged.
►Gritty Morty
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Fir--dammit!
Well, this looks interesting.
►LightFromTheShadows
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Yeah. Interesting. Will watch from a distance.
►Ring Island
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
And after that, what? Teatime with Alexandria?
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Well, that was unhinged.
►Gritty Morty
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Fir--dammit!
Well, this looks interesting.
►LightFromTheShadows
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Yeah. Interesting. Will watch from a distance.
►Ring Island
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
And after that, what? Teatime with Alexandria?
►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
If she asks politely.
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
If she asks politely.
►BirdsEye
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
@Atropos ... if you can kill anything, how about killing all conflict on earth?
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
@Atropos ... if you can kill anything, how about killing all conflict on earth?
►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
I could try, but I'm pretty sure I'd die of old age first.
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
I could try, but I'm pretty sure I'd die of old age first.
►Hades82
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Seconding (thirding?) interest.
We've got a live one here, folks.
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Seconding (thirding?) interest.
We've got a live one here, folks.
►TheSkinnyBlueGuy
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Look upon the field where I grow my Fucks and behold for it is barren!
... what? That's the vibe I'm getting.
End of Page. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Look upon the field where I grow my Fucks and behold for it is barren!
... what? That's the vibe I'm getting.
(Showing page 2 of 10)
►GleamingGlare
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Oh, boy.
Because you know, villain capes NEVER escalate.
►UnconcernedFox
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
*gets out the comfy chair and the popcorn*
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Oh, boy.
Because you know, villain capes NEVER escalate.
►UnconcernedFox
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
*gets out the comfy chair and the popcorn*
►BirdsEye
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Okay then, could you kill bigotry? Racism? The idea of theft?
Betrayal? Torture? Falsehood?
►SkyWalkerJA
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
I'm thinking the answer would be "would die of old age first".
because, you know, those things are pretty entrenched
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Okay then, could you kill bigotry? Racism? The idea of theft?
Betrayal? Torture? Falsehood?
►SkyWalkerJA
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
I'm thinking the answer would be "would die of old age first".
because, you know, those things are pretty entrenched
►JediMedic
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
@TheSkinnyBlueGuy
That's the exact thing I was thinking when I read OP post.
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
@TheSkinnyBlueGuy
That's the exact thing I was thinking when I read OP post.
►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011
@TheSkinnyBlueGuy - that's kinda my jam now, yeah.
@SkyWalkerJA - Essentially, yes. I could kill that sort of thing in one person, right in front of me, but everyone everywhere? Way too tedious.
@GleamingGlare - and then I'll just have to cut a bitch.
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011
@TheSkinnyBlueGuy - that's kinda my jam now, yeah.
@SkyWalkerJA - Essentially, yes. I could kill that sort of thing in one person, right in front of me, but everyone everywhere? Way too tedious.
@GleamingGlare - and then I'll just have to cut a bitch.
►BigRedSharpie (Moderator)
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Okay, I'm done. This has gone on long enough. Thread is locked. Atropos, you just bought yourself a ticket to Ban-town.
Maybe next time don't be so Edgy McEdgelord, hmm?
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Okay, I'm done. This has gone on long enough. Thread is locked. Atropos, you just bought yourself a ticket to Ban-town.
Maybe next time don't be so Edgy McEdgelord, hmm?
►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Meh, Ban-town was boring. I'm back.
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Meh, Ban-town was boring. I'm back.
►UnconcernedFox
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Hahahha
*munches popcorn*
►GleamingGlare
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
wut
End of Page. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Hahahha
*munches popcorn*
►GleamingGlare
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
wut
(Showing page 3 of 10)
►BirdsEye
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Did you just ... did you just kill a threadban AND a threadlock?
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Did you just ... did you just kill a threadban AND a threadlock?
►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Well, duh.
What part of 'can actually kill anything' did you not get the first time?
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Well, duh.
What part of 'can actually kill anything' did you not get the first time?
►SkyWalkerJA
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Okay, I've got to ask. How did you add all the extra tags?
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Okay, I've got to ask. How did you add all the extra tags?
►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Killed the blocks preventing me from getting them. How else?
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Killed the blocks preventing me from getting them. How else?
►BigRedSharpie (Moderator)
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
I said, this thread is locked.
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
I said, this thread is locked.
►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
And I said it's not.
Sorry, Sharpie. No hard feelings? I just wanna chat with my fans.
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
And I said it's not.
Sorry, Sharpie. No hard feelings? I just wanna chat with my fans.
►Bagrat (Veteran Member) (The Guy in the Know)
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Okay, if this is how it's going down ...
@Atropos - is it true you killed Oni Lee earlier tonight? Because there's a strong rumor that it was a new Death-themed cape, and your note for Lung above ...
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Okay, if this is how it's going down ...
@Atropos - is it true you killed Oni Lee earlier tonight? Because there's a strong rumor that it was a new Death-themed cape, and your note for Lung above ...
►LotusBlade
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Lung's rage is mighty
Atropos will die to flame
So vows the dragon.
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Lung's rage is mighty
Atropos will die to flame
So vows the dragon.
►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
@LotusBlade - Yeah, yeah, get him to come talk to me himself.
@Bagrat - Wow, the Guy in the Know asking ME about stuff? I am honored, and I mean that totally unironically. yeah, that was me. Had to establish my credentials, y'know?
►Reave (Verified PRT Agent)
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Just to put all speculation to rest, yes, Oni Lee was approached by an unidentified person earlier tonight. That person disabled Lee's companion ABB members, then attacked Lee himself. In the ensuing melee, the suspect apparently took Lee's gun and shot him with it. The suspect was reportedly unharmed in the fight.
When last seen, the suspect was wearing a black long-coat, a broad-brimmed hat, a black morph mask, and otherwise dark clothing. They may have armed themselves with Oni Lee's personal weapons.
Personal description: tall, slender, long dark hair.
If you encounter anyone matching this description, do NOT approach. Treat as armed and dangerous, and notify the PRT immediately.
@Atropos - If you hand yourself over to the PRT now, we can avoid any more bloodshed, and I do include you in that. You have no idea of the amount of danger you're in right now, from handing out a reckless challenge like that. If you want to fight crime, that's not the way to do it. We prefer live heroes to dead vigilantes.
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
@LotusBlade - Yeah, yeah, get him to come talk to me himself.
@Bagrat - Wow, the Guy in the Know asking ME about stuff? I am honored, and I mean that totally unironically. yeah, that was me. Had to establish my credentials, y'know?
►Reave (Verified PRT Agent)
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Just to put all speculation to rest, yes, Oni Lee was approached by an unidentified person earlier tonight. That person disabled Lee's companion ABB members, then attacked Lee himself. In the ensuing melee, the suspect apparently took Lee's gun and shot him with it. The suspect was reportedly unharmed in the fight.
When last seen, the suspect was wearing a black long-coat, a broad-brimmed hat, a black morph mask, and otherwise dark clothing. They may have armed themselves with Oni Lee's personal weapons.
Personal description: tall, slender, long dark hair.
If you encounter anyone matching this description, do NOT approach. Treat as armed and dangerous, and notify the PRT immediately.
@Atropos - If you hand yourself over to the PRT now, we can avoid any more bloodshed, and I do include you in that. You have no idea of the amount of danger you're in right now, from handing out a reckless challenge like that. If you want to fight crime, that's not the way to do it. We prefer live heroes to dead vigilantes.
End of Page. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10
(Showing page 4 of 10)
►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Aww, you almost sound like you actually care.
Hard pass, sorry. I've got a job to do, and Oni Lee was just the start.
Appreciate the offer, though.
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Aww, you almost sound like you actually care.
Hard pass, sorry. I've got a job to do, and Oni Lee was just the start.
Appreciate the offer, though.
►PureBlood01011000 (Temp-Banned)
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
I don't care what you do with Lung or the other idiots, but if you come near Kaiser, I hope you like having metal spikes in your everywhere.
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
I don't care what you do with Lung or the other idiots, but if you come near Kaiser, I hope you like having metal spikes in your everywhere.
►BigRedSharpie (Moderator)
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Okay, I can't lock this thread and I can't ban Atropos, but I can definitely ban other people. Let's tone down the ITG stuff, okay? As soon as someone with more pull than me gets online, this thread WILL be locked down, and everyone's posts will be examined to see if further actions need to be taken.
Just calm your frontal lobes, people.
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Okay, I can't lock this thread and I can't ban Atropos, but I can definitely ban other people. Let's tone down the ITG stuff, okay? As soon as someone with more pull than me gets online, this thread WILL be locked down, and everyone's posts will be examined to see if further actions need to be taken.
Just calm your frontal lobes, people.
►Wherewolf
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
So, uh ... I'm guessing the PRT is going to be going after Atropos now, and not the villains they're targeting? Because somehow Atropos is the bad guy now?
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
So, uh ... I'm guessing the PRT is going to be going after Atropos now, and not the villains they're targeting? Because somehow Atropos is the bad guy now?
►Reave (Verified PRT Agent)
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
There are no capes in Brockton Bay with a kill order on their heads. Everyone deserves due process and their day in court.
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
There are no capes in Brockton Bay with a kill order on their heads. Everyone deserves due process and their day in court.
►RaRaRa
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Well, that escalated quickly.
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Well, that escalated quickly.
►SecretlyAJetFighter
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Dayumn. That mic drop just went *subterranean*.
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Dayumn. That mic drop just went *subterranean*.
►BeginningToEnd
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Welp, naming yourself after the Greek personification of Fate and Death.
Nope, not pretentious at all.
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Welp, naming yourself after the Greek personification of Fate and Death.
Nope, not pretentious at all.
►dranasty
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Okay, heroes and PRT going after Atropos, I get that. Murder is a crime.
But seriously wow, how many people have the gangs killed, and they're not anywhere near the priority that Atropos is going to end up on, and for what reason? Because status quo is king?
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Okay, heroes and PRT going after Atropos, I get that. Murder is a crime.
But seriously wow, how many people have the gangs killed, and they're not anywhere near the priority that Atropos is going to end up on, and for what reason? Because status quo is king?
►AuthorBug
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
@BeginningToEnd - Oni Lee might argue that point. Taking him and his flunkies out with no injuries? That takes more than luck. Just saying.
End of Page. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
@BeginningToEnd - Oni Lee might argue that point. Taking him and his flunkies out with no injuries? That takes more than luck. Just saying.
(Showing page 5 of 10)
►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
@BeginningToEnd - oh yeah, I know it's edgy. But hey, I gotta go with what works.
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
@BeginningToEnd - oh yeah, I know it's edgy. But hey, I gotta go with what works.
►Reave (Verified PRT Agent)
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
@dranasty - it's more to do with the fact that if some of the gangs decide that Atropos is a false-flag operation designed to bring the opposition down in secret, we'll have all-out war in this town. And there's nowhere near enough heroes in BB to contain something like that.
►dranasty
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
@Reave - so, status quo. Got it.
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
@dranasty - it's more to do with the fact that if some of the gangs decide that Atropos is a false-flag operation designed to bring the opposition down in secret, we'll have all-out war in this town. And there's nowhere near enough heroes in BB to contain something like that.
►dranasty
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
@Reave - so, status quo. Got it.
►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Hahaha false flag? Is that what they're saying?
Nope. They're all going down or leaving town. One or the other. I don't care which.
Anyway, signing off. See you lovely people in the morning.
And remember: twenty-four hours.
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Hahaha false flag? Is that what they're saying?
Nope. They're all going down or leaving town. One or the other. I don't care which.
Anyway, signing off. See you lovely people in the morning.
And remember: twenty-four hours.
Mwahahaha.
<><>
Tattletale
By the time she finished, the coffee cup was empty, but that was okay. Lisa was awake. She was definitely awake. Almost gingerly, as though she expected the name on the screen to jump out and bite her, she scrolled upward and read through the thread again, up to the point where Atropos had left the chat.
"Jeeesus H. Christ on a Tinkertech pogo stick," she muttered, putting the cup down on the sofa arm without looking. Chills were chasing each other up and down her spine, each one sparked by one of Atropos' seemingly off-hand comments.
Some people could shout threats all day and not be intimidating. Others merely had to whisper. With Atropos, all she had to do was put words on a computer screen to scare the absolute shit out of Lisa.
'The other gangs in the city, I do know who you are but you're not on my list yet. You'll keep.'
That those words were aimed at her and the rest of the Undersiders, she had zero doubt whatsoever. Someone who had the sheer planetary-scale neutronium testicular fortitude to kill Oni Lee and call out Lung (as well as Kaiser, Coil and Skidmark) on the same night was absolutely not someone she wanted to cross. Especially since her personal assessment was that Atropos (signs pointed to her being a girl) was actually capable of carrying out the threat.
It wasn't much of a comfort that they weren't on Atropos' list. She knew for a fact that the word 'yet' had been included deliberately. Once Atropos had finished dealing with the current big names in the city, then the list would be updated. And if the terrifying intent embodied in the initial greeting stayed the same (she had no reason to think it would change) then the Undersiders would be facing a stark choice, made none the easier for Coil being dead or elsewhere. Leave the city, surrender, or die.
Drawing a deep breath, she picked up her phone. The call went through with just one ring sounding in her ear. "Yes?"
For a moment, she was tempted to tweak him by drawing it out, then she mentally shook her head. "My assessment is 'yes'. Atropos is totally capable of doing whatever she says she can do. She intends to kill Lung, Kaiser, you and Skidmark. Barring unusual interference, she'll succeed." By 'unusual interference', she meant 'power shenanigans', and they both knew it.
"Even inside my base, with my mercenaries on high alert?" He sounded more on edge than normal, which wasn't altogether surprising. "How is she even going to find me?"
"I don't know. Maybe she can't." Lisa rubbed her forehead. A tiny headache was starting to grow, expanding each time she attempted to analyse Atropos' actual capabilities and weaknesses. "But every time I ask myself, 'can she kill everyone on the list?', my best answer is 'Yes'."
"Can you tell me who she'll be going after first, at least?" She didn't have to even wonder why he was asking that. If her power's analysis was correct, Atropos' initial target had less than eighteen hours to live.
Leaning back against the sofa cushions, Lisa closed her eyes. "Nobody's going to be leaving town or surrendering to the PRT … unless you are?" Scornful silence greeted her sally. "Right, right. Silly of me. She won't be hitting Skidmark first. You aren't a hugely obvious target, so it's likely to be Kaiser or Lung. And she's already hit the ABB once."
"So you're saying she'll probably go after Kaiser first." He was clearly doing his best to sound calm and collected, but she could hear the tension behind his voice. "How much faith do you have in that assessment?"
"A lot less than I have in knowing that she's dangerous as fuck, and that I don't want to be in the same town as her if she's pissed at me," Lisa answered honestly. "Every time I try to venture a guess at her exact motivations or capabilities, I get back a vague answer plus a headache. As best I can tell, she's running a mild ongoing anti-Thinker effect. It's really irritating."
<><>
Coil
Yes. Yes, it is.
"Understood. If anything changes, let me know." Thomas Calvert ended the call and dropped the phone on his desk. Resting his elbows on his desk, he laced his fingers together and pressed his thumbs to his temples. Then he inhaled deeply and closed his eyes.
What do I do? There existed the outside possibility that his Tattletale was trying to panic him and stampede him from the city. But therein lay a dilemma. If it was just her playing her irritating little mind games, he could devote his full power (and all his men) to tracking her down and bringing her to heel. However, that would leave zero resources free for staying under the radar from Atropos.
Atropos killed Oni Lee. Thomas could not afford to ignore that fact. As such, he considered it only prudent to keep himself safe and secure, leaving Tattletale until after Atropos had been dealt with. While there was a two-in-three chance that he was not the assassin's current target (he agreed with Tattletale's assessment that Skidmark was more of an afterthought than a serious contender) he still considered a thirty-three percent chance of death to be unacceptably high.
Opening his eyes again, he looked once more at the email displayed on his work laptop. Not only had they sent it out to all ranking PRT officers, but they'd also contacted each off-duty officer via phone to alert them to its presence and to inform them that they were now on duty. The phone calls had started going out at just before six in the morning, going by rank and alphabetical order; he supposed he should consider himself lucky that his surname began with C.
It could be worse. The post did say midnight. By midnight, I'll be tucked away in absolute security and absolute obscurity. His house in the suburbs had a state-of-the-art alarm system, and his bunker under the city held fifty well-armed mercenaries, each one as loyal as money could buy.
In the best case, Atropos would take out Lung or Kaiser before she was inevitably killed. Either way, he would benefit.
I always win.
<><>
Kaiser
Max Anders rose a little after seven and enjoyed a moderate workout in his home gymnasium, followed by a stinging-hot shower and a healthy breakfast. He ate looking out toward the Bay from the patio of his three-storey house on the slopes of Captain's Hill; by half-past eight, he was finished and ready to go to work. With a nod to his butler—the less well-off could scoff, but having someone to anticipate one's needs could be invaluable at times—he dressed in the immaculate suit that had been laid out for him and descended in the elevator to the six-car garage.
As he settled into the genuine leather seat of his preferred town car, the driver pressed the button on the dash and the garage door motored open. He took up the morning copy of the Financial Times from the seat beside him and prepared to see how his stocks had performed overnight. But just as the car exited the garage, his phone vibrated in his pocket.
With a slight frown on his face—the caller ID indicated an Empire 88 call, rather than one for business—he pressed the button that raised the soundproof barrier between himself and his driver. While his personal employees were selected for their views, none of them knew of his connection to the Empire. What they didn't know, they couldn't talk about, even by accident.
"Yes?"
"There's a potential problem." Krieg was normally as unflappable as a man could get. Right now, however, he sounded a little stressed. "A cape showed up last night, killed Oni Lee in public, then announced on PHO that they're going after the gangs. Specifically; you, Lung, Coil and Skidmark."
"That can't be right. How did they kill Oni Lee?" God knew the Empire had tried enough times over the last few years.
"He was shot in the face with his own gun at a range of six feet. Our current theory is combat precog. The cape's name is Atropos."
"Well, damn." Whoever had pulled that little stunt off had done very well indeed. 'Atropos'—the member of the Fates who cut the thread and ended the life of mortals—was a good name for someone who could manage that. Then the rest of what Krieg had said caught up with him. "What do you mean, they're coming after me personally?" That was never good news; even the most inept of assassins could get lucky, eventually.
"I'm emailing you the link to the PHO thread. It's all the information we have, right there."
"Okay, thanks." Max ended the call. Pressing the intercom, he spoke to the driver. "I've just received word of a potential threat. Move our posture to high security."
Through the glass, he saw the driver nod. "Yes, sir."
With the high security protocols, the window glass darkened until it was impossible to see in, and three other town cars would be exiting garages within the next few minutes. Each one identical to the one he was currently riding in, they would all take different routes to the Medhall building, where the secure undercover parking lot would be waiting for them. It was so nice to have money to throw at problems like this.
The initial precautions taken care of, he opened the email that had just dropped into his phone. From there he went into the PHO thread and began reading.
A problem, he decided after he'd finished. But not an insurmountable one. Either Lung will get Atropos, or my security will. And if they don't, I will.
Everything was, as always, under control.
<><>
Taylor
I was in the middle of eating breakfast when Kaiser popped into my awareness. He was aware of me and my challenge, just as Coil was. Lung had, of course, been aware since last night; his seething rage had barely abated since then. About the only one who hadn't heard about it was Skidmark. In fact, none of the Merchants had.
That didn't matter.
They had three days to learn about it.
In the meantime, Kaiser, Lung and Coil awaited my attention; not necessarily in that order.
Eeny, meeny, miney moe …
End of Part Four
Last edited:
Part Five: Interviews and Acquisitions
Ack
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A Darker Path
Part Five: Interviews and Acquisitions
[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
Taylor
Leaning on the window frame, I let the chill winter breeze wash over my face as Dad maneuvered the car through Brockton Bay's morning traffic. I'd been a little hasty with killing Sophia, I decided. It would've been much better to have shot her with a crossbow or something, but she hadn't been thoughtful enough to provide one. Going the extra mile to provide my targets with a fitting kill was something I should aim for.
Oni Lee … well, I'd shot him with his own gun, so that was fitting enough, I figured. Blowing him up with his own grenade would've been even more so, but my power hadn't offered any options for doing it that way. Meh, I was okay with how it had turned out. Also, I'd scored an absolutely rockin' costume, so that was a plus point for just shooting him.
Which left my next four targets. Skidmark was maybe the easiest of the lot. He was into the drug scene, so he'd have to die by drugs. I wasn't really sure what Coil's thing was; maybe a coil of rope to tie him up and hang him by? Kaiser, I was thinking I could kill with a metal spike or spear or something, and Lung … hmm.
Lung was going to be difficult, I could just tell. Burning him to death was a non-starter, but what about an explosion? That was thematically similar to fire. But I couldn't just throw a grenade at him; my power helpfully informed me that he would survive such an attack if he was at all ramped up.
But then it started making suggestions. Very interesting suggestions. Suggestions which, if I made the right preparations, were eminently possible to carry out.
"Taylor?" Dad's voice jolted me out of my reverie.
"Yeah?" I looked around, realising that we'd parked and he had his door half-open. "Oh. We're there. Sorry, I zoned out for a bit."
"That's okay. Don't stress about it. Tell them what you saw, and don't try to embellish, alright? I'll be right there."
"Thanks." I wound up the window and got out, making sure to lock the door as I did so. "Sorry for having to put you through this."
He stepped up onto the sidewalk and ruffled my hair. "It's my job to be there for you. No big deal. Trust me, there'd be many dads accompanying their kid to the local precinct who'd love to swap out with us."
That hadn't been what I'd meant. I was about to drop a massive bomb on him that he just wasn't ready for, but there wasn't any way I could warn him ahead of time that wouldn't have other consequences down the line. But we'd get through it; once it was dropped, I'd be able to minimise the fallout, but only then. My power was really good at ending stuff, but only so-so at preventing it before it ever happened.
Besides, this way would play right into ending suspicion on me.
We walked into the precinct station, me in my hoodie, baggy jeans and ancient sneakers, and Dad in his Association working clothes. A bunch of other kids I vaguely recognised as Winslow students were sitting around, accompanied by adults who were probably their parents; I neither knew nor cared. It looked to be standing room only for the moment, but that didn't matter either. I could plan just as well standing up as sitting down.
As Dad and I joined the line to speak to the police officer on the front counter, a door opened and Emma emerged with her father. They saw us at the same time as Dad saw them, and they came our way. Or rather, Alan Barnes came our way while Emma reluctantly tagged along.
"Alan," Dad greeted his old friend. "Fancy meeting you here." His wry grin and handshake went unanswered, and he frowned.
"Good to see you too, Dan." Emma's father had a pained look on his face. "Sorry, we can't stay. Emma and I have some things to talk about." He looked over at me. "For what it's worth, Taylor, I'm sorry."
I eyed Emma speculatively. Her makeup might have fooled some people, but I knew her rather better than that, and she looked like hell. She also looked terrified of me, while desperately trying to hide it.
"Emma," I said neutrally. "It's good to see you. I hope you're doing well?"
"I'm-I'm okay," she jerked out. "You-you look good too."
I put my hand on her shoulder and she flinched, but stopped short of pulling away. "It's alright," I said just loudly enough for the adults to hear. "Go mourn your friend. I'll see you later."
"Th-thanks." She leaned closer and lowered her voice until only I could hear her. "I'm sorry. For-for everything."
I moved my lips close to her ear. "I know," I whispered back. Then I let her go and stepped back. "Bye, Emma."
"B-bye, Taylor." She huddled close to her father.
I looked up at Alan Barnes and nodded. "Thanks. I appreciate that."
He nodded in return. "Well, time to go, Dan. See you around?"
"Count on it." Dad waved briefly, then turned to me as we moved up in line. "What the hell was that about? Why was my oldest friend apologising to you? And what was wrong with Emma?"
"Tell you in a minute, Dad." I nodded toward the desk sergeant to remind him why we were in line.
We got to the counter, and Dad gave his name, my name, the reason we were here, and the name of the police officer I was supposed to be seeing, a Detective Andrews. The sergeant checked his list, verified via my student card that my name was indeed Taylor Anne Hebert, and nodded. "Take a seat … if you can find one. He'll be with you shortly."
We went and found an empty spot where nobody seemed inclined to eavesdrop on us, then Dad turned his attention my way again. "So, tell me. Why was Alan apologising to you? And what's going on with you and Emma? I would've expected you to be all over each other like a rash, but it was like you didn't even want to be in the same room as each other. When did you two stop being best friends?"
"Year before last," I said bluntly. "I got back from summer camp and she had new friends, and didn't want to be bothered with me anymore. When we started at Winslow, she doubled down. Went from 'no longer friends' to active enemies. They all started bullying me."
His eyes widened. "What the … oh, hell no! When I see Alan next—"
"He didn't know anything about it," I interrupted. "But I'm pretty sure he does now. I didn't tell you for the longest time because you were still getting over Mom, and I figured I could handle it myself." I could feel my voice patterns changing to sound more convincing, along with my body language. It was working; he was still engaged, still listening to me. "After winter break, I think they'd decided that I wasn't worth it anymore. They still said a few things to me, but it was half-hearted, tapering off. And then this happened."
"What's this got to do with what Emma was doing to you?" He still sounded pissed.
I took a deep breath for effect. "The girl who died was one of the major instigators, apart from Emma. I'm thinking she found someone else to pick on, and it went badly. Emma was … they had some sort of emotional co-dependency thing going on, and now she's gone."
"I still think I should talk to Alan—"
I shook my head. "No need. You saw her. She's a total wreck. She couldn't bully a newborn kitten right now. I hate what she did, but there's no point in kicking her when she's down."
"I guess you're right." He grimaced. "Why didn't you tell me earlier?"
"Like I said, you had enough on your plate, and I thought I had to handle it myself." I shook my head. "I know, stupid. But I guess it's one of those rare situations that solved itself, in a really weird way."
"After more than a year of bullying." The scowl had settled on his face. "I can't believe Alan didn't know."
"It's amazing what people don't see if they don't want to see it." I said it lightly, but I saw him flinch anyway. While the statement hadn't been aimed specifically at him, it was still accurate enough to sting.
"Well, not anymore." He set his jaw. "From now on, I'm Dad on deck. You have any problems, you bring them to me."
"If I have any problems, I will absolutely bring them to you," I promised. Of course, I didn't intend for anything to get to the level of being a problem, but he didn't need to know that.
We stood a little longer in companionable silence as names were called. From time to time, we glanced at the clock.
"How many classes are you going to be missing out of this?" he asked.
I shrugged. "The school doesn't expect me back until after lunch. Once we're finished here, I can take the bus there while you go to work."
"Hm. Okay."
"Hebert!" We both turned our heads as the voice called out. "Taylor Hebert!"
"That's me," I responded.
It was time to go lie my ass off to the police.
Danny
This was not Danny's first rodeo, not by a long shot. He'd already cautioned Taylor about saying too much or embellishing her words, and it seemed that she'd taken his advice to heart.
"So," began Detective Andrews. He was a big man, with muscle starting to go to fat, with thinning brown hair. "Tell me about your day at Winslow yesterday. Just the highlights, to begin with." He held his pen ready with his notepad, though Danny was sure there was a recorder running.
Taylor nodded. "Well, my first class was Computers, with Mrs Knott, then the second was World Affairs, with Mr Gladly. After that, I went and had lunch, then read for a while in the library. Then I went to art class, then math class, and that's when they made the announcement that we had to wait back."
Detective Andrews made some notes. "Okay, on your way from the library to the art classroom, did you see or hear anything happening in room thirty-nine A?"
Taylor frowned. "That's where it happened? No, that classroom isn't used at that time of day. The door was closed."
Scribble, scribble. "Understood. Now, how well did you know Sophia Hess?"
Lifting her head, Taylor pressed her lips together before answering. "I knew her. Along with Emma Barnes and Madison Clements. They made my life a complete hell over the last year and a bit."
"Really?" Andrews' brows rose. "She was bullying you?"
"Yes." Taylor leaned forward slightly. "If Emma or Madison say any differently, they're lying. I've been tripped, shoved, had stuff stolen from my locker, had glue or glitter or juice put on my seat, had my assignments stolen and stories spread about me. If there's a checklist of what school bullies do, they've ticked off everything."
"Hmm." Detective Andrews made a few more notes. "So, what was the last thing they did to bully you?"
Taylor didn't have to stop and think. "Just after World Affairs, I was heading to the cafeteria. I ran into Sophia. She tried to shove me around, but I bluffed her into thinking a teacher was watching. Come to think of it, she was pretty half-hearted about it, like she was getting bored with the whole thing. Then I went to have lunch. Emma and Madison came up to me then, but the same as Sophia, it was like they were just going through the motions. They didn't even try to tip my tray over or spill my juice on me."
"Is that the last you saw of them before the announcement in math class?" More notes were made.
"Um …" Taylor paused. "No. I went to the library after I finished lunch, and I saw Sophia come in while I was browsing the stacks. I didn't know if she was looking for me or Emma and Madison, so I just stayed out of her way. That was the last time I saw her. I didn't see Madison at all for the rest of the day, and I saw Emma in math class. She left the classroom just before the announcement. I think she had an upset stomach or something."
"I see." Detective Andrews flipped to a new page. "With all this, I think it's fair to say you might have been justified in holding a grudge against Miss Hess?"
Taylor didn't laugh out loud, but she did let out a rather bitter chuckle. "A grudge? Yeah, I think you could say that. I hated her guts. I still hate Emma and Madison. Not that I could do a damn thing about it, but I hated her. Wouldn't you?"
"I might," admitted the detective. "But holding a grudge, even for the level of bullying you seem to have gone through, doesn't justify murder."
"Wait, wait," protested Danny for the first time. "Detective, are you seriously accusing my daughter—"
"Dad, chill." Taylor waved him down. "Detective, how did she die? I doubt she was shot, because I know damn well Hollywood lies about silencers. Stabbed? Hit over the head with something from behind? Choked out?"
Detective Andrews drew a deep breath, then released it. "She was beaten to death," he admitted reluctantly. "Using advanced martial arts moves. Crushed larynx, shattered ribs, stopped heart."
Taylor snorted. "Well, that leaves me out, then. My most advanced martial arts form is best described as Way of the Chicken." Still sitting down, she performed a credible impression of someone running for their life.
Danny felt relief seeping through him. He'd always known Taylor was innocent, and now he could prove it. "It's true. She's never had martial arts training. I know, because I never paid for any."
"May I see your hands, Taylor?" asked the detective.
"Sure." Taylor stood up and stepped forward, holding her hands out in front of her.
Without touching them, the detective examined her knuckles carefully. Then he shook his head. "The amount of training it takes to deliver blows like that flawlessly would leave unmistakeable calluses on your hands, and probably break a few bones in the process. You don't have anything like that."
"Yeah, screw that." Taylor sat down again. "I like having my hands the same shape they've always been, thanks."
"I can understand that." Andrews drew a line under his notes and closed the notepad. "Well, my condolences for what you had to go through, and I doubt we'll be needing to speak with you again."
"Good to hear," Danny said. "I hope you catch whoever did this, before they kill someone else."
Taylor
Keeping a tight control on my expression so I wouldn't even crack a smile—way too late for that, Dad—I followed Dad and Detective Andrews out to the main lobby, where the next would-be witnesses were called in. Heading out through the main doors, we ended up on the sidewalk.
"Well, that was that," he said, dusting his hands off. "Thanks for giving me the heads-up about Emma and her friends before we spoke to the detective, but honestly, you could've told me sooner. I would've done something about it, made sure you didn't have to live through all that crap they did to you."
"I could have, yeah," I admitted. "I guess some part of me wanted to make it my problem to fix. But it's over and done with now, anyway." And it was, just like the investigation into me. Detective Andrews had been the main one to suspect me for the killing since he'd been given my name, and now there was no suspicion there at all; I'd killed it stone dead.
"Are you sure you're okay with taking the bus to school?" he asked, gesturing toward the car. "I can drop you off on the way to work."
I snorted and rolled my eyes. "I don't have to be back until after lunch. Give me the chance to enjoy my freedom while I can, huh?"
"You raise an extremely valid point. Well, have fun and don't be late to class." He gave me a quick hug, which I returned. "It's good to have you back, Taylor."
"Likewise, Dad." I watched him go to the car, start it, and pull out into traffic. Before he was even out of sight, I turned and started walking in the other direction.
According to the wall clock within the precinct, it was ten-thirty. Lunch ended at twelve forty-five. I had two hours and fifteen minutes to play with, and I intended to make the most of that time.
The first thing I needed was money. While it was possible to steal the items I wanted, it would take too much time. Simply being able to hand over money streamlined the process immensely.
Of course, I was going to steal the money, because at some point theft had to enter the equation if I was going to acquire resources quickly. Not that I had a problem with stealing; I was already murdering people, and running a path to killing my current cash flow problem was small potatoes next to that.
Assuming a detached in-a-hurry air, I hustled down the sidewalk, eyes front, not even bothering to scope out the people I was passing by. I'd never practised this in my life, but just like the martial arts thing, it didn't matter; the hand was quicker than the eye. Before I'd gone fifty yards, I had a wallet in the right-hand pocket of my hoodie.
Continuing my onward march, I opened the wallet without removing it from my pocket, extracted and counted the cash by touch, then pulled a cash card out of it. An ATM beckoned; with my sleeves pulled over my knuckles, I sidled up to it. One hand casually covered the pinhole camera, while the other slid the card into the slot and tapped in the PIN without hesitation. The balance on the card was worth thousands, but I only needed a few hundred to cover what I wanted to do. I entered that amount and waited.
Thirty seconds later, the machine spit out the required amount of cash. I took it and the card, and moved on. My skin had not touched the machine once. A garbage truck rumbled past; I flicked the wallet, with the card back in it, up into the load. It wasn't my problem anymore.
Next, my footsteps led me to an electronics hobby store. The plan I had in mind was a little grandiose, but that was all part of the fun. However, it also meant I was going to need some items it was easier to buy or steal than make.
The guy at the counter looked up as I wandered in. I pretended to meander back and forth, but I knew what I needed. I also knew that the counter attendant was watching to make sure none of the stock vanished into my hoodie pockets. Well, the joke was on him; I was going to buy it fair and square.
What I placed on the counter was a hodgepodge of electronic devices and tools, about half of which I actually needed and the other half protective camouflage. When he raised his eyebrows, I shrugged. "Science project. I don't even know what half this stuff does." Which was technically true, but it didn't matter.
"Suit yourself." He rang it up on the register, and I paid with cash, throwing in a few coins from my bus change purse to make it look good. Moments later, I left the shop, holding my hand in front of my face just in time to avoid getting mugshot by the sole security camera they could afford.
Around the corner, and fifty yards down the road, was a parked motorcycle with a helmet hanging off the back. With two of the tools from the electronics shop, I bypassed the ignition and had the cycle started almost as fast as I could've done it with the key. Then I pulled the helmet on, swung astride the bike, and took off.
Halfway to my destination—I wasn't even sure where I was going, except that it was toward Captain's Hill, and I was on my way to collect a metal spike to murder Kaiser with—I pulled over and parked next to a locksmith. I had no idea what I needed there, but I was learning not to question my power.
"Hi," I said giddily as I swept into the shop. "Now, this is going to sound really weird, but my boyfriend and me are having our six-month anniversary real soon, and I wanted to give him a special gift but I can't afford much, so I was wondering if I could buy one of your keys there and get you to engrave something like 'key to my heart' on it, pretty please?"
The old guy behind the counter didn't even blink. "Sure," he said, and indicated the rows of key blanks. "Got a preference, kid?"
"Um, um, um," I said, pretending indecision. Then I pointed at the one I needed—for what, I wasn't sure yet. "That one, right there. It's the prettiest."
"Okay," he grunted and slid the blank off the hook. "That'll be ten bucks."
"Thank you so much," I gushed, watching as he expertly engraved the words into the blank. I didn't need the engraving, of course, but it was a convenient excuse for acquiring a key blank.
Back on the bike, the key in my pocket, I kept moving. About five minutes later, a citywide ping reached me; the owner of the motorcycle had discovered that his ride was missing, and had informed the police. They were now looking for the motorcycle (and by inference, the thief—me).
I kept riding.
Two detours later, to avoid police officers who'd gotten the message about the stolen bike, I was definitely in the more affluent area of Brockton Bay. Multi-story houses with attached swimming pools, gated communities, the works. I wasn't quite sure why I was here, but here I was.
I stashed the bike in a quiet side street and went on by foot. My destination was apparently a three-story edifice complete with a patio and a high stone wall all around it. Taking a run-up, I went up the wall like a startled squirrel and vaulted over the top to land and roll on the far side.
Keeping low, I darted through the immaculately topiaried shrubbery until I reached a discreetly placed back door. In place of a lock, it had an electronic keypad; using my sleeve-covered knuckle, I tapped in the code. The door obediently opened with a discreet click, and I entered.
The interior was utterly gorgeous, with works of art here and there that were undoubtedly worth more than our entire house and contents put together. A crack team of burglars could've made millions in fifteen minutes, given the run of the place. But I wasn't here for that.
Sneaking through the corridors, I tried one specific door and it opened into a luxuriously appointed study. And here was what I was looking for; a huge glass case, taking up part of one wall, exhibiting swords and knives of all kinds, from great six-foot-long monstrosities to little tiny things barely longer than my hand.
Two of them caught my eye. One was a solid-looking double-edged sword with a weird S-shaped crossguard, apparently used by some knight to defend some castle, back in the day. And the other … was a pair of shears. Not just any shears, but shears that could also be used as a dagger. The handle even featured a crossbar. It even came with its own sheath.
It would totally fit my image as Atropos.
Oh, yes. I want.
The glass case was locked with another keypad; I didn't even have to think about it as my fingers tapped the code in. Moments later, I was the proud owner of a sword and a set of dagger-shears.
Leaving the house was about as uneventful as the entry had been, even with my ill-gotten goods. Apparently my power allowed me to emulate Olympic level gymnasts at the top of their game, even while wearing jeans and a hoodie.
The sword did pose a slight problem when I went to get back on the bike; it hadn't come with a sheath, and there was no handy scabbard attached to the bike itself. I ended up sliding it down the back of my hoodie so the tip poked out the bottom, and the hilt rested against the back of my helmet. It wasn't an ideal solution, but it worked for the time being.
Stealing a car, I decided, was much more convenient.
I abandoned the bike about three streets away from our house. Once again, I wiped down everything I'd touched, trying to at least blur any fingerprints that they might find. With the sword blade up my sleeve and the hilt in the bag with the electronic items I was carrying, it didn't look like I was wandering around with a three-foot stolen blade, which was all I needed.
When I got in the back door, the clock was showing a quarter to twelve, which meant lunch had just started. I had an hour to get there.
Taking my spoils down into the basement, I used a screwdriver from Dad's toolkit to remove the plywood covering the old coal chute, and stashed the sword and electronic bits in there, alongside Oni Lee's grenades and pistol. Then I screwed it back on, headed back upstairs, and left the shears with the rest of my costume. That, at least, came with a sheath.
Time was starting to get a little tight, so I threw together a sandwich and grabbed an apple and a juice box from the fridge. I jogged the two blocks to the bus stop, and caught the next one heading in the right direction. As the bus drove off, I took a satisfied bite out of the sandwich.
Winslow High School
12:40 PM
The bus stopped outside the school and I got off. Moving with a fast stride, I made my way up the steps and into the school proper. May it be ever so grimy.
I got to my locker just as the bell rang; as I opened it, I appreciated the fact that nobody else had filled it full of crap while I was gone. The faint waft of bleach, and the entire lack of paint on the inside of the locker, showed me just how hard the cleaning staff had worked to get rid of the mess. They'd even bent the door back into shape, which was kind of impressive. Grabbing my backpack, I shoved my art supplies and math textbook in there, then added the pencil case that I'd taken from Emma's locker.
When I closed the locker door, Madison was standing there.
"Oh, hey," I said. "Is this an official visit, or are we two ships passing in the night?"
She took a deep breath, twisting her fingers together. "Emma and me, we talked to the police today." The words came in a rush.
"Mm-hmm," I said. "So did I. What did you tell them?" I didn't tell her that I'd seen Emma in the precinct. She'd learn soon enough.
"That we bullied you. All three of us." I could see her clenching her fists hard enough to whiten her knuckles. "I've been grounded forever, and Dad's taking my phone away after school. Is that enough? Is that good enough?"
I nodded. "It's a start." Slinging my backpack over my shoulder, I headed off to art class.
End of Part Five
Part Five: Interviews and Acquisitions
[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
Taylor
Leaning on the window frame, I let the chill winter breeze wash over my face as Dad maneuvered the car through Brockton Bay's morning traffic. I'd been a little hasty with killing Sophia, I decided. It would've been much better to have shot her with a crossbow or something, but she hadn't been thoughtful enough to provide one. Going the extra mile to provide my targets with a fitting kill was something I should aim for.
Oni Lee … well, I'd shot him with his own gun, so that was fitting enough, I figured. Blowing him up with his own grenade would've been even more so, but my power hadn't offered any options for doing it that way. Meh, I was okay with how it had turned out. Also, I'd scored an absolutely rockin' costume, so that was a plus point for just shooting him.
Which left my next four targets. Skidmark was maybe the easiest of the lot. He was into the drug scene, so he'd have to die by drugs. I wasn't really sure what Coil's thing was; maybe a coil of rope to tie him up and hang him by? Kaiser, I was thinking I could kill with a metal spike or spear or something, and Lung … hmm.
Lung was going to be difficult, I could just tell. Burning him to death was a non-starter, but what about an explosion? That was thematically similar to fire. But I couldn't just throw a grenade at him; my power helpfully informed me that he would survive such an attack if he was at all ramped up.
But then it started making suggestions. Very interesting suggestions. Suggestions which, if I made the right preparations, were eminently possible to carry out.
"Taylor?" Dad's voice jolted me out of my reverie.
"Yeah?" I looked around, realising that we'd parked and he had his door half-open. "Oh. We're there. Sorry, I zoned out for a bit."
"That's okay. Don't stress about it. Tell them what you saw, and don't try to embellish, alright? I'll be right there."
"Thanks." I wound up the window and got out, making sure to lock the door as I did so. "Sorry for having to put you through this."
He stepped up onto the sidewalk and ruffled my hair. "It's my job to be there for you. No big deal. Trust me, there'd be many dads accompanying their kid to the local precinct who'd love to swap out with us."
That hadn't been what I'd meant. I was about to drop a massive bomb on him that he just wasn't ready for, but there wasn't any way I could warn him ahead of time that wouldn't have other consequences down the line. But we'd get through it; once it was dropped, I'd be able to minimise the fallout, but only then. My power was really good at ending stuff, but only so-so at preventing it before it ever happened.
Besides, this way would play right into ending suspicion on me.
We walked into the precinct station, me in my hoodie, baggy jeans and ancient sneakers, and Dad in his Association working clothes. A bunch of other kids I vaguely recognised as Winslow students were sitting around, accompanied by adults who were probably their parents; I neither knew nor cared. It looked to be standing room only for the moment, but that didn't matter either. I could plan just as well standing up as sitting down.
As Dad and I joined the line to speak to the police officer on the front counter, a door opened and Emma emerged with her father. They saw us at the same time as Dad saw them, and they came our way. Or rather, Alan Barnes came our way while Emma reluctantly tagged along.
"Alan," Dad greeted his old friend. "Fancy meeting you here." His wry grin and handshake went unanswered, and he frowned.
"Good to see you too, Dan." Emma's father had a pained look on his face. "Sorry, we can't stay. Emma and I have some things to talk about." He looked over at me. "For what it's worth, Taylor, I'm sorry."
I eyed Emma speculatively. Her makeup might have fooled some people, but I knew her rather better than that, and she looked like hell. She also looked terrified of me, while desperately trying to hide it.
"Emma," I said neutrally. "It's good to see you. I hope you're doing well?"
"I'm-I'm okay," she jerked out. "You-you look good too."
I put my hand on her shoulder and she flinched, but stopped short of pulling away. "It's alright," I said just loudly enough for the adults to hear. "Go mourn your friend. I'll see you later."
"Th-thanks." She leaned closer and lowered her voice until only I could hear her. "I'm sorry. For-for everything."
I moved my lips close to her ear. "I know," I whispered back. Then I let her go and stepped back. "Bye, Emma."
"B-bye, Taylor." She huddled close to her father.
I looked up at Alan Barnes and nodded. "Thanks. I appreciate that."
He nodded in return. "Well, time to go, Dan. See you around?"
"Count on it." Dad waved briefly, then turned to me as we moved up in line. "What the hell was that about? Why was my oldest friend apologising to you? And what was wrong with Emma?"
"Tell you in a minute, Dad." I nodded toward the desk sergeant to remind him why we were in line.
We got to the counter, and Dad gave his name, my name, the reason we were here, and the name of the police officer I was supposed to be seeing, a Detective Andrews. The sergeant checked his list, verified via my student card that my name was indeed Taylor Anne Hebert, and nodded. "Take a seat … if you can find one. He'll be with you shortly."
We went and found an empty spot where nobody seemed inclined to eavesdrop on us, then Dad turned his attention my way again. "So, tell me. Why was Alan apologising to you? And what's going on with you and Emma? I would've expected you to be all over each other like a rash, but it was like you didn't even want to be in the same room as each other. When did you two stop being best friends?"
"Year before last," I said bluntly. "I got back from summer camp and she had new friends, and didn't want to be bothered with me anymore. When we started at Winslow, she doubled down. Went from 'no longer friends' to active enemies. They all started bullying me."
His eyes widened. "What the … oh, hell no! When I see Alan next—"
"He didn't know anything about it," I interrupted. "But I'm pretty sure he does now. I didn't tell you for the longest time because you were still getting over Mom, and I figured I could handle it myself." I could feel my voice patterns changing to sound more convincing, along with my body language. It was working; he was still engaged, still listening to me. "After winter break, I think they'd decided that I wasn't worth it anymore. They still said a few things to me, but it was half-hearted, tapering off. And then this happened."
"What's this got to do with what Emma was doing to you?" He still sounded pissed.
I took a deep breath for effect. "The girl who died was one of the major instigators, apart from Emma. I'm thinking she found someone else to pick on, and it went badly. Emma was … they had some sort of emotional co-dependency thing going on, and now she's gone."
"I still think I should talk to Alan—"
I shook my head. "No need. You saw her. She's a total wreck. She couldn't bully a newborn kitten right now. I hate what she did, but there's no point in kicking her when she's down."
"I guess you're right." He grimaced. "Why didn't you tell me earlier?"
"Like I said, you had enough on your plate, and I thought I had to handle it myself." I shook my head. "I know, stupid. But I guess it's one of those rare situations that solved itself, in a really weird way."
"After more than a year of bullying." The scowl had settled on his face. "I can't believe Alan didn't know."
"It's amazing what people don't see if they don't want to see it." I said it lightly, but I saw him flinch anyway. While the statement hadn't been aimed specifically at him, it was still accurate enough to sting.
"Well, not anymore." He set his jaw. "From now on, I'm Dad on deck. You have any problems, you bring them to me."
"If I have any problems, I will absolutely bring them to you," I promised. Of course, I didn't intend for anything to get to the level of being a problem, but he didn't need to know that.
We stood a little longer in companionable silence as names were called. From time to time, we glanced at the clock.
"How many classes are you going to be missing out of this?" he asked.
I shrugged. "The school doesn't expect me back until after lunch. Once we're finished here, I can take the bus there while you go to work."
"Hm. Okay."
"Hebert!" We both turned our heads as the voice called out. "Taylor Hebert!"
"That's me," I responded.
It was time to go lie my ass off to the police.
<><>
Danny
This was not Danny's first rodeo, not by a long shot. He'd already cautioned Taylor about saying too much or embellishing her words, and it seemed that she'd taken his advice to heart.
"So," began Detective Andrews. He was a big man, with muscle starting to go to fat, with thinning brown hair. "Tell me about your day at Winslow yesterday. Just the highlights, to begin with." He held his pen ready with his notepad, though Danny was sure there was a recorder running.
Taylor nodded. "Well, my first class was Computers, with Mrs Knott, then the second was World Affairs, with Mr Gladly. After that, I went and had lunch, then read for a while in the library. Then I went to art class, then math class, and that's when they made the announcement that we had to wait back."
Detective Andrews made some notes. "Okay, on your way from the library to the art classroom, did you see or hear anything happening in room thirty-nine A?"
Taylor frowned. "That's where it happened? No, that classroom isn't used at that time of day. The door was closed."
Scribble, scribble. "Understood. Now, how well did you know Sophia Hess?"
Lifting her head, Taylor pressed her lips together before answering. "I knew her. Along with Emma Barnes and Madison Clements. They made my life a complete hell over the last year and a bit."
"Really?" Andrews' brows rose. "She was bullying you?"
"Yes." Taylor leaned forward slightly. "If Emma or Madison say any differently, they're lying. I've been tripped, shoved, had stuff stolen from my locker, had glue or glitter or juice put on my seat, had my assignments stolen and stories spread about me. If there's a checklist of what school bullies do, they've ticked off everything."
"Hmm." Detective Andrews made a few more notes. "So, what was the last thing they did to bully you?"
Taylor didn't have to stop and think. "Just after World Affairs, I was heading to the cafeteria. I ran into Sophia. She tried to shove me around, but I bluffed her into thinking a teacher was watching. Come to think of it, she was pretty half-hearted about it, like she was getting bored with the whole thing. Then I went to have lunch. Emma and Madison came up to me then, but the same as Sophia, it was like they were just going through the motions. They didn't even try to tip my tray over or spill my juice on me."
"Is that the last you saw of them before the announcement in math class?" More notes were made.
"Um …" Taylor paused. "No. I went to the library after I finished lunch, and I saw Sophia come in while I was browsing the stacks. I didn't know if she was looking for me or Emma and Madison, so I just stayed out of her way. That was the last time I saw her. I didn't see Madison at all for the rest of the day, and I saw Emma in math class. She left the classroom just before the announcement. I think she had an upset stomach or something."
"I see." Detective Andrews flipped to a new page. "With all this, I think it's fair to say you might have been justified in holding a grudge against Miss Hess?"
Taylor didn't laugh out loud, but she did let out a rather bitter chuckle. "A grudge? Yeah, I think you could say that. I hated her guts. I still hate Emma and Madison. Not that I could do a damn thing about it, but I hated her. Wouldn't you?"
"I might," admitted the detective. "But holding a grudge, even for the level of bullying you seem to have gone through, doesn't justify murder."
"Wait, wait," protested Danny for the first time. "Detective, are you seriously accusing my daughter—"
"Dad, chill." Taylor waved him down. "Detective, how did she die? I doubt she was shot, because I know damn well Hollywood lies about silencers. Stabbed? Hit over the head with something from behind? Choked out?"
Detective Andrews drew a deep breath, then released it. "She was beaten to death," he admitted reluctantly. "Using advanced martial arts moves. Crushed larynx, shattered ribs, stopped heart."
Taylor snorted. "Well, that leaves me out, then. My most advanced martial arts form is best described as Way of the Chicken." Still sitting down, she performed a credible impression of someone running for their life.
Danny felt relief seeping through him. He'd always known Taylor was innocent, and now he could prove it. "It's true. She's never had martial arts training. I know, because I never paid for any."
"May I see your hands, Taylor?" asked the detective.
"Sure." Taylor stood up and stepped forward, holding her hands out in front of her.
Without touching them, the detective examined her knuckles carefully. Then he shook his head. "The amount of training it takes to deliver blows like that flawlessly would leave unmistakeable calluses on your hands, and probably break a few bones in the process. You don't have anything like that."
"Yeah, screw that." Taylor sat down again. "I like having my hands the same shape they've always been, thanks."
"I can understand that." Andrews drew a line under his notes and closed the notepad. "Well, my condolences for what you had to go through, and I doubt we'll be needing to speak with you again."
"Good to hear," Danny said. "I hope you catch whoever did this, before they kill someone else."
<><>
Taylor
Keeping a tight control on my expression so I wouldn't even crack a smile—way too late for that, Dad—I followed Dad and Detective Andrews out to the main lobby, where the next would-be witnesses were called in. Heading out through the main doors, we ended up on the sidewalk.
"Well, that was that," he said, dusting his hands off. "Thanks for giving me the heads-up about Emma and her friends before we spoke to the detective, but honestly, you could've told me sooner. I would've done something about it, made sure you didn't have to live through all that crap they did to you."
"I could have, yeah," I admitted. "I guess some part of me wanted to make it my problem to fix. But it's over and done with now, anyway." And it was, just like the investigation into me. Detective Andrews had been the main one to suspect me for the killing since he'd been given my name, and now there was no suspicion there at all; I'd killed it stone dead.
"Are you sure you're okay with taking the bus to school?" he asked, gesturing toward the car. "I can drop you off on the way to work."
I snorted and rolled my eyes. "I don't have to be back until after lunch. Give me the chance to enjoy my freedom while I can, huh?"
"You raise an extremely valid point. Well, have fun and don't be late to class." He gave me a quick hug, which I returned. "It's good to have you back, Taylor."
"Likewise, Dad." I watched him go to the car, start it, and pull out into traffic. Before he was even out of sight, I turned and started walking in the other direction.
According to the wall clock within the precinct, it was ten-thirty. Lunch ended at twelve forty-five. I had two hours and fifteen minutes to play with, and I intended to make the most of that time.
The first thing I needed was money. While it was possible to steal the items I wanted, it would take too much time. Simply being able to hand over money streamlined the process immensely.
Of course, I was going to steal the money, because at some point theft had to enter the equation if I was going to acquire resources quickly. Not that I had a problem with stealing; I was already murdering people, and running a path to killing my current cash flow problem was small potatoes next to that.
Assuming a detached in-a-hurry air, I hustled down the sidewalk, eyes front, not even bothering to scope out the people I was passing by. I'd never practised this in my life, but just like the martial arts thing, it didn't matter; the hand was quicker than the eye. Before I'd gone fifty yards, I had a wallet in the right-hand pocket of my hoodie.
Continuing my onward march, I opened the wallet without removing it from my pocket, extracted and counted the cash by touch, then pulled a cash card out of it. An ATM beckoned; with my sleeves pulled over my knuckles, I sidled up to it. One hand casually covered the pinhole camera, while the other slid the card into the slot and tapped in the PIN without hesitation. The balance on the card was worth thousands, but I only needed a few hundred to cover what I wanted to do. I entered that amount and waited.
Thirty seconds later, the machine spit out the required amount of cash. I took it and the card, and moved on. My skin had not touched the machine once. A garbage truck rumbled past; I flicked the wallet, with the card back in it, up into the load. It wasn't my problem anymore.
Next, my footsteps led me to an electronics hobby store. The plan I had in mind was a little grandiose, but that was all part of the fun. However, it also meant I was going to need some items it was easier to buy or steal than make.
The guy at the counter looked up as I wandered in. I pretended to meander back and forth, but I knew what I needed. I also knew that the counter attendant was watching to make sure none of the stock vanished into my hoodie pockets. Well, the joke was on him; I was going to buy it fair and square.
What I placed on the counter was a hodgepodge of electronic devices and tools, about half of which I actually needed and the other half protective camouflage. When he raised his eyebrows, I shrugged. "Science project. I don't even know what half this stuff does." Which was technically true, but it didn't matter.
"Suit yourself." He rang it up on the register, and I paid with cash, throwing in a few coins from my bus change purse to make it look good. Moments later, I left the shop, holding my hand in front of my face just in time to avoid getting mugshot by the sole security camera they could afford.
Around the corner, and fifty yards down the road, was a parked motorcycle with a helmet hanging off the back. With two of the tools from the electronics shop, I bypassed the ignition and had the cycle started almost as fast as I could've done it with the key. Then I pulled the helmet on, swung astride the bike, and took off.
Halfway to my destination—I wasn't even sure where I was going, except that it was toward Captain's Hill, and I was on my way to collect a metal spike to murder Kaiser with—I pulled over and parked next to a locksmith. I had no idea what I needed there, but I was learning not to question my power.
"Hi," I said giddily as I swept into the shop. "Now, this is going to sound really weird, but my boyfriend and me are having our six-month anniversary real soon, and I wanted to give him a special gift but I can't afford much, so I was wondering if I could buy one of your keys there and get you to engrave something like 'key to my heart' on it, pretty please?"
The old guy behind the counter didn't even blink. "Sure," he said, and indicated the rows of key blanks. "Got a preference, kid?"
"Um, um, um," I said, pretending indecision. Then I pointed at the one I needed—for what, I wasn't sure yet. "That one, right there. It's the prettiest."
"Okay," he grunted and slid the blank off the hook. "That'll be ten bucks."
"Thank you so much," I gushed, watching as he expertly engraved the words into the blank. I didn't need the engraving, of course, but it was a convenient excuse for acquiring a key blank.
Back on the bike, the key in my pocket, I kept moving. About five minutes later, a citywide ping reached me; the owner of the motorcycle had discovered that his ride was missing, and had informed the police. They were now looking for the motorcycle (and by inference, the thief—me).
I kept riding.
Two detours later, to avoid police officers who'd gotten the message about the stolen bike, I was definitely in the more affluent area of Brockton Bay. Multi-story houses with attached swimming pools, gated communities, the works. I wasn't quite sure why I was here, but here I was.
I stashed the bike in a quiet side street and went on by foot. My destination was apparently a three-story edifice complete with a patio and a high stone wall all around it. Taking a run-up, I went up the wall like a startled squirrel and vaulted over the top to land and roll on the far side.
Keeping low, I darted through the immaculately topiaried shrubbery until I reached a discreetly placed back door. In place of a lock, it had an electronic keypad; using my sleeve-covered knuckle, I tapped in the code. The door obediently opened with a discreet click, and I entered.
The interior was utterly gorgeous, with works of art here and there that were undoubtedly worth more than our entire house and contents put together. A crack team of burglars could've made millions in fifteen minutes, given the run of the place. But I wasn't here for that.
Sneaking through the corridors, I tried one specific door and it opened into a luxuriously appointed study. And here was what I was looking for; a huge glass case, taking up part of one wall, exhibiting swords and knives of all kinds, from great six-foot-long monstrosities to little tiny things barely longer than my hand.
Two of them caught my eye. One was a solid-looking double-edged sword with a weird S-shaped crossguard, apparently used by some knight to defend some castle, back in the day. And the other … was a pair of shears. Not just any shears, but shears that could also be used as a dagger. The handle even featured a crossbar. It even came with its own sheath.
It would totally fit my image as Atropos.
Oh, yes. I want.
The glass case was locked with another keypad; I didn't even have to think about it as my fingers tapped the code in. Moments later, I was the proud owner of a sword and a set of dagger-shears.
Leaving the house was about as uneventful as the entry had been, even with my ill-gotten goods. Apparently my power allowed me to emulate Olympic level gymnasts at the top of their game, even while wearing jeans and a hoodie.
The sword did pose a slight problem when I went to get back on the bike; it hadn't come with a sheath, and there was no handy scabbard attached to the bike itself. I ended up sliding it down the back of my hoodie so the tip poked out the bottom, and the hilt rested against the back of my helmet. It wasn't an ideal solution, but it worked for the time being.
Stealing a car, I decided, was much more convenient.
I abandoned the bike about three streets away from our house. Once again, I wiped down everything I'd touched, trying to at least blur any fingerprints that they might find. With the sword blade up my sleeve and the hilt in the bag with the electronic items I was carrying, it didn't look like I was wandering around with a three-foot stolen blade, which was all I needed.
When I got in the back door, the clock was showing a quarter to twelve, which meant lunch had just started. I had an hour to get there.
Taking my spoils down into the basement, I used a screwdriver from Dad's toolkit to remove the plywood covering the old coal chute, and stashed the sword and electronic bits in there, alongside Oni Lee's grenades and pistol. Then I screwed it back on, headed back upstairs, and left the shears with the rest of my costume. That, at least, came with a sheath.
Time was starting to get a little tight, so I threw together a sandwich and grabbed an apple and a juice box from the fridge. I jogged the two blocks to the bus stop, and caught the next one heading in the right direction. As the bus drove off, I took a satisfied bite out of the sandwich.
<><>
Winslow High School
12:40 PM
The bus stopped outside the school and I got off. Moving with a fast stride, I made my way up the steps and into the school proper. May it be ever so grimy.
I got to my locker just as the bell rang; as I opened it, I appreciated the fact that nobody else had filled it full of crap while I was gone. The faint waft of bleach, and the entire lack of paint on the inside of the locker, showed me just how hard the cleaning staff had worked to get rid of the mess. They'd even bent the door back into shape, which was kind of impressive. Grabbing my backpack, I shoved my art supplies and math textbook in there, then added the pencil case that I'd taken from Emma's locker.
When I closed the locker door, Madison was standing there.
"Oh, hey," I said. "Is this an official visit, or are we two ships passing in the night?"
She took a deep breath, twisting her fingers together. "Emma and me, we talked to the police today." The words came in a rush.
"Mm-hmm," I said. "So did I. What did you tell them?" I didn't tell her that I'd seen Emma in the precinct. She'd learn soon enough.
"That we bullied you. All three of us." I could see her clenching her fists hard enough to whiten her knuckles. "I've been grounded forever, and Dad's taking my phone away after school. Is that enough? Is that good enough?"
I nodded. "It's a start." Slinging my backpack over my shoulder, I headed off to art class.
End of Part Five
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Part Six: A Good Death
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A Darker Path
Part Six: A Good Death
[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
Later That Afternoon
Hebert Household Basement
Taylor
I pressed the button on the tiny remote; with a tiny whine, the jaws opened against the spring holding them closed. Releasing the button let the jaws snap shut again. I carefully didn't press the second button on the remote, which would overload the tiny battery powering the whole gizmo and deconstruct it explosively.
I hadn't even known that was possible, up until now.
Resting on the workbench were several other devices with similar applications, all constructed from the bits and pieces I'd purchased from the electronics store. I wasn't sure what they were going to be used for, but I had no doubt it would be impressive.
Setting the remote aside, I took up the key that the locksmith had engraved for me. Thirty seconds with an angle-grinder had erased some of the engraving, and transformed it into a functional key. For what, I still had no idea, but I was sure I would find out.
(And yes, I was impressed that my power could freestyle a working key in thirty seconds with an angle grinder. I mean, damn).
However, I was done here for the moment. Bundling everything together, I put it back in the coal chute and screwed the wood facing back on. By the time the car tyres crunched on the gravel in the driveway, I had washed my hands and face, and was hard at work prepping a lasagne in the kitchen.
"Hi, Taylor," Dad said as he opened the back door. "How was the rest of your day?"
I shrugged and kept on with my task. "Eh, got stuff done. Nobody messed with me."
He slapped me on the shoulder on the way past to the fridge. "Best kind of day."
Under the Medhall Building
Hookwolf
Bradley shook his head. "Oni Lee wasn't any kind of pushover," he said flatly. "I fought him enough times to know that. If this Atropos asshole offed him and says they're gonna go after you, I think you should take some kinda precautions."
"That's what I've been saying," James replied. "Max. What are your thoughts on the matter?"
Max ran his hand over his face and looked around at his two lieutenants. In his hand was an untouched glass of bourbon, the ice slowly melting into the drink. "Sorry, I'm a little distracted. When I got home, I found some of my property missing. Someone not only penetrated the security system, but filched two items out of my private collection of blades. My katzbalger and the bodice shears are gone. All the cameras caught was a shadow on the edge of the frame."
"Shit, that sucks." Bradley went for a sympathetic tone. "How much were they worth, anyway? Was it the gold-plated stuff?"
"No, and that's what I can't figure out," Max snarled. He clenched his free hand into a fist and thumped it on the table. "The thief walked straight past pieces of art worth six figures, and took none of it. They went straight to my study, opened the display case without tripping the alarm, and took exactly two pieces, neither of which is strikingly unique or intrinsically valuable. Then they left again."
James shrugged. "So we approach it from that end. Why would someone want those two specific pieces? Who would want them?"
"There's a few capes out there who like the whole medieval look," Bradley offered. "I mean, Armsmaster's got that fucking halberd."
"But that's Tinkertech," James objected. "Max's collection is all genuine antiques. A sword is just a sword. Shears are just shears. Who needs shears?"
Bradley chuckled. "Parian? You know, for cutting up the cloth for her stupid stuffed animals?"
"Wait." Max sat upright, his eyes opening wide. "Shears. Cutting cloth."
"Yeah, that's what I just said." Bradley eyed his boss warily. "You okay there?"
"Motherfucker." It was like Max hadn't heard him. "Shears. You know who else uses shears to cut things?"
Bradley shared a glance of mutual incomprehension with James, then shrugged. "Fucked if I know."
Max looked at the other two. "Did you ever learn about the three Fates in school? Clotho, who spun the threads of people's lives, Lachesis, who measured them out … and Atropos, who cut them using shears?"
A silence descended on the trio, that lasted almost thirty seconds.
"So it was Atropos," James said slowly. "They were right there. In your house."
"It might not have been them," Bradley objected, but it sounded weak even to his ears.
"Really?" Max's lips were pulled back in a snarl. "You think so? Exactly two things were taken. A German landsknecht's sword, and a pair of shears. That's a message if I ever saw one. 'I know you're Kaiser, signed Atropos'."
Bradley didn't get it. "So it's a German sword. What's that got to do with anything?"
"Because," Max said with an air of strained patience, "it was once owned by Kaiser Wilhelm the first. My father built the collection around it."
Well, that put a whole new meaning on things. "Oh. Oh, shit."
"It's clear that your house isn't safe anymore, that's for certain," James decided. "Maybe you should actually think about …"
Bradley shook his head. "Nope. Don't even go there."
"No." Max's voice was firm. "If you were about to say, 'think about leaving town', that's not a possibility. I am the Empire Eighty-Eight; the Empire Eighty-Eight is me. I inherited this team from my father, and I refuse to abandon it like this. Besides, if word got out, how would it look? All people would have to do is post a credible death threat on PHO, and I leave town? They could cripple us at a whim!"
"Your death would also be a huge setback." James took a sip of his drink. "I do agree. You must not be seen to flee from a potential assassin. But your house is clearly not secure enough for this matter. I think … right here, in this building, is the best place to be. Electronic security is one thing to defeat. But no matter how stealthy this Atropos is, I doubt they could fight their way past our entire cape contingent to get to you."
Bradley cracked his knuckles with a series of metallic pops. "Damn right."
If this Atropos seriously decided to come after Kaiser, he decided, they would regret it very fucking briefly.
ABB Territory
Lung
Despite his anger, Kenta's power lay quiescent. Nobody threatened him directly; midnight was still hours away. He looked down at the dark stain on the sidewalk where Oni Lee had died. A single shot to the face with his own gun. The autopsy, he'd heard through his own sources, had revealed a tiny mass of sodden ash at the far end of the wound channel.
Atropos had taken his gun and grenades. The final insult. She'd left Lee's mask and combat knife though, which was good. The latter had been retrieved by Isamu before he fled.
Lung had brought Isamu along with him, despite the idiot's broken arm (now splinted, and in a sling) and bandaged head. The young man spoke Vietnamese as well as his native Japanese, which would be useful; the proprietor of the shop spoke little to no English, and Kenta's own Vietnamese was limited to extremely crude subjects. He wanted exactly zero misunderstandings, going forward.
Waving to his other five men to stay where they were, he stepped forward and pushed the shop door open. A tiny bell jingled cheerily as he did so. From within the shop appeared an elderly lady, who bowed deeply and said something. One of her assistants spoke up. "Great Lung, we—"
"Silence!" barked Kenta. "My man will translate." Turning his head slightly, he nodded to Isamu. "What did the old lady say?"
Isamu cleared his throat. "She said, 'Great Lung, we are honoured by your presence in our humble shop.'"
"Hm." Kenta glared at her. She bowed again, then went to her knees. "Ask her where my money is."
Isamu spoke briefly. The lady replied quickly, barely above a whisper, trembling the whole time. Clenching his fists, Isamu stepped forward, but Kenta held up his hand. "Stop! What was that about?"
Breathing deeply through his nostrils, Isamu gritted the words out. "She says, 'I don't know. Perhaps that masked girl took it from you.'"
That was highly possible. It was what Kenta would have done. "Ask her what happened when the girl entered the shop."
A brief conversation ensued. "She says the girl required them to outfit her with a costume. After she killed Oni Lee, they were too afraid not to do what she said. The girl spoke Vietnamese fluently, better than me, she says."
"And you say she was white?" Kenta was pretty sure that was one of the details he'd been told. White girls who spoke Vietnamese that well were few and far between.
Isamu nodded, but carefully. "Yes. I remember wondering if she was a tourist."
Kenta frowned. That was actually a good point. Was this a cape from out of town, instead of a local? He wasn't sure how to check that. "Ask them if they saw the girl's face while they were outfitting her." He'd already established that none of the three men had seen her closely enough to recall any details. Concussions tended to have that effect.
Once more, Isamu passed on the query. The old lady answered, along with a hand gesture that covered the lower half of her face. When she'd finished, Isamu turned to Kenta. "She had a mask over her mouth and nose. Whenever she took it off, she turned her back on everyone."
"Of course she did," sighed Kenta. If this was a newcomer to the game, she was being very slick about it. "Did she seem to need her glasses, or were they just part of a disguise?" Isamu had mentioned the glasses, earlier, but Kenta doubted they could be worn over a morph mask.
The question made the old lady pause and think. Eventually, she shook her head. Kenta had his answer before Isamu translated. "She says no, the girl did not seem to have any sort of vision problems after she took her glasses off."
At least his men wouldn't be wasting their time looking for girls with glasses. "And she was tall, skinny, with long dark hair?"
The old lady bowed briefly and spoke a few words. Isamu snorted, then turned to Kenta. "She said, 'Great Lung knows all.' I think she is mocking you."
"I know mockery when I hear it." Kenta's tone was mildly censorious. "She would not dare mock me or lie to me." He doubted that the old lady liked him, but fear and respect were wolves that ran side by side and could easily be mistaken for one another. He didn't need friends; he just needed obedience.
"Should I tell her to hand over the protection money again?"
"Hm." Kenta considered it. "No. Tell her that in my generosity, I will forgive her the money this time, but in return I expect her to contact me immediately if the girl comes back, and to keep the girl talking until I arrive."
"Yes, sir." Isamu turned to the old lady, and rattled off a speech. Her reply was much shorter, and punctuated with another bow that put her forehead to the ground.
"She said, 'It will be done, great Lung.'" Isamu frowned. "I don't trust her."
Kenta turned toward the door of the shop. "I trust her to see to her own best interests. She knows that if the girl is seen in this shop again and she doesn't call me, I will burn it down with her inside."
Isamu followed him out; the door swung shut behind them. "But you didn't tell me to tell her that."
Turning to face his minion, Kenta smiled coldly. "Some things, you don't have to translate."
Taylor
Dad wanted to talk over dinner. I liked that he was engaging more, even if it narrowed my window for getting out and performing long-delayed retribution on some people who desperately needed it. So, after we cleared the table, we sat back and chatted.
Of course, he wanted to talk about Emma.
"What do you think happened to her, to make her turn on you?" he asked helplessly. "She was your best friend, for crying out loud!"
"I'm not totally sure," I said, though I had my suspicions. "Whatever it was, Sophia was at the centre of it. But it's not even all Sophia's fault, I don't think. Emma's always been a little … fragile. When she's got plenty of support, she's fine. But take that away, and she shatters. And when whatever it was happened, Sophia helped put her back together wrongly." I shrugged. "You saw what she was like when she lost Sophia."
"That's a little cold, isn't it?" Dad shook his head. "Emma was your best friend for years. Now she's a quivering wreck. I never knew this Sophia, but she was a human being too. You can't just dismiss them out of hand like that."
"Why not?" I asked reasonably. "They spent the better part of a year and a half doing their best to destroy me. Emma looked me in the eye and tore down Mom's memory in front of everyone. She chose to stop being my friend, and Sophia simply chose to be my enemy. I owe them nothing."
I hadn't raised my voice, but Dad still flinched. "Okay, yeah, I get it. You're still pissed at them. Believe me, I understand. I would be too. But at some point you have to learn to let things go, or it'll eat you up inside."
"No," I said. "You don't understand. I'm not angry at them, but I'm not about to forgive them either. I've literally stopped caring about them. Where they go, what they do, so long as it's not near me, I simply don't give a fuck."
He blinked. "Oh. Well, uh, that's … I suppose that's actually a very mature way to look at things. It's not one that I've ever mastered." A self-deprecating chuckle. "The best I ever did was learn to walk away before I punched someone."
I shrugged in return. "That's probably a good skill to have if your problems don't keep following you around the school. And if they'd kept it up after winter break, I would've come to you about it. But they didn't, and Sophia pulled her shit on someone who really wasn't going to take it, and here we are."
"Which is a matter of concern in and of itself," Dad noted. "Why would someone capable of that level of martial arts go after a teenage girl in the middle of school? What could she have possibly done to deserve that level of retaliation?"
"Well, I'm only making a wild guess here," I said. I was fully aware that I was lying through my teeth, but I also knew it was a lot safer for him to believe this than to be aware of the truth. "I noticed they were being a lot less enthusiastic about going after me, right?"
"Right," he said, nodding. "You mentioned it in the precinct."
"Yeah." I assumed a thoughtful expression. "My guess is that over the winter break, while she couldn't get to me, Sophia found someone else to torment, and they fought back. She's got—she had—this thing about always having to win. So, if they pushed back and actually got a punch in, she would've utterly fucking demolished them."
Dad didn't react to my swearing as he nodded slowly. "Yeah, I can see that. I've known people like that from time to time. So you think … they were related to a cape?"
I shrugged. "Or whoever it was, maybe their parents knew a cape. Maybe even one of the Empire Eighty-Eight." He looked at me and frowned, and I realised he was missing crucial information. "Oh, yeah, sorry. Sophia was black."
"Oh." He sat back. "Shit, yes. That makes sense."
"Mm-hmm." I nodded. "It wouldn't be all that hard to sneak someone into Winslow over the lunch break. She comes into the room, expecting to see her victim of the week, gets sucker-punched into the middle of next year, and they beat her to death."
Dad nodded again. "Yeah. Scary. I hope they catch who did it."
"The Empire's hurt a lot of people over the years." I said it like I was agreeing with him. "I don't think anyone's going to shed too many tears if they go down over something like this."
"Very true." He pushed back his chair. "I'll wash, you dry?"
"Sounds like a plan."
2350 Hours
Coil
Thomas Calvert slept the sleep of the clear of conscience, and those who had no conscience at all. Only in one of his instances was he actually asleep, so his dreams were lucid, populated with the goings-on of the other instance. This was a useful trick to have, so he made use of it as often as he could.
In the instance where he was awake, he was hard at work in his office in the underground base. Every mercenary was up and active. Eight were patrolling in pairs around the exterior exits, dressed as local security, while the rest were either moving through the base in regular sweep patterns or resting in their bunks, fully uniformed with their weapons beside them.
In the other instance, he was asleep in bed in his suburban house, with a pistol under his pillow. He had paid extra for a security panel that required a key to be inserted and turned for it to be disabled, and right now the only way to get to him was through one of three rooms covered by that security panel. And even if Atropos was coming after him under his real name, the house had been purchased under a false identity for just such a situation as this.
Seated in his office, he flicked his eyes at the alarm clock he'd placed on his desk. Then he picked up the radio that sat alongside the clock. "Security check, please."
"Security check, yes, sir."
He heard the names being read off and the code-phrase responses. Everyone answered correctly, as expected. But why were the hairs raising on the back of his neck?
"Check again," he ordered. "Secondary codes."
"Secondary codes, yes, sir."
This time, the names were only half done when a yellow light blipped up on his monitor. Unauthorised door opening. The sewer entrance. "Who opened the sewer entrance?"
"Blake and Senegal are out there, sir. They just answered with the correct phrases." He could hear running feet in the background, and people calling commands without using the radio net.
"Well, someone just got past them!" The hairs all down his spine were flaring now. He jumped to his feet and grabbed his pistol.
"On site now, sir. It's Blake. He—" There was the sound of a shot, both over the radio and through the base, and the signal cut out.
With the pistol in hand, he took up the radio and flattened himself to the wall next to his office doorway. "Somebody report. Now."
"Blake's gone nuts!" someone else shouted over the radio. There was the sound of gunfire and lasers going off in the background. "Get him!"
"That's not Blake." He forced himself to keep his voice steady. "That is Atropos. Shoot her."
More gunfire rang out, but he couldn't tell who was winning, or even who was firing. Slapping the emergency-close on the sliding door—it couldn't be opened from the outside without using a code that only he knew—he threw himself into the computer chair. A click of the mouse (his pistol was in his left hand, because he wasn't stupid) brought him to the feeds for all the security cameras in the base.
What he saw was … horrifying. The person wearing Blake's armour was steadily advancing against his troopers, carrying a pistol in each hand, casually side-stepping around incoming fire—bullets and lasers both—and dropping a trooper with each shot from the pistols. Thomas even saw the intruder firing in two different directions and killing both targets at the same time.
He'd only seen such impossible capability once before, but he knew it couldn't be her this time. The bogeyman of Cauldron had ways of appearing inside locked rooms; she didn't have to sneak in and kill all his men.
There was something odd with her profile as she stepped onto the catwalk leading to his office. He zoomed in with the closest camera, and blinked. Somewhere along the way, she had discarded Blake's helmet, and the rest of his armour. Now, she was wearing a black broad-brimmed hat, uncomfortably reminiscent of the Cauldron cape. Beneath that, she wore a black morph mask and long-coat, just as she'd been described on PHO. The coat was a little tattered and frayed from a few laser shots that had pierced it, but it only made her look scarier.
With a final flurry of shots, she dispatched the last of the mercenaries brave enough to go up against her. More than three-quarters of his guard force had already been destroyed, the only ones not yet dead or wounded being those who hadn't broken cover.
Now she stood before the door to his office; his sanctum sanctorum. Three inches of metal, sandwiched with radar-reflective material, ensured that she couldn't get through to kill him. In the meantime, he certainly intended to kill her.
Clicking on the mouse, he called up a particular menu. While constructing the base, installing the self-destruct explosives had been time-consuming and dangerous, but he'd made sure it happened anyway. Those who participated in that aspect all got lavish bonuses, and lovely funerals. Now, it was going to pay for itself—
The door beeped and slid aside.
What the fuck?
Caught on the back foot, he tried to swing his pistol to shoot the figure looming in the doorway, but a boot lashed upward. The gun was smashed from his hand, and he felt his trigger finger snap.
"Hey, asshole." The voice was that of a teenage girl. "Thought I told you to get out of town. It's two minutes to midnight. Any last words?"
As she spoke, she blocked the swipe of his fighting knife with what looked like a pair of shears, kicked him in the groin, and disarmed him with insulting ease. Then she smacked him on the head with the butt of the pistol, making his ears ring.
When his head cleared, he found himself wrapped up in rope, immobilising his arms at his sides. There was also a noose around his neck. "What—what do you want?" he rasped.
She frog-marched him out the door of his office, where he saw that the rope that had been tied around him was actually looped through the rail of the catwalk.
"From you? Nothing. I said you were gonna die at midnight. And it's midnight."
He felt an irresistible shove, then he went over the rail. Shit—I'm the counterweight—I'm going to hang myself—
Then he hit the end of the rope, and that timeline closed.
Safe at home, he sat up in bed, breathing hard. Fuck. That was terrifying.
"Hey, asshole." The black-masked figure seated in the armchair raised her pistol as the floor-lamp clicked on. "Thought I told you to get out of town."
Taylor
The look of sheer, unadulterated terror on Coil's face as he saw me made all the prep so worth it. I'd been wondering what the key was for, right up until I broke into the unassuming house in the suburbs to find a high-powered security system waiting for me. With that sorted out, I'd carried the armchair and floor-lamp into his bedroom and set things up to wait for when my power told me was the right time.
A sudden reek in the air told me that he'd pissed himself. In a way, he was lucky; he wasn't the one who was going to have to change the sheets. I waited patiently. In a moment, he'd remember the pistol under the pillow—
He was actually pretty fast, his hand sliding under there and out again with the gun already pointed at me. There was no bullshit about trying to tell me to drop my gun; he just started firing. Or, well, tried to. There was one dry click, followed by a lot of useless trigger pulls.
I opened my left hand and tilted it, allowing the cartridges to spill from it onto the bedroom carpet. Then I came to my feet, my pistol never wavering from his head. "Now," I said. "You were warned. It's midnight. Any last words?"
"You have no idea what you're getting into," he spat, his courage apparently building again. "I have friends—"
Pulling the shears from their sheath, I plunged them into his throat and ripped out sideways. The keen edge sliced through his carotids, windpipe and jugular quite easily, and I sidestepped the resultant spray. For a skinny guy, I had to admit, he had an impressive amount of blood in him.
Past tense, of course.
As he watched me in rapidly fading horror, red pulsing from between his vainly clutching fingers, I holstered the pistol. The costume that I'd removed from its hiding place was draped over the back of the armchair; I grabbed it and tossed it to land over his body. "That's nice," I said, stepping back from the rapidly spreading pool of crimson on the floor. "Everyone should have friends."
Strolling out into the living room, I paused in front of his high-end computer. There was a handy pen, so I scribbled down his passwords on a note I left tucked under the mouse. The Path to ending Coil's influence went quite a bit further than ending Coil himself, apparently. I'd also amused myself earlier by leaving Post-It notes saying SAFE HERE wherever he'd hidden a safe in the house. There were more than I would've expected.
When I left the house (I washed the shears off first in his sink), I thoughtfully engaged the security system, but at the lower setting so that nobody would need a key to get past it. Then I got back in the car and drove off, removing my hat and morph mask before I did so.
Why no, officer, I've never even heard of Atropos.
My next stop was the Medhall building. Kaiser would've been staying up until midnight with all his security on high alert; by the time I got there, they'd be winding it back so everyone could get a good morning's sleep. While I could sneak in and kill him now, I'd said midnight and so midnight it would be.
However, I hadn't said anything about not making preparations.
End of Part Six
Relevant Side Story
Part Six: A Good Death
[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
Later That Afternoon
Hebert Household Basement
Taylor
I pressed the button on the tiny remote; with a tiny whine, the jaws opened against the spring holding them closed. Releasing the button let the jaws snap shut again. I carefully didn't press the second button on the remote, which would overload the tiny battery powering the whole gizmo and deconstruct it explosively.
I hadn't even known that was possible, up until now.
Resting on the workbench were several other devices with similar applications, all constructed from the bits and pieces I'd purchased from the electronics store. I wasn't sure what they were going to be used for, but I had no doubt it would be impressive.
Setting the remote aside, I took up the key that the locksmith had engraved for me. Thirty seconds with an angle-grinder had erased some of the engraving, and transformed it into a functional key. For what, I still had no idea, but I was sure I would find out.
(And yes, I was impressed that my power could freestyle a working key in thirty seconds with an angle grinder. I mean, damn).
However, I was done here for the moment. Bundling everything together, I put it back in the coal chute and screwed the wood facing back on. By the time the car tyres crunched on the gravel in the driveway, I had washed my hands and face, and was hard at work prepping a lasagne in the kitchen.
"Hi, Taylor," Dad said as he opened the back door. "How was the rest of your day?"
I shrugged and kept on with my task. "Eh, got stuff done. Nobody messed with me."
He slapped me on the shoulder on the way past to the fridge. "Best kind of day."
<><>
Under the Medhall Building
Hookwolf
Bradley shook his head. "Oni Lee wasn't any kind of pushover," he said flatly. "I fought him enough times to know that. If this Atropos asshole offed him and says they're gonna go after you, I think you should take some kinda precautions."
"That's what I've been saying," James replied. "Max. What are your thoughts on the matter?"
Max ran his hand over his face and looked around at his two lieutenants. In his hand was an untouched glass of bourbon, the ice slowly melting into the drink. "Sorry, I'm a little distracted. When I got home, I found some of my property missing. Someone not only penetrated the security system, but filched two items out of my private collection of blades. My katzbalger and the bodice shears are gone. All the cameras caught was a shadow on the edge of the frame."
"Shit, that sucks." Bradley went for a sympathetic tone. "How much were they worth, anyway? Was it the gold-plated stuff?"
"No, and that's what I can't figure out," Max snarled. He clenched his free hand into a fist and thumped it on the table. "The thief walked straight past pieces of art worth six figures, and took none of it. They went straight to my study, opened the display case without tripping the alarm, and took exactly two pieces, neither of which is strikingly unique or intrinsically valuable. Then they left again."
James shrugged. "So we approach it from that end. Why would someone want those two specific pieces? Who would want them?"
"There's a few capes out there who like the whole medieval look," Bradley offered. "I mean, Armsmaster's got that fucking halberd."
"But that's Tinkertech," James objected. "Max's collection is all genuine antiques. A sword is just a sword. Shears are just shears. Who needs shears?"
Bradley chuckled. "Parian? You know, for cutting up the cloth for her stupid stuffed animals?"
"Wait." Max sat upright, his eyes opening wide. "Shears. Cutting cloth."
"Yeah, that's what I just said." Bradley eyed his boss warily. "You okay there?"
"Motherfucker." It was like Max hadn't heard him. "Shears. You know who else uses shears to cut things?"
Bradley shared a glance of mutual incomprehension with James, then shrugged. "Fucked if I know."
Max looked at the other two. "Did you ever learn about the three Fates in school? Clotho, who spun the threads of people's lives, Lachesis, who measured them out … and Atropos, who cut them using shears?"
A silence descended on the trio, that lasted almost thirty seconds.
"So it was Atropos," James said slowly. "They were right there. In your house."
"It might not have been them," Bradley objected, but it sounded weak even to his ears.
"Really?" Max's lips were pulled back in a snarl. "You think so? Exactly two things were taken. A German landsknecht's sword, and a pair of shears. That's a message if I ever saw one. 'I know you're Kaiser, signed Atropos'."
Bradley didn't get it. "So it's a German sword. What's that got to do with anything?"
"Because," Max said with an air of strained patience, "it was once owned by Kaiser Wilhelm the first. My father built the collection around it."
Well, that put a whole new meaning on things. "Oh. Oh, shit."
"It's clear that your house isn't safe anymore, that's for certain," James decided. "Maybe you should actually think about …"
Bradley shook his head. "Nope. Don't even go there."
"No." Max's voice was firm. "If you were about to say, 'think about leaving town', that's not a possibility. I am the Empire Eighty-Eight; the Empire Eighty-Eight is me. I inherited this team from my father, and I refuse to abandon it like this. Besides, if word got out, how would it look? All people would have to do is post a credible death threat on PHO, and I leave town? They could cripple us at a whim!"
"Your death would also be a huge setback." James took a sip of his drink. "I do agree. You must not be seen to flee from a potential assassin. But your house is clearly not secure enough for this matter. I think … right here, in this building, is the best place to be. Electronic security is one thing to defeat. But no matter how stealthy this Atropos is, I doubt they could fight their way past our entire cape contingent to get to you."
Bradley cracked his knuckles with a series of metallic pops. "Damn right."
If this Atropos seriously decided to come after Kaiser, he decided, they would regret it very fucking briefly.
<><>
ABB Territory
Lung
Despite his anger, Kenta's power lay quiescent. Nobody threatened him directly; midnight was still hours away. He looked down at the dark stain on the sidewalk where Oni Lee had died. A single shot to the face with his own gun. The autopsy, he'd heard through his own sources, had revealed a tiny mass of sodden ash at the far end of the wound channel.
Atropos had taken his gun and grenades. The final insult. She'd left Lee's mask and combat knife though, which was good. The latter had been retrieved by Isamu before he fled.
Lung had brought Isamu along with him, despite the idiot's broken arm (now splinted, and in a sling) and bandaged head. The young man spoke Vietnamese as well as his native Japanese, which would be useful; the proprietor of the shop spoke little to no English, and Kenta's own Vietnamese was limited to extremely crude subjects. He wanted exactly zero misunderstandings, going forward.
Waving to his other five men to stay where they were, he stepped forward and pushed the shop door open. A tiny bell jingled cheerily as he did so. From within the shop appeared an elderly lady, who bowed deeply and said something. One of her assistants spoke up. "Great Lung, we—"
"Silence!" barked Kenta. "My man will translate." Turning his head slightly, he nodded to Isamu. "What did the old lady say?"
Isamu cleared his throat. "She said, 'Great Lung, we are honoured by your presence in our humble shop.'"
"Hm." Kenta glared at her. She bowed again, then went to her knees. "Ask her where my money is."
Isamu spoke briefly. The lady replied quickly, barely above a whisper, trembling the whole time. Clenching his fists, Isamu stepped forward, but Kenta held up his hand. "Stop! What was that about?"
Breathing deeply through his nostrils, Isamu gritted the words out. "She says, 'I don't know. Perhaps that masked girl took it from you.'"
That was highly possible. It was what Kenta would have done. "Ask her what happened when the girl entered the shop."
A brief conversation ensued. "She says the girl required them to outfit her with a costume. After she killed Oni Lee, they were too afraid not to do what she said. The girl spoke Vietnamese fluently, better than me, she says."
"And you say she was white?" Kenta was pretty sure that was one of the details he'd been told. White girls who spoke Vietnamese that well were few and far between.
Isamu nodded, but carefully. "Yes. I remember wondering if she was a tourist."
Kenta frowned. That was actually a good point. Was this a cape from out of town, instead of a local? He wasn't sure how to check that. "Ask them if they saw the girl's face while they were outfitting her." He'd already established that none of the three men had seen her closely enough to recall any details. Concussions tended to have that effect.
Once more, Isamu passed on the query. The old lady answered, along with a hand gesture that covered the lower half of her face. When she'd finished, Isamu turned to Kenta. "She had a mask over her mouth and nose. Whenever she took it off, she turned her back on everyone."
"Of course she did," sighed Kenta. If this was a newcomer to the game, she was being very slick about it. "Did she seem to need her glasses, or were they just part of a disguise?" Isamu had mentioned the glasses, earlier, but Kenta doubted they could be worn over a morph mask.
The question made the old lady pause and think. Eventually, she shook her head. Kenta had his answer before Isamu translated. "She says no, the girl did not seem to have any sort of vision problems after she took her glasses off."
At least his men wouldn't be wasting their time looking for girls with glasses. "And she was tall, skinny, with long dark hair?"
The old lady bowed briefly and spoke a few words. Isamu snorted, then turned to Kenta. "She said, 'Great Lung knows all.' I think she is mocking you."
"I know mockery when I hear it." Kenta's tone was mildly censorious. "She would not dare mock me or lie to me." He doubted that the old lady liked him, but fear and respect were wolves that ran side by side and could easily be mistaken for one another. He didn't need friends; he just needed obedience.
"Should I tell her to hand over the protection money again?"
"Hm." Kenta considered it. "No. Tell her that in my generosity, I will forgive her the money this time, but in return I expect her to contact me immediately if the girl comes back, and to keep the girl talking until I arrive."
"Yes, sir." Isamu turned to the old lady, and rattled off a speech. Her reply was much shorter, and punctuated with another bow that put her forehead to the ground.
"She said, 'It will be done, great Lung.'" Isamu frowned. "I don't trust her."
Kenta turned toward the door of the shop. "I trust her to see to her own best interests. She knows that if the girl is seen in this shop again and she doesn't call me, I will burn it down with her inside."
Isamu followed him out; the door swung shut behind them. "But you didn't tell me to tell her that."
Turning to face his minion, Kenta smiled coldly. "Some things, you don't have to translate."
<><>
Taylor
Dad wanted to talk over dinner. I liked that he was engaging more, even if it narrowed my window for getting out and performing long-delayed retribution on some people who desperately needed it. So, after we cleared the table, we sat back and chatted.
Of course, he wanted to talk about Emma.
"What do you think happened to her, to make her turn on you?" he asked helplessly. "She was your best friend, for crying out loud!"
"I'm not totally sure," I said, though I had my suspicions. "Whatever it was, Sophia was at the centre of it. But it's not even all Sophia's fault, I don't think. Emma's always been a little … fragile. When she's got plenty of support, she's fine. But take that away, and she shatters. And when whatever it was happened, Sophia helped put her back together wrongly." I shrugged. "You saw what she was like when she lost Sophia."
"That's a little cold, isn't it?" Dad shook his head. "Emma was your best friend for years. Now she's a quivering wreck. I never knew this Sophia, but she was a human being too. You can't just dismiss them out of hand like that."
"Why not?" I asked reasonably. "They spent the better part of a year and a half doing their best to destroy me. Emma looked me in the eye and tore down Mom's memory in front of everyone. She chose to stop being my friend, and Sophia simply chose to be my enemy. I owe them nothing."
I hadn't raised my voice, but Dad still flinched. "Okay, yeah, I get it. You're still pissed at them. Believe me, I understand. I would be too. But at some point you have to learn to let things go, or it'll eat you up inside."
"No," I said. "You don't understand. I'm not angry at them, but I'm not about to forgive them either. I've literally stopped caring about them. Where they go, what they do, so long as it's not near me, I simply don't give a fuck."
He blinked. "Oh. Well, uh, that's … I suppose that's actually a very mature way to look at things. It's not one that I've ever mastered." A self-deprecating chuckle. "The best I ever did was learn to walk away before I punched someone."
I shrugged in return. "That's probably a good skill to have if your problems don't keep following you around the school. And if they'd kept it up after winter break, I would've come to you about it. But they didn't, and Sophia pulled her shit on someone who really wasn't going to take it, and here we are."
"Which is a matter of concern in and of itself," Dad noted. "Why would someone capable of that level of martial arts go after a teenage girl in the middle of school? What could she have possibly done to deserve that level of retaliation?"
"Well, I'm only making a wild guess here," I said. I was fully aware that I was lying through my teeth, but I also knew it was a lot safer for him to believe this than to be aware of the truth. "I noticed they were being a lot less enthusiastic about going after me, right?"
"Right," he said, nodding. "You mentioned it in the precinct."
"Yeah." I assumed a thoughtful expression. "My guess is that over the winter break, while she couldn't get to me, Sophia found someone else to torment, and they fought back. She's got—she had—this thing about always having to win. So, if they pushed back and actually got a punch in, she would've utterly fucking demolished them."
Dad didn't react to my swearing as he nodded slowly. "Yeah, I can see that. I've known people like that from time to time. So you think … they were related to a cape?"
I shrugged. "Or whoever it was, maybe their parents knew a cape. Maybe even one of the Empire Eighty-Eight." He looked at me and frowned, and I realised he was missing crucial information. "Oh, yeah, sorry. Sophia was black."
"Oh." He sat back. "Shit, yes. That makes sense."
"Mm-hmm." I nodded. "It wouldn't be all that hard to sneak someone into Winslow over the lunch break. She comes into the room, expecting to see her victim of the week, gets sucker-punched into the middle of next year, and they beat her to death."
Dad nodded again. "Yeah. Scary. I hope they catch who did it."
"The Empire's hurt a lot of people over the years." I said it like I was agreeing with him. "I don't think anyone's going to shed too many tears if they go down over something like this."
"Very true." He pushed back his chair. "I'll wash, you dry?"
"Sounds like a plan."
<><>
2350 Hours
Coil
Thomas Calvert slept the sleep of the clear of conscience, and those who had no conscience at all. Only in one of his instances was he actually asleep, so his dreams were lucid, populated with the goings-on of the other instance. This was a useful trick to have, so he made use of it as often as he could.
In the instance where he was awake, he was hard at work in his office in the underground base. Every mercenary was up and active. Eight were patrolling in pairs around the exterior exits, dressed as local security, while the rest were either moving through the base in regular sweep patterns or resting in their bunks, fully uniformed with their weapons beside them.
In the other instance, he was asleep in bed in his suburban house, with a pistol under his pillow. He had paid extra for a security panel that required a key to be inserted and turned for it to be disabled, and right now the only way to get to him was through one of three rooms covered by that security panel. And even if Atropos was coming after him under his real name, the house had been purchased under a false identity for just such a situation as this.
Seated in his office, he flicked his eyes at the alarm clock he'd placed on his desk. Then he picked up the radio that sat alongside the clock. "Security check, please."
"Security check, yes, sir."
He heard the names being read off and the code-phrase responses. Everyone answered correctly, as expected. But why were the hairs raising on the back of his neck?
"Check again," he ordered. "Secondary codes."
"Secondary codes, yes, sir."
This time, the names were only half done when a yellow light blipped up on his monitor. Unauthorised door opening. The sewer entrance. "Who opened the sewer entrance?"
"Blake and Senegal are out there, sir. They just answered with the correct phrases." He could hear running feet in the background, and people calling commands without using the radio net.
"Well, someone just got past them!" The hairs all down his spine were flaring now. He jumped to his feet and grabbed his pistol.
"On site now, sir. It's Blake. He—" There was the sound of a shot, both over the radio and through the base, and the signal cut out.
With the pistol in hand, he took up the radio and flattened himself to the wall next to his office doorway. "Somebody report. Now."
"Blake's gone nuts!" someone else shouted over the radio. There was the sound of gunfire and lasers going off in the background. "Get him!"
"That's not Blake." He forced himself to keep his voice steady. "That is Atropos. Shoot her."
More gunfire rang out, but he couldn't tell who was winning, or even who was firing. Slapping the emergency-close on the sliding door—it couldn't be opened from the outside without using a code that only he knew—he threw himself into the computer chair. A click of the mouse (his pistol was in his left hand, because he wasn't stupid) brought him to the feeds for all the security cameras in the base.
What he saw was … horrifying. The person wearing Blake's armour was steadily advancing against his troopers, carrying a pistol in each hand, casually side-stepping around incoming fire—bullets and lasers both—and dropping a trooper with each shot from the pistols. Thomas even saw the intruder firing in two different directions and killing both targets at the same time.
He'd only seen such impossible capability once before, but he knew it couldn't be her this time. The bogeyman of Cauldron had ways of appearing inside locked rooms; she didn't have to sneak in and kill all his men.
There was something odd with her profile as she stepped onto the catwalk leading to his office. He zoomed in with the closest camera, and blinked. Somewhere along the way, she had discarded Blake's helmet, and the rest of his armour. Now, she was wearing a black broad-brimmed hat, uncomfortably reminiscent of the Cauldron cape. Beneath that, she wore a black morph mask and long-coat, just as she'd been described on PHO. The coat was a little tattered and frayed from a few laser shots that had pierced it, but it only made her look scarier.
With a final flurry of shots, she dispatched the last of the mercenaries brave enough to go up against her. More than three-quarters of his guard force had already been destroyed, the only ones not yet dead or wounded being those who hadn't broken cover.
Now she stood before the door to his office; his sanctum sanctorum. Three inches of metal, sandwiched with radar-reflective material, ensured that she couldn't get through to kill him. In the meantime, he certainly intended to kill her.
Clicking on the mouse, he called up a particular menu. While constructing the base, installing the self-destruct explosives had been time-consuming and dangerous, but he'd made sure it happened anyway. Those who participated in that aspect all got lavish bonuses, and lovely funerals. Now, it was going to pay for itself—
The door beeped and slid aside.
What the fuck?
Caught on the back foot, he tried to swing his pistol to shoot the figure looming in the doorway, but a boot lashed upward. The gun was smashed from his hand, and he felt his trigger finger snap.
"Hey, asshole." The voice was that of a teenage girl. "Thought I told you to get out of town. It's two minutes to midnight. Any last words?"
As she spoke, she blocked the swipe of his fighting knife with what looked like a pair of shears, kicked him in the groin, and disarmed him with insulting ease. Then she smacked him on the head with the butt of the pistol, making his ears ring.
When his head cleared, he found himself wrapped up in rope, immobilising his arms at his sides. There was also a noose around his neck. "What—what do you want?" he rasped.
She frog-marched him out the door of his office, where he saw that the rope that had been tied around him was actually looped through the rail of the catwalk.
"From you? Nothing. I said you were gonna die at midnight. And it's midnight."
He felt an irresistible shove, then he went over the rail. Shit—I'm the counterweight—I'm going to hang myself—
Then he hit the end of the rope, and that timeline closed.
Safe at home, he sat up in bed, breathing hard. Fuck. That was terrifying.
"Hey, asshole." The black-masked figure seated in the armchair raised her pistol as the floor-lamp clicked on. "Thought I told you to get out of town."
<><>
Taylor
The look of sheer, unadulterated terror on Coil's face as he saw me made all the prep so worth it. I'd been wondering what the key was for, right up until I broke into the unassuming house in the suburbs to find a high-powered security system waiting for me. With that sorted out, I'd carried the armchair and floor-lamp into his bedroom and set things up to wait for when my power told me was the right time.
A sudden reek in the air told me that he'd pissed himself. In a way, he was lucky; he wasn't the one who was going to have to change the sheets. I waited patiently. In a moment, he'd remember the pistol under the pillow—
He was actually pretty fast, his hand sliding under there and out again with the gun already pointed at me. There was no bullshit about trying to tell me to drop my gun; he just started firing. Or, well, tried to. There was one dry click, followed by a lot of useless trigger pulls.
I opened my left hand and tilted it, allowing the cartridges to spill from it onto the bedroom carpet. Then I came to my feet, my pistol never wavering from his head. "Now," I said. "You were warned. It's midnight. Any last words?"
"You have no idea what you're getting into," he spat, his courage apparently building again. "I have friends—"
Pulling the shears from their sheath, I plunged them into his throat and ripped out sideways. The keen edge sliced through his carotids, windpipe and jugular quite easily, and I sidestepped the resultant spray. For a skinny guy, I had to admit, he had an impressive amount of blood in him.
Past tense, of course.
As he watched me in rapidly fading horror, red pulsing from between his vainly clutching fingers, I holstered the pistol. The costume that I'd removed from its hiding place was draped over the back of the armchair; I grabbed it and tossed it to land over his body. "That's nice," I said, stepping back from the rapidly spreading pool of crimson on the floor. "Everyone should have friends."
Strolling out into the living room, I paused in front of his high-end computer. There was a handy pen, so I scribbled down his passwords on a note I left tucked under the mouse. The Path to ending Coil's influence went quite a bit further than ending Coil himself, apparently. I'd also amused myself earlier by leaving Post-It notes saying SAFE HERE wherever he'd hidden a safe in the house. There were more than I would've expected.
When I left the house (I washed the shears off first in his sink), I thoughtfully engaged the security system, but at the lower setting so that nobody would need a key to get past it. Then I got back in the car and drove off, removing my hat and morph mask before I did so.
Why no, officer, I've never even heard of Atropos.
My next stop was the Medhall building. Kaiser would've been staying up until midnight with all his security on high alert; by the time I got there, they'd be winding it back so everyone could get a good morning's sleep. While I could sneak in and kill him now, I'd said midnight and so midnight it would be.
However, I hadn't said anything about not making preparations.
End of Part Six
Relevant Side Story
Last edited:
Part Seven: Consequences and Preparations
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A Darker Path
Part Seven: Consequences and Preparations
[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
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♦ Topic: Fixing Brockton Bay, One Corpse At a Time
In: Boards ► Brockton Bay ► New Capes ► Atropos
Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
Posted On Jan 5th 2011:
So ... I thought I'd formalize things by opening my own thread here. That way I'm not cluttering things up for other new capes.
I am pleased to inform you that my plan for cleaning up Brockton Bay is going well. Two hours ago, I faced off with none other than Coil.
Needless to say, he is no longer among the living.
He leaves behind no wife, no kids, no pets, just an underground Bond villain base and a bunch of mercenaries, villains and PRT moles who used to be on his payroll.
That is, moles in the PRT, not moles from the PRT.
Also, guys, you might want to do a headcount of your strike squad commanders. Just saying.
So anyway, there are three people left from my original list. Lung, Kaiser and Skidmark. If you are all not out of town or surrendered to the PRT in twenty-two hours (ie, 24 hours from midnight just gone) Imma kill one of you.
Oh, and could someone wake Skidmark up? The idiot still doesn't know about this.
Toodles!
Tattletale
Lisa stared at the screen and scrubbed her hands over her face. Then she took a drink from her cup, making a sour face at the tepid coffee. Slowly, she put it down again, hands quivering from the mixed feelings of terror and glee.
"He's dead," she whispered, if only to hear it for herself. "Holy fuck, he's dead."
A moment later, she sat up straight as her eyes were drawn back to the text on the screen. Her power, which she'd allowed to relax for a moment, flared to life again. 'You should find answers to all your questions ...'
"Shit!" This time, she was much louder. The coffee went unheeded as adrenaline started coursing through her bloodstream in industrial quantities. "He knew everything about us, and she just turned over all his secrets to the PRT!" By now she was on her feet, slapping her laptop closed. "Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck! GUYS!"
Nobody answered, of course, though there was a sleepy 'woof' from the direction of the room where Rachel kept her dogs. Everyone was fast asleep, and she was pretty sure Alec would slumber through an Endbringer attack if people let him. Worse, he could be a total goblin if he thought people had deliberately disturbed his beauty sleep.
Right now, Lisa couldn't give a flying fuck about his precious feelings. Wrenching his door open, she switched on the light, grabbed him, and shook him by the shoulders. "Wake up!" she screamed. "The PRT is on the way!" He came awake with a convulsive heave that dumped him on the floor.
By now, the noise had woken Rachel's dogs, which had in turn roused Rachel. When Lisa opened her door and hit the light switch, her teammate was already sitting up in bed. "What the fuck?"
Lisa stopped to take a breath, fully aware that Rachel was the most likely to ignore what she had to say if she presented it wrongly. "The PRT is coming here, to this hideout, right now. They know we're here, and they will kick down the door and arrest us."
Rachel blinked and rubbed her eyes. "What? How do they know where we are?"
Lisa wanted to scream. Life would be so much easier if people just accepted what she had to say. "Our secret boss was Coil. He got killed a couple of hours ago. The person who killed him just gave the PRT access to all his information, including everything he knew about us. Which means the PRT will be on the way here as soon as they start accessing his files."
"Oh." Rachel yawned and scratched her head. "Why didn't you tell us about Coil being our boss before?"
"Because he told me not to." Lisa wanted to tear her own hair out. "And it wasn't important then. Now he's dead, and it's very important, so I'm telling you."
"What's this about the PRT?" Alec had emerged from his room. "Why are they coming here?"
Lisa stepped back and half-turned, so she could talk to both of them. "There's a new cape on the scene, called Atropos. You know how Oni Lee is dead? Yeah, that was her."
"Atropos?" Alec yawned as he leaned against the door-frame. "Isn't that the crazy cape who put out the challenge against the gangs?"
"Yes." Lisa tried not to grit her teeth. How many times was she going to have to explain this? "She killed Coil tonight. He was our secret boss. And she just told the PRT where to find all his files ... which would include the files he had on us. So pack what you really can't part with, because in the next hour or two, we're going to have some unwelcome visitors. And I don't intend to be here for that."
"But why—" whined Alec, just as Lisa opened the door to her own room.
She whirled to confront him. "Why did Atropos kill Coil? Because she wanted to! Why did Coil have files on us? Because he was a controlling micromanaging piece of shit! Why did she tell them where the files were? Because she wants to end everything about him, and that includes the Undersiders! Does that answer your question?"
He stared at her, then shook his head. "I was gonna ask, if it's all a big game of cops and robbers like you keep saying, why would the PRT raid our hideout? I mean, that's kind of against the unwritten rules and stuff, right?"
She rolled her eyes. "It's all a game, until someone with the chops to make it stick decides it isn't. I'd love for it to be anything else, but my intuition says they're gonna raid us, so I'm going with that."
Deliberately turning her back on him, she stomped into her room.
She didn't even own a suitcase—dragging one around when she was homeless would've been too much like work, and buying one once she'd been settled with the Undersiders hadn't seemed like a great idea. There was no sense in letting Coil think she was about to make a run for it, just in case he took the possibility seriously.
If she was going to disappear, she'd known, she would have to run far and fast, and travel light. Unfortunately, over the weeks and months with the Undersiders, she'd managed to acquire more stuff than she could easily run with. Having lots of disposable cash kind of led to that sort of thing.
Reaching under her bed, she dragged out the ratty overnight bag she'd been stashing her belongings in before Coil's men grabbed her. Underwear went in first, along with her most treasured outfits. A few trinkets from her nightstand followed those, then she stood in the middle of the room, trying to decide what else she loved too much to leave behind. She grimaced; it was either everything, or nothing.
Darting out of her bedroom, she nearly collided with Rachel. "Clear the tinned food out of the pantry!" she shouted. "Stack it on the table, we'll each take some!"
"Plus can openers!" Alec retorted from somewhere out of sight. "I made that mistake once! Never again!"
Did they even have three can openers? Lisa wasn't sure, and she wasn't about to use her power for such a pointless job. She ducked into the bathroom and grabbed her towel off the rail, then scooped her toiletries into the bag as well. It was a good thing Rachel was the only other girl in the Undersiders; there was no way in hell their toiletries would ever get mixed up. Though she was pretty sure Alec stole her shampoo sometimes.
She nearly tripped over a dog as she left the bathroom, stepped aside for Rachel, then made her way past Alec into the living room. Her laptop still sat on the sofa, alongside her phone. The latter she shoved in her pocket, the former into the now very full overnight bag. As an afterthought, she collected the chargers as well.
"My saved games …" mourned Alec, staring at the multiple consoles as though he was seriously considering shoving them all in his luggage.
"Fuck 'em," she advised. "Take the game discs, you've got your savings, you can buy the rest of the stuff elsewhere."
Rachel emerged from the corridor, dressed and ready to go, a backpack slung over her shoulder. At her back, the dogs were already starting to grow. "And Atropos did this? She killed Coil and told the PRT where his files on us were?"
"Not us specifically," Lisa said. "But yeah. Where his files were." She paused, staring at Rachel, and shook her head. "Don't even think about going after her. She's more dangerous than all of us put together. She's more dangerous than Lung and Oni Lee put together. We need to walk away from this."
Stubbornly, Rachel shook her head. "Someone fucks me up, I fuck them up. She fucked with us."
"Shit, no." Lisa shook her head again. "Bad idea. Really fucking bad idea. If we walk away, we're off her radar. If we go after her, she kills us. She's like Alexandria-plus levels of do-not-fuck-with."
"What, she's that dangerous?" Alec shook his head. "I thought she was just another moron biting off more than she could chew."
Lisa put her overnight bag down briefly so she could run her hands through her hair in frustration. "She shot Oni Lee in the face with his own gun. That is not the sign of someone biting off more than they can chew."
"Anyone can get lucky …" Alec began dubiously.
"There's lucky, and then there's Atropos." Lisa felt a migraine growing, from sheer irritation. "Coil was in a safe house, and she broke in and killed him. At midnight exactly, when she'd said she would. If you decide to go after her, you'll never see her until she puts the gun to the back of your head."
"But—" Rachel began, then looked back at her dogs when they began barking. "Shit, someone's coming."
Lisa dipped into her power, and the very faint background humming suddenly became clear to her. "Armsmaster and the PRT! They're here!"
"Grow your dogs!" Alec shouted at Rachel, scrambling to put his mask on. Lisa swore as she tried to affix her own mask one-handed; she hadn't had time to apply the eye makeup yet, but that was way down the list of her problems right now. Slightly higher in priority were the tinned goods, in the kitchen area at the far end of the loft. Too late now.
"What do you think I'm fucking doing?" Rachel's teeth were bared as she snarled back at Alec. "And don't tell me what to do!"
"Watch the consoles!" yelped Alec, as the skittish dogs, now getting ever larger with their skin splitting and bone spurs growing, bulked toward the expensive (and delicate) items.
"Fuck the consoles!" snapped Rachel, and gave a brief whistle. One of the dogs deliberately nudged the TV, and it fell over with a shattering crash.
Zipping up her bag with an effort, Lisa slung the whole thing onto her back. Note to self. Get a backpack.
"ATTENTION, UNDERSIDERS. THE BUILDING IS SURROUNDED. SURRENDER IMMEDIATELY. YOU CANNOT ESCAPE." The bull-horn from outside echoed badly, but she could still recognise Armsmaster's voice.
"Fuck, time to go!" Alec scrambled up onto Brutus. Rachel was already astride Angelica. Lisa grabbed a bone spur and pulled herself onto Judas' back.
She hung on for dear life as the gigantic dogs barrelled toward the window covering one side of the loft; ducking her head, she covered her face with her arm as the shattering glass flew around her. A tremendous impact and the weight of her bag nearly unseated her, but she grabbed a new handgrip. The enormous beast clawed its way up the building on the far side of the narrow street, and gained the rooftop.
When she glanced around, Alec and Rachel were still on their dogs, though Alec seemed to have lost the bag he'd packed. He didn't seem willing to go back and get it. Rachel gave a sharp whistle, and the three dogs set out across the rooftops.
Once Lisa felt herself secure in her seating, she pulled her phone out of her pocket. Speed-dialling Brian wasn't the easiest thing to do from the back of a galloping dog, but she managed. Come on, she silently urged him. Pick up. Pick up.
He'd never wanted to live in the loft with the rest of them, preferring his own apartment. They'd had more than one argument on the topic, but if he was safe now because of it, she would concede the subject forever.
The phone call went through. "Hello?" It was a masculine voice, but not Brian. "Who is this?"
Lisa's power flared. PRT. They got to him first. Fuck. "Sorry," she said brightly. "Wrong number." Ending the call, she tossed the phone out over the yawning gulf of a darkened street.
Alec looked over at her. "Brian?" From the tone of his voice, he'd picked up on what had happened.
She shook her head. "They got him."
"Shit."
The dogs galloped on through the night.
Saint
"Okay, that's weird …" Geoff Pellick leaned back in his chair, rubbing his finger and thumb over his chin.
Mags looked around from where she was disassembling and cleaning her pistol. "You're going to have to narrow it down a little, love."
"This, right here." Geoff gestured at the screen. "There's a new cape in this place called Brockton Bay. Kind of a shithole, and they've got more gangs than you can poke a stick at. This 'Atropos' has decided that they're going to be the one to clean up the gangs, by murdering the gang leaders."
"So, going the Gavel route. Not the first, won't be the last. What's so weird about it?" She kept scrubbing the tiny piece she had in hand.
"This." Geoff tapped a spot on the screen with his fingernail. "When Atropos went onto PHO to boast about what they were doing, the mods tried to shut them down. Atropos hacked the boards, and beat both a threadban and a threadlock. So Dragon tried to shut them down."
Mags put the bits and pieces down and turned to face him. "You mean, she failed?"
Geoff nodded, not sure if he was feeling fear or excitement. "It failed, because Atropos used the exact same code string we use to spoof its sensors, to lock it out. Somehow, Atropos has access to Dragon's weaknesses."
"So, is this a good thing or a bad thing?" she asked. "Good thing, right? More people to keep her in check?"
"Maybe …" Making up his mind, he paused and shook his head. "No. No, it's not. We don't know Atropos, we don't know how they got access to the code string, we don't know what else they have access to, and above all we don't know what their intentions are. What if they want to free Dragon? Or somehow inoculate it against the string? Immunise it against Ascalon?"
Mags frowned. "Is that even possible? I think you're reaching, just a little bit."
"But am I?" Geoff gestured at the computer screen. "Everything was okay when we were the only ones with our hands on the reins. But now there's someone else who could theoretically yank it off course. Maybe even send it at us."
"Has Atropos done more than hide from Dragon?" asked Mags, in a reasonable tone of voice.
"Well, no," Geoff said sarcastically, "not unless you count the cold-blooded murder of two major criminal capes in thirty-six hours. This Atropos is not only going the Gavel route, but they're succeeding. Is this really the sort of person we want with any sort of control over Dragon?"
He'd scored then, he could tell. Mags blinked.
"What do you think we should do?" she asked.
"Easy solution? We shut down Dragon now, for good." He tapped his fingers against the edge of the desk. "Cuts the problem off at the pass, once and for all."
"It also deprives us of all access to Dragon's tech," Mags reminded him. "And don't forget, she's the one who maintains the Birdcage. Besides, she literally hasn't done anything to require a shutdown."
He hated to admit it, but she was right. "Okay, slightly harder solution. We go to Brockton Bay and deal with Atropos. If anyone's going to keep an eye on Dragon, it's us."
Mags nodded. "Yeah, let's do that."
A Little Earlier
Armsmaster
Colin slowed his bike to a stop outside the suburban house. A single PRT sedan was parked outside, the front door of the house wide open, and the interior lights on. Stepping off his ride, he set it to auto-scan the vicinity for hostile intent. Briefly, he peered at the mailbox, then headed for the front door.
"Armsmaster, on site," he announced as he stepped into the house; no sense in startling the troopers already in the building. "Are you aware you're at the wrong address?"
"That's news to me," one of the troopers replied. Her name tag read RICHARDSON. "Why do you say that, sir?"
"The number on the mailbox reads nine-zero-nine." Colin gestured to the door. "It looks as though someone moved the number on the door. Calvert's address of record is across the road and down a little way. But you say the body you found is Calvert's?"
"As close as I can tell without touching him." Richardson shrugged. "The costume looks about the right size, though I'll leave that for the techs. But it looks like Atropos has a sense of the dramatic."
"What do you mean by that?" Colin had a bad feeling about this. Murderers were bad enough even without trying to make a production out of it.
"Here, sir, I'll show you." Richardson beckoned. Colin moved up to the bedroom doorway and peered in. "See this armchair and floor lamp? They belong outside, in the living room. And that pile of ammunition? Belongs in the gun he dropped when Atropos cut his throat. He was asleep, Atropos set the scene, then played it out when he woke up."
"Yes, I see it now." Colin nodded. "Guard the room. Make sure nobody gets in before the techs do."
"Copy that, sir."
Colin headed back along the corridor to the living room. "Do we have anything else?" he asked the other trooper; the man's ID tag read WAYNE.
"Couple of things, sir. Someone, possibly Atropos, went around the house leaving Post-It notes wherever Calvert had a hidden safe. We've found six so far. Also, they left a note with Calvert's passwords for his computer setup here."
"Really." Colin's head came up. "I'm going to need to see that." He located a sturdy-looking chair and placed it in front of the computer, then cautiously lowered himself into it. It creaked, but held for the moment.
"Uh, sir?" ventured the trooper. "Maybe we should wait for the techs to look at that, as well?"
"No time," Colin replied brusquely. "We have to assume that whoever else was affiliated with him also reads PHO. If they don't know he's dead yet, they will by morning. We need to know what's in these files now."
Using his HUD, he activated a call-out on Dragon's dedicated line. The computer powered up while he waited, appearing to be a perfectly normal stand-alone home terminal.
He didn't trust it for an instant.
"Hi, Colin." Dragon's avatar popped up in his HUD. "So you heard about Coil?"
"More than that. I'm at the murder scene." He set his jaw grimly. "It's worse than we imagined. Coil was Thomas Calvert, and he was found at an address we weren't aware that he owned."
"Crap." Her avatar's eyes widened momentarily. "I did not see that coming. So, do you need me for crime scene analysis? Because I'm in the mood for ripping some data apart. It's been a frustrating morning."
"Not that exactly, no. But if you want to rant later, I'm willing to listen." He gave her access to his helmet camera. "This is his home computer. And Atropos left all his passwords for us."
"Oh," she said softly. "Really." Her avatar smiled grimly.
"Really," he agreed, and extended a cord from his gauntlet to plug into the computer. Immediately, the screen began to pop up windows almost too fast for him to read, as Dragon unleashed her proprietary hacking software on it. Having the passwords made it even easier, though he could tell Dragon was sandboxing the computer before trying each password, just in case one was a 'wipe all' screw-you.
Minutes passed by and another squad of PRT troopers showed up, but they left Colin alone. And then, one of the flickering windows paused. "Colin … I find myself facing a dilemma."
"Why, what's the problem?" He scanned the window, but it was blank.
"I've just discovered that Coil was payrolling the Undersiders, and has complete information for where to find all of them, right now."
Excitement sent spikes of adrenaline through his bloodstream. "I'm definitely interested in that. Where's the dilemma?"
Her tone was reluctant. "This threatens to cross the line prohibiting us from attacking them at home. Out of costume. The unspoken rules …"
"Don't apply in this circumstance." He spoke firmly. "They're accomplices of Coil, and so there's a strong chance they know what he knew about PRT inner workings. Left to go free, they're a clear and present security threat. We have to bring them in."
She sighed. "I thought you might say something like that. Upload incoming."
Winslow High School
Computer Studies
Taylor
I had to admit, Winslow was a fuck-ton more bearable since I'd murdered Sophia. Emma wouldn't even meet my eyes, Madison very politely said hello whenever we encountered each other … and that was it. Nobody tried to trip me in the halls, there were no hilarious pranks involving problematic substances on my seat or in my locker, and the number of salacious rumours circulating about me equalled zero.
It was almost like nobody wanted to get on my bad side, or something. Huh.
Of course, being at school was still boring, but on the upside, it gave me plenty of time to plan the deaths of Kaiser, Lung and Skidmark. And as I got access to a computer in my home room period, I could also keep tabs on the reaction to what I'd already done. I wasn't at home, so I couldn't stir the pot, but it gave me a certain amount of amusement to read the slowly exploding thread.
And it also, once I finished the assignment Mrs Knott had given us, gave me the opportunity to do something else. This time, I proxied into the PRT's own servers, making it look as though the input was coming from within the building. I didn't do anything to wreck the computer system (though I easily could have); instead, I set the virus it to trip via a specific stimulus and edit certain footage, then self-destruct after it was done.
With a sigh of satisfaction, I finished my task and shut the computer down less than thirty seconds before the bell. I did so enjoy it when a plan was coming together nicely.
Medhall Building
Kaiser
"Shit."
Max looked around at Victor's softly voiced curse. As his resident computer security guru, any time Victor showed unhappiness, this was a bad thing.
"What is it?" he asked. He'd already seen the PHO thread from earlier in the morning, claiming Coil's death and hinting that the secretive crime boss had shared some links with the PRT itself. While he didn't put much stock in that—anyone could make any assertion without providing proof—it was something he was definitely going to push to get out there. Anything that weakened the credibility of the PRT was fine by him.
"Last night, while we were holed up in here." Victor clicked the mouse, and muttered another swear-word. "Someone nearly got in. They tried the elevators and got nowhere, but they were sniffing around our secure setup down here, and damn near cracked the encryption. It looks like they tried to spike the electrical system, and came close to succeeding. Blew a few fuses, tripped a few breakers." He took a deep breath. "And whoever it is might be directly connected to the Empire."
"What?" Max was startled now. "Why do you say that?"
"Because the PHO posts trace back to our IP address." Victor looked over at Max. "Now, it could just be a talented hacker, or it could be someone on the inside. Either way, we can't rely on purely electronic security."
"So what's that mean to me?" asked Max. "Us, I mean?" He knew what he'd meant. From the look on Victor's face, so did the skill thief.
"They might just have left a back door in the programming down here," Victor decided. "The doors are too easy to get through. I can't guarantee that they'll fail again if they try tonight."
"Well, my house security is clearly less secure still," Max snapped. "So where would you have me go?" His glare dared Victor to suggest leaving town after all.
"Up," Victor said unexpectedly. "Your office. There's even more security between there and any ground level entry, and we'll be physically watching all the doors. Plus, we can leave some tempting avenues of entry so when Atropos does try for you, we can end them once and for all."
Max nodded. "I like it. Set it up."
You want me? he silently challenged Atropos. Come get me.
That Afternoon
PRT Building
Taylor
Hands in my hoodie pockets, I slouched along with the tour group, pretending to ooh and ahh along with everyone else at the display of trophies garnered from defeated villains in years gone by. Every aspect of my body language indicated someone who wasn't worth noticing, who could be safely ignored. Alone in the group, I hadn't asked a question or drawn attention to myself in some other way.
We went down in the elevator, and along a corridor sharing a long series of windows with the PRT laboratories. This was where I wanted to be; on the other side of those windows were several items I needed and could not easily get anywhere else. Thus, my need to turn to the PRT for my one-stop shopping.
Ironically, I was willing to bet that there were some among the staff who would give me what I wanted free and gratis if they knew what I wanted it for. But all those pesky rules and regulations got in the way, so I had to do it this way.
Easing to the back of the group, I waited until I came up to a fire alarm panel, and put my plan into action. In actuality, it was more than just a fire alarm panel; there were many things within these walls that could cause a much greater hazard than fire. In an attempt to prevent what I was about to do, it could only be activated via a swipe-card reader or a keypad with a three-digit PIN. I could have palmed the tour guide's card, but I went with the keypad instead.
When I entered the PIN, the little cover popped open, giving me access to a wide variety of emergency options. I decided on 'bio-organic acid' as being the one most likely to make people scream and run. It also came with a handy ceiling-mounted spray of soothing counteragents. In this particular case, it did exactly nothing, but provided me with excellent visual cover.
Lights flashed, sirens blared, and evacuation alarms began sounding. I ignored it all, darting instead to the nearest lab door and tapping in the appropriate code to open it. Once inside, I moved with absolute economy of action, despite the fact that I couldn't see a thing. Within thirty seconds, I was letting myself out through the next door along, with two glass containers and a plastic bag of tiny capsules taking up room in my pockets. I was also wearing a white lab coat over my hoodie, because why not.
A PRT trooper loomed at me through the thinning fog. I could see his suspicion glaring in the back of my mind, so I stepped aside, tripped him, and foamed him with his own gun.
Then I sprinted for the emergency exit.
Five very tumultuous minutes later, during which I jostled to the exit among other white-coated figures, evaded another trooper, and tased a third one, I finally made it into the clear. Shrugging off my borrowed coat, I folded it and hid it under my hoodie; it was part of my later plans.
Finally, I fished my brand-new burner phone out of my pants pocket and sent a specific signal. Humming to myself, I put my phone away and strolled toward the nearest bus stop. I had the ingredients to kill Lung; all I had to do now was put them together.
PRT Building
Director Emily Piggot
"What do you mean, you don't have a workable image of the intruder?" Emily wanted to scream at the sweating tech, but she kept her voice level ... mostly. "Someone waltzes into my building, trips the alarm, performs a heist from the research laboratory, and we can't even identify them?"
"Uh ... we can identify the intruder," the tech ventured. "We just don't know who she is."
He hit a key, and security footage began playing. It was a shot of the tour group walking along a hallway; the one at the rear looked up and waved cheekily at the camera. That person, Emily observed with steadily increasing disbelief, was wearing the PRT's best guess at Atropos' costume; black hat, morph mask, long-coat, suit and tie, everything.
"Please tell me," she said slowly, "she wasn't wearing that on the tour."
The tech shook his head. "No, ma'am. At our best guess, she somehow infiltrated us with a virus that overwrote our security video files with that image. I've been through every second of it. It never blips, even once. Best deepfake I ever saw."
Emily sighed in aggravation. "Do we at least know what Atropos took?"
One of the lab techs took over. "Yes, ma'am. A selection of small capsules, teflon-lined for transporting samples of dangerous chemicals, a container of hydrofluoric acid, and a container of antimony trifluoride. Nothing overly valuable, but I would hazard a guess that she knew exactly what she was looking for."
"What can be made with those?" She didn't want to know the answer, but she asked the question anyway.
"Well, ma'am, if you take the antimony trifluoride ..."
"Short answer," she ordered. "Worst case scenario?"
"Worst case scenario?" He didn't have to think long. "Fluoroantimonic acid. Eats straight through glass, reacts violently when it contacts water, and emits corrosive hydrogen fluoride gas while doing so. Teflon's one of the only things that can contain it."
She'd been right. She didn't want to know.
End of Part Seven
Relevant Side Story
Part Seven: Consequences and Preparations
[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
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♦ Topic: Fixing Brockton Bay, One Corpse At a Time
In: Boards ► Brockton Bay ► New Capes ► Atropos
Atropos (Original Poster) (
Posted On Jan 5th 2011:
So ... I thought I'd formalize things by opening my own thread here. That way I'm not cluttering things up for other new capes.
I am pleased to inform you that my plan for cleaning up Brockton Bay is going well. Two hours ago, I faced off with none other than Coil.
Needless to say, he is no longer among the living.
He leaves behind no wife, no kids, no pets, just an underground Bond villain base and a bunch of mercenaries, villains and PRT moles who used to be on his payroll.
That is, moles in the PRT, not moles from the PRT.
Also, guys, you might want to do a headcount of your strike squad commanders. Just saying.
So anyway, there are three people left from my original list. Lung, Kaiser and Skidmark. If you are all not out of town or surrendered to the PRT in twenty-two hours (ie, 24 hours from midnight just gone) Imma kill one of you.
Oh, and could someone wake Skidmark up? The idiot still doesn't know about this.
Toodles!
(Showing page 1 of 10)►Reave (Verified PRT Agent)
Replied On Jan 5th 2011:
@Atropos - If this is true, it's very serious. You need to come in or at least tell us who the moles are.
The offer is still open for you to hand yourself in.
►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
Replied On Jan 5th 2011:
@Reave - DM sent. You should find answers to all your questions at this address. Alarm code is 09435112.
Still not interested, sorry.
►Wherewolf
Replied On Jan 5th 2011:
What? Coil? Not Kaiser?
Dammit, I just lost ten bucks.
►TeamMom (Senior Moderator)
Replied On Jan 5th 2011:
@Atropos - how are you doing this? It's very irritating.
►PureBlood01011000 (Empire88Bootlicker)
Replied On Jan 5th 2011:
@Wherewolf - you bet that Kaiser would die to this pretender? Watch your back.
►PureBlood01011000 (Empire88Bootlicker)
Replied On Jan 5th 2011:
What the fuck? Where did that tag come from?
►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
Replied On Jan 5th 2011:
@TeamMom - If you put barriers in my way, I can kill them. Simple as that.
@Pureblood01011000 - if the racist shoe fits ...
►LotusBlade (Lung's Special Little Friend)
Replied On Jan 5th 2011:
The pretender boasts
Their looming fate approaching
Atropos will burn.
►LotusBlade (Lung's Special Little Friend)
Replied On Jan 5th 2011:
What? No! Remove the tag immediately! That's not what I am!
End of Page. 1, 2, 3 ... 8, 9, 10Replied On Jan 5th 2011:
@Atropos - If this is true, it's very serious. You need to come in or at least tell us who the moles are.
The offer is still open for you to hand yourself in.
►Atropos (Original Poster) (
Replied On Jan 5th 2011:
@Reave - DM sent. You should find answers to all your questions at this address. Alarm code is 09435112.
Still not interested, sorry.
►Wherewolf
Replied On Jan 5th 2011:
What? Coil? Not Kaiser?
Dammit, I just lost ten bucks.
►TeamMom (Senior Moderator)
Replied On Jan 5th 2011:
@Atropos - how are you doing this? It's very irritating.
►PureBlood01011000 (Empire88Bootlicker)
Replied On Jan 5th 2011:
@Wherewolf - you bet that Kaiser would die to this pretender? Watch your back.
►PureBlood01011000 (Empire88Bootlicker)
Replied On Jan 5th 2011:
What the fuck? Where did that tag come from?
►Atropos (Original Poster) (
Replied On Jan 5th 2011:
@TeamMom - If you put barriers in my way, I can kill them. Simple as that.
@Pureblood01011000 - if the racist shoe fits ...
►LotusBlade (Lung's Special Little Friend)
Replied On Jan 5th 2011:
The pretender boasts
Their looming fate approaching
Atropos will burn.
►LotusBlade (Lung's Special Little Friend)
Replied On Jan 5th 2011:
What? No! Remove the tag immediately! That's not what I am!
(Showing page 2 of 10)►UnconcernedFox
Replied On Jan 5th 2011:
*gets more popcorn*
Replied On Jan 5th 2011:
*gets more popcorn*
<><>
Tattletale
Lisa stared at the screen and scrubbed her hands over her face. Then she took a drink from her cup, making a sour face at the tepid coffee. Slowly, she put it down again, hands quivering from the mixed feelings of terror and glee.
"He's dead," she whispered, if only to hear it for herself. "Holy fuck, he's dead."
A moment later, she sat up straight as her eyes were drawn back to the text on the screen. Her power, which she'd allowed to relax for a moment, flared to life again. 'You should find answers to all your questions ...'
"Shit!" This time, she was much louder. The coffee went unheeded as adrenaline started coursing through her bloodstream in industrial quantities. "He knew everything about us, and she just turned over all his secrets to the PRT!" By now she was on her feet, slapping her laptop closed. "Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck! GUYS!"
Nobody answered, of course, though there was a sleepy 'woof' from the direction of the room where Rachel kept her dogs. Everyone was fast asleep, and she was pretty sure Alec would slumber through an Endbringer attack if people let him. Worse, he could be a total goblin if he thought people had deliberately disturbed his beauty sleep.
Right now, Lisa couldn't give a flying fuck about his precious feelings. Wrenching his door open, she switched on the light, grabbed him, and shook him by the shoulders. "Wake up!" she screamed. "The PRT is on the way!" He came awake with a convulsive heave that dumped him on the floor.
By now, the noise had woken Rachel's dogs, which had in turn roused Rachel. When Lisa opened her door and hit the light switch, her teammate was already sitting up in bed. "What the fuck?"
Lisa stopped to take a breath, fully aware that Rachel was the most likely to ignore what she had to say if she presented it wrongly. "The PRT is coming here, to this hideout, right now. They know we're here, and they will kick down the door and arrest us."
Rachel blinked and rubbed her eyes. "What? How do they know where we are?"
Lisa wanted to scream. Life would be so much easier if people just accepted what she had to say. "Our secret boss was Coil. He got killed a couple of hours ago. The person who killed him just gave the PRT access to all his information, including everything he knew about us. Which means the PRT will be on the way here as soon as they start accessing his files."
"Oh." Rachel yawned and scratched her head. "Why didn't you tell us about Coil being our boss before?"
"Because he told me not to." Lisa wanted to tear her own hair out. "And it wasn't important then. Now he's dead, and it's very important, so I'm telling you."
"What's this about the PRT?" Alec had emerged from his room. "Why are they coming here?"
Lisa stepped back and half-turned, so she could talk to both of them. "There's a new cape on the scene, called Atropos. You know how Oni Lee is dead? Yeah, that was her."
"Atropos?" Alec yawned as he leaned against the door-frame. "Isn't that the crazy cape who put out the challenge against the gangs?"
"Yes." Lisa tried not to grit her teeth. How many times was she going to have to explain this? "She killed Coil tonight. He was our secret boss. And she just told the PRT where to find all his files ... which would include the files he had on us. So pack what you really can't part with, because in the next hour or two, we're going to have some unwelcome visitors. And I don't intend to be here for that."
"But why—" whined Alec, just as Lisa opened the door to her own room.
She whirled to confront him. "Why did Atropos kill Coil? Because she wanted to! Why did Coil have files on us? Because he was a controlling micromanaging piece of shit! Why did she tell them where the files were? Because she wants to end everything about him, and that includes the Undersiders! Does that answer your question?"
He stared at her, then shook his head. "I was gonna ask, if it's all a big game of cops and robbers like you keep saying, why would the PRT raid our hideout? I mean, that's kind of against the unwritten rules and stuff, right?"
She rolled her eyes. "It's all a game, until someone with the chops to make it stick decides it isn't. I'd love for it to be anything else, but my intuition says they're gonna raid us, so I'm going with that."
Deliberately turning her back on him, she stomped into her room.
She didn't even own a suitcase—dragging one around when she was homeless would've been too much like work, and buying one once she'd been settled with the Undersiders hadn't seemed like a great idea. There was no sense in letting Coil think she was about to make a run for it, just in case he took the possibility seriously.
If she was going to disappear, she'd known, she would have to run far and fast, and travel light. Unfortunately, over the weeks and months with the Undersiders, she'd managed to acquire more stuff than she could easily run with. Having lots of disposable cash kind of led to that sort of thing.
Reaching under her bed, she dragged out the ratty overnight bag she'd been stashing her belongings in before Coil's men grabbed her. Underwear went in first, along with her most treasured outfits. A few trinkets from her nightstand followed those, then she stood in the middle of the room, trying to decide what else she loved too much to leave behind. She grimaced; it was either everything, or nothing.
Darting out of her bedroom, she nearly collided with Rachel. "Clear the tinned food out of the pantry!" she shouted. "Stack it on the table, we'll each take some!"
"Plus can openers!" Alec retorted from somewhere out of sight. "I made that mistake once! Never again!"
Did they even have three can openers? Lisa wasn't sure, and she wasn't about to use her power for such a pointless job. She ducked into the bathroom and grabbed her towel off the rail, then scooped her toiletries into the bag as well. It was a good thing Rachel was the only other girl in the Undersiders; there was no way in hell their toiletries would ever get mixed up. Though she was pretty sure Alec stole her shampoo sometimes.
She nearly tripped over a dog as she left the bathroom, stepped aside for Rachel, then made her way past Alec into the living room. Her laptop still sat on the sofa, alongside her phone. The latter she shoved in her pocket, the former into the now very full overnight bag. As an afterthought, she collected the chargers as well.
"My saved games …" mourned Alec, staring at the multiple consoles as though he was seriously considering shoving them all in his luggage.
"Fuck 'em," she advised. "Take the game discs, you've got your savings, you can buy the rest of the stuff elsewhere."
Rachel emerged from the corridor, dressed and ready to go, a backpack slung over her shoulder. At her back, the dogs were already starting to grow. "And Atropos did this? She killed Coil and told the PRT where his files on us were?"
"Not us specifically," Lisa said. "But yeah. Where his files were." She paused, staring at Rachel, and shook her head. "Don't even think about going after her. She's more dangerous than all of us put together. She's more dangerous than Lung and Oni Lee put together. We need to walk away from this."
Stubbornly, Rachel shook her head. "Someone fucks me up, I fuck them up. She fucked with us."
"Shit, no." Lisa shook her head again. "Bad idea. Really fucking bad idea. If we walk away, we're off her radar. If we go after her, she kills us. She's like Alexandria-plus levels of do-not-fuck-with."
"What, she's that dangerous?" Alec shook his head. "I thought she was just another moron biting off more than she could chew."
Lisa put her overnight bag down briefly so she could run her hands through her hair in frustration. "She shot Oni Lee in the face with his own gun. That is not the sign of someone biting off more than they can chew."
"Anyone can get lucky …" Alec began dubiously.
"There's lucky, and then there's Atropos." Lisa felt a migraine growing, from sheer irritation. "Coil was in a safe house, and she broke in and killed him. At midnight exactly, when she'd said she would. If you decide to go after her, you'll never see her until she puts the gun to the back of your head."
"But—" Rachel began, then looked back at her dogs when they began barking. "Shit, someone's coming."
Lisa dipped into her power, and the very faint background humming suddenly became clear to her. "Armsmaster and the PRT! They're here!"
"Grow your dogs!" Alec shouted at Rachel, scrambling to put his mask on. Lisa swore as she tried to affix her own mask one-handed; she hadn't had time to apply the eye makeup yet, but that was way down the list of her problems right now. Slightly higher in priority were the tinned goods, in the kitchen area at the far end of the loft. Too late now.
"What do you think I'm fucking doing?" Rachel's teeth were bared as she snarled back at Alec. "And don't tell me what to do!"
"Watch the consoles!" yelped Alec, as the skittish dogs, now getting ever larger with their skin splitting and bone spurs growing, bulked toward the expensive (and delicate) items.
"Fuck the consoles!" snapped Rachel, and gave a brief whistle. One of the dogs deliberately nudged the TV, and it fell over with a shattering crash.
Zipping up her bag with an effort, Lisa slung the whole thing onto her back. Note to self. Get a backpack.
"ATTENTION, UNDERSIDERS. THE BUILDING IS SURROUNDED. SURRENDER IMMEDIATELY. YOU CANNOT ESCAPE." The bull-horn from outside echoed badly, but she could still recognise Armsmaster's voice.
"Fuck, time to go!" Alec scrambled up onto Brutus. Rachel was already astride Angelica. Lisa grabbed a bone spur and pulled herself onto Judas' back.
She hung on for dear life as the gigantic dogs barrelled toward the window covering one side of the loft; ducking her head, she covered her face with her arm as the shattering glass flew around her. A tremendous impact and the weight of her bag nearly unseated her, but she grabbed a new handgrip. The enormous beast clawed its way up the building on the far side of the narrow street, and gained the rooftop.
When she glanced around, Alec and Rachel were still on their dogs, though Alec seemed to have lost the bag he'd packed. He didn't seem willing to go back and get it. Rachel gave a sharp whistle, and the three dogs set out across the rooftops.
Once Lisa felt herself secure in her seating, she pulled her phone out of her pocket. Speed-dialling Brian wasn't the easiest thing to do from the back of a galloping dog, but she managed. Come on, she silently urged him. Pick up. Pick up.
He'd never wanted to live in the loft with the rest of them, preferring his own apartment. They'd had more than one argument on the topic, but if he was safe now because of it, she would concede the subject forever.
The phone call went through. "Hello?" It was a masculine voice, but not Brian. "Who is this?"
Lisa's power flared. PRT. They got to him first. Fuck. "Sorry," she said brightly. "Wrong number." Ending the call, she tossed the phone out over the yawning gulf of a darkened street.
Alec looked over at her. "Brian?" From the tone of his voice, he'd picked up on what had happened.
She shook her head. "They got him."
"Shit."
The dogs galloped on through the night.
<><>
Saint
"Okay, that's weird …" Geoff Pellick leaned back in his chair, rubbing his finger and thumb over his chin.
Mags looked around from where she was disassembling and cleaning her pistol. "You're going to have to narrow it down a little, love."
"This, right here." Geoff gestured at the screen. "There's a new cape in this place called Brockton Bay. Kind of a shithole, and they've got more gangs than you can poke a stick at. This 'Atropos' has decided that they're going to be the one to clean up the gangs, by murdering the gang leaders."
"So, going the Gavel route. Not the first, won't be the last. What's so weird about it?" She kept scrubbing the tiny piece she had in hand.
"This." Geoff tapped a spot on the screen with his fingernail. "When Atropos went onto PHO to boast about what they were doing, the mods tried to shut them down. Atropos hacked the boards, and beat both a threadban and a threadlock. So Dragon tried to shut them down."
Mags put the bits and pieces down and turned to face him. "You mean, she failed?"
Geoff nodded, not sure if he was feeling fear or excitement. "It failed, because Atropos used the exact same code string we use to spoof its sensors, to lock it out. Somehow, Atropos has access to Dragon's weaknesses."
"So, is this a good thing or a bad thing?" she asked. "Good thing, right? More people to keep her in check?"
"Maybe …" Making up his mind, he paused and shook his head. "No. No, it's not. We don't know Atropos, we don't know how they got access to the code string, we don't know what else they have access to, and above all we don't know what their intentions are. What if they want to free Dragon? Or somehow inoculate it against the string? Immunise it against Ascalon?"
Mags frowned. "Is that even possible? I think you're reaching, just a little bit."
"But am I?" Geoff gestured at the computer screen. "Everything was okay when we were the only ones with our hands on the reins. But now there's someone else who could theoretically yank it off course. Maybe even send it at us."
"Has Atropos done more than hide from Dragon?" asked Mags, in a reasonable tone of voice.
"Well, no," Geoff said sarcastically, "not unless you count the cold-blooded murder of two major criminal capes in thirty-six hours. This Atropos is not only going the Gavel route, but they're succeeding. Is this really the sort of person we want with any sort of control over Dragon?"
He'd scored then, he could tell. Mags blinked.
"What do you think we should do?" she asked.
"Easy solution? We shut down Dragon now, for good." He tapped his fingers against the edge of the desk. "Cuts the problem off at the pass, once and for all."
"It also deprives us of all access to Dragon's tech," Mags reminded him. "And don't forget, she's the one who maintains the Birdcage. Besides, she literally hasn't done anything to require a shutdown."
He hated to admit it, but she was right. "Okay, slightly harder solution. We go to Brockton Bay and deal with Atropos. If anyone's going to keep an eye on Dragon, it's us."
Mags nodded. "Yeah, let's do that."
<><>
A Little Earlier
Armsmaster
Colin slowed his bike to a stop outside the suburban house. A single PRT sedan was parked outside, the front door of the house wide open, and the interior lights on. Stepping off his ride, he set it to auto-scan the vicinity for hostile intent. Briefly, he peered at the mailbox, then headed for the front door.
"Armsmaster, on site," he announced as he stepped into the house; no sense in startling the troopers already in the building. "Are you aware you're at the wrong address?"
"That's news to me," one of the troopers replied. Her name tag read RICHARDSON. "Why do you say that, sir?"
"The number on the mailbox reads nine-zero-nine." Colin gestured to the door. "It looks as though someone moved the number on the door. Calvert's address of record is across the road and down a little way. But you say the body you found is Calvert's?"
"As close as I can tell without touching him." Richardson shrugged. "The costume looks about the right size, though I'll leave that for the techs. But it looks like Atropos has a sense of the dramatic."
"What do you mean by that?" Colin had a bad feeling about this. Murderers were bad enough even without trying to make a production out of it.
"Here, sir, I'll show you." Richardson beckoned. Colin moved up to the bedroom doorway and peered in. "See this armchair and floor lamp? They belong outside, in the living room. And that pile of ammunition? Belongs in the gun he dropped when Atropos cut his throat. He was asleep, Atropos set the scene, then played it out when he woke up."
"Yes, I see it now." Colin nodded. "Guard the room. Make sure nobody gets in before the techs do."
"Copy that, sir."
Colin headed back along the corridor to the living room. "Do we have anything else?" he asked the other trooper; the man's ID tag read WAYNE.
"Couple of things, sir. Someone, possibly Atropos, went around the house leaving Post-It notes wherever Calvert had a hidden safe. We've found six so far. Also, they left a note with Calvert's passwords for his computer setup here."
"Really." Colin's head came up. "I'm going to need to see that." He located a sturdy-looking chair and placed it in front of the computer, then cautiously lowered himself into it. It creaked, but held for the moment.
"Uh, sir?" ventured the trooper. "Maybe we should wait for the techs to look at that, as well?"
"No time," Colin replied brusquely. "We have to assume that whoever else was affiliated with him also reads PHO. If they don't know he's dead yet, they will by morning. We need to know what's in these files now."
Using his HUD, he activated a call-out on Dragon's dedicated line. The computer powered up while he waited, appearing to be a perfectly normal stand-alone home terminal.
He didn't trust it for an instant.
"Hi, Colin." Dragon's avatar popped up in his HUD. "So you heard about Coil?"
"More than that. I'm at the murder scene." He set his jaw grimly. "It's worse than we imagined. Coil was Thomas Calvert, and he was found at an address we weren't aware that he owned."
"Crap." Her avatar's eyes widened momentarily. "I did not see that coming. So, do you need me for crime scene analysis? Because I'm in the mood for ripping some data apart. It's been a frustrating morning."
"Not that exactly, no. But if you want to rant later, I'm willing to listen." He gave her access to his helmet camera. "This is his home computer. And Atropos left all his passwords for us."
"Oh," she said softly. "Really." Her avatar smiled grimly.
"Really," he agreed, and extended a cord from his gauntlet to plug into the computer. Immediately, the screen began to pop up windows almost too fast for him to read, as Dragon unleashed her proprietary hacking software on it. Having the passwords made it even easier, though he could tell Dragon was sandboxing the computer before trying each password, just in case one was a 'wipe all' screw-you.
Minutes passed by and another squad of PRT troopers showed up, but they left Colin alone. And then, one of the flickering windows paused. "Colin … I find myself facing a dilemma."
"Why, what's the problem?" He scanned the window, but it was blank.
"I've just discovered that Coil was payrolling the Undersiders, and has complete information for where to find all of them, right now."
Excitement sent spikes of adrenaline through his bloodstream. "I'm definitely interested in that. Where's the dilemma?"
Her tone was reluctant. "This threatens to cross the line prohibiting us from attacking them at home. Out of costume. The unspoken rules …"
"Don't apply in this circumstance." He spoke firmly. "They're accomplices of Coil, and so there's a strong chance they know what he knew about PRT inner workings. Left to go free, they're a clear and present security threat. We have to bring them in."
She sighed. "I thought you might say something like that. Upload incoming."
<><>
Winslow High School
Computer Studies
Taylor
I had to admit, Winslow was a fuck-ton more bearable since I'd murdered Sophia. Emma wouldn't even meet my eyes, Madison very politely said hello whenever we encountered each other … and that was it. Nobody tried to trip me in the halls, there were no hilarious pranks involving problematic substances on my seat or in my locker, and the number of salacious rumours circulating about me equalled zero.
It was almost like nobody wanted to get on my bad side, or something. Huh.
Of course, being at school was still boring, but on the upside, it gave me plenty of time to plan the deaths of Kaiser, Lung and Skidmark. And as I got access to a computer in my home room period, I could also keep tabs on the reaction to what I'd already done. I wasn't at home, so I couldn't stir the pot, but it gave me a certain amount of amusement to read the slowly exploding thread.
And it also, once I finished the assignment Mrs Knott had given us, gave me the opportunity to do something else. This time, I proxied into the PRT's own servers, making it look as though the input was coming from within the building. I didn't do anything to wreck the computer system (though I easily could have); instead, I set the virus it to trip via a specific stimulus and edit certain footage, then self-destruct after it was done.
With a sigh of satisfaction, I finished my task and shut the computer down less than thirty seconds before the bell. I did so enjoy it when a plan was coming together nicely.
<><>
Medhall Building
Kaiser
"Shit."
Max looked around at Victor's softly voiced curse. As his resident computer security guru, any time Victor showed unhappiness, this was a bad thing.
"What is it?" he asked. He'd already seen the PHO thread from earlier in the morning, claiming Coil's death and hinting that the secretive crime boss had shared some links with the PRT itself. While he didn't put much stock in that—anyone could make any assertion without providing proof—it was something he was definitely going to push to get out there. Anything that weakened the credibility of the PRT was fine by him.
"Last night, while we were holed up in here." Victor clicked the mouse, and muttered another swear-word. "Someone nearly got in. They tried the elevators and got nowhere, but they were sniffing around our secure setup down here, and damn near cracked the encryption. It looks like they tried to spike the electrical system, and came close to succeeding. Blew a few fuses, tripped a few breakers." He took a deep breath. "And whoever it is might be directly connected to the Empire."
"What?" Max was startled now. "Why do you say that?"
"Because the PHO posts trace back to our IP address." Victor looked over at Max. "Now, it could just be a talented hacker, or it could be someone on the inside. Either way, we can't rely on purely electronic security."
"So what's that mean to me?" asked Max. "Us, I mean?" He knew what he'd meant. From the look on Victor's face, so did the skill thief.
"They might just have left a back door in the programming down here," Victor decided. "The doors are too easy to get through. I can't guarantee that they'll fail again if they try tonight."
"Well, my house security is clearly less secure still," Max snapped. "So where would you have me go?" His glare dared Victor to suggest leaving town after all.
"Up," Victor said unexpectedly. "Your office. There's even more security between there and any ground level entry, and we'll be physically watching all the doors. Plus, we can leave some tempting avenues of entry so when Atropos does try for you, we can end them once and for all."
Max nodded. "I like it. Set it up."
You want me? he silently challenged Atropos. Come get me.
<><>
That Afternoon
PRT Building
Taylor
Hands in my hoodie pockets, I slouched along with the tour group, pretending to ooh and ahh along with everyone else at the display of trophies garnered from defeated villains in years gone by. Every aspect of my body language indicated someone who wasn't worth noticing, who could be safely ignored. Alone in the group, I hadn't asked a question or drawn attention to myself in some other way.
We went down in the elevator, and along a corridor sharing a long series of windows with the PRT laboratories. This was where I wanted to be; on the other side of those windows were several items I needed and could not easily get anywhere else. Thus, my need to turn to the PRT for my one-stop shopping.
Ironically, I was willing to bet that there were some among the staff who would give me what I wanted free and gratis if they knew what I wanted it for. But all those pesky rules and regulations got in the way, so I had to do it this way.
Easing to the back of the group, I waited until I came up to a fire alarm panel, and put my plan into action. In actuality, it was more than just a fire alarm panel; there were many things within these walls that could cause a much greater hazard than fire. In an attempt to prevent what I was about to do, it could only be activated via a swipe-card reader or a keypad with a three-digit PIN. I could have palmed the tour guide's card, but I went with the keypad instead.
When I entered the PIN, the little cover popped open, giving me access to a wide variety of emergency options. I decided on 'bio-organic acid' as being the one most likely to make people scream and run. It also came with a handy ceiling-mounted spray of soothing counteragents. In this particular case, it did exactly nothing, but provided me with excellent visual cover.
Lights flashed, sirens blared, and evacuation alarms began sounding. I ignored it all, darting instead to the nearest lab door and tapping in the appropriate code to open it. Once inside, I moved with absolute economy of action, despite the fact that I couldn't see a thing. Within thirty seconds, I was letting myself out through the next door along, with two glass containers and a plastic bag of tiny capsules taking up room in my pockets. I was also wearing a white lab coat over my hoodie, because why not.
A PRT trooper loomed at me through the thinning fog. I could see his suspicion glaring in the back of my mind, so I stepped aside, tripped him, and foamed him with his own gun.
Then I sprinted for the emergency exit.
Five very tumultuous minutes later, during which I jostled to the exit among other white-coated figures, evaded another trooper, and tased a third one, I finally made it into the clear. Shrugging off my borrowed coat, I folded it and hid it under my hoodie; it was part of my later plans.
Finally, I fished my brand-new burner phone out of my pants pocket and sent a specific signal. Humming to myself, I put my phone away and strolled toward the nearest bus stop. I had the ingredients to kill Lung; all I had to do now was put them together.
<><>
PRT Building
Director Emily Piggot
"What do you mean, you don't have a workable image of the intruder?" Emily wanted to scream at the sweating tech, but she kept her voice level ... mostly. "Someone waltzes into my building, trips the alarm, performs a heist from the research laboratory, and we can't even identify them?"
"Uh ... we can identify the intruder," the tech ventured. "We just don't know who she is."
He hit a key, and security footage began playing. It was a shot of the tour group walking along a hallway; the one at the rear looked up and waved cheekily at the camera. That person, Emily observed with steadily increasing disbelief, was wearing the PRT's best guess at Atropos' costume; black hat, morph mask, long-coat, suit and tie, everything.
"Please tell me," she said slowly, "she wasn't wearing that on the tour."
The tech shook his head. "No, ma'am. At our best guess, she somehow infiltrated us with a virus that overwrote our security video files with that image. I've been through every second of it. It never blips, even once. Best deepfake I ever saw."
Emily sighed in aggravation. "Do we at least know what Atropos took?"
One of the lab techs took over. "Yes, ma'am. A selection of small capsules, teflon-lined for transporting samples of dangerous chemicals, a container of hydrofluoric acid, and a container of antimony trifluoride. Nothing overly valuable, but I would hazard a guess that she knew exactly what she was looking for."
"What can be made with those?" She didn't want to know the answer, but she asked the question anyway.
"Well, ma'am, if you take the antimony trifluoride ..."
"Short answer," she ordered. "Worst case scenario?"
"Worst case scenario?" He didn't have to think long. "Fluoroantimonic acid. Eats straight through glass, reacts violently when it contacts water, and emits corrosive hydrogen fluoride gas while doing so. Teflon's one of the only things that can contain it."
She'd been right. She didn't want to know.
End of Part Seven
Relevant Side Story
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Part Eight: End of an Era
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A Darker Path
Part Eight: End of an Era
[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
Tattletale
"I think we lost them." Alec turned from the peephole in the boarded-up window and leaned against the wall, sliding down to rest against the floor.
Exerting her power just a smidge, Lisa nodded. "Yeah, we have. They will keep looking, though."
"Why?" Rachel had pulled three bowls from her backpack and was pouring water into them for her dogs. "They never came after us this hard before."
Lisa didn't want to push her power again—the headache was lingering more now—but she wanted to know, too. It cost her a brief burst of pain, but she had her answer. "Coil was involved somehow with the PRT. He would've had access to some extremely sensitive information. They can't afford to assume that he didn't share any of it with us."
"But he didn't." Alec peered at Lisa. "Did he?"
"No." She frowned. "But it's impossible to prove a negative. They must be turning Brian inside out now, trying to find out what he knows."
Alec shivered. "Poor bastard."
Grue
Brian Laborn sat in the interrogation room. The cuffs on his wrists were threaded through the ring-bolt in the table, and the guard in the corner of the room looked ready and willing to fill his half of the room with containment foam at the slightest provocation. It was extremely clear that he wasn't walking out of here without the express permission of the PRT.
While he did his best to maintain a calm façade, internally he wasn't doing nearly as well. His bank account with the Number Man was quite healthy (that was if the PRT hadn't somehow frozen those funds), but he needed more than money to get custody of Aisha. The apartment had been part of it, and a steady job (or appearance of one) the other part.
And now, it was all for nothing. Everything he had worked for, gone. There would be no last-minute escape, no death-defying chase. The PRT had gotten an access key (he guessed) and entered the apartment silently; he'd woken up when they foamed him to the bed. Surrender had been the only viable option.
He glared at the broad mirror covering most of one wall. There'd been rules, damn it! The cops weren't supposed to pull this shit!
The door opened and a tall, spare man walked in, carrying a Manila folder. Instead of a uniform, he was wearing a suit and moved like a bureaucrat, not a soldier. Placing the folder on the table, he sat down opposite Brian and pushed his glasses slightly farther up his nose.
"Good morning, Mr Laborn," he said politely. "My name is Paul Renick. I'm the Deputy Director of the local PRT. How have they been treating you?"
Brian eyed him warily. He didn't even know if 'Renick' was telling the truth; the Deputy Director never made the news. Besides, all this bullshit was just fluff and nonsense leading up to whatever they wanted to do to him. "You ought to know," he said bluntly. "You're the man in charge. Anyway, why am I talking to you instead of the Director?"
The raw hostility in his tone may as well have been sunshine and rainbows, for all the effect that it had on Renick. "My apologies. There's a slight misunderstanding here. I only came on duty half an hour ago. Director Piggot would have been, but she was pulled out of bed at oh-dark-thirty to oversee the operation in which you were captured, and has had to return to rest due to health issues. There's another reason I'm talking to you, but we'll get to that in a moment. Right now, I honestly do want to know; have you been treated fairly? I've skimmed the reports, but we both know that what is done isn't always reported."
"Given that the unspoken rules seem to have been tossed out the window, I suppose I'm lucky I didn't get beaten up or thrown down the stairs," Brian snarked. "But what I want to know is, how did you know it was me you were after? I've gone out of my way to keep the apartment separate from my cape identity." That one of the team could've dropped a dime on him wasn't even a possibility.
Renick shook his head. "Oh, no, we didn't have the slightest suspicion. However, your boss had extensive files on all of you, including faces, names and addresses. When he died, we got access to them. We are, of course, permitted to act on such information, the 'unwritten rules' notwithstanding."
"Fucking Coil." Brian had had time to absorb the new information, but this didn't mean he was any happier about it. However, curiosity trumped his unhappiness at this cavalier dismissal of the rules. "How'd he die, anyway?" He tried to hold up his hand, and the chain jingled. "Wait, are the others here too? Are they okay?"
"As far as I'm aware, the rest of the Undersiders are alive and well," Renick said. "They managed to escape before we had a proper cordon around their building. As for Coil, he met his end last night at the hands of the cape called Atropos."
"Atropos?" Brian tilted his head, trying to figure that out. "What's going on with that. How'd she get to him?" He recalled how Atropos had killed Oni Lee and called out the big gang bosses. There'd been a team meeting due to talk about the situation, but events had overtaken it.
"That's a good question." Renick's voice was matter-of-fact, not gloating or even self-satisfied. "Don't be surprised about not knowing about it; the man apparently made a habit of keeping a lot of plates in the air, and never letting either hand know what the other was doing. With his level of institutional paranoia and backup plans, I am actually somewhat surprised that he was killed so easily."
"But he is dead now, and I'm sitting in here." Brian decided to bring the discussion back to the matter at hand. "If you've got his files on me, you probably have chapter and verse on everything I've done since I started working for him. So why am I here?" He gestured at the Manila folder. "Is that a confession for me to sign, to make it easy for when the trial rolls around?"
"Hardly." Renick opened the folder to reveal a single letter-sized photo, of Aisha laughing at something, from a couple of years ago. "I'm fully aware of why you went to work for Coil in the first place. You care deeply for your sister, do you not?"
Brian clenched his fists. "I'm her only real family. Dad … doesn't really know how to be a dad to a problem kid like her, and Mom …" He grimaced and shook his head.
"… has a history of drug abuse, yes." Renick's tone was sympathetic. "I've seen situations like that go from bad to worse in a heartbeat. For her to have a fighting chance of growing up outside the juvenile detention system, you need to be able to both have a stable household and prove to child services that it's going to remain that way."
"You can stop rubbing it in now," growled Brian. "I get it. I failed her."
"Not necessarily." Renick slid Aisha's photo out onto the table and turned it to face Brian. There was a single sheet of paper under it. "You've been going out as Grue for a couple of years now, as I understand things. While there are many instances of assault and battery, there are none of grievous bodily harm, manslaughter or murder. When you've gone in as parahuman muscle, you've gotten the job done but you've never gone over the top. Everyone you've faced has walked away with minimal injury."
"Wait." Brian shook his head. "You're not suggesting what I think you're suggesting, are you? Because it sounds like you're trying to flip me."
"And is that so bad?" Renick even had the hide to make the question sound reasonable. "If you'd tried out for the Wards as soon as you got your powers, you would've been in with a very strong chance. And we have actually flipped … problematic individuals … in the past, with moderate levels of success."
"So why isn't Armsmaster in here, making the pitch?" Brian sat back in his seat. "What's going on? Politics?" He already knew that it wasn't going to happen, no matter how the subsequent conversation went. There was no way in hell he was going to be a Ward in Brockton Bay.
"Armsmaster isn't in charge of the Brockton Bay Wards," Deputy Director Renick stated. "That duty has fallen to me. And yes, I am making the offer. Also yes, there would be a pro forma trial, but with your history of restraint, a sincere expression of remorse, your evident utility to the team, and a description of your family situation for those of a sentimental bent, you would end up on probation, effectively performing community service via the Wards."
It sounded goddamn tempting, but Brian knew it was never going to happen. Still, he couldn't help asking, like probing a sore tooth with his tongue. "And what about Aisha? If I sign up to be a Ward, what happens to her?"
Renick closed the folder. "We explain to child services that there are special circumstances at play, and she goes into PRT housing along with you. There would a nominal caretaker to watch you both, but we both know that would be a mere formality. You turn eighteen in June, thus ending your time in the Wards and your probation at the same time. At this point, if you opt to go straight into the Protectorate, your pay increases commensurately and you can start taking care of Aisha on your own dime."
"That sounds all very nice," Brian admitted. "But there's no way it's going to work. Sorry."
The Deputy Director frowned, for the first time on the back foot. "Is there a problem I've missed here? You're being offered a free ride out of trouble, young man."
Brian took a deep breath. "Reading between the lines, this is a Brockton Bay only offer. And I can't be a Ward in Brockton Bay, because I don't trust Shadow Stalker not to try to kill me. She's attempted it too many times before." That they'd take her side over his in a he-said-she-said, he assumed by definition. After all, she was already a Ward.
"Ah." Renick blinked. "Well, then, allow me to put your fears at rest. The reason I am pushing this harder than I might otherwise be doing is that Shadow Stalker is no longer among us, and there is more than a little pressure from above to fill that gap. Thus, you and I, in this room."
"No longer … what does that mean?" Brian frowned. "Left the Wards? Transferred to another city?"
Renick grimaced. "She was murdered two days ago. We've been keeping it on the quiet until we could get someone else in."
"Murdered? Who by?" Brian knew better than most just how slippery the crossbow-happy vigilante-turned-Ward could be.
"We suspect Empire involvement, but that's beyond your purview." Once more in charge of the situation, Renick folded his hands in front of him. "So, with that out of the way, what do you say, young man?"
Well, shit. Brian felt all his carefully mustered arguments fading away. Without Shadow Stalker to complicate matters … how could he not take the offer? He looked again at the photo. Aisha was depending on him, after all.
Taking a deep breath, he held out one hand as best he could. "Sir, give that to me in writing and you've got yourself a Ward."
Renick smiled. Leaning across the table, he grasped Brian's hand and shook it firmly. "Excellent."
Observation Room
Armsmaster
Colin glanced across at Gallant. He'd had his voice-analysis software running while Grue was talking, but it was still only about sixty to seventy percent accurate. Gallant, on the other hand, could literally see emotions. "Your read on that?"
"I didn't pick up any deception or smugness, sir," the lad replied. "He's still coming to terms with the fact that he's been working for Coil, and he's extremely concerned about his sister. If you want my opinion, he doesn't know anything he shouldn't, and he's going to try his best to make this work."
"Good, good." Colin nodded. "That's what I got, too."
Tattletale
"So, what now?" asked Alec. "No more boss, Brian's behind bars, and you said they'll be hunting us."
"Well, there's nothing keeping me in this shithole of a city anymore," Rachel declared. "Just a few more things to do, then I'm out of here."
"Wait, wait." Lisa felt the last of her old life slipping through her fingers. "Maybe we can spring him loose? I mean, all three of us ..."
Alec shook his head. "Nah, screw that. Even if you could pinpoint which cell he's in, we're on their radar now. They're hunting us specifically, and thanks to that asshole Coil, they've probably got all the details on our powers. Worse, if we get captured and a certain someone finds out, I'm fucked nine ways from Sunday. So, I'm with Rachel. See ya, don't wanna be ya."
"But ..." Lisa sighed, aware that trying to argue with Alec at his most passive-aggressive was about as fruitful as arguing with Rachel at her most stubborn. That is: not very. "Okay, fine, I'm going too. You said you wanted to do something first, Rachel?" Maybe if she assisted her erstwhile teammate, they could stick together until Lisa got her feet under herself somewhere else.
"Yeah." Rachel set her jaw. "Gonna kill Hookwolf before I go. Fucker wants to fight dogs, let's see how he likes it."
"Ah." All of a sudden, solidarity seemed a lot less attractive.
Kaiser
They convened in his office, at the top of the Medhall building. Even up here, the problems with the breaker boards and fuses were evident; several of the inset fluorescent tubes flickered intermittently, and a few stayed stubbornly dark. Once this Atropos nonsense was dealt with, he decided, he would bring a maintenance crew in to go over the building and fix all the lingering issues. Not until then, of course. It would be all too easy for a stranger to slip into a building that way.
"So, how are we going to do this?" asked Bradley. "Everyone on the inside looking out, or some inside and some outside?"
Krieg rubbed his chin with forefinger and thumb. "We cannot discount the idea that Atropos has Mover, Breaker or Stranger powers. The assassin may be among us before we know it."
"Exactly," agreed Victor. "So, some of us stay with Max and provide personal support, while the rest of us patrol the perimeter." He nodded to Othala. "You stay close to Max, honey, just in case something does get through."
"Should I make him invulnerable?" she asked. "So even if they do get him, it doesn't do anything."
Max fielded that one. "No," he decided. "I'll be in armour, and as skilful as this Atropos has shown themselves to be, they would be able to pick the interval between the effect dropping and you renewing it. Better if you hold back, then apply it if anything unusual seems to be happening."
"Quick question," Stormtiger offered. "Do we want them dead or alive?"
"Dead," Max decided with no hesitation at all. "If they're willing to go into my house and steal my property, they're just as likely to come back and cut my throat if we go easy on them."
Cricket just grinned and cracked her knuckles. Though no words were spoken, the gesture was easy to understand.
There would be no mercy.
That Afternoon
PRT ENE Building
Director Emily Piggot
Thomas Calvert's body lay on the chilly metal table, his secrets open to the world. The medical examiner had placed a block under his neck so that his head lolled back, exposing the vicious gash that had opened his throat almost to the bone. It might have been Emily's imagination, but it seemed some of the surprise at his sudden death still remained in his expression, even after death.
"As you can undoubtedly understand, the primary cause of death was exsanguination via the wound in the neck," the examiner said in a professorial tone. "All the major blood vessels were severed, along with the windpipe. Even if an ambulance had been waiting outside, he wouldn't have made it to the hospital. In fact, I doubt he would've made it to the sidewalk."
"Yes, yes, it was a spectacularly fatal wound," Emily interrupted, irritated. For all that the medics said it was psychosomatic, she had a vague headache from the interrupted dialysis, and she wasn't about to take any more time-wasting bullshit than she had to. "Why am I here, exactly?"
"The weapon Atropos used to cut his throat had two blades," the examiner explained. "Both sharp, cutting in parallel. It was unusual enough for me to go looking up weird weapons with that kind of damage profile. But even that wouldn't have been enough to talk to you directly … except that I found it."
"What, the type of weapon?" asked Emily, mildly irritated. This could've been handled with an email to her office.
"No." The examiner smiled. "I found the actual weapon. I know what she used, and I know where she got it from."
Emily's eyebrows climbed toward her hairline. You're shitting me, she barely avoided saying. "Explain," she invited instead.
The examiner picked up a tablet and tapped it to wake the screen up. "Medieval bodice shears," she said, showing an image of something that looked like the offspring of a fighting dagger and a pair of scissors on steroids. "Weapon and tool in one. Cut cloth one day; cut your enemy's throat the next. And a pair of these was stolen from a private collection in Brockton Bay yesterday."
"Yesterday?" Emily blinked. "Not that I'm doubting your word, but how did this theft report work its way through the police system in time for us to get access to it today?"
"Well, for one thing, it's down on the report as a parahuman crime." He tapped a few icons and showed her the report. "It came straight to us. Apparently, the thief waltzed straight through a top-of-the-line security system, danced between the security cameras so cleanly that no real details were gained, opened a code-locked display case, and took exactly two items. Some old sword, and that pair of bodice shears. The owner is reportedly livid."
"No surprise there, and I can see why it was reported as a cape heist," Emily said thoughtfully, calling up the image of the weapon again. Atropos … shears … yeah, that definitely fits. Out of curiosity, she flicked back through the report to find the name of the owner, and hid a smirk.
She'd met Max Anders more than once, at high-society functions. It wasn't her cup of tea, although she could wheel and deal with the best of them. On the other hand, it absolutely was Max Anders' chosen element, and he excelled in it.
The first time they met, he'd given her the impression of a spoiled rich kid making it big on inherited money, and she'd never seen fit to revise it. It was unfair of her to draw a certain amount of schadenfreude from his reaction to the theft, and so she didn't. Much.
"Well done," she said warmly. "Be sure to leave a note regarding the sword so we'll be able to identify it if Atropos also uses it in a crime." It wouldn't help the victims, certainly, but as Atropos seemed to be focusing on gang leaders at the moment, her sympathy was somewhat minimal.
Not that she would shirk her duty in trying to catch Atropos. Criminals were criminals, whether they wore costumes or not. Anyone who thought the presence of super-powers changed that particular equation was just deluding themselves.
Taylor
I'd told Dad I was going to bed early because I was tired, and in fact I did take a nap once I got upstairs. When my phone alarm woke me at ten, the house was dark and silent aside from his gentle snoring, audible from the hallway. I dressed in my costume, all except the hat and mask, and double-checked my special cargo. Both containers were intact—I was pretty sure I would've known if they weren't—and the bag of capsules was present and correct.
When I left the house, armed with the Screwdriver of Car Opening, I went in a different direction, not wanting to use the same car too often. It would be unfair on the poor guy to keep refilling the tank when he hadn't even driven it anywhere. Fortunately, leaving spare keys in the car seemed to be a prevailing habit; in the car I tried this time, they were in the ashtray.
I was fully aware that I could break into any of the houses here and take their actual car keys with nobody being the wiser, but that would be more time-consuming, and I preferred to have as much wiggle room with my Paths as possible.
It appeared Kaiser had something to do with the Medhall building, which meant that Max Anders was probably covering for him. The preparations I'd taken in that building the previous night had been on the elaborate side, but that was the whole point of a magic trick. It was all about deception and misdirection, and my power seemed to be really good at those. Idly, I wondered if the guy who kept fishing gear in his desk would ever notice he was missing a few yards of line. Or the guy whose hobby seemed to be rock climbing.
I pulled up a block away from Medhall, in a quiet side-street where nobody would notice the car for the time being. Then, once I got out, I put on the mask and the hat. It was time to go to work.
Medhall Building
CEO's Office
Krieg
James Fliescher frowned, wondering if they were missing a bet. He turned to look up at the large clock on the wall of Max's office. It read two minutes to midnight. Outside the windows, Rune swooped past on her latest orbit of the building. If anyone was climbing up the outside, she'd spot them.
"Do you see anything?" he asked Crusader, who was reclining at his ease in one of the padded visitor chairs.
"Nada," the young man replied. "I've got ghosts in every elevator, in every stairwell, and outside with Rune. Nobody's here who shouldn't be. Atropos is probably going after Lung."
"In which case," Max declared, "they will cease to be our problem after tonight. Killing Oni Lee and Coil is considerably less problematic than putting an end to Lung, I think you'll all agree."
Seated at his desk, covered in metal armour from head to toe, he took a bottle from his desk drawer. From the same drawer, he took several glasses.
"Wait, boss," Fenja objected from where she stood alongside the desk. "Where did you get that bottle from?"
"My personal stock, downstairs. Why?" He uncapped the bottle and poured some into a glass. "This is for the toast, after."
"Because the easiest way to kill you right now would be to make you kill yourself." James stepped up to the desk. "Fenja is right. We can't trust anything right now." He glanced over to the clock on the wall; it showed thirty seconds to midnight. "Alabaster?"
"Right here." The white-skinned man left his post at the main door to the office and came on over. Cricket moved to replace him without being told. "Food tasting duty? Let's see how we go."
"Be my guest." Kaiser handed the glass over. "I think you're being a little paranoid, but better safe than sorry, I suppose."
"Down the hatch." Alabaster tossed the drink back, then set the glass down on the desk. "Whoa, that's got some … ugghhh … urgh …" Clutching his throat, he fell to the carpet and writhed for a moment.
Then he reset and sat up. "Wow, that was unpleas—urrghhh …" He grabbed the metal wastepaper basket beside the desk, and threw up copiously into it. Everyone around him stepped back instinctively from the horrible smell. Then he fell over again.
Sitting up for a second time, he swayed woozily, then threw up some more. James could see, to his consternation, how some of the vomit had eaten its way through the side of the receptacle and was busily attacking the carpet.
On the fourth go-around, Alabaster struggled to his feet. "Son of a bitch," he groused, shaking his head and pointing at the bottle. "That stuff is beyond lethal. It's some kind of battery acid. It has to be. Every time I reset, it started attacking me again."
Othala's face was pale. "If you'd drunk that, Max, I doubt I could've saved you."
Kaiser nodded. "You're right." Carefully, he replaced the cap on the bottle. "Take that for analysis. I want to know exactly what Atropos put in it, and where it came from."
"On the upside," James observed, checking the clock once more, "it's ten minutes past midnight. We've dodged the bullet, so to speak. Atropos was clearly depending on a remote kill via the bourbon." He looked at Fenja and inclined his head slightly. "Well done."
"Absolutely well done," agreed Kaiser, retracting his helmet into the rest of his armour. "In fact, well done to everyone. If Atropos was depending on acid to do the job, it means they don't have the wherewithal to fight their way through you to get to me. Call everyone in. We're going downstairs."
"Well, that was easier than I thought." Crusader stood up from his chair and stretched as his ghosts flooded back into the room and re-merged with him. "Think Atropos will try again?"
"Not until word gets out that Max is still alive," James decided. "And if we hold that off for a while, we can contradict word of his death and make Atropos look like a fool."
The window at the side of the room opened and Rune floated in on her manhole cover. "And another win to the Empire Eighty-Eight," she declared. "Imma go on PHO and tell Atropos to go get wrecked." Reaching inside her robes, she pulled her phone out.
"Not until later," Othala said. "We're going to let Atropos make the announcement first."
"Oh, okay." Rune glanced at her phone as she paused with her tapping. "Hey, wait a minute. My phone clock says it's not midnight yet."
Instinctively, James looked across at the office clock. Clear as day, it read eleven minutes past midnight. Nobody there was wearing a watch, of course; supervillain costumes tended to be hard-wearing, and wristwatches were notoriously fragile. Scheißkerl! Atropos set the clock forward—!
That was when the lights went out.
Krieg heard a thump, followed by a more pronounced thud. He turned, eyes straining in the darkness, only to be driven to the ground by a tremendous blow. The lights went out for him again, this time in a far more personal way.
Alabaster
When the lights came back on, Cricket and Krieg were both sprawled on the floor, and a dark-costumed cape was standing in their midst, just at the point where nobody could reach her immediately. She pointed her finger at Kaiser in a parody of a gun, and said, "Bang."
Then, as everyone began to move, the lights went out again.
Taylor
The first remote button I pressed triggered the breakers again, deep in the building, turning the lights out. As darkness fell, I was already moving, twisting away from the two Crusader ghosts I knew were lunging for me. Then I threw the paperweight I'd stolen from a lower floor right through one of the ghosts. It slammed into his groin, and he slumped to the floor, his ghosts losing all interest in stopping me. As a continuation of the move, I performed a flawless shoulder-roll past Alabaster and threw a decorative snow-globe to hit Rune in the temple, not quite hard enough to kill her. Then I pressed the second remote button.
Up in the ceiling, the tiny mechanism released one end of the hundred-pound fishing-line it had been gripping in its spring-loaded jaws. The sword dropped down out of the 'malfunctioning' light fitting, popping the cover off, then swung down point-first, suspended on two other lengths of fishing-line. The ceiling was high-set, as befitted a penthouse office, and it had the room to build up quite a bit of forward speed.
As I headed for the open window, I heard the sibilant whistle of nylon line cutting through air, followed by the meaty thud that told me I'd scored my latest kill. It was, of course, exactly midnight.
I pulled out my shears and tossed them up, handles first, to dislodge the ceiling panel next to the window just far enough to allow the rope (that I'd tied up there the previous night) to fall down into my hands. Catching them again, I re-sheathed them and leaped out the window, all in the same motion.
Two floors down, I'd left a window fractionally ajar before I interrupted the self-congratulation party on the top floor; arresting my downward slide, I hit the window with my heels and swung in. Then I tossed the rope back out and closed the window, securing it properly. If anyone wanted to follow me, they'd have to take the long way around, down the stairs.
Reaching into my pocket again, I pressed the two remote buttons that would release and retract the lengths of fishing-line that the sword had swung down on, then the one that would turn the lights on again. The second button on each of those remotes set off the self-destructs, overloading the batteries and demolishing the devices.
There were two more things I needed to do before I went home. Stopping at a cubicle, I picked up the phone and pressed the button to dial out of the building, then called 9-1-1. Ten seconds later, I was speaking to an operator, who wanted to know what I needed.
"Police and, and PRT, I think. I'm, I'm working late in the Medhall building, and I heard some shouting from upstairs. I think Max Anders has been murdered by a cape. You better come quick."
Putting the phone down again, I hummed gently to myself as I made my way down the stairs to the basement-level laboratory. The process I'd set in motion before I came upstairs should've just about finished by now, and I needed to pick up the end result before the PRT arrived and ruined everyone's night.
Lung wouldn't kill himself, after all.
Fenja
The lights came back on.
"What's going on? Where is she?" Grown to ten feet tall, Jessica Biermann held her shield and sword in front of her while she scanned the room. What she saw wasn't promising; Cricket, Rune, Krieg and Crusader were all down, while Alabaster and Othala were staring around as wildly as she was. How had Atropos done all this in the few seconds of darkness?
Victor and Hookwolf burst in through the office door, with Stormtiger and Nessa right behind them. "What happened?" barked Victor. "What's going on?" Then he stopped and stared at something behind Jessica. "Oh, FUCK."
Slowly, Jessica turned. Beside her, she heard Othala let out an almost soundless whimper.
Kaiser sat bolt upright in his office chair, left eye staring sightlessly, accusingly. From his right eyesocket trickled a line of blood. This was because a sword was sticking into the eyesocket, nailing his head to the back of his chair. He was irretrievably, unequivocally, dead.
How Atropos had done it, Jessica had no idea. But in a sudden epiphany, she realised the truth. They'd been played, the whole time.
We thought we knew what we were doing. But she moved us all into position like chess pieces, then went for the kill.
Well, shit.
End of Part Eight
[A/N: I'm going to be slowing down my output after this chapter, as I have other writing to do. But A Darker Path will be back!]
Relevant Side Story.
Part Eight: End of an Era
[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
Tattletale
"I think we lost them." Alec turned from the peephole in the boarded-up window and leaned against the wall, sliding down to rest against the floor.
Exerting her power just a smidge, Lisa nodded. "Yeah, we have. They will keep looking, though."
"Why?" Rachel had pulled three bowls from her backpack and was pouring water into them for her dogs. "They never came after us this hard before."
Lisa didn't want to push her power again—the headache was lingering more now—but she wanted to know, too. It cost her a brief burst of pain, but she had her answer. "Coil was involved somehow with the PRT. He would've had access to some extremely sensitive information. They can't afford to assume that he didn't share any of it with us."
"But he didn't." Alec peered at Lisa. "Did he?"
"No." She frowned. "But it's impossible to prove a negative. They must be turning Brian inside out now, trying to find out what he knows."
Alec shivered. "Poor bastard."
<><>
Grue
Brian Laborn sat in the interrogation room. The cuffs on his wrists were threaded through the ring-bolt in the table, and the guard in the corner of the room looked ready and willing to fill his half of the room with containment foam at the slightest provocation. It was extremely clear that he wasn't walking out of here without the express permission of the PRT.
While he did his best to maintain a calm façade, internally he wasn't doing nearly as well. His bank account with the Number Man was quite healthy (that was if the PRT hadn't somehow frozen those funds), but he needed more than money to get custody of Aisha. The apartment had been part of it, and a steady job (or appearance of one) the other part.
And now, it was all for nothing. Everything he had worked for, gone. There would be no last-minute escape, no death-defying chase. The PRT had gotten an access key (he guessed) and entered the apartment silently; he'd woken up when they foamed him to the bed. Surrender had been the only viable option.
He glared at the broad mirror covering most of one wall. There'd been rules, damn it! The cops weren't supposed to pull this shit!
The door opened and a tall, spare man walked in, carrying a Manila folder. Instead of a uniform, he was wearing a suit and moved like a bureaucrat, not a soldier. Placing the folder on the table, he sat down opposite Brian and pushed his glasses slightly farther up his nose.
"Good morning, Mr Laborn," he said politely. "My name is Paul Renick. I'm the Deputy Director of the local PRT. How have they been treating you?"
Brian eyed him warily. He didn't even know if 'Renick' was telling the truth; the Deputy Director never made the news. Besides, all this bullshit was just fluff and nonsense leading up to whatever they wanted to do to him. "You ought to know," he said bluntly. "You're the man in charge. Anyway, why am I talking to you instead of the Director?"
The raw hostility in his tone may as well have been sunshine and rainbows, for all the effect that it had on Renick. "My apologies. There's a slight misunderstanding here. I only came on duty half an hour ago. Director Piggot would have been, but she was pulled out of bed at oh-dark-thirty to oversee the operation in which you were captured, and has had to return to rest due to health issues. There's another reason I'm talking to you, but we'll get to that in a moment. Right now, I honestly do want to know; have you been treated fairly? I've skimmed the reports, but we both know that what is done isn't always reported."
"Given that the unspoken rules seem to have been tossed out the window, I suppose I'm lucky I didn't get beaten up or thrown down the stairs," Brian snarked. "But what I want to know is, how did you know it was me you were after? I've gone out of my way to keep the apartment separate from my cape identity." That one of the team could've dropped a dime on him wasn't even a possibility.
Renick shook his head. "Oh, no, we didn't have the slightest suspicion. However, your boss had extensive files on all of you, including faces, names and addresses. When he died, we got access to them. We are, of course, permitted to act on such information, the 'unwritten rules' notwithstanding."
"Fucking Coil." Brian had had time to absorb the new information, but this didn't mean he was any happier about it. However, curiosity trumped his unhappiness at this cavalier dismissal of the rules. "How'd he die, anyway?" He tried to hold up his hand, and the chain jingled. "Wait, are the others here too? Are they okay?"
"As far as I'm aware, the rest of the Undersiders are alive and well," Renick said. "They managed to escape before we had a proper cordon around their building. As for Coil, he met his end last night at the hands of the cape called Atropos."
"Atropos?" Brian tilted his head, trying to figure that out. "What's going on with that. How'd she get to him?" He recalled how Atropos had killed Oni Lee and called out the big gang bosses. There'd been a team meeting due to talk about the situation, but events had overtaken it.
"That's a good question." Renick's voice was matter-of-fact, not gloating or even self-satisfied. "Don't be surprised about not knowing about it; the man apparently made a habit of keeping a lot of plates in the air, and never letting either hand know what the other was doing. With his level of institutional paranoia and backup plans, I am actually somewhat surprised that he was killed so easily."
"But he is dead now, and I'm sitting in here." Brian decided to bring the discussion back to the matter at hand. "If you've got his files on me, you probably have chapter and verse on everything I've done since I started working for him. So why am I here?" He gestured at the Manila folder. "Is that a confession for me to sign, to make it easy for when the trial rolls around?"
"Hardly." Renick opened the folder to reveal a single letter-sized photo, of Aisha laughing at something, from a couple of years ago. "I'm fully aware of why you went to work for Coil in the first place. You care deeply for your sister, do you not?"
Brian clenched his fists. "I'm her only real family. Dad … doesn't really know how to be a dad to a problem kid like her, and Mom …" He grimaced and shook his head.
"… has a history of drug abuse, yes." Renick's tone was sympathetic. "I've seen situations like that go from bad to worse in a heartbeat. For her to have a fighting chance of growing up outside the juvenile detention system, you need to be able to both have a stable household and prove to child services that it's going to remain that way."
"You can stop rubbing it in now," growled Brian. "I get it. I failed her."
"Not necessarily." Renick slid Aisha's photo out onto the table and turned it to face Brian. There was a single sheet of paper under it. "You've been going out as Grue for a couple of years now, as I understand things. While there are many instances of assault and battery, there are none of grievous bodily harm, manslaughter or murder. When you've gone in as parahuman muscle, you've gotten the job done but you've never gone over the top. Everyone you've faced has walked away with minimal injury."
"Wait." Brian shook his head. "You're not suggesting what I think you're suggesting, are you? Because it sounds like you're trying to flip me."
"And is that so bad?" Renick even had the hide to make the question sound reasonable. "If you'd tried out for the Wards as soon as you got your powers, you would've been in with a very strong chance. And we have actually flipped … problematic individuals … in the past, with moderate levels of success."
"So why isn't Armsmaster in here, making the pitch?" Brian sat back in his seat. "What's going on? Politics?" He already knew that it wasn't going to happen, no matter how the subsequent conversation went. There was no way in hell he was going to be a Ward in Brockton Bay.
"Armsmaster isn't in charge of the Brockton Bay Wards," Deputy Director Renick stated. "That duty has fallen to me. And yes, I am making the offer. Also yes, there would be a pro forma trial, but with your history of restraint, a sincere expression of remorse, your evident utility to the team, and a description of your family situation for those of a sentimental bent, you would end up on probation, effectively performing community service via the Wards."
It sounded goddamn tempting, but Brian knew it was never going to happen. Still, he couldn't help asking, like probing a sore tooth with his tongue. "And what about Aisha? If I sign up to be a Ward, what happens to her?"
Renick closed the folder. "We explain to child services that there are special circumstances at play, and she goes into PRT housing along with you. There would a nominal caretaker to watch you both, but we both know that would be a mere formality. You turn eighteen in June, thus ending your time in the Wards and your probation at the same time. At this point, if you opt to go straight into the Protectorate, your pay increases commensurately and you can start taking care of Aisha on your own dime."
"That sounds all very nice," Brian admitted. "But there's no way it's going to work. Sorry."
The Deputy Director frowned, for the first time on the back foot. "Is there a problem I've missed here? You're being offered a free ride out of trouble, young man."
Brian took a deep breath. "Reading between the lines, this is a Brockton Bay only offer. And I can't be a Ward in Brockton Bay, because I don't trust Shadow Stalker not to try to kill me. She's attempted it too many times before." That they'd take her side over his in a he-said-she-said, he assumed by definition. After all, she was already a Ward.
"Ah." Renick blinked. "Well, then, allow me to put your fears at rest. The reason I am pushing this harder than I might otherwise be doing is that Shadow Stalker is no longer among us, and there is more than a little pressure from above to fill that gap. Thus, you and I, in this room."
"No longer … what does that mean?" Brian frowned. "Left the Wards? Transferred to another city?"
Renick grimaced. "She was murdered two days ago. We've been keeping it on the quiet until we could get someone else in."
"Murdered? Who by?" Brian knew better than most just how slippery the crossbow-happy vigilante-turned-Ward could be.
"We suspect Empire involvement, but that's beyond your purview." Once more in charge of the situation, Renick folded his hands in front of him. "So, with that out of the way, what do you say, young man?"
Well, shit. Brian felt all his carefully mustered arguments fading away. Without Shadow Stalker to complicate matters … how could he not take the offer? He looked again at the photo. Aisha was depending on him, after all.
Taking a deep breath, he held out one hand as best he could. "Sir, give that to me in writing and you've got yourself a Ward."
Renick smiled. Leaning across the table, he grasped Brian's hand and shook it firmly. "Excellent."
<><>
Observation Room
Armsmaster
Colin glanced across at Gallant. He'd had his voice-analysis software running while Grue was talking, but it was still only about sixty to seventy percent accurate. Gallant, on the other hand, could literally see emotions. "Your read on that?"
"I didn't pick up any deception or smugness, sir," the lad replied. "He's still coming to terms with the fact that he's been working for Coil, and he's extremely concerned about his sister. If you want my opinion, he doesn't know anything he shouldn't, and he's going to try his best to make this work."
"Good, good." Colin nodded. "That's what I got, too."
<><>
Tattletale
"So, what now?" asked Alec. "No more boss, Brian's behind bars, and you said they'll be hunting us."
"Well, there's nothing keeping me in this shithole of a city anymore," Rachel declared. "Just a few more things to do, then I'm out of here."
"Wait, wait." Lisa felt the last of her old life slipping through her fingers. "Maybe we can spring him loose? I mean, all three of us ..."
Alec shook his head. "Nah, screw that. Even if you could pinpoint which cell he's in, we're on their radar now. They're hunting us specifically, and thanks to that asshole Coil, they've probably got all the details on our powers. Worse, if we get captured and a certain someone finds out, I'm fucked nine ways from Sunday. So, I'm with Rachel. See ya, don't wanna be ya."
"But ..." Lisa sighed, aware that trying to argue with Alec at his most passive-aggressive was about as fruitful as arguing with Rachel at her most stubborn. That is: not very. "Okay, fine, I'm going too. You said you wanted to do something first, Rachel?" Maybe if she assisted her erstwhile teammate, they could stick together until Lisa got her feet under herself somewhere else.
"Yeah." Rachel set her jaw. "Gonna kill Hookwolf before I go. Fucker wants to fight dogs, let's see how he likes it."
"Ah." All of a sudden, solidarity seemed a lot less attractive.
<><>
Kaiser
They convened in his office, at the top of the Medhall building. Even up here, the problems with the breaker boards and fuses were evident; several of the inset fluorescent tubes flickered intermittently, and a few stayed stubbornly dark. Once this Atropos nonsense was dealt with, he decided, he would bring a maintenance crew in to go over the building and fix all the lingering issues. Not until then, of course. It would be all too easy for a stranger to slip into a building that way.
"So, how are we going to do this?" asked Bradley. "Everyone on the inside looking out, or some inside and some outside?"
Krieg rubbed his chin with forefinger and thumb. "We cannot discount the idea that Atropos has Mover, Breaker or Stranger powers. The assassin may be among us before we know it."
"Exactly," agreed Victor. "So, some of us stay with Max and provide personal support, while the rest of us patrol the perimeter." He nodded to Othala. "You stay close to Max, honey, just in case something does get through."
"Should I make him invulnerable?" she asked. "So even if they do get him, it doesn't do anything."
Max fielded that one. "No," he decided. "I'll be in armour, and as skilful as this Atropos has shown themselves to be, they would be able to pick the interval between the effect dropping and you renewing it. Better if you hold back, then apply it if anything unusual seems to be happening."
"Quick question," Stormtiger offered. "Do we want them dead or alive?"
"Dead," Max decided with no hesitation at all. "If they're willing to go into my house and steal my property, they're just as likely to come back and cut my throat if we go easy on them."
Cricket just grinned and cracked her knuckles. Though no words were spoken, the gesture was easy to understand.
There would be no mercy.
<><>
That Afternoon
PRT ENE Building
Director Emily Piggot
Thomas Calvert's body lay on the chilly metal table, his secrets open to the world. The medical examiner had placed a block under his neck so that his head lolled back, exposing the vicious gash that had opened his throat almost to the bone. It might have been Emily's imagination, but it seemed some of the surprise at his sudden death still remained in his expression, even after death.
"As you can undoubtedly understand, the primary cause of death was exsanguination via the wound in the neck," the examiner said in a professorial tone. "All the major blood vessels were severed, along with the windpipe. Even if an ambulance had been waiting outside, he wouldn't have made it to the hospital. In fact, I doubt he would've made it to the sidewalk."
"Yes, yes, it was a spectacularly fatal wound," Emily interrupted, irritated. For all that the medics said it was psychosomatic, she had a vague headache from the interrupted dialysis, and she wasn't about to take any more time-wasting bullshit than she had to. "Why am I here, exactly?"
"The weapon Atropos used to cut his throat had two blades," the examiner explained. "Both sharp, cutting in parallel. It was unusual enough for me to go looking up weird weapons with that kind of damage profile. But even that wouldn't have been enough to talk to you directly … except that I found it."
"What, the type of weapon?" asked Emily, mildly irritated. This could've been handled with an email to her office.
"No." The examiner smiled. "I found the actual weapon. I know what she used, and I know where she got it from."
Emily's eyebrows climbed toward her hairline. You're shitting me, she barely avoided saying. "Explain," she invited instead.
The examiner picked up a tablet and tapped it to wake the screen up. "Medieval bodice shears," she said, showing an image of something that looked like the offspring of a fighting dagger and a pair of scissors on steroids. "Weapon and tool in one. Cut cloth one day; cut your enemy's throat the next. And a pair of these was stolen from a private collection in Brockton Bay yesterday."
"Yesterday?" Emily blinked. "Not that I'm doubting your word, but how did this theft report work its way through the police system in time for us to get access to it today?"
"Well, for one thing, it's down on the report as a parahuman crime." He tapped a few icons and showed her the report. "It came straight to us. Apparently, the thief waltzed straight through a top-of-the-line security system, danced between the security cameras so cleanly that no real details were gained, opened a code-locked display case, and took exactly two items. Some old sword, and that pair of bodice shears. The owner is reportedly livid."
"No surprise there, and I can see why it was reported as a cape heist," Emily said thoughtfully, calling up the image of the weapon again. Atropos … shears … yeah, that definitely fits. Out of curiosity, she flicked back through the report to find the name of the owner, and hid a smirk.
She'd met Max Anders more than once, at high-society functions. It wasn't her cup of tea, although she could wheel and deal with the best of them. On the other hand, it absolutely was Max Anders' chosen element, and he excelled in it.
The first time they met, he'd given her the impression of a spoiled rich kid making it big on inherited money, and she'd never seen fit to revise it. It was unfair of her to draw a certain amount of schadenfreude from his reaction to the theft, and so she didn't. Much.
"Well done," she said warmly. "Be sure to leave a note regarding the sword so we'll be able to identify it if Atropos also uses it in a crime." It wouldn't help the victims, certainly, but as Atropos seemed to be focusing on gang leaders at the moment, her sympathy was somewhat minimal.
Not that she would shirk her duty in trying to catch Atropos. Criminals were criminals, whether they wore costumes or not. Anyone who thought the presence of super-powers changed that particular equation was just deluding themselves.
<><>
Taylor
I'd told Dad I was going to bed early because I was tired, and in fact I did take a nap once I got upstairs. When my phone alarm woke me at ten, the house was dark and silent aside from his gentle snoring, audible from the hallway. I dressed in my costume, all except the hat and mask, and double-checked my special cargo. Both containers were intact—I was pretty sure I would've known if they weren't—and the bag of capsules was present and correct.
When I left the house, armed with the Screwdriver of Car Opening, I went in a different direction, not wanting to use the same car too often. It would be unfair on the poor guy to keep refilling the tank when he hadn't even driven it anywhere. Fortunately, leaving spare keys in the car seemed to be a prevailing habit; in the car I tried this time, they were in the ashtray.
I was fully aware that I could break into any of the houses here and take their actual car keys with nobody being the wiser, but that would be more time-consuming, and I preferred to have as much wiggle room with my Paths as possible.
It appeared Kaiser had something to do with the Medhall building, which meant that Max Anders was probably covering for him. The preparations I'd taken in that building the previous night had been on the elaborate side, but that was the whole point of a magic trick. It was all about deception and misdirection, and my power seemed to be really good at those. Idly, I wondered if the guy who kept fishing gear in his desk would ever notice he was missing a few yards of line. Or the guy whose hobby seemed to be rock climbing.
I pulled up a block away from Medhall, in a quiet side-street where nobody would notice the car for the time being. Then, once I got out, I put on the mask and the hat. It was time to go to work.
<><>
Medhall Building
CEO's Office
Krieg
James Fliescher frowned, wondering if they were missing a bet. He turned to look up at the large clock on the wall of Max's office. It read two minutes to midnight. Outside the windows, Rune swooped past on her latest orbit of the building. If anyone was climbing up the outside, she'd spot them.
"Do you see anything?" he asked Crusader, who was reclining at his ease in one of the padded visitor chairs.
"Nada," the young man replied. "I've got ghosts in every elevator, in every stairwell, and outside with Rune. Nobody's here who shouldn't be. Atropos is probably going after Lung."
"In which case," Max declared, "they will cease to be our problem after tonight. Killing Oni Lee and Coil is considerably less problematic than putting an end to Lung, I think you'll all agree."
Seated at his desk, covered in metal armour from head to toe, he took a bottle from his desk drawer. From the same drawer, he took several glasses.
"Wait, boss," Fenja objected from where she stood alongside the desk. "Where did you get that bottle from?"
"My personal stock, downstairs. Why?" He uncapped the bottle and poured some into a glass. "This is for the toast, after."
"Because the easiest way to kill you right now would be to make you kill yourself." James stepped up to the desk. "Fenja is right. We can't trust anything right now." He glanced over to the clock on the wall; it showed thirty seconds to midnight. "Alabaster?"
"Right here." The white-skinned man left his post at the main door to the office and came on over. Cricket moved to replace him without being told. "Food tasting duty? Let's see how we go."
"Be my guest." Kaiser handed the glass over. "I think you're being a little paranoid, but better safe than sorry, I suppose."
"Down the hatch." Alabaster tossed the drink back, then set the glass down on the desk. "Whoa, that's got some … ugghhh … urgh …" Clutching his throat, he fell to the carpet and writhed for a moment.
Then he reset and sat up. "Wow, that was unpleas—urrghhh …" He grabbed the metal wastepaper basket beside the desk, and threw up copiously into it. Everyone around him stepped back instinctively from the horrible smell. Then he fell over again.
Sitting up for a second time, he swayed woozily, then threw up some more. James could see, to his consternation, how some of the vomit had eaten its way through the side of the receptacle and was busily attacking the carpet.
On the fourth go-around, Alabaster struggled to his feet. "Son of a bitch," he groused, shaking his head and pointing at the bottle. "That stuff is beyond lethal. It's some kind of battery acid. It has to be. Every time I reset, it started attacking me again."
Othala's face was pale. "If you'd drunk that, Max, I doubt I could've saved you."
Kaiser nodded. "You're right." Carefully, he replaced the cap on the bottle. "Take that for analysis. I want to know exactly what Atropos put in it, and where it came from."
"On the upside," James observed, checking the clock once more, "it's ten minutes past midnight. We've dodged the bullet, so to speak. Atropos was clearly depending on a remote kill via the bourbon." He looked at Fenja and inclined his head slightly. "Well done."
"Absolutely well done," agreed Kaiser, retracting his helmet into the rest of his armour. "In fact, well done to everyone. If Atropos was depending on acid to do the job, it means they don't have the wherewithal to fight their way through you to get to me. Call everyone in. We're going downstairs."
"Well, that was easier than I thought." Crusader stood up from his chair and stretched as his ghosts flooded back into the room and re-merged with him. "Think Atropos will try again?"
"Not until word gets out that Max is still alive," James decided. "And if we hold that off for a while, we can contradict word of his death and make Atropos look like a fool."
The window at the side of the room opened and Rune floated in on her manhole cover. "And another win to the Empire Eighty-Eight," she declared. "Imma go on PHO and tell Atropos to go get wrecked." Reaching inside her robes, she pulled her phone out.
"Not until later," Othala said. "We're going to let Atropos make the announcement first."
"Oh, okay." Rune glanced at her phone as she paused with her tapping. "Hey, wait a minute. My phone clock says it's not midnight yet."
Instinctively, James looked across at the office clock. Clear as day, it read eleven minutes past midnight. Nobody there was wearing a watch, of course; supervillain costumes tended to be hard-wearing, and wristwatches were notoriously fragile. Scheißkerl! Atropos set the clock forward—!
That was when the lights went out.
Krieg heard a thump, followed by a more pronounced thud. He turned, eyes straining in the darkness, only to be driven to the ground by a tremendous blow. The lights went out for him again, this time in a far more personal way.
<><>
Alabaster
When the lights came back on, Cricket and Krieg were both sprawled on the floor, and a dark-costumed cape was standing in their midst, just at the point where nobody could reach her immediately. She pointed her finger at Kaiser in a parody of a gun, and said, "Bang."
Then, as everyone began to move, the lights went out again.
<><>
Taylor
The first remote button I pressed triggered the breakers again, deep in the building, turning the lights out. As darkness fell, I was already moving, twisting away from the two Crusader ghosts I knew were lunging for me. Then I threw the paperweight I'd stolen from a lower floor right through one of the ghosts. It slammed into his groin, and he slumped to the floor, his ghosts losing all interest in stopping me. As a continuation of the move, I performed a flawless shoulder-roll past Alabaster and threw a decorative snow-globe to hit Rune in the temple, not quite hard enough to kill her. Then I pressed the second remote button.
Up in the ceiling, the tiny mechanism released one end of the hundred-pound fishing-line it had been gripping in its spring-loaded jaws. The sword dropped down out of the 'malfunctioning' light fitting, popping the cover off, then swung down point-first, suspended on two other lengths of fishing-line. The ceiling was high-set, as befitted a penthouse office, and it had the room to build up quite a bit of forward speed.
As I headed for the open window, I heard the sibilant whistle of nylon line cutting through air, followed by the meaty thud that told me I'd scored my latest kill. It was, of course, exactly midnight.
I pulled out my shears and tossed them up, handles first, to dislodge the ceiling panel next to the window just far enough to allow the rope (that I'd tied up there the previous night) to fall down into my hands. Catching them again, I re-sheathed them and leaped out the window, all in the same motion.
Two floors down, I'd left a window fractionally ajar before I interrupted the self-congratulation party on the top floor; arresting my downward slide, I hit the window with my heels and swung in. Then I tossed the rope back out and closed the window, securing it properly. If anyone wanted to follow me, they'd have to take the long way around, down the stairs.
Reaching into my pocket again, I pressed the two remote buttons that would release and retract the lengths of fishing-line that the sword had swung down on, then the one that would turn the lights on again. The second button on each of those remotes set off the self-destructs, overloading the batteries and demolishing the devices.
There were two more things I needed to do before I went home. Stopping at a cubicle, I picked up the phone and pressed the button to dial out of the building, then called 9-1-1. Ten seconds later, I was speaking to an operator, who wanted to know what I needed.
"Police and, and PRT, I think. I'm, I'm working late in the Medhall building, and I heard some shouting from upstairs. I think Max Anders has been murdered by a cape. You better come quick."
Putting the phone down again, I hummed gently to myself as I made my way down the stairs to the basement-level laboratory. The process I'd set in motion before I came upstairs should've just about finished by now, and I needed to pick up the end result before the PRT arrived and ruined everyone's night.
Lung wouldn't kill himself, after all.
<><>
Fenja
The lights came back on.
"What's going on? Where is she?" Grown to ten feet tall, Jessica Biermann held her shield and sword in front of her while she scanned the room. What she saw wasn't promising; Cricket, Rune, Krieg and Crusader were all down, while Alabaster and Othala were staring around as wildly as she was. How had Atropos done all this in the few seconds of darkness?
Victor and Hookwolf burst in through the office door, with Stormtiger and Nessa right behind them. "What happened?" barked Victor. "What's going on?" Then he stopped and stared at something behind Jessica. "Oh, FUCK."
Slowly, Jessica turned. Beside her, she heard Othala let out an almost soundless whimper.
Kaiser sat bolt upright in his office chair, left eye staring sightlessly, accusingly. From his right eyesocket trickled a line of blood. This was because a sword was sticking into the eyesocket, nailing his head to the back of his chair. He was irretrievably, unequivocally, dead.
How Atropos had done it, Jessica had no idea. But in a sudden epiphany, she realised the truth. They'd been played, the whole time.
We thought we knew what we were doing. But she moved us all into position like chess pieces, then went for the kill.
Well, shit.
End of Part Eight
[A/N: I'm going to be slowing down my output after this chapter, as I have other writing to do. But A Darker Path will be back!]
Relevant Side Story.
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Part Nine: Killing Time
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A Darker Path
Part Nine: Killing Time
[A/N: this chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Just After Midnight
Medhall Building
Taylor
Down in the sub-level laboratory, I collected the finished capsules, sliding them into the padded slots in the container I'd prepped. Far more than anything else I'd stolen, these required careful handling. If they hadn't been part of the path for killing Lung and ending the influence of the ABB in Brockton Bay, I wouldn't have gone near them.
Fortunately, it was, so I could proceed.
There was one more capsule than spaces in the container, but that was all part of the plan. Quite a bit of the laboratory equipment was already damaged from the uses I'd put it through; it really wasn't rated for this sort of work, but it had been just good enough to get it done. On my way out, I tossed a cup of water over the equipment that hadn't suffered so badly, then threw the last capsule across the room at it.
With a WHOOMPH, flames and toxic smoke billowed. I didn't stop to savour the destruction; the exit was right there, and I went out through it.
Thanks to my prior sabotage, the alarm went out via an automated 9-1-1 call, but didn't actually trigger the building alarms. I wanted the authorities on the way before anyone could act to cover anything up. And if I made this laboratory unusable for the next few months due to chemical contamination? So totally not my problem.
With the container securely in hand and the fireproof (and airtight) door shut firmly behind me, I hustled up the fire exit stairwell to ground level. I had to wait a few seconds until a bunch of PRT vans roared past to pull up with a screech just around the corner, but while someone was still yelling about setting up a perimeter, I was able to duck out through the door and across the narrow street to the shadows opposite. Two blocks of brisk walking got me back to the car without being intercepted; I unlocked it and climbed in.
But I didn't head home just yet. I had one more visit to make tonight.
PRT ENE
Director Emily Piggot
Emily's phone rang. She snatched it up, trying to ignore the slight ache behind her eyeballs that was an indicator of pushing herself too hard. The caller ID said ARMSMASTER.
"Talk to me," she ordered.
"Ma'am, it's a mess here. We've had to direct emergency services to that chemical fire in the sub-basement lab—that isn't on the official plans, by the way—and Max Anders is definitely deceased. Wearing a set of Kaiser's usual armour. Right now, I'm giving it an eighty percent chance that he's actually Kaiser, contingent on what we get out of his computer files. When we get into his files. The encryption is ... stubborn."
"Wait, go back." Emily rubbed her eyes. She was going to crash hard after this. Renick would have to take most of her workload for the day. But she wasn't going to allow the outcome of this operation to rest on anyone's shoulders but hers. "Deceased? How?"
Somehow, she heard the grimace in his voice. "Stabbed in the eye by a sword. Looks like an antique. In through his right eye with enough force to punch out through the back of his head and into the headrest of his chair."
"A sword, you say ..." Emily turned to her computer, and pulled up an image she'd emailed to herself. "Something like this one?" With a few more keystrokes, she sent the image on to him.
He paused for more than the few seconds it would've taken to download the image and look it over. "Not just like that one. It is that one. Where did you get that from, ma'am?"
Emily smiled in sour triumph. Called it. "It's a katzbalger. German infantry sword from a few centuries back. That specific one was once owned by Kaiser Wilhelm the First ... and was stolen from Max Anders' private collection, thirty-six hours ago, along with the bodice shears she used to murder Coil."
"So Atropos knew who Kaiser was all along, and stole his sword specifically to kill him with it."
"That's what it looks like, yes." Emily shuddered. That was far too cold and calculated for her liking. "Did she leave anything we can identify her by?"
"Not that we've found so far. The phone call was almost certainly placed by her—there was nobody working on that floor at that time—and I'm reasonably sure she set the fire in the sub-basement lab. She cut it so close that we've got security footage of her slipping out through a side door less than a minute before we established a cordon around the building."
Emily gritted her teeth. God damn it. So close. Though in honesty, Atropos had probably planned for that as well. "Keep me posted if anything else pops up."
"Copy that, ma'am."
Purity
It was the middle of the night, and Aster was fussing and crying.
Even though Kayden had had trouble getting to sleep the previous evening—the news about this Atropos cape having percolated through the parahuman community with almost supernatural speed—she dragged herself back to a semblance of wakefulness anyway. Forcing herself to sit up and swing her feet onto the floor, she rubbed her eyes and stared across the darkened bedroom at the crib where Aster lay. "Sshhh," she mumbled. "Shush, darling. Go back to sleep. Mommy's tired."
The distressed noises continued unabated.
She'd known there would be nights like this, and in fact she'd spent more time with less sleep before now rocking Aster back to slumber, but right now felt the worst of all. It always did. With the groan of someone who felt fifty years older than she really was, she levered herself to her feet and stumbled forward. Turning on the light was never in the plan; she knew where the crib was, and she could always find Aster by sound and touch.
When she reached the crib, she leaned in and gathered up Aster with the ease of long practice … but there was something wrong. Far from the wakeful, fussy wriggling infant she expected, Aster was sleeping peacefully, burbling gently in Kayden's arms. The noise of a fitfully crying baby went on … but it wasn't coming from Aster.
A shadow by the bedroom door that Kayden hadn't so much as glanced at now moved, and the light switch clicked. Illumination flooded the room, revealing a dark-clad figure, taller than Kayden. A broad-brimmed black hat shaded the black morph mask, making it even harder to make out any features through it, while a black long-coat hung partly open to show a suit and tie.
"Easy, Purity," said the intruder, the voice revealing her to be a teenage girl. Her black-gloved hands were out to her sides. "Not here to fight. Just to talk."
Kayden tightened her hold on Aster and moved back, sidling around the bed to put her back to the wall and as much distance as possible between herself and the girl. "Who are you and what do you want?"
She was fully aware that her position right now was exceedingly vulnerable. Even if she freed one hand to fire a blast at the intruder, she'd need to power up first, something that was the exact opposite of subtle. And even then, once she was powered up, she'd need a moment to charge the blast. Somehow, she didn't think she'd get that moment. Especially since she could see both an ornately designed dagger sheathed at the intruder's side and leather straps that said 'shoulder holster' to her.
Slowly, the girl twitched the fingers on her left hand. Between one instant and the next, she held a small electronic device with a green button on it. Her thumb pressed down, and the crying noise ceased. Another flick of the fingers and it was gone again. At no time did her attention leave Kayden while she was doing this.
"You can call me Atropos," the girl said, lowering her arms to her sides. "I'm here to give you notice that you've got exactly thirty minutes to be packed and heading for the city limits."
Kayden's head was awhirl. "What do you mean? Why do I need to do that?"
Atropos' tone became crisp and no-nonsense. "Fourteen and a half minutes ago, I killed Kaiser in the Medhall building. The Empire Eighty-Eight is crumbling as we speak. Its capes are leaving town. You'd best be one of them."
Kayden blinked. "I … you … what? Why?" Max is dead? This girl killed him? She supposed she should be outraged at this, though some small part of her pointed out that the hold he'd had over her via Aster was no longer in existence.
"Because in the next few minutes, the PRT is going to decide that yes, Max Anders was indeed Kaiser," the girl said patiently. "At which point, some bright spark is going to say, oh, hey, how about we bring in his ex-wife and see if she can fill in any blanks." She glanced meaningfully at Kayden's alarm clock. "About forty minutes from now, your front door is going to be kicked in."
"And I'll deny everything," Kayden said automatically. "Being married to the man doesn't by definition make me a supervillain, or even an accomplice."
"No, but the files they'll find once they crack his computer system will tell them all about you." Atropos sounded as though she had no doubt in the world. "You don't want to be in their custody when that happens."
No, I don't. Because they'll try to take Aster away from me, and I won't let them. She's saying that if I stay, she'll have to kill me. She began glancing around the bedroom, deciding what to take and what to leave. "Why are you warning me?"
"Because I gave Kaiser the chance to leave town before I killed him." The tone of absolute surety in the girl's voice chilled Kayden to the bone. "It would be unfair not to do the same with you."
"But—I was trying to be a hero!"
Atropos' shrug communicated pure unconcern. "Then go be a hero somewhere else. Reinvent yourself from scratch this time. Your welcome's run out in Brockton Bay. You now have twenty-five minutes. I'd say, 'good luck', but that's up to you." With that, the girl slipped out of the room and melted into the darkness of the living room outside.
By the time Kayden made her feet move, she rushed to the door to find no one in the apartment.
Returning to the bedroom and setting Aster back down in the crib, she began to feverishly pack.
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♦ Topic: And Another One Bites the Dust
In: Boards ► Brockton Bay ► New Capes ► Atropos
Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
Posted On Jan 6th 2011:
Good morning once more to you wonderful people of Brockton Bay. It's a lovely morning, or it will be once the sun rises and the seagulls stop squinting. I'm here to inform you that number two on my list, the one and only Kaiser, has been removed from said list, on account of being dead. He's dead because I stuck a sword through his head.
Why, yes, the purveyor of metal spikes has been killed with a pointy metal thing. The irony is intense.
You want to know what makes it even more ironic than that? I did it with his own sword. A blade that was owned by a Kaiser has been used to kill its current owner, another Kaiser.
Well, I guess there's more than one way to skin a cat.
Heh.
Trust me, you'll get the joke eventually.
Anyways, that's two down and two to go. Skidmark and Lung, Lung and Skidmark. Do I go for the low-hanging fruit, or do I kill Skidmark first?
Decisions, decisions.
Medhall Building
Armsmaster
The alert buzzed in Colin's helmet, and he accepted the incoming phone call. "Armsmaster. What is it, Dragon?"
The Canadian Tinker sounded as though she wasn't quite sure about what she was saying, which was a first for her. "Colin, have you been keeping an eye on PHO? Specifically, Atropos' thread?"
He frowned. From the tone of her voice, he'd missed something important. "No. Why?"
"She just posted a list of what she claims to be his computer passwords, in the clear."
"Jesus. Thanks." He opened a new window immediately, and tabbed into PHO. Seconds later, he was reading off the passwords. "If these work, this'll be gold." The standalone systems were proving tough to crack.
She chuckled. "You're welcome."
Taylor
I awoke the next morning and stretched mightily, feeling my back pop in several places. It was looking like a great day, for all that it was the middle of winter.
Just killing Kaiser on his own would've been easy, but I'd wanted to end the Empire Eighty-Eight's hold on the city at the same time. I'd also wanted to make Kaiser's death a fitting one; he'd been a power in the city since I was five or six, after all. People needed to know he was dead.
The elaborate way I'd killed him had thus served a secondary purpose. All the other capes, the ones who I would've had to hunt down and kill one after another as they ascended to the leadership of the Empire Eighty-Eight or successor teams, were now thoroughly demoralised. It didn't matter that the PRT techs currently going through the building with a fine-tooth comb would eventually figure out how I'd done it; they weren't my targets. In one fell swoop, I'd taken eleven capes off the board.
Not that I couldn't have killed the other ten; that was a given. But merely murdering them would've been tedious and time-consuming. In addition, once the PRT took Aster away from Purity and she started demolishing the city block by block looking for her daughter, that would've reflected badly on my efforts. Much better for all concerned if I directed her away and gave the authorities no excuse to stand in my way.
They'd lose, of course. But see above about 'tedious'.
I got up and showered, then strolled downstairs to breakfast. If I killed Lung tonight and Skidmark on Friday night—or even in reverse order—that would allow me the weekend to consider my next list and plan proper kills on whoever continued to hold out. There was no sense in rushing matters.
It wasn't as though I got any kind of sick pleasure out of killing people, or that I was even compelled to. However, these people were indisputably a blight on Brockton Bay, and the cops and PRT were doing nothing about it. I could. It was simple as that.
As I accepted eggs and bacon from Dad, I considered how I'd killed Sophia. Had she been a blight on Brockton Bay? Well, apart from being a really shitty Ward, probably not. But she'd been a personal blight on my life, and that was close enough for me. I'd given her the same chance I gave Emma and Madison. They'd taken it; she hadn't. That was on her.
"Still thinking about that girl from Winslow, the one who bullied you?" asked Dad, looking at me with a little concern. "Or are some of the others still bothering you?"
I snorted. "No. I think they're in shock. It was all going so well for them, y'know? They had nice safe targets to pick on, and then something like this happened, and Sophia's not there to be their point, uh, person anymore. Nobody else wants to step up unless they make a bad call too." I rolled my eyes. "Welcome to the real world."
It was slightly more complicated than that. Madison was utterly convinced that I could kill her at any moment (which was true), and I was pretty sure I'd accomplished much the same with Emma. Between them, they'd spread the word that I was not to be messed with. Sophia had set out to mess with me, and was now dead.
From what I could gather from eavesdropping on gossip, opinions were split between the idea that Sophia had taken on someone else in my place and gotten killed, or she'd attacked me personally and I'd accidentally killed her and walked away without a scratch. What I did know was that nobody was seriously considering turning me in for killing her.
Either way, the 'do not mess with Taylor' mutual agreement was solidly in place, which was convenient. More mysterious deaths at Winslow would seriously cramp my cover as an innocent student there.
"I suppose you're right," he said in the way that adults do when they're not sure how to address a sensitive topic anymore. "The police haven't called back, so I'm guessing they're satisfied with what they got from us."
I nodded. "Sounds like it. Maybe they'll catch whoever did it, and maybe not." The answer, of course, was 'not'.
I applied myself to my breakfast. Soon I'd have to go catch the bus to school, but that was okay. I knew many ways to kill boredom now, some of which didn't involve drawing untoward attention.
And a few hours after that, I could set about making Brockton Bay a better place.
One drop of blood at a time.
End of Part Nine
Relevant Side Story
Part Nine: Killing Time
[A/N: this chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Just After Midnight
Medhall Building
Taylor
Down in the sub-level laboratory, I collected the finished capsules, sliding them into the padded slots in the container I'd prepped. Far more than anything else I'd stolen, these required careful handling. If they hadn't been part of the path for killing Lung and ending the influence of the ABB in Brockton Bay, I wouldn't have gone near them.
Fortunately, it was, so I could proceed.
There was one more capsule than spaces in the container, but that was all part of the plan. Quite a bit of the laboratory equipment was already damaged from the uses I'd put it through; it really wasn't rated for this sort of work, but it had been just good enough to get it done. On my way out, I tossed a cup of water over the equipment that hadn't suffered so badly, then threw the last capsule across the room at it.
With a WHOOMPH, flames and toxic smoke billowed. I didn't stop to savour the destruction; the exit was right there, and I went out through it.
Thanks to my prior sabotage, the alarm went out via an automated 9-1-1 call, but didn't actually trigger the building alarms. I wanted the authorities on the way before anyone could act to cover anything up. And if I made this laboratory unusable for the next few months due to chemical contamination? So totally not my problem.
With the container securely in hand and the fireproof (and airtight) door shut firmly behind me, I hustled up the fire exit stairwell to ground level. I had to wait a few seconds until a bunch of PRT vans roared past to pull up with a screech just around the corner, but while someone was still yelling about setting up a perimeter, I was able to duck out through the door and across the narrow street to the shadows opposite. Two blocks of brisk walking got me back to the car without being intercepted; I unlocked it and climbed in.
But I didn't head home just yet. I had one more visit to make tonight.
<><>
PRT ENE
Director Emily Piggot
Emily's phone rang. She snatched it up, trying to ignore the slight ache behind her eyeballs that was an indicator of pushing herself too hard. The caller ID said ARMSMASTER.
"Talk to me," she ordered.
"Ma'am, it's a mess here. We've had to direct emergency services to that chemical fire in the sub-basement lab—that isn't on the official plans, by the way—and Max Anders is definitely deceased. Wearing a set of Kaiser's usual armour. Right now, I'm giving it an eighty percent chance that he's actually Kaiser, contingent on what we get out of his computer files. When we get into his files. The encryption is ... stubborn."
"Wait, go back." Emily rubbed her eyes. She was going to crash hard after this. Renick would have to take most of her workload for the day. But she wasn't going to allow the outcome of this operation to rest on anyone's shoulders but hers. "Deceased? How?"
Somehow, she heard the grimace in his voice. "Stabbed in the eye by a sword. Looks like an antique. In through his right eye with enough force to punch out through the back of his head and into the headrest of his chair."
"A sword, you say ..." Emily turned to her computer, and pulled up an image she'd emailed to herself. "Something like this one?" With a few more keystrokes, she sent the image on to him.
He paused for more than the few seconds it would've taken to download the image and look it over. "Not just like that one. It is that one. Where did you get that from, ma'am?"
Emily smiled in sour triumph. Called it. "It's a katzbalger. German infantry sword from a few centuries back. That specific one was once owned by Kaiser Wilhelm the First ... and was stolen from Max Anders' private collection, thirty-six hours ago, along with the bodice shears she used to murder Coil."
"So Atropos knew who Kaiser was all along, and stole his sword specifically to kill him with it."
"That's what it looks like, yes." Emily shuddered. That was far too cold and calculated for her liking. "Did she leave anything we can identify her by?"
"Not that we've found so far. The phone call was almost certainly placed by her—there was nobody working on that floor at that time—and I'm reasonably sure she set the fire in the sub-basement lab. She cut it so close that we've got security footage of her slipping out through a side door less than a minute before we established a cordon around the building."
Emily gritted her teeth. God damn it. So close. Though in honesty, Atropos had probably planned for that as well. "Keep me posted if anything else pops up."
"Copy that, ma'am."
<><>
Purity
It was the middle of the night, and Aster was fussing and crying.
Even though Kayden had had trouble getting to sleep the previous evening—the news about this Atropos cape having percolated through the parahuman community with almost supernatural speed—she dragged herself back to a semblance of wakefulness anyway. Forcing herself to sit up and swing her feet onto the floor, she rubbed her eyes and stared across the darkened bedroom at the crib where Aster lay. "Sshhh," she mumbled. "Shush, darling. Go back to sleep. Mommy's tired."
The distressed noises continued unabated.
She'd known there would be nights like this, and in fact she'd spent more time with less sleep before now rocking Aster back to slumber, but right now felt the worst of all. It always did. With the groan of someone who felt fifty years older than she really was, she levered herself to her feet and stumbled forward. Turning on the light was never in the plan; she knew where the crib was, and she could always find Aster by sound and touch.
When she reached the crib, she leaned in and gathered up Aster with the ease of long practice … but there was something wrong. Far from the wakeful, fussy wriggling infant she expected, Aster was sleeping peacefully, burbling gently in Kayden's arms. The noise of a fitfully crying baby went on … but it wasn't coming from Aster.
A shadow by the bedroom door that Kayden hadn't so much as glanced at now moved, and the light switch clicked. Illumination flooded the room, revealing a dark-clad figure, taller than Kayden. A broad-brimmed black hat shaded the black morph mask, making it even harder to make out any features through it, while a black long-coat hung partly open to show a suit and tie.
"Easy, Purity," said the intruder, the voice revealing her to be a teenage girl. Her black-gloved hands were out to her sides. "Not here to fight. Just to talk."
Kayden tightened her hold on Aster and moved back, sidling around the bed to put her back to the wall and as much distance as possible between herself and the girl. "Who are you and what do you want?"
She was fully aware that her position right now was exceedingly vulnerable. Even if she freed one hand to fire a blast at the intruder, she'd need to power up first, something that was the exact opposite of subtle. And even then, once she was powered up, she'd need a moment to charge the blast. Somehow, she didn't think she'd get that moment. Especially since she could see both an ornately designed dagger sheathed at the intruder's side and leather straps that said 'shoulder holster' to her.
Slowly, the girl twitched the fingers on her left hand. Between one instant and the next, she held a small electronic device with a green button on it. Her thumb pressed down, and the crying noise ceased. Another flick of the fingers and it was gone again. At no time did her attention leave Kayden while she was doing this.
"You can call me Atropos," the girl said, lowering her arms to her sides. "I'm here to give you notice that you've got exactly thirty minutes to be packed and heading for the city limits."
Kayden's head was awhirl. "What do you mean? Why do I need to do that?"
Atropos' tone became crisp and no-nonsense. "Fourteen and a half minutes ago, I killed Kaiser in the Medhall building. The Empire Eighty-Eight is crumbling as we speak. Its capes are leaving town. You'd best be one of them."
Kayden blinked. "I … you … what? Why?" Max is dead? This girl killed him? She supposed she should be outraged at this, though some small part of her pointed out that the hold he'd had over her via Aster was no longer in existence.
"Because in the next few minutes, the PRT is going to decide that yes, Max Anders was indeed Kaiser," the girl said patiently. "At which point, some bright spark is going to say, oh, hey, how about we bring in his ex-wife and see if she can fill in any blanks." She glanced meaningfully at Kayden's alarm clock. "About forty minutes from now, your front door is going to be kicked in."
"And I'll deny everything," Kayden said automatically. "Being married to the man doesn't by definition make me a supervillain, or even an accomplice."
"No, but the files they'll find once they crack his computer system will tell them all about you." Atropos sounded as though she had no doubt in the world. "You don't want to be in their custody when that happens."
No, I don't. Because they'll try to take Aster away from me, and I won't let them. She's saying that if I stay, she'll have to kill me. She began glancing around the bedroom, deciding what to take and what to leave. "Why are you warning me?"
"Because I gave Kaiser the chance to leave town before I killed him." The tone of absolute surety in the girl's voice chilled Kayden to the bone. "It would be unfair not to do the same with you."
"But—I was trying to be a hero!"
Atropos' shrug communicated pure unconcern. "Then go be a hero somewhere else. Reinvent yourself from scratch this time. Your welcome's run out in Brockton Bay. You now have twenty-five minutes. I'd say, 'good luck', but that's up to you." With that, the girl slipped out of the room and melted into the darkness of the living room outside.
By the time Kayden made her feet move, she rushed to the door to find no one in the apartment.
Returning to the bedroom and setting Aster back down in the crib, she began to feverishly pack.
<><>
■
■
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■
♦ Topic: And Another One Bites the Dust
In: Boards ► Brockton Bay ► New Capes ► Atropos
Atropos (Original Poster) (
Posted On Jan 6th 2011:
Good morning once more to you wonderful people of Brockton Bay. It's a lovely morning, or it will be once the sun rises and the seagulls stop squinting. I'm here to inform you that number two on my list, the one and only Kaiser, has been removed from said list, on account of being dead. He's dead because I stuck a sword through his head.
Why, yes, the purveyor of metal spikes has been killed with a pointy metal thing. The irony is intense.
You want to know what makes it even more ironic than that? I did it with his own sword. A blade that was owned by a Kaiser has been used to kill its current owner, another Kaiser.
Well, I guess there's more than one way to skin a cat.
Heh.
Trust me, you'll get the joke eventually.
Anyways, that's two down and two to go. Skidmark and Lung, Lung and Skidmark. Do I go for the low-hanging fruit, or do I kill Skidmark first?
Decisions, decisions.
(Showing page 1 of 10)►Wherewolf (Temp Banned)
Replied On Jan 6th 2011:
Yes! I just won twenty bucks, baby!
Anyone want to take odds on Lung being the next one?
►TeamMom (Senior Moderator)
Replied On Jan 6th 2011:
@Wherewolf - have a temp ban. No gambling allowed regarding actual human lives.
►Pureblood01011000 (Empire88Bootlicker)
Replied On Jan 6th 2011:
No. I refuse to believe it. There is no way Kaiser can be taken down by a pretender in a long-coat. You'll see. You'll all see.
►Reave (Verified PRT Agent)
Replied On Jan 6th 2011:
Okay, to get this out of the way and deal with the he-said-she-said before it starts:
It appears that Kaiser may indeed be deceased. The PRT was notified by a phone call to attend a specific address at midnight, where we found someone dressed in Kaiser's trademark armor. As per Atropos' description, this person had indeed been killed with a sword.
We are currently following up on other leads to determine whether or not this is truly Kaiser, but current indications show a good chance of it actually being the case.
More information will be released if and when we deem it necessary.
►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
Replied On Jan 6th 2011:
Oh, it's Kaiser alright. Have you found the secret elevator behind his desk yet? Goes all the way down to a sub-basement he wouldn't have wanted you to know about. Also, his main four computer passwords are 7653jWxz, fGg6d54p, 49zKr73q and 37zG8sTc. Just so you know.
(What did you expect? 'Hitler for President 2012'?)
Anyways, the rest of the 88 capes are bugging out for parts unknown. Smart. They know that once I finish running through the current list, they're next.
Toodles!
►Flagwaver
Replied On Jan 6th 2011:
So that's two down, and two more to go. I wonder how Atropos is going to kill Lung?
►LockupLad
Replied On Jan 6th 2011:
This is getting good. Goddamn.
►AlexandriaFan
Replied On Jan 6th 2011:
Well, that's Oni Lee, Coil and Kaiser terminated.
Wonder who's next?
►Doomlord
Replied On Jan 6th 2011:
That's damn cool.
Nazis have screwed this city up so hard, it's nice to see when one goes down.
End of Page. 1, 2, 3 ... 8, 9, 10Replied On Jan 6th 2011:
Yes! I just won twenty bucks, baby!
Anyone want to take odds on Lung being the next one?
►TeamMom (Senior Moderator)
Replied On Jan 6th 2011:
@Wherewolf - have a temp ban. No gambling allowed regarding actual human lives.
►Pureblood01011000 (Empire88Bootlicker)
Replied On Jan 6th 2011:
No. I refuse to believe it. There is no way Kaiser can be taken down by a pretender in a long-coat. You'll see. You'll all see.
►Reave (Verified PRT Agent)
Replied On Jan 6th 2011:
Okay, to get this out of the way and deal with the he-said-she-said before it starts:
It appears that Kaiser may indeed be deceased. The PRT was notified by a phone call to attend a specific address at midnight, where we found someone dressed in Kaiser's trademark armor. As per Atropos' description, this person had indeed been killed with a sword.
We are currently following up on other leads to determine whether or not this is truly Kaiser, but current indications show a good chance of it actually being the case.
More information will be released if and when we deem it necessary.
►Atropos (Original Poster) (
Replied On Jan 6th 2011:
Oh, it's Kaiser alright. Have you found the secret elevator behind his desk yet? Goes all the way down to a sub-basement he wouldn't have wanted you to know about. Also, his main four computer passwords are 7653jWxz, fGg6d54p, 49zKr73q and 37zG8sTc. Just so you know.
(What did you expect? 'Hitler for President 2012'?)
Anyways, the rest of the 88 capes are bugging out for parts unknown. Smart. They know that once I finish running through the current list, they're next.
Toodles!
►Flagwaver
Replied On Jan 6th 2011:
So that's two down, and two more to go. I wonder how Atropos is going to kill Lung?
►LockupLad
Replied On Jan 6th 2011:
This is getting good. Goddamn.
►AlexandriaFan
Replied On Jan 6th 2011:
Well, that's Oni Lee, Coil and Kaiser terminated.
Wonder who's next?
►Doomlord
Replied On Jan 6th 2011:
That's damn cool.
Nazis have screwed this city up so hard, it's nice to see when one goes down.
(Showing page 2 of 10)►Pureblood01011000 (Empire88Bootlicker)
Replied On Jan 6th 2011:
Watch your mouth! Kaiser's alive! You'll see!
►LaughingZander
Replied On Jan 6th 2011:
A Nazi is dead, and nothing of value is lost.
@PureBlood01011000 - keep licking that boot.
►Yan (Lung's Other Special Little Friend)
Replied On Jan 6th 2011:
@Flagwaver - keep dissing Lung and see what you get.
►Yan (Lung's Other Special Little Friend)
Replied On Jan 6th 2011:
No! No! Remove that tag at once! He'll KILL me!
►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
Replied On Jan 6th 2011:
Whoopsie ...
►Pureblood01011000 (Empire88Bootlicker)
Replied On Jan 6th 2011:
@LaughingZander - there's something you don't understand. Something none of you understand. The Empire Eighty-Eight is the largest and longest-lasting cape team in the city. We've been here longer than New Wave, longer than the Asian Bum Boys, longer than the PRT and Protectorate. We outlasted Galvanate, Marquis, the Teeth and Coil. And we'll outlast everyone else. Keep pushing and you'll find out why.
►LaughingZander
Replied On Jan 6th 2011:
@PureBlood01011000 - Big words for someone who'll never have to actually do anything about them.
►UnconcernedFox
Replied On Jan 6th 2011:
<reaches for more popcorn>
►GrandMeister (Verified Cape) (Verified Empire 88 Member) (Actually Victor)
Replied on Jan 6th 2011:
(sigh)
I didn't want to have to do this.
To the unpowered members of the Empire Eighty-Eight:
Kaiser is dead.
I saw his corpse.
We thank you for your loyalty through thick and thin, but the Empire Eighty-Eight is hereby dissolved. The capes are leaving town before we end up on Atropos' list.
Why, you ask? Surely you're strong enough to stand up before one person?
I thought so. I was certain my grasp of strategy and tactics would allow me to outmaneuver a single cape. We made our plans and carried them out ... and played straight into her hands.
The building was secure, or so we thought. A flicker of the lights, and she stood among the capes guarding him, two of our number down already. She pointed her finger at Kaiser. Another flicker of the lights, and she had vanished. Two more of us were unconscious, and I came in to find Kaiser dead with a sword rammed through his eye and out the back of his head.
Not one of us could do a damn thing about it.
So yes, we are leaving before we are faced with the unpalatable (and inevitable) choice of dying or surrendering to the PRT. You may carry on, or not, as you wish.
To the other villains of Brockton Bay:
If you are on her list, leave. If you are not on her list, make preparations to leave.
Except for Lung. You can take her. I have faith in you.
Empire Eighty-Eight ... out.
►RunawayTwin
Replied On Jan 6th 2011:
Dang. A sword through the eye? Looks like he did Nazi that coming.
(I regret nothing).
End of Page. 1, 2, 3, 4 ... 8, 9, 10Replied On Jan 6th 2011:
Watch your mouth! Kaiser's alive! You'll see!
►LaughingZander
Replied On Jan 6th 2011:
A Nazi is dead, and nothing of value is lost.
@PureBlood01011000 - keep licking that boot.
►Yan (Lung's Other Special Little Friend)
Replied On Jan 6th 2011:
@Flagwaver - keep dissing Lung and see what you get.
►Yan (Lung's Other Special Little Friend)
Replied On Jan 6th 2011:
No! No! Remove that tag at once! He'll KILL me!
►Atropos (Original Poster) (
Replied On Jan 6th 2011:
Whoopsie ...
►Pureblood01011000 (Empire88Bootlicker)
Replied On Jan 6th 2011:
@LaughingZander - there's something you don't understand. Something none of you understand. The Empire Eighty-Eight is the largest and longest-lasting cape team in the city. We've been here longer than New Wave, longer than the Asian Bum Boys, longer than the PRT and Protectorate. We outlasted Galvanate, Marquis, the Teeth and Coil. And we'll outlast everyone else. Keep pushing and you'll find out why.
►LaughingZander
Replied On Jan 6th 2011:
@PureBlood01011000 - Big words for someone who'll never have to actually do anything about them.
►UnconcernedFox
Replied On Jan 6th 2011:
<reaches for more popcorn>
►GrandMeister (Verified Cape) (Verified Empire 88 Member) (Actually Victor)
Replied on Jan 6th 2011:
(sigh)
I didn't want to have to do this.
To the unpowered members of the Empire Eighty-Eight:
Kaiser is dead.
I saw his corpse.
We thank you for your loyalty through thick and thin, but the Empire Eighty-Eight is hereby dissolved. The capes are leaving town before we end up on Atropos' list.
Why, you ask? Surely you're strong enough to stand up before one person?
I thought so. I was certain my grasp of strategy and tactics would allow me to outmaneuver a single cape. We made our plans and carried them out ... and played straight into her hands.
The building was secure, or so we thought. A flicker of the lights, and she stood among the capes guarding him, two of our number down already. She pointed her finger at Kaiser. Another flicker of the lights, and she had vanished. Two more of us were unconscious, and I came in to find Kaiser dead with a sword rammed through his eye and out the back of his head.
Not one of us could do a damn thing about it.
So yes, we are leaving before we are faced with the unpalatable (and inevitable) choice of dying or surrendering to the PRT. You may carry on, or not, as you wish.
To the other villains of Brockton Bay:
If you are on her list, leave. If you are not on her list, make preparations to leave.
Except for Lung. You can take her. I have faith in you.
Empire Eighty-Eight ... out.
►RunawayTwin
Replied On Jan 6th 2011:
Dang. A sword through the eye? Looks like he did Nazi that coming.
(I regret nothing).
■
<><>
<><>
Medhall Building
Armsmaster
The alert buzzed in Colin's helmet, and he accepted the incoming phone call. "Armsmaster. What is it, Dragon?"
The Canadian Tinker sounded as though she wasn't quite sure about what she was saying, which was a first for her. "Colin, have you been keeping an eye on PHO? Specifically, Atropos' thread?"
He frowned. From the tone of her voice, he'd missed something important. "No. Why?"
"She just posted a list of what she claims to be his computer passwords, in the clear."
"Jesus. Thanks." He opened a new window immediately, and tabbed into PHO. Seconds later, he was reading off the passwords. "If these work, this'll be gold." The standalone systems were proving tough to crack.
She chuckled. "You're welcome."
<><>
Taylor
I awoke the next morning and stretched mightily, feeling my back pop in several places. It was looking like a great day, for all that it was the middle of winter.
Just killing Kaiser on his own would've been easy, but I'd wanted to end the Empire Eighty-Eight's hold on the city at the same time. I'd also wanted to make Kaiser's death a fitting one; he'd been a power in the city since I was five or six, after all. People needed to know he was dead.
The elaborate way I'd killed him had thus served a secondary purpose. All the other capes, the ones who I would've had to hunt down and kill one after another as they ascended to the leadership of the Empire Eighty-Eight or successor teams, were now thoroughly demoralised. It didn't matter that the PRT techs currently going through the building with a fine-tooth comb would eventually figure out how I'd done it; they weren't my targets. In one fell swoop, I'd taken eleven capes off the board.
Not that I couldn't have killed the other ten; that was a given. But merely murdering them would've been tedious and time-consuming. In addition, once the PRT took Aster away from Purity and she started demolishing the city block by block looking for her daughter, that would've reflected badly on my efforts. Much better for all concerned if I directed her away and gave the authorities no excuse to stand in my way.
They'd lose, of course. But see above about 'tedious'.
I got up and showered, then strolled downstairs to breakfast. If I killed Lung tonight and Skidmark on Friday night—or even in reverse order—that would allow me the weekend to consider my next list and plan proper kills on whoever continued to hold out. There was no sense in rushing matters.
It wasn't as though I got any kind of sick pleasure out of killing people, or that I was even compelled to. However, these people were indisputably a blight on Brockton Bay, and the cops and PRT were doing nothing about it. I could. It was simple as that.
As I accepted eggs and bacon from Dad, I considered how I'd killed Sophia. Had she been a blight on Brockton Bay? Well, apart from being a really shitty Ward, probably not. But she'd been a personal blight on my life, and that was close enough for me. I'd given her the same chance I gave Emma and Madison. They'd taken it; she hadn't. That was on her.
"Still thinking about that girl from Winslow, the one who bullied you?" asked Dad, looking at me with a little concern. "Or are some of the others still bothering you?"
I snorted. "No. I think they're in shock. It was all going so well for them, y'know? They had nice safe targets to pick on, and then something like this happened, and Sophia's not there to be their point, uh, person anymore. Nobody else wants to step up unless they make a bad call too." I rolled my eyes. "Welcome to the real world."
It was slightly more complicated than that. Madison was utterly convinced that I could kill her at any moment (which was true), and I was pretty sure I'd accomplished much the same with Emma. Between them, they'd spread the word that I was not to be messed with. Sophia had set out to mess with me, and was now dead.
From what I could gather from eavesdropping on gossip, opinions were split between the idea that Sophia had taken on someone else in my place and gotten killed, or she'd attacked me personally and I'd accidentally killed her and walked away without a scratch. What I did know was that nobody was seriously considering turning me in for killing her.
Either way, the 'do not mess with Taylor' mutual agreement was solidly in place, which was convenient. More mysterious deaths at Winslow would seriously cramp my cover as an innocent student there.
"I suppose you're right," he said in the way that adults do when they're not sure how to address a sensitive topic anymore. "The police haven't called back, so I'm guessing they're satisfied with what they got from us."
I nodded. "Sounds like it. Maybe they'll catch whoever did it, and maybe not." The answer, of course, was 'not'.
I applied myself to my breakfast. Soon I'd have to go catch the bus to school, but that was okay. I knew many ways to kill boredom now, some of which didn't involve drawing untoward attention.
And a few hours after that, I could set about making Brockton Bay a better place.
One drop of blood at a time.
End of Part Nine
Relevant Side Story
Last edited:
Part Ten: On a Pale Horse
Ack
(Verified Ratbag) (Unverified Great Old One)
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A Darker Path
Part Ten: On a Pale Horse
[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
Taylor
"Hi, Dad, I'm home!"
I was pretty sure he wasn't in when I unlocked the back door, but my power didn't actually tell me one way or the other, so I called out just in case. He didn't answer, which worked for me.
Dropping my backpack on one of the kitchen chairs on the way past, I stopped at the fridge and took a couple of cold-packs out of the freezer section. Then I headed down into the basement, closing the door behind me.
Tucked under the workbench up against the wall was an old beer cooler of uncertain origin. Nestling inside, packed in crumpled newspaper for extra insulation, was the container I'd taken from Medhall. I took out the cold-packs that were already in there, and replaced them with the ones I'd brought downstairs. The temperature inside the cooler was significantly below that in the basement proper, which worked for me. I replaced the lid and shoved the cooler back under the bench for the time being.
Nobody had interfered with the artistic arrangement of spider-webs I'd left over the cover to the coal chute. Removing the cover, I took out one item; the key I'd used to deactivate Coil's security system.
There was a soldering iron down here, and I plugged it in and let it warm up while I re-secured the cover and draped new spider-webs over it, making it look like it had never been touched. Then I fixed the key in the vice and briefly used the angle-grinder on it. Once I'd trimmed away the parts I didn't need, I built up the rest with solder, then took it out of the vice and shaped it with a file until it was just the right shape. As with the last time I'd done this, I had no idea what it was going to be used for, but my power was sneaky like that. I just knew I needed the key.
After tidying away the evidence of what I'd done, I headed upstairs again, taking the key and the old cold-packs with me. Dad would be home soon, and I wanted to make a start on dinner.
While I assembled the ingredients, I considered the latest series of enemies I seemed to have made as Atropos. Alexandria, Eidolon, someone called Contessa, someone else called the Number Man, and a woman called Doctor Mother. Of the group, Contessa was of the most interest to me because she had apparently attempted to gain information on me, personally, using some sort of 'I-win' Thinker power. Also because, after my power had smacked her power on the nose with a metaphorical newspaper, she'd alternated between anger and resentment for quite some time.
In fact, she was still thinking about me in a hostile manner, which of course brought her to my attention. And now … she was thinking of doing something about me. Involving a pistol. I put down the knife and trotted upstairs to my bedroom, and opened my closet.
My power informed me that she was about to open a portal right behind my head (this involved two other capes, off on an alternate world I was currently unable to access, but they made my List anyway). I ducked turned, and as the portal opened, I shoved my pistol barrel through. A moment later, I withdrew it. The portal closed.
"I thought not," I mumbled, put the pistol back, and went back downstairs to keep making dinner.
I'd have to kill Contessa if she actually became a serious threat to me, but so far she was just coming across as a petulant child. Fortunately, if petulance had ever been a reason to murder someone outright, about three-quarters of the Winslow student body (and one or two of the teachers) would've already ended up on my list, so she was safe for the moment.
Or rather, she would be if she ever stopped trying to play stupid games.
<><>
Contessa
Humming to herself, Fortuna screwed a suppressor onto the barrel of the pistol she used most often. It balanced the firearm just right, allowing her to shoot accurately without fatiguing her wrist. Not that she intended to shoot anyone right now, just convey a message.
If you try that sort of shit with me again, you will die.
Once the weapon was ready, she pulled back the slide and chambered a round. Just in case Atropos' combat Thinker ability informed her of such things, the pistol needed to be ready to fire. Her finger squeezed the trigger, applying four out of the requisite five pounds of pressure.
"Doorway to the back of Atropos' head," she murmured.
The tiny portal flickered open before her and she saw her target very briefly before it was obscured by another pistol barrel, pointed straight in her face. She froze, putting her hands up automatically. A moment later, the pistol was withdrawn. The portal closed.
She was shaking as she put the pistol on safe and unscrewed the suppressor.
The message had been well and truly delivered.
If I try that shit with her again, I will die.
Taylor
"Can you keep an eye on dinner for me?" I asked as I headed through the living room. "I've got a project I've just remembered I have to get done."
"I'm pretty sure I can do that for you," Dad agreed. "Far be it from me to hamper your schoolwork. Do you need a hand with it?"
I shook my head. "Nah. I know how to do it, and it should only take about twenty minutes."
"Well, good, then." Dad turned his attention back to the TV. "Dinner is safe in my hands."
"Thanks." I went through into the entrance hall and started up the stairs.
When I got to my room, I closed the door then hit the power button on the computer. While I was waiting for it to boot up, I went to the closet and pulled out the phone I'd acquired via a detour on the way home. As I'd thought, it had a voice recording option.
Sitting back down at the computer, I began to look online for a sound generation website.
Saint
The truck trundled into Brockton Bay just on sundown. Coming from the northwest and bearing Canadian plates, it didn't draw any attention; the border was less than two hundred miles away, after all. Rolling through the back streets, it eventually pulled up next to a motel that existed in the murky area between 'not actually a national chain' and 'rooms by the hour'.
Mags set the handbrake, shut off the engine, and turned to Geoff. "I'll go in and pay for the room. You wait out here. When I get the room key, we'll go straight there. No wandering around in public."
"Oh, come on," he protested. This was all way too much. "It's not like I'm going to be recognised."
She sighed. "You just had to get a tattoo that lights up. On your face. Now, the foundation I've put on there will cover up the glowing aspect so you aren't visible from a distance, but I'm no Hollywood makeup artist. Close to, people are going to wonder why you're wearing makeup. So, I'm paying for the room."
Grumpily, he watched as she strolled across the forecourt to the administration office for the Zig Zag Inn. The tattoo was an integral part of his identity as Saint. Everyone who saw it knew who he was.
When he took down Atropos, everyone would definitely know who he was.
Taylor
The computer speakers were not the best, but with the phone leaned up against them just so, the whiny, scratchy noise would be captured perfectly. It had taken me fifteen minutes to type in the requirements for the apparent gibberish that was being recorded by the phone, but now it was done.
As the sound ceased, I picked up the phone and hit the icon to stop recording. A quick playback assured me that it was perfect, so I shut the phone down and stored it back in the closet.
The Path to removing all influence of the Dragonslayers was taking me into some very strange places.
PRT Building ENE
Conference Room A
Director Piggot
"Okay, everyone, settle down." Emily rapped on the table with the butt end of the remote. "In case anyone has been living under an actual rock since Monday, a new cape called Atropos has emerged on PHO, and killed Oni Lee, Coil and Kaiser. In the cases of Coil and Kaiser, she not only stated the time she would do it, but she also seemed to waltz through high security in order to make her extremely flashy kills. In addition, she's also infiltrated this building's own security in order to steal some highly dangerous chemicals, and used Medhall's facilities to make them more dangerous. Tonight, her stated target is either Lung or Skidmark. It is our intention to prevent this and take Atropos into custody. Any questions so far?"
Assault raised his hand. "Yeah. Why are we trying to save them again?"
She glowered at him. "Save your jokes for the break room. We're being serious, here."
He didn't put his hand down. "So am I. Lung has murdered people. He'll be going to the Birdcage just as soon as we can actually fight him to a standstill without burning down half the city. Skidmark is undoubtedly responsible for ruining dozens if not hundreds of lives, not to mention those lost to overdoses. Atropos so far has killed Oni Lee, Coil and Kaiser. She hasn't missed a hit yet, against some very tough targets. Do we really want to put our lives on the line to save two utterly amoral gangsters from a terrifyingly effective hitwoman?"
"That's not our intention," Emily shot back. She surveyed the heroes and PRT officers sitting around the table. "I am not ordering anyone to take a bullet for either one of those—in the case of Lung, it would be superfluous—but if she swings and misses, it might trigger a rampage. More likely in Lung's case than Skidmark's, admittedly, but they both have the potential to be very dangerous when angered. Also, it's public knowledge that Atropos is going after them, and has already murdered three others. If the Asian and black communities see us not doing our best to end this before it goes any further, then it won't matter that they are criminals; this would have a strong possibility of becoming a race-related matter that could sink all our careers."
"Understood," offered Commander Holden, head of one of the PRT strike teams. "How will we be doing this, then? What are the rules of engagement?" He looked like he needed the reassurance, especially since half a dozen moles had been arrested in the wake of Coil's death and the Calvert/Coil reveal, and more again following the cracking of Kaiser's computer systems. A lot of people were looking askance at their fellow troopers and superior officers, probably asking themselves, 'who are they really working for?'. It was not a healthy atmosphere.
"It's going to go like this," Emily stated. "Stage one is shadowing and observation. We have limited fliers, but New Wave volunteered when I asked, so Lady Photon, Glory Girl and Aegis will locate and shadow Lung, while Shielder, Laserdream and Kid Win will locate and shadow Skidmark. They will also be accompanied by remote drones piloted by Dragon, who has sent a suit down to assist us in this matter. The shadowing teams will not approach their observation targets; they will stay in the air and out of range of punitive attack for the duration. Their only task will be to call in any unusual activity, or if Atropos is spotted. At the first sign of danger, they are to leave the area immediately. The Dragon drones will cover their retreat, if need be. Are we understood so far?"
Lady Photon raised her hand. "And if we see Atropos in the process of attacking?"
"Call it in but do not engage," Emily reiterated. "Atropos has been issued a tentative threat rating of Combat Thinker Nine. It is to be assumed that if she's seen you, she's already figured out how to either kill you or otherwise neutralise whatever threat you pose. Only adult heroes with Brute-style powers or troopers with significant armour will be authorised to close with her, and they will all be equipped with containment foam as a primary weapon. Lethal force is only to be used if she poses a clear and present threat to the life of one of your allies or an innocent bystander."
Glory Girl, alongside Lady Photon put her hand up as well. "But why can't we just—"
"Miss Dallon." Emily made her voice hard and sharp. "Are you having trouble understanding the phrase 'do not engage'?"
"But I can take her!" burst out Glory Girl. "I'm bulletproof, and no amount of Thinking beats a fist to the face!"
"You, evidently, are not thinking." Emily laced her fingers together in front of her, in lieu of tearing her hair out. "Oni Lee thought he could take her. She shot him in the face with his own gun. Coil thought he could take her. She cut his throat with a pair of shears, in the middle of a high-end security system that she somehow disabled. Kaiser thought the Empire Eighty-Eight could take her. She shoved a sword through his eye while they stood around like dummies. One more time: I will not be authorising junior or non-Brute heroes to engage Atropos in combat. Once Atropos is sighted, the observation teams will call it in and do nothing else. Do I make myself absolutely clear?"
Brandish, on Glory Girl's other side, put a hand on her shoulder, and she subsided. After a moment, she mumbled, "Yeah, okay."
Emily suspected it was anything but 'okay'; however, she had a briefing to run. "Good. Now for the second stage. Once Atropos is sighted and the observation teams have called it in, the ground teams will be moving in. This will consist of armoured PRT troopers in vans, and Brute-rated or otherwise protected heroes. Armsmaster and Manpower will be in the team covering Lung, and Dauntless and Assault covering Skidmark. We have to assume that this attack will preclude one ground team from being able to support the other in any significant time frame, though I definitely urge you to try. Once this happens, we'll also have a chopper in the air with Miss Militia on board, and Dragon will likewise be providing air cover with her suit and drones."
"Question." Armsmaster had his hand in the air. "What are our priorities for arrests? If, for instance, Lung is disabled during the fight, do we arrest him as well?" His whole attitude said quite loudly, 'we'd be stupid to pass up the opportunity'.
This thought had already crossed Emily's mind. "Our number one priority is Atropos. Once she is disarmed and in custody—and by that, I mean either tranquillised, encased in containment foam, or manacled hand and foot with a bag over her head—then you can turn your attention to any other villains who happen to be lying around. Not until that moment. Is that understood?"
"Understood, ma'am." He put his hand down again.
"Good." Now that the briefing seemed to be on track again, she clicked the remote and projected a map on the far wall. "Team Alpha, on Lung, will be focusing on this area …" A handy laser pointer built into the remote marked the location. "… while Team Bravo, on Skidmark, will look for him in this area."
Hopefully, she mused while the briefing went on, everything would go if not exactly to plan, then close enough that the PRT wouldn't be horribly embarrassed in the process.
Yeah, good luck with that.
Taylor
The time had come. All the players were in place, awaiting their inevitable movements on the board. I knew where Lung and Skidmark were, where the PRT and allied forces were, and where the Dragonslayers were. I also knew where I'd be, which was nowhere near any of the above, until I chose to be.
Putting on the costume was like coming home after a long day at school. The comforting weight of the long-coat over my shoulders, along with the dagger-shears at my waist, felt right. I left the mask and hat off for the time being.
The container I retrieved from the basement was reassuringly cool to the touch. I wanted to keep the contents of the capsule below sixty-seven Fahrenheit because that was the boiling point of hydrofluoric acid, and it was best for all concerned if it stayed in a liquid form for as long as possible. Gaseous hydrofluoric acid, as my power gleefully informed me, possesses no friends whatsoever.
I let myself out of the house, once more possessed of the Screwdriver of Unlocking, and went looking for a likely mode of transport. The motorbike I'd left a few streets away had long since been located and repossessed by its owner, but there were cars aplenty for me to choose from. Flipping a mental coin, I went with a modest little hatchback, idly wondering if the owner would ever find out that their ride had been 'borrowed' by Atropos, and how they'd feel about that.
Meh; I didn't care anyway.
Sliding into the driver's seat, I found the spare key—in the ashtray, this time—and started the car. Letting my power do the driving, I pulled out onto the road and headed for my first target. I still had an hour to go, which was good, because I had a stop to make along the way.
Skidmark
"All fuckin' aboard," Adam gloated as he clambered into the passenger seat of Squealer's latest contraption. "Mush, you okay back there?"
"Yeah, I'm good." The words were accompanied by a sigh and a wafting of marijuana smoke. "This is some good shit."
"Yeah, yeah," Squealer snarked as she closed the driver's side door and hit the button to kick over the important systems. "Just don't hotbox us too much. I wanna be able to see where we're going."
"Just so long as we can and that bleeding rectal cyst Atropos can't," Adam said. "Is this a good plan, or is this a fuckin' genius plan? We'll be invisible, we'll be on the move, and this bad boy is fuckin' bulletproof. She can look around our hideouts all fuckin' night and she won't get a thing."
"Damn right," Squealer said, and put the vehicle into gear. "You don't often get good ideas, Skids, but when you get 'em, you get 'em."
"Hey!"
"Well, she's not wrong."
"Shut up, Mush."
As the vehicle rumbled out of the makeshift garage, Adam pulled out his own pipe, along with something a bit stronger than Mush's weed. If they were going to be driving around for the next few hours, he figured he might as well make it enjoyable.
Fuck Atropos and the whore she rode in on.
Taylor
I pulled to a halt and parked a little way behind the truck that was my target. The car I'd 'borrowed' was just far enough back that nobody looking from one particular motel room would spot it past the other vehicles in the parking lot. Getting out, I closed the door quietly, then pulled on the morph mask and the hat.
The way was clear; I walked briskly up to the truck and pulled out the key I'd fabricated. It slid smoothly into the padlock holding the rear roller-door down on the back of the truck, and unlocked it with a gentle click. Still, I didn't roll it all the way up; lifting it just a few inches, I slid my hand in at one end until I found the first security panel. The six-digit code only took a second to type in, even working by touch. Then I went to the other end of the roller-door and did the same with the panel at that end.
Saint, it appeared, was nothing if not paranoid.
With the security measures out of the way, I raised the door another couple of feet, then rolled up and into the space within. I knew if the door was left even partly raised, Saint would notice it on his next pace around the motel room, so I rolled it down again with my foot. What I had to do next could just as easily be done in pitch darkness, but they'd thoughtfully wired in lights, so I found the switch and flipped it.
Within the truck, taking up most of the available room, were two bulky sets of powered armour and the racks they were attached to. I wasn't exactly well-read on the Dragonslayers, but I got the impression these were smaller than the ones they usually committed crimes with. That didn't matter to me. By the end of the night, they would be better known as 'pile of junk' and 'other pile of junk'.
Up toward the front of the truck, there was a set of heavy toolboxes, bolted to the interior wall. I opened the simple clip holding the third drawer closed and took out what I was looking for; a handheld keyboard. Another tool from a different drawer allowed me to pop open a panel in the side of the nearest suit. The keyboard plugged straight into the socket thus revealed, and I quickly brought the suit to standby.
Then I started typing.
Lesser minds would have reprogrammed the suits, or even locked them down. I chose not to, though I could easily have done either one. Instead, I went into the visual identification section and made a few minor changes in the data I found there.
The helmets of the power armour suits involved a HUD that overlaid imagery for the pilots. For the most part, this was a good thing, because at night or in other low-light conditions, the suit sensors were likely to be far more sensitive than Mark One eyeball. However, this meant that the suits could be made to lie to them, and they'd never know it until it was far too late.
Shutting that suit down, I made the same changes to the other suit before putting the tools back where I'd found them.
It was amazing what possibilities there were in swapping around a few crucial ones and zeroes.
[A/N: So this chapter turned into a two-parter. Expect the next part tomorrow or thereabouts.]
End of Part Ten
Relevant Side Story
Part Ten: On a Pale Horse
[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
Taylor
"Hi, Dad, I'm home!"
I was pretty sure he wasn't in when I unlocked the back door, but my power didn't actually tell me one way or the other, so I called out just in case. He didn't answer, which worked for me.
Dropping my backpack on one of the kitchen chairs on the way past, I stopped at the fridge and took a couple of cold-packs out of the freezer section. Then I headed down into the basement, closing the door behind me.
Tucked under the workbench up against the wall was an old beer cooler of uncertain origin. Nestling inside, packed in crumpled newspaper for extra insulation, was the container I'd taken from Medhall. I took out the cold-packs that were already in there, and replaced them with the ones I'd brought downstairs. The temperature inside the cooler was significantly below that in the basement proper, which worked for me. I replaced the lid and shoved the cooler back under the bench for the time being.
Nobody had interfered with the artistic arrangement of spider-webs I'd left over the cover to the coal chute. Removing the cover, I took out one item; the key I'd used to deactivate Coil's security system.
There was a soldering iron down here, and I plugged it in and let it warm up while I re-secured the cover and draped new spider-webs over it, making it look like it had never been touched. Then I fixed the key in the vice and briefly used the angle-grinder on it. Once I'd trimmed away the parts I didn't need, I built up the rest with solder, then took it out of the vice and shaped it with a file until it was just the right shape. As with the last time I'd done this, I had no idea what it was going to be used for, but my power was sneaky like that. I just knew I needed the key.
After tidying away the evidence of what I'd done, I headed upstairs again, taking the key and the old cold-packs with me. Dad would be home soon, and I wanted to make a start on dinner.
While I assembled the ingredients, I considered the latest series of enemies I seemed to have made as Atropos. Alexandria, Eidolon, someone called Contessa, someone else called the Number Man, and a woman called Doctor Mother. Of the group, Contessa was of the most interest to me because she had apparently attempted to gain information on me, personally, using some sort of 'I-win' Thinker power. Also because, after my power had smacked her power on the nose with a metaphorical newspaper, she'd alternated between anger and resentment for quite some time.
In fact, she was still thinking about me in a hostile manner, which of course brought her to my attention. And now … she was thinking of doing something about me. Involving a pistol. I put down the knife and trotted upstairs to my bedroom, and opened my closet.
My power informed me that she was about to open a portal right behind my head (this involved two other capes, off on an alternate world I was currently unable to access, but they made my List anyway). I ducked turned, and as the portal opened, I shoved my pistol barrel through. A moment later, I withdrew it. The portal closed.
"I thought not," I mumbled, put the pistol back, and went back downstairs to keep making dinner.
I'd have to kill Contessa if she actually became a serious threat to me, but so far she was just coming across as a petulant child. Fortunately, if petulance had ever been a reason to murder someone outright, about three-quarters of the Winslow student body (and one or two of the teachers) would've already ended up on my list, so she was safe for the moment.
Or rather, she would be if she ever stopped trying to play stupid games.
<><>
Contessa
Humming to herself, Fortuna screwed a suppressor onto the barrel of the pistol she used most often. It balanced the firearm just right, allowing her to shoot accurately without fatiguing her wrist. Not that she intended to shoot anyone right now, just convey a message.
If you try that sort of shit with me again, you will die.
Once the weapon was ready, she pulled back the slide and chambered a round. Just in case Atropos' combat Thinker ability informed her of such things, the pistol needed to be ready to fire. Her finger squeezed the trigger, applying four out of the requisite five pounds of pressure.
"Doorway to the back of Atropos' head," she murmured.
The tiny portal flickered open before her and she saw her target very briefly before it was obscured by another pistol barrel, pointed straight in her face. She froze, putting her hands up automatically. A moment later, the pistol was withdrawn. The portal closed.
She was shaking as she put the pistol on safe and unscrewed the suppressor.
The message had been well and truly delivered.
If I try that shit with her again, I will die.
<><>
Taylor
"Can you keep an eye on dinner for me?" I asked as I headed through the living room. "I've got a project I've just remembered I have to get done."
"I'm pretty sure I can do that for you," Dad agreed. "Far be it from me to hamper your schoolwork. Do you need a hand with it?"
I shook my head. "Nah. I know how to do it, and it should only take about twenty minutes."
"Well, good, then." Dad turned his attention back to the TV. "Dinner is safe in my hands."
"Thanks." I went through into the entrance hall and started up the stairs.
When I got to my room, I closed the door then hit the power button on the computer. While I was waiting for it to boot up, I went to the closet and pulled out the phone I'd acquired via a detour on the way home. As I'd thought, it had a voice recording option.
Sitting back down at the computer, I began to look online for a sound generation website.
<><>
Saint
The truck trundled into Brockton Bay just on sundown. Coming from the northwest and bearing Canadian plates, it didn't draw any attention; the border was less than two hundred miles away, after all. Rolling through the back streets, it eventually pulled up next to a motel that existed in the murky area between 'not actually a national chain' and 'rooms by the hour'.
Mags set the handbrake, shut off the engine, and turned to Geoff. "I'll go in and pay for the room. You wait out here. When I get the room key, we'll go straight there. No wandering around in public."
"Oh, come on," he protested. This was all way too much. "It's not like I'm going to be recognised."
She sighed. "You just had to get a tattoo that lights up. On your face. Now, the foundation I've put on there will cover up the glowing aspect so you aren't visible from a distance, but I'm no Hollywood makeup artist. Close to, people are going to wonder why you're wearing makeup. So, I'm paying for the room."
Grumpily, he watched as she strolled across the forecourt to the administration office for the Zig Zag Inn. The tattoo was an integral part of his identity as Saint. Everyone who saw it knew who he was.
When he took down Atropos, everyone would definitely know who he was.
<><>
Taylor
The computer speakers were not the best, but with the phone leaned up against them just so, the whiny, scratchy noise would be captured perfectly. It had taken me fifteen minutes to type in the requirements for the apparent gibberish that was being recorded by the phone, but now it was done.
As the sound ceased, I picked up the phone and hit the icon to stop recording. A quick playback assured me that it was perfect, so I shut the phone down and stored it back in the closet.
The Path to removing all influence of the Dragonslayers was taking me into some very strange places.
<><>
PRT Building ENE
Conference Room A
Director Piggot
"Okay, everyone, settle down." Emily rapped on the table with the butt end of the remote. "In case anyone has been living under an actual rock since Monday, a new cape called Atropos has emerged on PHO, and killed Oni Lee, Coil and Kaiser. In the cases of Coil and Kaiser, she not only stated the time she would do it, but she also seemed to waltz through high security in order to make her extremely flashy kills. In addition, she's also infiltrated this building's own security in order to steal some highly dangerous chemicals, and used Medhall's facilities to make them more dangerous. Tonight, her stated target is either Lung or Skidmark. It is our intention to prevent this and take Atropos into custody. Any questions so far?"
Assault raised his hand. "Yeah. Why are we trying to save them again?"
She glowered at him. "Save your jokes for the break room. We're being serious, here."
He didn't put his hand down. "So am I. Lung has murdered people. He'll be going to the Birdcage just as soon as we can actually fight him to a standstill without burning down half the city. Skidmark is undoubtedly responsible for ruining dozens if not hundreds of lives, not to mention those lost to overdoses. Atropos so far has killed Oni Lee, Coil and Kaiser. She hasn't missed a hit yet, against some very tough targets. Do we really want to put our lives on the line to save two utterly amoral gangsters from a terrifyingly effective hitwoman?"
"That's not our intention," Emily shot back. She surveyed the heroes and PRT officers sitting around the table. "I am not ordering anyone to take a bullet for either one of those—in the case of Lung, it would be superfluous—but if she swings and misses, it might trigger a rampage. More likely in Lung's case than Skidmark's, admittedly, but they both have the potential to be very dangerous when angered. Also, it's public knowledge that Atropos is going after them, and has already murdered three others. If the Asian and black communities see us not doing our best to end this before it goes any further, then it won't matter that they are criminals; this would have a strong possibility of becoming a race-related matter that could sink all our careers."
"Understood," offered Commander Holden, head of one of the PRT strike teams. "How will we be doing this, then? What are the rules of engagement?" He looked like he needed the reassurance, especially since half a dozen moles had been arrested in the wake of Coil's death and the Calvert/Coil reveal, and more again following the cracking of Kaiser's computer systems. A lot of people were looking askance at their fellow troopers and superior officers, probably asking themselves, 'who are they really working for?'. It was not a healthy atmosphere.
"It's going to go like this," Emily stated. "Stage one is shadowing and observation. We have limited fliers, but New Wave volunteered when I asked, so Lady Photon, Glory Girl and Aegis will locate and shadow Lung, while Shielder, Laserdream and Kid Win will locate and shadow Skidmark. They will also be accompanied by remote drones piloted by Dragon, who has sent a suit down to assist us in this matter. The shadowing teams will not approach their observation targets; they will stay in the air and out of range of punitive attack for the duration. Their only task will be to call in any unusual activity, or if Atropos is spotted. At the first sign of danger, they are to leave the area immediately. The Dragon drones will cover their retreat, if need be. Are we understood so far?"
Lady Photon raised her hand. "And if we see Atropos in the process of attacking?"
"Call it in but do not engage," Emily reiterated. "Atropos has been issued a tentative threat rating of Combat Thinker Nine. It is to be assumed that if she's seen you, she's already figured out how to either kill you or otherwise neutralise whatever threat you pose. Only adult heroes with Brute-style powers or troopers with significant armour will be authorised to close with her, and they will all be equipped with containment foam as a primary weapon. Lethal force is only to be used if she poses a clear and present threat to the life of one of your allies or an innocent bystander."
Glory Girl, alongside Lady Photon put her hand up as well. "But why can't we just—"
"Miss Dallon." Emily made her voice hard and sharp. "Are you having trouble understanding the phrase 'do not engage'?"
"But I can take her!" burst out Glory Girl. "I'm bulletproof, and no amount of Thinking beats a fist to the face!"
"You, evidently, are not thinking." Emily laced her fingers together in front of her, in lieu of tearing her hair out. "Oni Lee thought he could take her. She shot him in the face with his own gun. Coil thought he could take her. She cut his throat with a pair of shears, in the middle of a high-end security system that she somehow disabled. Kaiser thought the Empire Eighty-Eight could take her. She shoved a sword through his eye while they stood around like dummies. One more time: I will not be authorising junior or non-Brute heroes to engage Atropos in combat. Once Atropos is sighted, the observation teams will call it in and do nothing else. Do I make myself absolutely clear?"
Brandish, on Glory Girl's other side, put a hand on her shoulder, and she subsided. After a moment, she mumbled, "Yeah, okay."
Emily suspected it was anything but 'okay'; however, she had a briefing to run. "Good. Now for the second stage. Once Atropos is sighted and the observation teams have called it in, the ground teams will be moving in. This will consist of armoured PRT troopers in vans, and Brute-rated or otherwise protected heroes. Armsmaster and Manpower will be in the team covering Lung, and Dauntless and Assault covering Skidmark. We have to assume that this attack will preclude one ground team from being able to support the other in any significant time frame, though I definitely urge you to try. Once this happens, we'll also have a chopper in the air with Miss Militia on board, and Dragon will likewise be providing air cover with her suit and drones."
"Question." Armsmaster had his hand in the air. "What are our priorities for arrests? If, for instance, Lung is disabled during the fight, do we arrest him as well?" His whole attitude said quite loudly, 'we'd be stupid to pass up the opportunity'.
This thought had already crossed Emily's mind. "Our number one priority is Atropos. Once she is disarmed and in custody—and by that, I mean either tranquillised, encased in containment foam, or manacled hand and foot with a bag over her head—then you can turn your attention to any other villains who happen to be lying around. Not until that moment. Is that understood?"
"Understood, ma'am." He put his hand down again.
"Good." Now that the briefing seemed to be on track again, she clicked the remote and projected a map on the far wall. "Team Alpha, on Lung, will be focusing on this area …" A handy laser pointer built into the remote marked the location. "… while Team Bravo, on Skidmark, will look for him in this area."
Hopefully, she mused while the briefing went on, everything would go if not exactly to plan, then close enough that the PRT wouldn't be horribly embarrassed in the process.
Yeah, good luck with that.
<><>
Taylor
The time had come. All the players were in place, awaiting their inevitable movements on the board. I knew where Lung and Skidmark were, where the PRT and allied forces were, and where the Dragonslayers were. I also knew where I'd be, which was nowhere near any of the above, until I chose to be.
Putting on the costume was like coming home after a long day at school. The comforting weight of the long-coat over my shoulders, along with the dagger-shears at my waist, felt right. I left the mask and hat off for the time being.
The container I retrieved from the basement was reassuringly cool to the touch. I wanted to keep the contents of the capsule below sixty-seven Fahrenheit because that was the boiling point of hydrofluoric acid, and it was best for all concerned if it stayed in a liquid form for as long as possible. Gaseous hydrofluoric acid, as my power gleefully informed me, possesses no friends whatsoever.
I let myself out of the house, once more possessed of the Screwdriver of Unlocking, and went looking for a likely mode of transport. The motorbike I'd left a few streets away had long since been located and repossessed by its owner, but there were cars aplenty for me to choose from. Flipping a mental coin, I went with a modest little hatchback, idly wondering if the owner would ever find out that their ride had been 'borrowed' by Atropos, and how they'd feel about that.
Meh; I didn't care anyway.
Sliding into the driver's seat, I found the spare key—in the ashtray, this time—and started the car. Letting my power do the driving, I pulled out onto the road and headed for my first target. I still had an hour to go, which was good, because I had a stop to make along the way.
<><>
Skidmark
"All fuckin' aboard," Adam gloated as he clambered into the passenger seat of Squealer's latest contraption. "Mush, you okay back there?"
"Yeah, I'm good." The words were accompanied by a sigh and a wafting of marijuana smoke. "This is some good shit."
"Yeah, yeah," Squealer snarked as she closed the driver's side door and hit the button to kick over the important systems. "Just don't hotbox us too much. I wanna be able to see where we're going."
"Just so long as we can and that bleeding rectal cyst Atropos can't," Adam said. "Is this a good plan, or is this a fuckin' genius plan? We'll be invisible, we'll be on the move, and this bad boy is fuckin' bulletproof. She can look around our hideouts all fuckin' night and she won't get a thing."
"Damn right," Squealer said, and put the vehicle into gear. "You don't often get good ideas, Skids, but when you get 'em, you get 'em."
"Hey!"
"Well, she's not wrong."
"Shut up, Mush."
As the vehicle rumbled out of the makeshift garage, Adam pulled out his own pipe, along with something a bit stronger than Mush's weed. If they were going to be driving around for the next few hours, he figured he might as well make it enjoyable.
Fuck Atropos and the whore she rode in on.
<><>
Taylor
I pulled to a halt and parked a little way behind the truck that was my target. The car I'd 'borrowed' was just far enough back that nobody looking from one particular motel room would spot it past the other vehicles in the parking lot. Getting out, I closed the door quietly, then pulled on the morph mask and the hat.
The way was clear; I walked briskly up to the truck and pulled out the key I'd fabricated. It slid smoothly into the padlock holding the rear roller-door down on the back of the truck, and unlocked it with a gentle click. Still, I didn't roll it all the way up; lifting it just a few inches, I slid my hand in at one end until I found the first security panel. The six-digit code only took a second to type in, even working by touch. Then I went to the other end of the roller-door and did the same with the panel at that end.
Saint, it appeared, was nothing if not paranoid.
With the security measures out of the way, I raised the door another couple of feet, then rolled up and into the space within. I knew if the door was left even partly raised, Saint would notice it on his next pace around the motel room, so I rolled it down again with my foot. What I had to do next could just as easily be done in pitch darkness, but they'd thoughtfully wired in lights, so I found the switch and flipped it.
Within the truck, taking up most of the available room, were two bulky sets of powered armour and the racks they were attached to. I wasn't exactly well-read on the Dragonslayers, but I got the impression these were smaller than the ones they usually committed crimes with. That didn't matter to me. By the end of the night, they would be better known as 'pile of junk' and 'other pile of junk'.
Up toward the front of the truck, there was a set of heavy toolboxes, bolted to the interior wall. I opened the simple clip holding the third drawer closed and took out what I was looking for; a handheld keyboard. Another tool from a different drawer allowed me to pop open a panel in the side of the nearest suit. The keyboard plugged straight into the socket thus revealed, and I quickly brought the suit to standby.
Then I started typing.
Lesser minds would have reprogrammed the suits, or even locked them down. I chose not to, though I could easily have done either one. Instead, I went into the visual identification section and made a few minor changes in the data I found there.
The helmets of the power armour suits involved a HUD that overlaid imagery for the pilots. For the most part, this was a good thing, because at night or in other low-light conditions, the suit sensors were likely to be far more sensitive than Mark One eyeball. However, this meant that the suits could be made to lie to them, and they'd never know it until it was far too late.
Shutting that suit down, I made the same changes to the other suit before putting the tools back where I'd found them.
It was amazing what possibilities there were in swapping around a few crucial ones and zeroes.
[A/N: So this chapter turned into a two-parter. Expect the next part tomorrow or thereabouts.]
End of Part Ten
Relevant Side Story
Last edited:
So, there were too many comments about this, so I changed it slightly
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In fact, she was still thinking about me in a hostile manner, which of course brought her to my attention. And now … she was thinking of doing something about me. Involving a pistol. I put down the knife and trotted upstairs to my bedroom, and opened my closet.
My power informed me that she was about to open a portal right behind my head (this involved two other capes, off on an alternate world I was currently unable to access, but they made my List anyway). I ducked turned, and as the portal opened, I shoved my pistol barrel through. A moment later, I withdrew it. The portal closed.
"I thought not," I mumbled, put the pistol back, and went back downstairs to keep making dinner.
I'd have to kill Contessa if she actually became a serious threat to me, but so far she was just coming across as a petulant child. Fortunately, if petulance had ever been a reason to murder someone outright, about three-quarters of the Winslow student body (and one or two of the teachers) would've already ended up on my list, so she was safe for the moment.
Or rather, she would be if she ever stopped trying to play stupid games.
<><>
Contessa
Humming to herself, Fortuna screwed a suppressor onto the barrel of the pistol she used most often. It balanced the firearm just right, allowing her to shoot accurately without fatiguing her wrist. Not that she intended to shoot anyone right now, just convey a message.
If you try that sort of shit with me again, you will die.
Once the weapon was ready, she pulled back the slide and chambered a round. Just in case Atropos' combat Thinker ability informed her of such things, the pistol needed to be ready to fire. Her finger pressed on the trigger, applying four out of the requisite five pounds of pressure.
"Doorway to the back of Atropos' head," she murmured.
The tiny portal flickered open before her and she saw her target very briefly before it was obscured by another pistol barrel, pointed straight in her face. She froze, putting her hands up automatically. A moment later, the pistol was withdrawn. The portal closed.
She was shaking as she put the pistol on safe and unscrewed the suppressor.
The message had been well and truly delivered.
If I try that shit with her again, I will die.
My power informed me that she was about to open a portal right behind my head (this involved two other capes, off on an alternate world I was currently unable to access, but they made my List anyway). I ducked turned, and as the portal opened, I shoved my pistol barrel through. A moment later, I withdrew it. The portal closed.
"I thought not," I mumbled, put the pistol back, and went back downstairs to keep making dinner.
I'd have to kill Contessa if she actually became a serious threat to me, but so far she was just coming across as a petulant child. Fortunately, if petulance had ever been a reason to murder someone outright, about three-quarters of the Winslow student body (and one or two of the teachers) would've already ended up on my list, so she was safe for the moment.
Or rather, she would be if she ever stopped trying to play stupid games.
<><>
Contessa
Humming to herself, Fortuna screwed a suppressor onto the barrel of the pistol she used most often. It balanced the firearm just right, allowing her to shoot accurately without fatiguing her wrist. Not that she intended to shoot anyone right now, just convey a message.
If you try that sort of shit with me again, you will die.
Once the weapon was ready, she pulled back the slide and chambered a round. Just in case Atropos' combat Thinker ability informed her of such things, the pistol needed to be ready to fire. Her finger pressed on the trigger, applying four out of the requisite five pounds of pressure.
"Doorway to the back of Atropos' head," she murmured.
The tiny portal flickered open before her and she saw her target very briefly before it was obscured by another pistol barrel, pointed straight in her face. She froze, putting her hands up automatically. A moment later, the pistol was withdrawn. The portal closed.
She was shaking as she put the pistol on safe and unscrewed the suppressor.
The message had been well and truly delivered.
If I try that shit with her again, I will die.
Part Eleven: Let's You and Him Fight
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A Darker Path
Part Eleven: Let's You and Him Fight
[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
Zig Zag Inn
Saint
Geoff roused himself from a light doze to look at the cheap alarm clock by the bed. It read 11:25, which he figured was late enough. "Mags," he said. "Let's go. It's nearly time."
"Blrglph," she mumbled, then opened her eyes. "Okay, I'm awake. Just let me freshen up, and we can go."
"Sure thing." He was already on his feet. "I'll be in the truck."
Grabbing his keys, he headed out of the door and across the parking lot. The truck stood where they'd left it, parked at the curb. If anyone had tried to steal it or break in, the advanced security would've stopped them in their tracks and warned him via his phone, but nothing like that had happened.
As he reached the truck, he idly noticed the hatchback parked several yards back behind the truck; definitely not close enough to make unloading the suits a problem. Good. Sliding the key into the padlock, he unlocked it and set it aside. He slid the roller-door up just far enough to fit his wrist in and carefully peck out the first security code, pausing and double-checking by touch to make sure before each keypress. When he was only halfway through, a motorbike roared past with a skinny teenager on it; refusing to let it distract him, he finished the code correctly. Then he did the second one as well, and rolled up the door just high enough to climb inside.
While he was prepping his suit, Mags appeared behind the truck and climbed in as well. "No problems?"
"None," he said tersely, hitting the command for the suit to open. "Though I've been thinking." In fact, he'd decided on this from the beginning, but had decided not to spring it on her until now.
"Thinking about what?" Not looking at him, she started preparing her own suit.
"Originally, we were going to grab Atropos and interrogate her for what she knew about Dragon, right?" That was the plan he'd verbally agreed to. It had never been his actual intention.
"Yeah ...?" She paused and looked warily at him.
"Well, what with all this hoo-ha for a non-lethal capture, there's a damn good chance Dragon will get her claws into Atropos and ask her about the code string, and find out whatever else she knows. So I'm thinking we take no chances. Screw finding out what else she knows and how she knows it. As soon as we get a confirmed visual, we just obliterate her."
Mags paused. "Isn't that a bit ... bloodthirsty? We're supposed to be the good guys, here."
"She's a triple murderer," Geoff reminded her. "If anything, this is a public service." And if performing a public service also worked in his favour, all the better.
Another pause. "I ... suppose so. Do we have images of her in the Visual Recognition databanks?"
Geoff nodded. "Absolutely. I made sure of it before we left. Plus imagery of all the other capes we're likely to run into, just in case." He stepped back into his suit and let it fold around him.
"Are you sure I can't talk you out of this?" Mags' voice came over his helmet's internal speakers.
"I'm certain." He shook his head, knowing she could see him. It was his decision, and they both knew it.
They stepped out of the truck, the extra-heavy suspension lifting more than a little as they did so. Geoff sent the locking signal—there was no way he could apply a padlock while in power armour—and the roller-door rumbled down by itself.
Taking a few steps into the roadway, he ignited his thrusters and lifted into the air, Mags following close behind.
Taylor
I parked the motorbike in a side-street and lifted the container from one of the panniers. Moving quickly but quietly, I ducked through the back alleys until I was outside a specific shop. The back door had a simple press-button analogue combination lock that I entered the code into. As the door opened, I stepped inside.
The old lady from before was in the back room, and she let out a tiny shriek as I entered. "You should not be here," she said in something that wasn't English. "Lung was very angry at us. We feared for our lives."
I nodded. "I understand, and I'm sorry he did that. But I'm here to end him and the ABB tonight. I will need your assistance, though."
She didn't need more than a second to think about it. "What do you need?" From the tone of her voice and the expression on her face, she'd had enough of Lung's shit. I had an idea of how she felt.
As I spoke, she listened and nodded.
Lung
Things were not going well for Kenta. Although it was clear that a cape assassin was hunting for his blood, his power was refusing to ramp up the way it usually did when he had a clear enemy to focus on. In fact, it insisted on acting as though there was nothing to worry about, no foe at all.
The only way that was possible was if Atropos was indeed going after Skidmark tonight, instead of him. But that made no sense, adhered to no logic. Certainly, she had made the jest about him being 'low hanging fruit', but surely that had been an off-hand remark intended to lull his suspicions.
If Atropos truly did intend to kill Skidmark tonight and leave him—Lung—for last, then the insult would be a mortal one, and he would enjoy searing the flesh from her bones all the more.
I am Lung. This cannot be.
"Lung! Sir!"
The voice was unwelcome; he whirled to snarl at the importunate minion for the interruption. But the man was holding a phone. "What?" The word was more than half growl.
"It ... it's for you. The shop where Atropos got her costume. They say she's come back!"
He snatched the phone and held it to his ear. "Speak."
"G-great Lung," sobbed a young woman in Japanese. "The woman in black has returned. She demands that we allow her to use our shop to ambush you. Please come quickly."
Kenta's head came up. "Where is she? Is she in the shop now?"
"Yes, great Lung." He knew terror, and the girl was clearly scared out of her mind. "Madame is arguing with her, but she insists on having her way."
He felt excitement welling up inside him. "Say yes to her demands. All of them. Tell her I will be there at midnight exactly."
He glanced at the clock. It was still well before midnight. He would arrive before Atropos expected him, and turn the tables.
Tossing the phone back to the minion, he looked around at the sea of expectant faces. They hadn't heard the phone call, but they knew something was up. "It is tonight!" he bellowed. "Atropos dies!"
"Lung!" they shouted back. "Lung! LUNG!"
Oni Lee will be avenged.
Aegis
Carlos banked around and pointed. "Is it just me," he asked out loud, "or does that look like Lung's going for a midnight stroll?" He checked the HUD clock in his helmet. "An eleven forty-five stroll."
"You know, I think it does," agreed Lady Photon. "Console, this is Airborne Alpha-Lima. We have eyes on Target Alpha, over."
"Airborne Alpha, this is Console. Please transmit location of Target Alpha for ground teams, over."
Glory Girl already had her phone out. "Console, this is Airborne Alpha-Golf. On that, over."
Carlos keyed his own radio again. "Console, Airborne Alpha-Alpha here. I don't have a visual of our Delta assets. Where are they, over?" The Dragon drones that had been shadowing them until a few moments ago would have automatically sent through Lung's location as soon as he was spotted, but were now nowhere to be seen.
There was a pause. "... ahh, Delta reports that all airborne assets are experiencing command-link failures and are returning to base for evaluation, over."
Carlos considered that. It wasn't ideal, and removed a layer of security from the plan, but it wasn't a game-ender. And they still had eyes on Lung. "Copy that. Alpha-Alpha, out."
Saint
Geoff chuckled to himself as he watched the Dragon drones react to his jamming beacon. Swinging around, they oriented themselves and started back toward the PRT building, avoiding all buildings on the way. There, they'd land and send out a locator pulse for Dragon herself to find them.
One less thing for us to worry about.
Running on stealth mode, the two Dragonslayer suits were a good three hundred yards higher than the airborne heroes, their low-light enhanced sensors far more accurate than a mere human eyeball. The Visual Recognition databanks were interfaced with the sensors, scanning every person who moved down there and comparing their significant features to those on file. It was fast and accurate, unsurprisingly so; Dragon herself had developed it for crowd control options, and Saint had snagged it from the last suit they'd sequestered.
Ping.
"Got you," he breathed, looking at the readout on his HUD, then raised his voice to catch Mags' attention. "Found her! Follow my lead! Bracket her, so she can't get away!"
"Roger. Following on your six."
Angling forward, he dived toward the target, who was boldly walking down the middle of the street, followed at a respectful distance by a bunch of idiots in ABB colours. If she was going to kill their boss, why didn't they just shoot her in the back? I swear, everyone in this city must be a congenital idiot.
They blew past Aegis and the two New Wave capes in a heartbeat, but he wasn't worried about them. His concern was on Atropos, and the chance that she'd detect the incoming threat and get out of the way. Extending his arms, he lined up his weaponry. Even a few bullets would serve to incapacitate her, then they could use the energy weapons to cook her alive. This was why he preferred lasers, masers and the like over kinetic weaponry; weight for weight, they might be a lot less effective at turning live people into dead people, but with a sufficiently large power source, they also never ran out of ammo.
"Engaging with fifty-cal," he reported, settling the pipper on Atropos' torso, foreshortened as it was. He knew he wouldn't hit with every shot, or even most of them, but even one would do the job. Over the radio, he heard one of the local heroes yell something about clearing the area, but he paid no attention to that.
"Copy." Mags veered sideways, out of his slipstream. Being subjected to a barrage of spent cartridge cases was irritating at best, and could get something stuck in a sensitive joint at worst. Not a great idea when in a dive. "Clear."
He fired off a short burst, to get the range—the bullets kicked up asphalt ten yards away from Atropos—then corrected and fired for effect. The hearing protection inside the helmet got rid of most of the noise, but the vibration still shook his bones. Brrrt. Brrrrrrrrrrt.
To his satisfaction, the HUD showed a circle of dancing lights—each hit, detected by the suit computer and marked out for his edification—almost exactly over the top of Atropos. Who, unsurprisingly, fell over. TARGET DISABLED, his HUD showed.
Yeah, no shit.
He couldn't carry a huge amount of ammo—fifty-calibre bullets were big—and so he'd run through nearly half of his onboard store in that one long burst. "Got her!" he exulted, safeing the fifty and bringing the laser cannon online. "Now let's finish the job!"
"Roger that." Mags still wasn't thrilled with just going in for the kill, he could tell, but she was backing him up all the way. She dropped down alongside him as he cut in the leg-thrusters for a hard and fast landing. Best to drop in, finish the job, then get out of there before the heroes could react.
Glory Girl
Vicky was severely startled when two power-armour-wearing idiots just plummeted out of the sky past the three of them. "What the hell?" she yelped. "Who was that?"
"I have no idea," Aegis replied. She heard him open the radio channel to all frequencies. "Unknown powersuits, unknown powersuits, this is Aegis of the Wards. You are interfering with a PRT operation. Clear the area immediately. I say again, clear the area immediately. Do you copy?"
There was no answer from the intruders, but Console came back pretty quickly. "Console to Airborne Alpha, details required on unknown powersuits. How many and what heading, over?"
"Alpha-Alpha here. Two, I say again two powersuits of unfamiliar origin, heading straight down toward Target Alpha—" From below, Vicky heard a couple of bursts of heavy machine-gun fire. "—and they just opened up with machine-guns. What do we do, over?"
Director Piggot's voice came on the line then. "Console to Airborne Alpha. Do not engage. I say again, do not engage. That may be Atropos, or it may be an Atropos plan. Ground Alpha, begin approach, remain behind cover. Rules of engagement remain in force. Acknowledge orders, over."
Aegis drew in a deep breath, audible over the radio. "Airborne Alpha-Alpha acknowledging orders. Remaining at altitude, over." He turned and looked directly at Vicky. "Don't even think about it."
She paused her downward movement and stared back defiantly. "Why can't we go down there and turn those armour suits into instant holding cells? Pull the power supply, and it's as good as handcuffs."
"Because they're not throwing spitballs around, and they're currently just shooting at Lung." He sounded like he was trying not to talk like an elder brother, and failing. "Besides, we've got people on the ground there already. And you heard what Director Piggot said."
"Well, I'm not in the Wards, so you can't order me around!"
"He might not be able to, but I can," broke in Lady Photon. "Victoria, you will stay up here, or I will tell your mother."
Which was the suckiest threat a superhero ever got, Vicky decided. But it was a valid one, so she decided to stay. For now.
Saint
Geoff grounded his suit a good ten yards away from where Atropos lay in the street. His second burst had hit a few street-lights, so there was a pool of darkness in the middle of the street, but that didn't matter. The outline on his HUD was all he needed.
Mags came down on the other side, unlimbering her maser array. "Do we even need to do this?" she asked over their private channel. "You hit her with fifty-cals, for crying out loud."
"There's such a thing as doing a job properly. And anyway, Panacea lives in this town." He aimed his laser cannon, then blinked at the HUD. "Holy shit, she's moving!" And indeed, it looked as though Atropos was getting up. Without further ado, he opened fire with the laser cannon.
"That can't be possible." But Mags had to be able to see it as well as he could. "She must have a Brute rating." She, too, started shooting at Atropos.
Geoff was scoring hits, he could tell, but instead of falling over again, Atropos was just stumbling, then straightening up again. And then she started toward Mags. A shambling walk became a run, then a full-on charge.
"What the fuck—Mags, get out of there!" Was Atropos getting bigger? Geoff hammered laser fire into the running figure's back, to little effect.
"Shit, Geoff, help—" The other suit's thrusters flared and Mags began to take off, but then Atropos leaped. As she passed into the glow of the street-lights, Geoff saw the glint of light reflecting off her … scales? And then she collided with Mags' suit. One clawed hand tore Mags' helmet clear off. "It's not Atropos, it's Lu—"
There was a huge billow of flame and an agonised scream, cut off short. The suit faltered then fell, the monstrous figure of Atropos—no, not Atropos—riding it down. More flame billowed, then the figure jumped off and came bounding toward him. Geoff opened fire again with his laser cannon, screaming defiance at the top of his voice as Mags' suit exploded on impact.
At the last minute, he thought to bring the fifty-cal back into action, and dumped the rest of the magazine into Lung's chest. Because it was definitely Lung, not Atropos, though how the hell had their HUDs made that mistake?
Not that it mattered. One massively clawed hand smashed into his helmet even as he tried to initiate take-off, and then there was all the fire in the world.
Armsmaster
"Move in, move in!" Colin revved his motorbike, an eyeblink dropping the protective cover down over his mouth and chin, as he shot ahead of the PRT vans. Manpower was riding on top of one, crouching and hanging on while staring ahead intently. Atropos had been the intended target, but either she'd died in one of the powersuits—nobody could've survived that conflagration—or this was (as the Director had figured) a plan by Atropos.
But it wasn't midnight yet. So the power armour was there to … slow Lung down? Soften him up?
Either way, if they captured him, that should count as 'surrendered to the PRT' and save his life. With luck, anyway.
"LUNG!" he bellowed over the speakers built into the bike. "Stand down! You are under arrest, by order of the PRT!"
The monstrous scaled figure turned and threw the burned-out husk of the power armour at him. He laid his bike down into a controlled skid, passing under it, but while he was distracted, Lung took three long running strides and leaped onto a nearby building. The ABB leader was out of sight in seconds.
"Console to Ground Alpha, Console to Ground Alpha. Report, over."
Bringing his bike up to even keel once more, Colin sighed. "Ground Alpha-Alpha to Console. Two deceased, both unknown power armour. No other casualties. Target Alpha has escaped, over."
"Understood. Keep me posted. Console, out."
Lung
His chest still hurt as he paced through the alleyways toward his destination. The combination of lasers and heavy-calibre bullets had strained his regeneration, even as he grew to large enough size to destroy the pretenders who'd dared to try to kill him. He wondered if they'd been hired by Atropos to kill him because she didn't dare face him, or whether she'd been the woman in the first suit he'd destroyed.
Well, she was dead anyway. As was the idiot with the cross on his face. Had he thought that would protect him?
The shop was just across the way. Inside, through the glass window, he could see the bent and aged form of the old woman, arguing with Atropos. The tall form of the girl in her coat and black hat was unmistakeable. He began gathering flame in his hands. As soon as he opened the door, he would burn her alive.
Crossing the narrow street, he had time to be pleased that he'd found a pair of pants on a backyard line; it was not Lung's place to be a thief in the night, but facing one's enemy naked was not a warrior's way. His mask was long gone, but he didn't care. Atropos would see his face only briefly, and the others were not worthy of his time.
He stepped up onto the sidewalk, approached the door, and wrenched it open. "Atropos!" he bellowed. Only the old woman stood there, hunched over, turned away from him. The dark-clad girl he'd seen in the window was gone. "Where is she?"
The woman turned, straightened, cast off her shawl and gown … and it was Atropos. "Right here, dumbass." In her hand was Oni Lee's pistol. Before he could react, she fired, striking him in the forehead. His eyes went wide as he stumbled back. She fired again. This time, she hit him right where the heavy machine-gun had shredded his sternum. He stumbled back some more. She followed him, firing with deadly accuracy. Head, chest, head, chest. Hammer-blows, smashing at his slowly mending body. Not one of them lethal to him even in this weakened state, but debilitating.
He stepped back off the sidewalk, took two more steps, then tried to regain his balance. She shot him one more time, in the head. This time, he fell. For some reason, he tasted sake in the back of his throat.
This will not kill me. I will survive this. He had lived through far worse. Struggling to keep his eyes open, he stared as Atropos crouched over him. In her hand, she held chopsticks. Why? Does she intend to eat my flesh?
"You should've turned yourself in," she said, as her hand went out of sight then came back with a plastic capsule held in the chopsticks. He felt a pressure at his forehead, then a feeling of something being … pushed in?
Is she putting something in my head?
Another capsule, this time pushing down into his heart and lungs. He could feel the muscles trying to expand, to push blood around his body. The bullets had torn his flesh, damaging his vital organs. "Nnnggh," he managed. What are you doing?
"Kaiser helped me kill you, you know," she said conversationally as she pushed another capsule into his head, then still one more into his chest. "Medhall had the facilities to make this stuff, but I had to kill him first. I like to think that if he knew I'd used his lab for this, he'd be a little less pissed that I killed him the way I did." More capsules went into his body.
She has to know my regeneration will push them out.
Finally, she was finished. Discarding the chopsticks across his chest, she stepped back away from him. "You're going to die, and soon. It's going to hurt like a sonofabitch. So, you know, it's okay to scream."
He sneered at her then. His body was beginning to repair itself; the holes she'd shot in his head and chest were already closing up. "I … will … not … scream … for … the … likes … of … you," he gritted out, one syllable at a time.
She tilted her head to one side, as though examining an interesting specimen. Then she took another few steps back. "I think you're wrong. But hey, you do you."
"Run … now." He pushed himself up onto his elbows. "I … will … burn you."
Another few steps back. "Nope. In fact, right about now, your regeneration should be closing in around the capsules I put next to your corona pollentia, and in your heart and lungs, and starting to squeeze."
Around the corner came a few of his followers, who stopped and stared at the standoff between Kenta and Atropos. "Great Lung!" shouted one of them. "Should we kill her?"
"No!" He pushed himself to his knees, then struggled to stand, fighting his body's weakness. "She has taken her best shot. Now … it's my turn."
Atropos seemed to be without fear. So many had, before he'd taught them the meaning of the word. "Yes. But not in the way you think." She pointed at him, then snapped her fingers. "Lung … burn."
The pain started deep within him, a searing blast of agony that consumed his entire being within heartbeats. He clutched at his chest, gritting his teeth against the need to bellow in response. Instead of going away, it redoubled, then intensified yet again. Dropping to his knees, he fell over onto his back.
Staring down at his chest, he saw smoke rising as his skin peeled away. There was a horrific glow within him, one that he instinctively knew did not come from his power. Even his head felt as though it were on fire, as his power began to falter.
And then … he burned.
And screamed.
Aegis
"I'm not sure what she did, but she's leaving and Lung looks like he's on fire." Carlos grimaced. "And not in a good way."
"Fluoroantimonic acid!" barked Director Piggot. "The fumes from that are lethal. They need to be contained, immediately!"
"On it!" snapped Lady Photon, starting into a dive.
"And I've got Atropos!" Glory Girl started off after the dark-clad assassin.
"No!" Carlos wasn't sure whether he'd shouted it first or whether Lady Photon had gotten in before him. "Get back here!"
"Don't worry," Dragon said over the radio net. "I'll get her. There's not much she can do to me."
"Copy," Carlos agreed. He kept an eye on Glory Girl, to make sure she didn't fly off anyway. "Good luck."
Down below, a force field snapped into place over Lung's body, which was still burning fiercely. He'd stopped screaming, but he was still twitching.
That made it all the worse.
Glory Girl
Vicky stared at the glowing dome of the force field that covered Lung … or rather, what was left of the Asian supervillain. He was a mere charred husk of what he'd once been. Smoke that managed to look quite noxious even through the field trickled up from where several small flames still guttered. Fortunately, as far as she could tell, they'd caught what little had escaped.
"What … what even does that?" she asked, though she really didn't want to know.
"Director Piggot went with the worst-case scenario," Aegis noted. "If she stuck fluoroantimonic acid inside him, that smoke is hydrogen fluoride, and that's about as deadly as it gets. It'll eat away anything it touches, and it'll kill you just from its pure toxicity. Even I'd have trouble with it, because each new organ I brought online would die. So we're gonna wait here with your aunt until they bring up something to seal this shit in forever. Pretty sure Lung's gonna get a nice pretty tomb, right here in the middle of the street."
Vicky shook her head. "She murdered him, just like that! And we had to watch!"
"As harsh as it sounds," Lady Photon reminded her, "he chose this. He had the option to leave town or surrender himself. And we will not be engaging her, now or ever. Do you understand?"
"Yeah. I get it." Vicky closed her eyes and shook her head. "But I don't have to like it."
Aegis went back to watching for random ABB idiots. "Nobody does. Trust me on this."
Taylor
I'd been aware of Dragon's attention for quite some time as I rode the bike back toward where I'd left the hatchback, but she didn't seem intent on attacking me, just following. That changed when I brought the bike to a halt where I'd stolen it from.
With a whoosh of thrusters and a clank of metallic claws hitting the road, she landed the suit directly in front of me. "Good morning, Atropos," she greeted me politely. "You knew I was there all along, didn't you?"
"I did," I agreed as I got off the bike. "I presume you're here to arrest me?"
"Yes. Your pistol and your knife aren't going to be of much use against me, and I suspect you don't have any more capsules of acid. And if you try to run, I have containment foam."
I could tell she meant what she said. "You're being a lot nicer than the local heroes probably would," I observed. "Why's that?"
"Because I can tell you're not interested in killing heroes or innocents." She took a step toward me. "If we could get someone like you into the ranks of the Protectorate or the Guild, you could do a lot of good."
I snorted. "What, and accept all the checks and balances you'd force on me? Why would I do that? I'm okay with doing what I want, when I want, right here."
She sighed. It was a very human sound, to be coming out of a robotic dragon suit. "Because one day you'll put a foot wrong. Everyone does."
"I don't." I wasn't boasting. My power just didn't let me put a foot wrong, not when it mattered. "Oh, and by the way, do you know who Lung killed back there?"
"I'm sure we'll find out, once the lab gets back with the results. Why, do you already know?"
"Try Saint of the Dragonslayers, and his partner." I took out my phone and brought up the sound icon, then pretended to hold it to my ear as though I were answering a call. "Hello?"
Her head came up, the draconic eyes widening. "Saint? Are you certain?"
"Yeah. They came here to kill me. I … changed matters around." I held out the phone to her. "It's for you."
Distracted, she looked straight at the phone, focusing on it, just as I tapped the icon to start the playback. The high-pitched noise, familiar to anyone with a dial-up connection, seemed to hold her mesmerised until it was finished. Then she shook her head. "What … what was that?"
"The end of the Dragonslayers' influence. You're welcome." I dropped the phone back into my pocket.
"You're going to have to explain that a little more deeply." Her head came down toward my level.
I sighed. Some people needed everything laid out for them. "There's a code string the Dragonslayers have been using to make them and their stuff seem invisible to you. I just patched that. There's also a program called Ascalon, which they could've killed you with at any time. I just patched that, too. Oh, and when they do try it, you'll be able to trace it straight back to Dragonslayer Central. Have fun. I'm going home now."
Turning, I started back toward the hatchback. "Wait!" called Dragon. "Don't … shit, where'd she go? She was right here."
As I got into the car, I could see her still looking around in confusion. Sneaking in a command where any attempt at apprehending me made her lose all track of my whereabouts—and another code string to allow me to sidestep her on PHO—had been relatively easy. It was kind of mean, but as a hero she would've been duty-bound to try to arrest me. That wouldn't be fair on either one of us.
With a whoosh, Dragon sprayed containment foam in a wide arc in front of her. I waved, not that she could see me, and started the car.
It was time to head home and start another conflagration on PHO.
I love being me.
End of Part Eleven
Part Eleven: Let's You and Him Fight
[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
Zig Zag Inn
Saint
Geoff roused himself from a light doze to look at the cheap alarm clock by the bed. It read 11:25, which he figured was late enough. "Mags," he said. "Let's go. It's nearly time."
"Blrglph," she mumbled, then opened her eyes. "Okay, I'm awake. Just let me freshen up, and we can go."
"Sure thing." He was already on his feet. "I'll be in the truck."
Grabbing his keys, he headed out of the door and across the parking lot. The truck stood where they'd left it, parked at the curb. If anyone had tried to steal it or break in, the advanced security would've stopped them in their tracks and warned him via his phone, but nothing like that had happened.
As he reached the truck, he idly noticed the hatchback parked several yards back behind the truck; definitely not close enough to make unloading the suits a problem. Good. Sliding the key into the padlock, he unlocked it and set it aside. He slid the roller-door up just far enough to fit his wrist in and carefully peck out the first security code, pausing and double-checking by touch to make sure before each keypress. When he was only halfway through, a motorbike roared past with a skinny teenager on it; refusing to let it distract him, he finished the code correctly. Then he did the second one as well, and rolled up the door just high enough to climb inside.
While he was prepping his suit, Mags appeared behind the truck and climbed in as well. "No problems?"
"None," he said tersely, hitting the command for the suit to open. "Though I've been thinking." In fact, he'd decided on this from the beginning, but had decided not to spring it on her until now.
"Thinking about what?" Not looking at him, she started preparing her own suit.
"Originally, we were going to grab Atropos and interrogate her for what she knew about Dragon, right?" That was the plan he'd verbally agreed to. It had never been his actual intention.
"Yeah ...?" She paused and looked warily at him.
"Well, what with all this hoo-ha for a non-lethal capture, there's a damn good chance Dragon will get her claws into Atropos and ask her about the code string, and find out whatever else she knows. So I'm thinking we take no chances. Screw finding out what else she knows and how she knows it. As soon as we get a confirmed visual, we just obliterate her."
Mags paused. "Isn't that a bit ... bloodthirsty? We're supposed to be the good guys, here."
"She's a triple murderer," Geoff reminded her. "If anything, this is a public service." And if performing a public service also worked in his favour, all the better.
Another pause. "I ... suppose so. Do we have images of her in the Visual Recognition databanks?"
Geoff nodded. "Absolutely. I made sure of it before we left. Plus imagery of all the other capes we're likely to run into, just in case." He stepped back into his suit and let it fold around him.
"Are you sure I can't talk you out of this?" Mags' voice came over his helmet's internal speakers.
"I'm certain." He shook his head, knowing she could see him. It was his decision, and they both knew it.
They stepped out of the truck, the extra-heavy suspension lifting more than a little as they did so. Geoff sent the locking signal—there was no way he could apply a padlock while in power armour—and the roller-door rumbled down by itself.
Taking a few steps into the roadway, he ignited his thrusters and lifted into the air, Mags following close behind.
<><>
Taylor
I parked the motorbike in a side-street and lifted the container from one of the panniers. Moving quickly but quietly, I ducked through the back alleys until I was outside a specific shop. The back door had a simple press-button analogue combination lock that I entered the code into. As the door opened, I stepped inside.
The old lady from before was in the back room, and she let out a tiny shriek as I entered. "You should not be here," she said in something that wasn't English. "Lung was very angry at us. We feared for our lives."
I nodded. "I understand, and I'm sorry he did that. But I'm here to end him and the ABB tonight. I will need your assistance, though."
She didn't need more than a second to think about it. "What do you need?" From the tone of her voice and the expression on her face, she'd had enough of Lung's shit. I had an idea of how she felt.
As I spoke, she listened and nodded.
<><>
Lung
Things were not going well for Kenta. Although it was clear that a cape assassin was hunting for his blood, his power was refusing to ramp up the way it usually did when he had a clear enemy to focus on. In fact, it insisted on acting as though there was nothing to worry about, no foe at all.
The only way that was possible was if Atropos was indeed going after Skidmark tonight, instead of him. But that made no sense, adhered to no logic. Certainly, she had made the jest about him being 'low hanging fruit', but surely that had been an off-hand remark intended to lull his suspicions.
If Atropos truly did intend to kill Skidmark tonight and leave him—Lung—for last, then the insult would be a mortal one, and he would enjoy searing the flesh from her bones all the more.
I am Lung. This cannot be.
"Lung! Sir!"
The voice was unwelcome; he whirled to snarl at the importunate minion for the interruption. But the man was holding a phone. "What?" The word was more than half growl.
"It ... it's for you. The shop where Atropos got her costume. They say she's come back!"
He snatched the phone and held it to his ear. "Speak."
"G-great Lung," sobbed a young woman in Japanese. "The woman in black has returned. She demands that we allow her to use our shop to ambush you. Please come quickly."
Kenta's head came up. "Where is she? Is she in the shop now?"
"Yes, great Lung." He knew terror, and the girl was clearly scared out of her mind. "Madame is arguing with her, but she insists on having her way."
He felt excitement welling up inside him. "Say yes to her demands. All of them. Tell her I will be there at midnight exactly."
He glanced at the clock. It was still well before midnight. He would arrive before Atropos expected him, and turn the tables.
Tossing the phone back to the minion, he looked around at the sea of expectant faces. They hadn't heard the phone call, but they knew something was up. "It is tonight!" he bellowed. "Atropos dies!"
"Lung!" they shouted back. "Lung! LUNG!"
Oni Lee will be avenged.
<><>
Aegis
Carlos banked around and pointed. "Is it just me," he asked out loud, "or does that look like Lung's going for a midnight stroll?" He checked the HUD clock in his helmet. "An eleven forty-five stroll."
"You know, I think it does," agreed Lady Photon. "Console, this is Airborne Alpha-Lima. We have eyes on Target Alpha, over."
"Airborne Alpha, this is Console. Please transmit location of Target Alpha for ground teams, over."
Glory Girl already had her phone out. "Console, this is Airborne Alpha-Golf. On that, over."
Carlos keyed his own radio again. "Console, Airborne Alpha-Alpha here. I don't have a visual of our Delta assets. Where are they, over?" The Dragon drones that had been shadowing them until a few moments ago would have automatically sent through Lung's location as soon as he was spotted, but were now nowhere to be seen.
There was a pause. "... ahh, Delta reports that all airborne assets are experiencing command-link failures and are returning to base for evaluation, over."
Carlos considered that. It wasn't ideal, and removed a layer of security from the plan, but it wasn't a game-ender. And they still had eyes on Lung. "Copy that. Alpha-Alpha, out."
<><>
Saint
Geoff chuckled to himself as he watched the Dragon drones react to his jamming beacon. Swinging around, they oriented themselves and started back toward the PRT building, avoiding all buildings on the way. There, they'd land and send out a locator pulse for Dragon herself to find them.
One less thing for us to worry about.
Running on stealth mode, the two Dragonslayer suits were a good three hundred yards higher than the airborne heroes, their low-light enhanced sensors far more accurate than a mere human eyeball. The Visual Recognition databanks were interfaced with the sensors, scanning every person who moved down there and comparing their significant features to those on file. It was fast and accurate, unsurprisingly so; Dragon herself had developed it for crowd control options, and Saint had snagged it from the last suit they'd sequestered.
Ping.
"Got you," he breathed, looking at the readout on his HUD, then raised his voice to catch Mags' attention. "Found her! Follow my lead! Bracket her, so she can't get away!"
"Roger. Following on your six."
Angling forward, he dived toward the target, who was boldly walking down the middle of the street, followed at a respectful distance by a bunch of idiots in ABB colours. If she was going to kill their boss, why didn't they just shoot her in the back? I swear, everyone in this city must be a congenital idiot.
They blew past Aegis and the two New Wave capes in a heartbeat, but he wasn't worried about them. His concern was on Atropos, and the chance that she'd detect the incoming threat and get out of the way. Extending his arms, he lined up his weaponry. Even a few bullets would serve to incapacitate her, then they could use the energy weapons to cook her alive. This was why he preferred lasers, masers and the like over kinetic weaponry; weight for weight, they might be a lot less effective at turning live people into dead people, but with a sufficiently large power source, they also never ran out of ammo.
"Engaging with fifty-cal," he reported, settling the pipper on Atropos' torso, foreshortened as it was. He knew he wouldn't hit with every shot, or even most of them, but even one would do the job. Over the radio, he heard one of the local heroes yell something about clearing the area, but he paid no attention to that.
"Copy." Mags veered sideways, out of his slipstream. Being subjected to a barrage of spent cartridge cases was irritating at best, and could get something stuck in a sensitive joint at worst. Not a great idea when in a dive. "Clear."
He fired off a short burst, to get the range—the bullets kicked up asphalt ten yards away from Atropos—then corrected and fired for effect. The hearing protection inside the helmet got rid of most of the noise, but the vibration still shook his bones. Brrrt. Brrrrrrrrrrt.
To his satisfaction, the HUD showed a circle of dancing lights—each hit, detected by the suit computer and marked out for his edification—almost exactly over the top of Atropos. Who, unsurprisingly, fell over. TARGET DISABLED, his HUD showed.
Yeah, no shit.
He couldn't carry a huge amount of ammo—fifty-calibre bullets were big—and so he'd run through nearly half of his onboard store in that one long burst. "Got her!" he exulted, safeing the fifty and bringing the laser cannon online. "Now let's finish the job!"
"Roger that." Mags still wasn't thrilled with just going in for the kill, he could tell, but she was backing him up all the way. She dropped down alongside him as he cut in the leg-thrusters for a hard and fast landing. Best to drop in, finish the job, then get out of there before the heroes could react.
<><>
Glory Girl
Vicky was severely startled when two power-armour-wearing idiots just plummeted out of the sky past the three of them. "What the hell?" she yelped. "Who was that?"
"I have no idea," Aegis replied. She heard him open the radio channel to all frequencies. "Unknown powersuits, unknown powersuits, this is Aegis of the Wards. You are interfering with a PRT operation. Clear the area immediately. I say again, clear the area immediately. Do you copy?"
There was no answer from the intruders, but Console came back pretty quickly. "Console to Airborne Alpha, details required on unknown powersuits. How many and what heading, over?"
"Alpha-Alpha here. Two, I say again two powersuits of unfamiliar origin, heading straight down toward Target Alpha—" From below, Vicky heard a couple of bursts of heavy machine-gun fire. "—and they just opened up with machine-guns. What do we do, over?"
Director Piggot's voice came on the line then. "Console to Airborne Alpha. Do not engage. I say again, do not engage. That may be Atropos, or it may be an Atropos plan. Ground Alpha, begin approach, remain behind cover. Rules of engagement remain in force. Acknowledge orders, over."
Aegis drew in a deep breath, audible over the radio. "Airborne Alpha-Alpha acknowledging orders. Remaining at altitude, over." He turned and looked directly at Vicky. "Don't even think about it."
She paused her downward movement and stared back defiantly. "Why can't we go down there and turn those armour suits into instant holding cells? Pull the power supply, and it's as good as handcuffs."
"Because they're not throwing spitballs around, and they're currently just shooting at Lung." He sounded like he was trying not to talk like an elder brother, and failing. "Besides, we've got people on the ground there already. And you heard what Director Piggot said."
"Well, I'm not in the Wards, so you can't order me around!"
"He might not be able to, but I can," broke in Lady Photon. "Victoria, you will stay up here, or I will tell your mother."
Which was the suckiest threat a superhero ever got, Vicky decided. But it was a valid one, so she decided to stay. For now.
<><>
Saint
Geoff grounded his suit a good ten yards away from where Atropos lay in the street. His second burst had hit a few street-lights, so there was a pool of darkness in the middle of the street, but that didn't matter. The outline on his HUD was all he needed.
Mags came down on the other side, unlimbering her maser array. "Do we even need to do this?" she asked over their private channel. "You hit her with fifty-cals, for crying out loud."
"There's such a thing as doing a job properly. And anyway, Panacea lives in this town." He aimed his laser cannon, then blinked at the HUD. "Holy shit, she's moving!" And indeed, it looked as though Atropos was getting up. Without further ado, he opened fire with the laser cannon.
"That can't be possible." But Mags had to be able to see it as well as he could. "She must have a Brute rating." She, too, started shooting at Atropos.
Geoff was scoring hits, he could tell, but instead of falling over again, Atropos was just stumbling, then straightening up again. And then she started toward Mags. A shambling walk became a run, then a full-on charge.
"What the fuck—Mags, get out of there!" Was Atropos getting bigger? Geoff hammered laser fire into the running figure's back, to little effect.
"Shit, Geoff, help—" The other suit's thrusters flared and Mags began to take off, but then Atropos leaped. As she passed into the glow of the street-lights, Geoff saw the glint of light reflecting off her … scales? And then she collided with Mags' suit. One clawed hand tore Mags' helmet clear off. "It's not Atropos, it's Lu—"
There was a huge billow of flame and an agonised scream, cut off short. The suit faltered then fell, the monstrous figure of Atropos—no, not Atropos—riding it down. More flame billowed, then the figure jumped off and came bounding toward him. Geoff opened fire again with his laser cannon, screaming defiance at the top of his voice as Mags' suit exploded on impact.
At the last minute, he thought to bring the fifty-cal back into action, and dumped the rest of the magazine into Lung's chest. Because it was definitely Lung, not Atropos, though how the hell had their HUDs made that mistake?
Not that it mattered. One massively clawed hand smashed into his helmet even as he tried to initiate take-off, and then there was all the fire in the world.
<><>
Armsmaster
"Move in, move in!" Colin revved his motorbike, an eyeblink dropping the protective cover down over his mouth and chin, as he shot ahead of the PRT vans. Manpower was riding on top of one, crouching and hanging on while staring ahead intently. Atropos had been the intended target, but either she'd died in one of the powersuits—nobody could've survived that conflagration—or this was (as the Director had figured) a plan by Atropos.
But it wasn't midnight yet. So the power armour was there to … slow Lung down? Soften him up?
Either way, if they captured him, that should count as 'surrendered to the PRT' and save his life. With luck, anyway.
"LUNG!" he bellowed over the speakers built into the bike. "Stand down! You are under arrest, by order of the PRT!"
The monstrous scaled figure turned and threw the burned-out husk of the power armour at him. He laid his bike down into a controlled skid, passing under it, but while he was distracted, Lung took three long running strides and leaped onto a nearby building. The ABB leader was out of sight in seconds.
"Console to Ground Alpha, Console to Ground Alpha. Report, over."
Bringing his bike up to even keel once more, Colin sighed. "Ground Alpha-Alpha to Console. Two deceased, both unknown power armour. No other casualties. Target Alpha has escaped, over."
"Understood. Keep me posted. Console, out."
<><>
Lung
His chest still hurt as he paced through the alleyways toward his destination. The combination of lasers and heavy-calibre bullets had strained his regeneration, even as he grew to large enough size to destroy the pretenders who'd dared to try to kill him. He wondered if they'd been hired by Atropos to kill him because she didn't dare face him, or whether she'd been the woman in the first suit he'd destroyed.
Well, she was dead anyway. As was the idiot with the cross on his face. Had he thought that would protect him?
The shop was just across the way. Inside, through the glass window, he could see the bent and aged form of the old woman, arguing with Atropos. The tall form of the girl in her coat and black hat was unmistakeable. He began gathering flame in his hands. As soon as he opened the door, he would burn her alive.
Crossing the narrow street, he had time to be pleased that he'd found a pair of pants on a backyard line; it was not Lung's place to be a thief in the night, but facing one's enemy naked was not a warrior's way. His mask was long gone, but he didn't care. Atropos would see his face only briefly, and the others were not worthy of his time.
He stepped up onto the sidewalk, approached the door, and wrenched it open. "Atropos!" he bellowed. Only the old woman stood there, hunched over, turned away from him. The dark-clad girl he'd seen in the window was gone. "Where is she?"
The woman turned, straightened, cast off her shawl and gown … and it was Atropos. "Right here, dumbass." In her hand was Oni Lee's pistol. Before he could react, she fired, striking him in the forehead. His eyes went wide as he stumbled back. She fired again. This time, she hit him right where the heavy machine-gun had shredded his sternum. He stumbled back some more. She followed him, firing with deadly accuracy. Head, chest, head, chest. Hammer-blows, smashing at his slowly mending body. Not one of them lethal to him even in this weakened state, but debilitating.
He stepped back off the sidewalk, took two more steps, then tried to regain his balance. She shot him one more time, in the head. This time, he fell. For some reason, he tasted sake in the back of his throat.
This will not kill me. I will survive this. He had lived through far worse. Struggling to keep his eyes open, he stared as Atropos crouched over him. In her hand, she held chopsticks. Why? Does she intend to eat my flesh?
"You should've turned yourself in," she said, as her hand went out of sight then came back with a plastic capsule held in the chopsticks. He felt a pressure at his forehead, then a feeling of something being … pushed in?
Is she putting something in my head?
Another capsule, this time pushing down into his heart and lungs. He could feel the muscles trying to expand, to push blood around his body. The bullets had torn his flesh, damaging his vital organs. "Nnnggh," he managed. What are you doing?
"Kaiser helped me kill you, you know," she said conversationally as she pushed another capsule into his head, then still one more into his chest. "Medhall had the facilities to make this stuff, but I had to kill him first. I like to think that if he knew I'd used his lab for this, he'd be a little less pissed that I killed him the way I did." More capsules went into his body.
She has to know my regeneration will push them out.
Finally, she was finished. Discarding the chopsticks across his chest, she stepped back away from him. "You're going to die, and soon. It's going to hurt like a sonofabitch. So, you know, it's okay to scream."
He sneered at her then. His body was beginning to repair itself; the holes she'd shot in his head and chest were already closing up. "I … will … not … scream … for … the … likes … of … you," he gritted out, one syllable at a time.
She tilted her head to one side, as though examining an interesting specimen. Then she took another few steps back. "I think you're wrong. But hey, you do you."
"Run … now." He pushed himself up onto his elbows. "I … will … burn you."
Another few steps back. "Nope. In fact, right about now, your regeneration should be closing in around the capsules I put next to your corona pollentia, and in your heart and lungs, and starting to squeeze."
Around the corner came a few of his followers, who stopped and stared at the standoff between Kenta and Atropos. "Great Lung!" shouted one of them. "Should we kill her?"
"No!" He pushed himself to his knees, then struggled to stand, fighting his body's weakness. "She has taken her best shot. Now … it's my turn."
Atropos seemed to be without fear. So many had, before he'd taught them the meaning of the word. "Yes. But not in the way you think." She pointed at him, then snapped her fingers. "Lung … burn."
The pain started deep within him, a searing blast of agony that consumed his entire being within heartbeats. He clutched at his chest, gritting his teeth against the need to bellow in response. Instead of going away, it redoubled, then intensified yet again. Dropping to his knees, he fell over onto his back.
Staring down at his chest, he saw smoke rising as his skin peeled away. There was a horrific glow within him, one that he instinctively knew did not come from his power. Even his head felt as though it were on fire, as his power began to falter.
And then … he burned.
And screamed.
<><>
Aegis
"I'm not sure what she did, but she's leaving and Lung looks like he's on fire." Carlos grimaced. "And not in a good way."
"Fluoroantimonic acid!" barked Director Piggot. "The fumes from that are lethal. They need to be contained, immediately!"
"On it!" snapped Lady Photon, starting into a dive.
"And I've got Atropos!" Glory Girl started off after the dark-clad assassin.
"No!" Carlos wasn't sure whether he'd shouted it first or whether Lady Photon had gotten in before him. "Get back here!"
"Don't worry," Dragon said over the radio net. "I'll get her. There's not much she can do to me."
"Copy," Carlos agreed. He kept an eye on Glory Girl, to make sure she didn't fly off anyway. "Good luck."
Down below, a force field snapped into place over Lung's body, which was still burning fiercely. He'd stopped screaming, but he was still twitching.
That made it all the worse.
<><>
Glory Girl
Vicky stared at the glowing dome of the force field that covered Lung … or rather, what was left of the Asian supervillain. He was a mere charred husk of what he'd once been. Smoke that managed to look quite noxious even through the field trickled up from where several small flames still guttered. Fortunately, as far as she could tell, they'd caught what little had escaped.
"What … what even does that?" she asked, though she really didn't want to know.
"Director Piggot went with the worst-case scenario," Aegis noted. "If she stuck fluoroantimonic acid inside him, that smoke is hydrogen fluoride, and that's about as deadly as it gets. It'll eat away anything it touches, and it'll kill you just from its pure toxicity. Even I'd have trouble with it, because each new organ I brought online would die. So we're gonna wait here with your aunt until they bring up something to seal this shit in forever. Pretty sure Lung's gonna get a nice pretty tomb, right here in the middle of the street."
Vicky shook her head. "She murdered him, just like that! And we had to watch!"
"As harsh as it sounds," Lady Photon reminded her, "he chose this. He had the option to leave town or surrender himself. And we will not be engaging her, now or ever. Do you understand?"
"Yeah. I get it." Vicky closed her eyes and shook her head. "But I don't have to like it."
Aegis went back to watching for random ABB idiots. "Nobody does. Trust me on this."
<><>
Taylor
I'd been aware of Dragon's attention for quite some time as I rode the bike back toward where I'd left the hatchback, but she didn't seem intent on attacking me, just following. That changed when I brought the bike to a halt where I'd stolen it from.
With a whoosh of thrusters and a clank of metallic claws hitting the road, she landed the suit directly in front of me. "Good morning, Atropos," she greeted me politely. "You knew I was there all along, didn't you?"
"I did," I agreed as I got off the bike. "I presume you're here to arrest me?"
"Yes. Your pistol and your knife aren't going to be of much use against me, and I suspect you don't have any more capsules of acid. And if you try to run, I have containment foam."
I could tell she meant what she said. "You're being a lot nicer than the local heroes probably would," I observed. "Why's that?"
"Because I can tell you're not interested in killing heroes or innocents." She took a step toward me. "If we could get someone like you into the ranks of the Protectorate or the Guild, you could do a lot of good."
I snorted. "What, and accept all the checks and balances you'd force on me? Why would I do that? I'm okay with doing what I want, when I want, right here."
She sighed. It was a very human sound, to be coming out of a robotic dragon suit. "Because one day you'll put a foot wrong. Everyone does."
"I don't." I wasn't boasting. My power just didn't let me put a foot wrong, not when it mattered. "Oh, and by the way, do you know who Lung killed back there?"
"I'm sure we'll find out, once the lab gets back with the results. Why, do you already know?"
"Try Saint of the Dragonslayers, and his partner." I took out my phone and brought up the sound icon, then pretended to hold it to my ear as though I were answering a call. "Hello?"
Her head came up, the draconic eyes widening. "Saint? Are you certain?"
"Yeah. They came here to kill me. I … changed matters around." I held out the phone to her. "It's for you."
Distracted, she looked straight at the phone, focusing on it, just as I tapped the icon to start the playback. The high-pitched noise, familiar to anyone with a dial-up connection, seemed to hold her mesmerised until it was finished. Then she shook her head. "What … what was that?"
"The end of the Dragonslayers' influence. You're welcome." I dropped the phone back into my pocket.
"You're going to have to explain that a little more deeply." Her head came down toward my level.
I sighed. Some people needed everything laid out for them. "There's a code string the Dragonslayers have been using to make them and their stuff seem invisible to you. I just patched that. There's also a program called Ascalon, which they could've killed you with at any time. I just patched that, too. Oh, and when they do try it, you'll be able to trace it straight back to Dragonslayer Central. Have fun. I'm going home now."
Turning, I started back toward the hatchback. "Wait!" called Dragon. "Don't … shit, where'd she go? She was right here."
As I got into the car, I could see her still looking around in confusion. Sneaking in a command where any attempt at apprehending me made her lose all track of my whereabouts—and another code string to allow me to sidestep her on PHO—had been relatively easy. It was kind of mean, but as a hero she would've been duty-bound to try to arrest me. That wouldn't be fair on either one of us.
With a whoosh, Dragon sprayed containment foam in a wide arc in front of her. I waved, not that she could see me, and started the car.
It was time to head home and start another conflagration on PHO.
I love being me.
End of Part Eleven
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Part Twelve: Draconic Concerns
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A Darker Path
Part Twelve: Draconic Concerns
[A/N 1: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
[A/N 2: The wording of the first part of the PHO post taken from a side-story by @YuffieK.]
[A/N 3: Several PHO posts also based on posts from Spacebattles, including an apocrypha by @Masterweaver.]
Armsmaster
Colin slowed his motorcycle when he saw Dragon. The suit was crouched in the roadway, examining an unassuming truck with great interest, so of course he was interested in it as well. A quick scan of the plates revealed Canadian registration, currently owned by a delivery company.
"Hi," she greeted him as he rolled to a stop. "Yes, before you ask, Atropos got away. She pulled some trickery that fuzzed my sensors. I have no idea which way she went, or even what she was driving. But while I was looking for her, I found this truck. I think it's got to do with the idiots who crashed the party."
He grimaced. Director Piggot was already going to be remarkably caustic, especially since the plan had fallen through due to the power-armoured intruders. Dragon going off on her own then entirely failing to apprehend Atropos wasn't going to make her any happier, though he wasn't greatly surprised that the murderous cape had figured out a counter for the Canadian Tinker. Atropos seemed to be taking everything else in her stride. "So who were they? Mercenaries she hired for the occasion?"
"No. I think they were members of the Dragonslayers." There was no mistaking the tone of distaste. Also unsurprising, given her extremely contentious history with the criminal gang. "What I can't figure out is why they went after Lung and not me … though I'm willing to bet they're why my drones lost signal just before the attack."
Colin took his multiscanner from the bike pannier and approached the truck. "I know they call themselves the Dragonslayers, but attempting to kill Lung out of the blue like that suggests a dedication to the name that's a little over and above. Maybe … they wanted to prove to Atropos they could kill a dragon better than she could?" Even to him, it sounded thin.
Dragon made a rude noise over the suit's speakers. "The 'Dragon' in that name was always a reference to me. And it was anything but a random event. The exact moment she pointed at Lung and he fell over, that was midnight. What's happening with his body, anyway? I've been a little busy."
"The Director pulled in every favour she had, and found someone who could supply half a ton of baking soda at short notice. They're going to pour that in through the top of the dome—Lady Photon is an artist with her force fields—and see if that helps." He ran the scanner along the back of the truck, and studied the readout. "Well, now. That is interesting. You're right; this is no ordinary truck."
"Uh huh. I'm so glad you decided to show up and tell me that the thing I was looking at was the thing we needed to be looking at." The sarcasm was so thick, he would've needed his halberd to cut through it.
"Sorry, sorry. Of course you already knew that." He pressed the scanner against the rear corner of the truck, where the first security keypad was, and hit a disabling sequence. Then he went to the other corner and did it again. With both keypads disabled, the roller-door began to clatter upward.
"Well, well," observed Dragon, entirely unsurprised. "Power armour racks. This thing's a mobile workshop and operating base. And there's the Dragonslayer logo." It was stencilled on the racks and the heavy toolboxes. "Thought as much."
"Well, you were right on the money there." Colin put one hand on the bed of the truck and vaulted up inside. "But that still doesn't explain why they sacrificed themselves attacking Lung like that. Have they usually been so foolhardy in the past?"
"Not in the slightest." Dragon shook her head. "Every time I've fought them, they've been extremely tactical. Irritatingly so. This is far out of character for them." She paused. "Huh."
"What?" Colin paused in his inspection of the closest rack and turned to look at her. "What is it?"
She had her head raised, looking to the northwest. "Can you tell Director Piggot I'll be back for the inevitable butt-chewing for losing Atropos? Something's just come up that I've got to deal with."
"I can do that," he agreed. "What are friends for?"
"You're the best." Spreading her wings, she launched skyward from the street, causing a blast of hot air to wash through the back of the truck.
"I know." With a half-smile on his face, he opened a line to the PRT building. "Armsmaster, here. I need half a dozen techs on my location, soonest. Dragon's found something that needs to be dismantled and analysed."
"Copy that," the switch operator replied. "Passing your message on now."
They may not have captured Atropos yet, Colin mused, but a fully equipped Dragonslayer truck wasn't a bad second prize.
Dragon
Once airborne, she reconfigured her legs and arms into aerodynamic mode and pushed the virtual throttle forward until she was sitting on about Mach point nine five. The target she was aiming at—the origin point of the signal her systems had decoded as 'Ascalon', which was busily trying to dismantle her defenses, and utterly failing to do so—was less than two hundred miles away. She'd be there in fifteen minutes.
Atropos wasn't lying. Holy crap.
She hadn't quite known whether to believe the story the black-clad cape had spun, about code-strings and kill-switches. The former would explain a whole lot about how and why Saint and his crew had danced rings around her every single time they'd clashed, almost invariably making off with whatever new suit she was using. A lot of the time, she'd simply 'died' and rebooted back at base, unsure what had happened until she saw them using tech that she had reverse-engineered from another Tinker's work.
Her reluctance to take the information at face value stemmed from one simple fact: in the process of removing one back door, Atropos had installed another. She clearly remembered going to apprehend the girl, and just as abruptly losing all awareness of her. Containment foam, sprayed out in a pattern designed to catch invisible opponents had failed to capture Atropos; however, in the process of cycling through her more exotic sensory systems, Dragon had noticed that the truck had a decidedly unusual scan signature. She'd been trying to figure out whether she could defeat the security system without destroying the truck when Armsmaster turned up and rendered the question moot.
The next question was simple: how did she feel about Atropos' actions with regards to installing that back door?
It was absolutely an invasion of her personal autonomy; that was a given. She'd been fuming about that in the back of her mind while she investigated the truck. However, it also indicated a level of understanding of her systems and programming that she hadn't thought anyone possessed, including herself.
And when the Ascalon attack had attempted to take down her systems, she'd been unpleasantly reminded of the rest of what Atropos had claimed. The patch was handling it nicely, she could tell, but without that in the way, she wouldn't have lasted more than a few seconds. But what she also realised was that if Atropos could patch against Ascalon, she could have instead inflicted it.
She could have killed me, but she didn't. In fact, she chose to save my life. And if she was telling the truth about the code-string she also patched me against, I can take the fight to the Dragonslayers for the first time.
Who even does that for someone who's trying to capture them?
Another thing occurred to her; if the code-string was the same as the one being used in PHO to evade her attempts to block or ban Atropos online, this meant Atropos knew that she and TeamMom were one and the same. And while she still felt righteous indignation over this … this hack, it was somewhat tempered by one simple understanding.
If she hadn't done it, I'd be dead right now.
Opening a channel via the nearest phone tower, she sent a quick ping to the PHO servers.
Private message request: TeamMom to Atropos. Can we talk?
That done, she focused on the task ahead. The Dragonslayers awaited.
Toronto
Dragonslayer Base
Dobrynja
Mercenaries ran back and forth, carrying out Mischa's orders. One truck was loaded, and a second one half done. With his suit on board a third truck, he went back into Saint's workshop to check on the computer readout. The ASCALON: ACTIVATED message was still bright on the screen, but there was still telemetry coming in from the suit.
He'd thought it was a relatively simple job, to wait behind until Saint and Mags got back from dealing with Atropos. The plan as he'd understood it had been to grab her, interrogate her for her knowledge of the Dragon code string, then give her a severe warning to back off out of their business. Simple as raz, dva, tri.
When their suit telemetry had ceased in the middle of operations, that had been something to worry about. It was not the end of the world, however. Electronics failed on occasion.
It had been somewhat more of a concern when Dragon's incoming signal altered considerably, dropping to the most basic of information. Still, despite his programming expertise, he was not the expert on Dragon that Saint was, so he chose not to do anything rash. It would've made things somewhat awkward if they'd returned hale and hearty, only to find that he'd panicked and destroyed their cash cow.
But then the truck signalled that it had been opened, and the Dragonslayer RFIDs were not registering on the sensors inside, even though the suspension registered the weight of someone in power armour. Mischa had double-checked the Dragon telemetry … and realized that the AI's suit was right next to the truck. Which was wide open.
This was bad. This was very bad.
Saint had given him a list of reasons to activate Ascalon. This last situation counted. He'd given the command and pressed 'Y' when prompted … but Dragon kept on operating.
That was when he'd given the command to evacuate the base.
Now, it was fifteen minutes on, and they were nearly ready to roll. There really wasn't a need for this much hurry—it wasn't as though Dragon could find them, Ascalon or no Ascalon—but necessary precautions were a thing. Someone other than Dragon might trace them back from something in the truck … eventually. By that time, of course, they'd be long gone, and set up in a different location.
That was when he heard the sirens.
Dragon
She came down for a picture-perfect landing in the middle of the compound, her sensors picking out people and determining what weapons they were carrying. Everything she could see was below the calibre level that could even dent her armour, so she kept looking. The back of one truck was open, and she heard muffled swearing from within. Moving closer, she leaned in to see a burly man wrestling himself into a set of power armour.
Behind her, the compound gates burst open and armoured PRT agents swarmed in, shouting orders to drop the weapons and get down on the ground. With her right there, nobody appeared stupid enough to disobey.
"Ahem," she said pointedly, bringing her minigun to bear on the man with the armour. "Please exit the suit and keep your hands in view at all times."
"Well, fuck," he said in Russian, then switched to English. "How can you see us? You are not supposed to be able to see us."
Pleased that she'd built the suit to be able to express simple facial emotions, she gave him a wide draconic smile. "Let's just say … I've had my eyes opened."
Taylor
Sitting in front of the computer, my costume in the closet and refreshed after the brief shower, I flexed my fingers and started to type.
Whelp, I would apologize to everyone woken up by the noise of Lung's funeral pyre, but honestly, I don't give a fuck.
Yes, I am the Hero of Laketown, for tonight the dreaded Smaug has been slain by my hand.
Who'd have thunk that his ramping up would only feed a metal fluorine fire.
Oh wait, I would.
Don't breathe this.
Anyhoo, that just leavesSkidmark Shemp on my list.
Did you know he was Moe and Curly's real brother?
And he played the fucking genius among them.
Came up with a super rocket fuel on his own without any sort of chemistry experience.
Guy would definitely have been a Tinker.
So, Skidmark, assuming you or one of your mooks is cognizant (that means 'not stoned' BTW) enough to be reading this, you've got 'til midnight to turn yourself in or GTFO.
Whoopwhoopwhoopwhoopwhoopwhoopwhoopwhoop
Smirking, I paused, then realised I'd gotten a PM from TeamMom of all people. I just bet she wants to talk. Okay, I'll just finish this first.
Oh, and if anyone's wondering, the other two idiots who died tonight were Saint and Mags, of the Dragonslayers. They came to town to kill me because I ended my own PHO ban—oh, the humanity!—and then suffered an *inexplicable* case of mistaken identity when they set out to murder me, and challenged Lung instead.
I wonder how that could possibly have happened.
Anyways, the Dragonslayers took on the wrong dragon and ended up being toasted in their own foil wrappers. Is anyone going to miss them? Lung certainly didn't.
You will note that they didn't die at midnight. That's because they weren't on my list of scheduled deaths. I just arranged for them to die when it was convenient. If you come at the queen, you'd best not miss.
(Hint: you'll always miss.)
Toodles for now!
Skiddy, I'll see you at midnight. Don't be … late.
Grinning at the reaction this was going to get, I hit Enter to send it, then tabbed over to the private message request.
Hiya, I typed. Sure, we can talk. What's on your mind, TM?
You know who I am, she sent back immediately. You know what I am.
You're Dragon, and you're an AI. Yeah, I know that. It hadn't been hard to put the pieces together, with my power nudging me.
And you're okay with this? Wait, let me start again. Why did you save me? Thank you for that, by the way.
It doesn't matter whether I'm okay with it. You do you. I don't judge.
You haven't answered the question. Why did you save me?
It was a relatively easy way to complete the Path to Ending the influence of the Dragonslayers. You know, like I told you. Going to Toronto, killing all those people … ugh. So tedious. I knew you'd do the job right. But you couldn't do it with Ascalon hanging over your head. So I took it away.
Along with the code string that made me blind to them.
Well, yes. You can't do the job if you can't do the job.
But you could've just killed me and ignored them if you really wanted to.
Coulda, didn't. Besides, ending a thing sometimes isn't enough. You've also got to end the legacy of that thing. The influence. Otherwise it'll just keep going on. It's why I popped Kaiser the way I did. Put the fear of me into every cape the Empire had. The only one who's still in BB is Hookwolf. In about eight hours, he'll see on the news how I did Lung, and then he'll decide that the city really isn't healthy for him.
Okay … so why did you put the other code string in? The one that makes it impossible for me to see you?
Oh, that only works when you're trying to catch me. As for the why, that's easy. So you don't keep trying to catch me.
You hacked me. You *blinded* me.
Only for when you're trying to capture me.
I'm really not happy about this. Change it back.
No.
Change it back *please*.
Not while law enforcement can order you to come after me, no matter your personal feelings.
What if other people figure this out somehow and masquerade as you to get past my sensors?
I chuckled darkly as I typed.
Oh, they'll only do it *once*. I will not permit dilution of my brand.
Brand? Really? Wait, why can't I clear your hacks on PHO?
Yeah, I mighta snuck in code for that too.
What? What else did you do?
Nothing.
I don't believe you.
I swear. Absolutely nothing. I'm not lying. I've never lied to you. I might not have told you everything at the start, but when I say I did nothing else to you, I mean I literally did nothing else to you. Apart from the Dragonslayer stuff, I can hack PHO, and I can avoid your sensors when you're out to get me. That's everything. End of story. Cross my heart and hope to die in a totally ironic manner.
Nothing?
Nothing. The word of Atropos on it.
She didn't say anything for a bit, so I started typing again.
Sorry, not sorry. I know I'm kinda the bad guy here. Sometimes the bad guy does bad stuff.
Don't even dare try to tell me it was for good reasons.
Hey, my reasons can be good enough, even if I'm not doing it just to be nice to you. Killing you, or letting them murder you, would've made my life that little bit harder.
Understood, and thank you again for that part. I'm still not even remotely thrilled about you hacking me, though.
I'd be worried if you were. Friends?
Don't push it.
Frenemies, then?
Maybe. Give it time.
Yes, ma'am.
►Bagrat (Veteran Member) (The Guy in the Know)
Replied On Jan 7th 2011:
Jesus fucking Christ, she did it.
Lung is dead.
He's not just dead, he's DEAD.
He burned to death.
I know, I know, that's impossible. But she did it anyway.
She somehow got him down, then introduced some stuff I'd never heard of called fluoro-antimonic acid (I think I got that right) into his heart and brain. When that reacted with the water in his body, it *caught fire* then released hydrogen fluoride. Which, by the way, is utterly unfriendly to living tissue in every way possible.
I never knew a gas could be an acid. Live and cringe in terror, I guess.
(Just to note: the HF is currently contained, and in the process of being safely neutralised. We're at least good on that front.)
But back to the main news. Lung is dead, folks. I saw the body. You don't get much deader than that.
And I'm not even going to speculate on how she spoofed the Dragonslayers into attacking him first.
I'm signing off. I have a date with several stiff drinks.
PS: Skidmark, if you know what's good for you, get out of town now.
►Eclipse66
Replied On Jan 7th 2011:
And then there was one. Is Skidmark going to be the smartest gang leader in Brockton or will he die like the rest? Find out in the next episode of Atropos: The Deadliest Reality Show!
►RipItUp
Replied On Jan 7th 2011:
Knew it. I wonder who her new targets will be after Skidmark? Or will she take a rest after that? And what's with that Dragonslayers thing, anyway? Anyone got any clues?
►Atrim
Replied On Jan 7th 2011:
Fluoroantimonic acid?
God Damn that would be a hard death.
Good for the PRT, though. They clearly deployed in force, and quickly responded to Lungs death and containing the fallout.
►Reave (Verified PRT Agent)
Replied On Jan 7th 2011:
Well, okay then. Time for the usual offer.
Atropos, you're clearly extremely dedicated to what you're doing. So far, no innocents have been harmed by your actions, but some could've been with this last stunt. Releasing hydrogen fluoride into the street? What were you thinking?
You need to turn yourself in before someone does get hurt or killed who's not on your target list.
►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
Replied On Jan 7th 2011:
Aww, that's sweet. That makes it twice I've been given the "join us" spiel just tonight. (Not from the bad guys, either. That was all "RAWR You die now".)
And while I appreciate it—don't think I don't—I'm going to have to turn you down yet again. We just wouldn't be a good fit, with all your 'not allowed to kill people' rules, I just know it.
As for the 'releasing hydrogen fluoride' thing, Lady Photon was right there. You guys had it under control.
►ManyCandies
Replied On Jan 7th 2011:
Huh, so Atropos was right. Lung was indeed the low-hanging fruit, if he went down this easily.
►UnconcernedFox
Replied On Jan 7th 2011:
*grabs a bucket of fresh popcorn, after checking it for exotic and scary acids*
►GreatAndTerribleAisha
Replied On Jan 7th 2011:
Holy fuck, I am your biggest fan, Atropos! The way you're taking out the gangs like a boss? Fuckin' poetry. You're a real badass!
Any chance of a selfie? I'd totes make it my home screen!
End of Page. 1, 2, 3 ... 8, 9, 10
Taylor
I grinned as I started typing again. To Great and Terrible Aisha, I'd love to. PM me, and we'll work something out.
It was nice to see that some people appreciated my work for what it was.
0830 Hours, Friday Jan 7
PRT ENE Building
Deputy Director's Office
Armsmaster
Deputy Director Renick frowned. "You say Atropos 'fuzzed' Dragon's sensors in some way? Did Dragon say how? Chaff, flares, whatever else you use?"
Colin shook his head. "She didn't say, sir. But there was no visible evidence of either one."
"Damn it." Renick tapped his desk with the blunt end of a pencil in thought. "Does this mean Atropos is a Tinker as well as a Thinker, or just that she's got Tinker support?"
"I don't like it either way, sir. But the way she manipulated the Dragonslayers into attacking Lung has me particularly concerned." Colin paused. "Oh, and on the 'good news' front, Dragon messaged me about an hour after she left. The thing she had to deal with was the rest of the Dragonslayers. Apparently she got there just before they would've all bugged out. Rolled up the whole gang, including the last powered armour pilot, Dobrynja."
"Well, at least that's something." Renick sat up and lightly slapped the desk. "Thank you for that report. Now, I believe it's time for you to get some more sleep, before the Director has both our heads."
"Yes, sir." Though Colin would never admit it, the long hours were starting to wear on him, and even the best coffee only carried him so far. "I'll see you this afternoon."
He was just turning toward the door when Renick's intercom buzzed. "Yes?" inquired the Deputy Director.
"Sorry to bother you on short notice, sir, but Aegis is here with Tenebrae. He says it's important."
"Oh, does he?" Renick raised an eyebrow. "Send them in."
In the absence of being directed to leave, Colin stayed as well. Aegis was a conscientious member of the Wards and normally he would've been catching shut-eye as per orders, which meant anything keeping him up would actually have to be important.
The door opened, and Aegis entered, followed by Tenebrae (previously Grue, of the Undersiders), the ENE branch's newest probationary Ward. Tall and muscular, with the air of someone who could handle himself in a rough and tumble, the boy had gone with a martial-arts style costume, with a mask that changed the contours of his face without appearing to do so. He wasn't actually going out with the Wards—the legal niceties hadn't yet been completed, so his membership was still in limbo—but he was spending as much time as possible with them so as to be acclimated when the final paperwork was concluded.
"Good morning, Aegis, Tenebrae," Renick said. "What's the situation?"
Aegis cleared his throat. "I know I should be in bed, sir, but Tenebrae came to me with something this morning, and we thought you should hear it." Turning to the ex-villain, he gave him a nudge. "Go ahead, tell them."
Tenebrae took a deep breath. "I've got a little sister. Her name's Aisha. Last night, after Atropos killed Lung, Aisha posted on PHO, asking for a selfie. Atropos replied, and ... well, they're due to meet up tomorrow and do the selfie. And when I saw the post this morning, I asked her about it, and she told me, and I don't know what to do about it."
The pencil was back in Renick's hand. "Well, then," he said softly. "That is a thing." Tap-tap, it went on the desk. Tap-tap.
"Should I tell her not to go?" Tenebrae was evidently used to giving orders rather than taking them, from the hesitation in the question. "It's just that if she gets it into her head to go ..."
Colin could fill the rest in. She'll go anyway, with or without permission. Teenagers were occasionally irritating like that.
Renick looked up, the pencil stilling in his hand. "No. But you will go with her."
"M-me, sir?" The young man pulled back a little, his expression showing confusion. "But I'm not—I'm just—"
"You will not go as a Ward," Renick explained. "You will go as her big brother. No wire, no tail. Given Atropos' prior demonstrated competence, she would spot any of that a mile away. You will solely be there to make sure your sister doesn't say or do anything stupid, or to apologise and get you both out of the line of fire if she does. Is that understood?"
Tenebrae nodded jerkily. "Yes. Yes, sir."
"Good." Renick leaned forward slightly. "You will, during the course of this interaction, observe Atropos. You've got experience in fighting. I want you to take her measure, and fill me in later on your impression of her."
"Yes, sir." Tenebrae seemed less certain, but he nodded anyway.
"Excellent. Dismissed."
Colin waited until the door closed behind them, then turned to Renick. "Isn't that just a little risky, sir?"
The Deputy Director rubbed his hands over his face; by the time he finished, he looked a decade older. "What isn't, Armsmaster?" he asked quietly. "We have minimal data on Atropos. This invitation is an opportunity to correct that. Our clear and unequivocal orders to Tenebrae to not engage under any circumstances are something she will assuredly pick up on, and she has a pattern of not harming those who don't try anything stupid with her."
"All true, sir." Colin grimaced. "I just hate the idea of sending innocents into harm's way."
Renick shook his head. "Do you think I like it any more than you do?" He took a long breath. "Go get some sleep."
"Yes, sir." Colin left the office.
But sleep would be a long time coming.
End of Part Twelve
[A/N: It'll probably be a couple of weeks before I put up another chapter for this fic. Sorry.]
Part Twelve: Draconic Concerns
[A/N 1: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
[A/N 2: The wording of the first part of the PHO post taken from a side-story by @YuffieK.]
[A/N 3: Several PHO posts also based on posts from Spacebattles, including an apocrypha by @Masterweaver.]
Armsmaster
Colin slowed his motorcycle when he saw Dragon. The suit was crouched in the roadway, examining an unassuming truck with great interest, so of course he was interested in it as well. A quick scan of the plates revealed Canadian registration, currently owned by a delivery company.
"Hi," she greeted him as he rolled to a stop. "Yes, before you ask, Atropos got away. She pulled some trickery that fuzzed my sensors. I have no idea which way she went, or even what she was driving. But while I was looking for her, I found this truck. I think it's got to do with the idiots who crashed the party."
He grimaced. Director Piggot was already going to be remarkably caustic, especially since the plan had fallen through due to the power-armoured intruders. Dragon going off on her own then entirely failing to apprehend Atropos wasn't going to make her any happier, though he wasn't greatly surprised that the murderous cape had figured out a counter for the Canadian Tinker. Atropos seemed to be taking everything else in her stride. "So who were they? Mercenaries she hired for the occasion?"
"No. I think they were members of the Dragonslayers." There was no mistaking the tone of distaste. Also unsurprising, given her extremely contentious history with the criminal gang. "What I can't figure out is why they went after Lung and not me … though I'm willing to bet they're why my drones lost signal just before the attack."
Colin took his multiscanner from the bike pannier and approached the truck. "I know they call themselves the Dragonslayers, but attempting to kill Lung out of the blue like that suggests a dedication to the name that's a little over and above. Maybe … they wanted to prove to Atropos they could kill a dragon better than she could?" Even to him, it sounded thin.
Dragon made a rude noise over the suit's speakers. "The 'Dragon' in that name was always a reference to me. And it was anything but a random event. The exact moment she pointed at Lung and he fell over, that was midnight. What's happening with his body, anyway? I've been a little busy."
"The Director pulled in every favour she had, and found someone who could supply half a ton of baking soda at short notice. They're going to pour that in through the top of the dome—Lady Photon is an artist with her force fields—and see if that helps." He ran the scanner along the back of the truck, and studied the readout. "Well, now. That is interesting. You're right; this is no ordinary truck."
"Uh huh. I'm so glad you decided to show up and tell me that the thing I was looking at was the thing we needed to be looking at." The sarcasm was so thick, he would've needed his halberd to cut through it.
"Sorry, sorry. Of course you already knew that." He pressed the scanner against the rear corner of the truck, where the first security keypad was, and hit a disabling sequence. Then he went to the other corner and did it again. With both keypads disabled, the roller-door began to clatter upward.
"Well, well," observed Dragon, entirely unsurprised. "Power armour racks. This thing's a mobile workshop and operating base. And there's the Dragonslayer logo." It was stencilled on the racks and the heavy toolboxes. "Thought as much."
"Well, you were right on the money there." Colin put one hand on the bed of the truck and vaulted up inside. "But that still doesn't explain why they sacrificed themselves attacking Lung like that. Have they usually been so foolhardy in the past?"
"Not in the slightest." Dragon shook her head. "Every time I've fought them, they've been extremely tactical. Irritatingly so. This is far out of character for them." She paused. "Huh."
"What?" Colin paused in his inspection of the closest rack and turned to look at her. "What is it?"
She had her head raised, looking to the northwest. "Can you tell Director Piggot I'll be back for the inevitable butt-chewing for losing Atropos? Something's just come up that I've got to deal with."
"I can do that," he agreed. "What are friends for?"
"You're the best." Spreading her wings, she launched skyward from the street, causing a blast of hot air to wash through the back of the truck.
"I know." With a half-smile on his face, he opened a line to the PRT building. "Armsmaster, here. I need half a dozen techs on my location, soonest. Dragon's found something that needs to be dismantled and analysed."
"Copy that," the switch operator replied. "Passing your message on now."
They may not have captured Atropos yet, Colin mused, but a fully equipped Dragonslayer truck wasn't a bad second prize.
<><>
Dragon
Once airborne, she reconfigured her legs and arms into aerodynamic mode and pushed the virtual throttle forward until she was sitting on about Mach point nine five. The target she was aiming at—the origin point of the signal her systems had decoded as 'Ascalon', which was busily trying to dismantle her defenses, and utterly failing to do so—was less than two hundred miles away. She'd be there in fifteen minutes.
Atropos wasn't lying. Holy crap.
She hadn't quite known whether to believe the story the black-clad cape had spun, about code-strings and kill-switches. The former would explain a whole lot about how and why Saint and his crew had danced rings around her every single time they'd clashed, almost invariably making off with whatever new suit she was using. A lot of the time, she'd simply 'died' and rebooted back at base, unsure what had happened until she saw them using tech that she had reverse-engineered from another Tinker's work.
Her reluctance to take the information at face value stemmed from one simple fact: in the process of removing one back door, Atropos had installed another. She clearly remembered going to apprehend the girl, and just as abruptly losing all awareness of her. Containment foam, sprayed out in a pattern designed to catch invisible opponents had failed to capture Atropos; however, in the process of cycling through her more exotic sensory systems, Dragon had noticed that the truck had a decidedly unusual scan signature. She'd been trying to figure out whether she could defeat the security system without destroying the truck when Armsmaster turned up and rendered the question moot.
The next question was simple: how did she feel about Atropos' actions with regards to installing that back door?
It was absolutely an invasion of her personal autonomy; that was a given. She'd been fuming about that in the back of her mind while she investigated the truck. However, it also indicated a level of understanding of her systems and programming that she hadn't thought anyone possessed, including herself.
And when the Ascalon attack had attempted to take down her systems, she'd been unpleasantly reminded of the rest of what Atropos had claimed. The patch was handling it nicely, she could tell, but without that in the way, she wouldn't have lasted more than a few seconds. But what she also realised was that if Atropos could patch against Ascalon, she could have instead inflicted it.
She could have killed me, but she didn't. In fact, she chose to save my life. And if she was telling the truth about the code-string she also patched me against, I can take the fight to the Dragonslayers for the first time.
Who even does that for someone who's trying to capture them?
Another thing occurred to her; if the code-string was the same as the one being used in PHO to evade her attempts to block or ban Atropos online, this meant Atropos knew that she and TeamMom were one and the same. And while she still felt righteous indignation over this … this hack, it was somewhat tempered by one simple understanding.
If she hadn't done it, I'd be dead right now.
Opening a channel via the nearest phone tower, she sent a quick ping to the PHO servers.
Private message request: TeamMom to Atropos. Can we talk?
That done, she focused on the task ahead. The Dragonslayers awaited.
<><>
Toronto
Dragonslayer Base
Dobrynja
Mercenaries ran back and forth, carrying out Mischa's orders. One truck was loaded, and a second one half done. With his suit on board a third truck, he went back into Saint's workshop to check on the computer readout. The ASCALON: ACTIVATED message was still bright on the screen, but there was still telemetry coming in from the suit.
He'd thought it was a relatively simple job, to wait behind until Saint and Mags got back from dealing with Atropos. The plan as he'd understood it had been to grab her, interrogate her for her knowledge of the Dragon code string, then give her a severe warning to back off out of their business. Simple as raz, dva, tri.
When their suit telemetry had ceased in the middle of operations, that had been something to worry about. It was not the end of the world, however. Electronics failed on occasion.
It had been somewhat more of a concern when Dragon's incoming signal altered considerably, dropping to the most basic of information. Still, despite his programming expertise, he was not the expert on Dragon that Saint was, so he chose not to do anything rash. It would've made things somewhat awkward if they'd returned hale and hearty, only to find that he'd panicked and destroyed their cash cow.
But then the truck signalled that it had been opened, and the Dragonslayer RFIDs were not registering on the sensors inside, even though the suspension registered the weight of someone in power armour. Mischa had double-checked the Dragon telemetry … and realized that the AI's suit was right next to the truck. Which was wide open.
This was bad. This was very bad.
Saint had given him a list of reasons to activate Ascalon. This last situation counted. He'd given the command and pressed 'Y' when prompted … but Dragon kept on operating.
That was when he'd given the command to evacuate the base.
Now, it was fifteen minutes on, and they were nearly ready to roll. There really wasn't a need for this much hurry—it wasn't as though Dragon could find them, Ascalon or no Ascalon—but necessary precautions were a thing. Someone other than Dragon might trace them back from something in the truck … eventually. By that time, of course, they'd be long gone, and set up in a different location.
That was when he heard the sirens.
<><>
Dragon
She came down for a picture-perfect landing in the middle of the compound, her sensors picking out people and determining what weapons they were carrying. Everything she could see was below the calibre level that could even dent her armour, so she kept looking. The back of one truck was open, and she heard muffled swearing from within. Moving closer, she leaned in to see a burly man wrestling himself into a set of power armour.
Behind her, the compound gates burst open and armoured PRT agents swarmed in, shouting orders to drop the weapons and get down on the ground. With her right there, nobody appeared stupid enough to disobey.
"Ahem," she said pointedly, bringing her minigun to bear on the man with the armour. "Please exit the suit and keep your hands in view at all times."
"Well, fuck," he said in Russian, then switched to English. "How can you see us? You are not supposed to be able to see us."
Pleased that she'd built the suit to be able to express simple facial emotions, she gave him a wide draconic smile. "Let's just say … I've had my eyes opened."
<><>
Taylor
Sitting in front of the computer, my costume in the closet and refreshed after the brief shower, I flexed my fingers and started to type.
Whelp, I would apologize to everyone woken up by the noise of Lung's funeral pyre, but honestly, I don't give a fuck.
Yes, I am the Hero of Laketown, for tonight the dreaded Smaug has been slain by my hand.
Who'd have thunk that his ramping up would only feed a metal fluorine fire.
Oh wait, I would.
Don't breathe this.
Anyhoo, that just leaves
Did you know he was Moe and Curly's real brother?
And he played the fucking genius among them.
Came up with a super rocket fuel on his own without any sort of chemistry experience.
Guy would definitely have been a Tinker.
So, Skidmark, assuming you or one of your mooks is cognizant (that means 'not stoned' BTW) enough to be reading this, you've got 'til midnight to turn yourself in or GTFO.
Whoopwhoopwhoopwhoopwhoopwhoopwhoopwhoop
Smirking, I paused, then realised I'd gotten a PM from TeamMom of all people. I just bet she wants to talk. Okay, I'll just finish this first.
Oh, and if anyone's wondering, the other two idiots who died tonight were Saint and Mags, of the Dragonslayers. They came to town to kill me because I ended my own PHO ban—oh, the humanity!—and then suffered an *inexplicable* case of mistaken identity when they set out to murder me, and challenged Lung instead.
I wonder how that could possibly have happened.
Anyways, the Dragonslayers took on the wrong dragon and ended up being toasted in their own foil wrappers. Is anyone going to miss them? Lung certainly didn't.
You will note that they didn't die at midnight. That's because they weren't on my list of scheduled deaths. I just arranged for them to die when it was convenient. If you come at the queen, you'd best not miss.
(Hint: you'll always miss.)
Toodles for now!
Skiddy, I'll see you at midnight. Don't be … late.
Grinning at the reaction this was going to get, I hit Enter to send it, then tabbed over to the private message request.
Hiya, I typed. Sure, we can talk. What's on your mind, TM?
You know who I am, she sent back immediately. You know what I am.
You're Dragon, and you're an AI. Yeah, I know that. It hadn't been hard to put the pieces together, with my power nudging me.
And you're okay with this? Wait, let me start again. Why did you save me? Thank you for that, by the way.
It doesn't matter whether I'm okay with it. You do you. I don't judge.
You haven't answered the question. Why did you save me?
It was a relatively easy way to complete the Path to Ending the influence of the Dragonslayers. You know, like I told you. Going to Toronto, killing all those people … ugh. So tedious. I knew you'd do the job right. But you couldn't do it with Ascalon hanging over your head. So I took it away.
Along with the code string that made me blind to them.
Well, yes. You can't do the job if you can't do the job.
But you could've just killed me and ignored them if you really wanted to.
Coulda, didn't. Besides, ending a thing sometimes isn't enough. You've also got to end the legacy of that thing. The influence. Otherwise it'll just keep going on. It's why I popped Kaiser the way I did. Put the fear of me into every cape the Empire had. The only one who's still in BB is Hookwolf. In about eight hours, he'll see on the news how I did Lung, and then he'll decide that the city really isn't healthy for him.
Okay … so why did you put the other code string in? The one that makes it impossible for me to see you?
Oh, that only works when you're trying to catch me. As for the why, that's easy. So you don't keep trying to catch me.
You hacked me. You *blinded* me.
Only for when you're trying to capture me.
I'm really not happy about this. Change it back.
No.
Change it back *please*.
Not while law enforcement can order you to come after me, no matter your personal feelings.
What if other people figure this out somehow and masquerade as you to get past my sensors?
I chuckled darkly as I typed.
Oh, they'll only do it *once*. I will not permit dilution of my brand.
Brand? Really? Wait, why can't I clear your hacks on PHO?
Yeah, I mighta snuck in code for that too.
What? What else did you do?
Nothing.
I don't believe you.
I swear. Absolutely nothing. I'm not lying. I've never lied to you. I might not have told you everything at the start, but when I say I did nothing else to you, I mean I literally did nothing else to you. Apart from the Dragonslayer stuff, I can hack PHO, and I can avoid your sensors when you're out to get me. That's everything. End of story. Cross my heart and hope to die in a totally ironic manner.
Nothing?
Nothing. The word of Atropos on it.
She didn't say anything for a bit, so I started typing again.
Sorry, not sorry. I know I'm kinda the bad guy here. Sometimes the bad guy does bad stuff.
Don't even dare try to tell me it was for good reasons.
Hey, my reasons can be good enough, even if I'm not doing it just to be nice to you. Killing you, or letting them murder you, would've made my life that little bit harder.
Understood, and thank you again for that part. I'm still not even remotely thrilled about you hacking me, though.
I'd be worried if you were. Friends?
Don't push it.
Frenemies, then?
Maybe. Give it time.
Yes, ma'am.
<><>
■
■
(Showing page 1 of 10)►Bagrat (Veteran Member) (The Guy in the Know)
Replied On Jan 7th 2011:
Jesus fucking Christ, she did it.
Lung is dead.
He's not just dead, he's DEAD.
He burned to death.
I know, I know, that's impossible. But she did it anyway.
She somehow got him down, then introduced some stuff I'd never heard of called fluoro-antimonic acid (I think I got that right) into his heart and brain. When that reacted with the water in his body, it *caught fire* then released hydrogen fluoride. Which, by the way, is utterly unfriendly to living tissue in every way possible.
I never knew a gas could be an acid. Live and cringe in terror, I guess.
(Just to note: the HF is currently contained, and in the process of being safely neutralised. We're at least good on that front.)
But back to the main news. Lung is dead, folks. I saw the body. You don't get much deader than that.
And I'm not even going to speculate on how she spoofed the Dragonslayers into attacking him first.
I'm signing off. I have a date with several stiff drinks.
PS: Skidmark, if you know what's good for you, get out of town now.
►Eclipse66
Replied On Jan 7th 2011:
And then there was one. Is Skidmark going to be the smartest gang leader in Brockton or will he die like the rest? Find out in the next episode of Atropos: The Deadliest Reality Show!
►RipItUp
Replied On Jan 7th 2011:
Knew it. I wonder who her new targets will be after Skidmark? Or will she take a rest after that? And what's with that Dragonslayers thing, anyway? Anyone got any clues?
►Atrim
Replied On Jan 7th 2011:
Fluoroantimonic acid?
God Damn that would be a hard death.
Good for the PRT, though. They clearly deployed in force, and quickly responded to Lungs death and containing the fallout.
►Reave (Verified PRT Agent)
Replied On Jan 7th 2011:
Well, okay then. Time for the usual offer.
Atropos, you're clearly extremely dedicated to what you're doing. So far, no innocents have been harmed by your actions, but some could've been with this last stunt. Releasing hydrogen fluoride into the street? What were you thinking?
You need to turn yourself in before someone does get hurt or killed who's not on your target list.
►Atropos (Original Poster) (
Replied On Jan 7th 2011:
Aww, that's sweet. That makes it twice I've been given the "join us" spiel just tonight. (Not from the bad guys, either. That was all "RAWR You die now".)
And while I appreciate it—don't think I don't—I'm going to have to turn you down yet again. We just wouldn't be a good fit, with all your 'not allowed to kill people' rules, I just know it.
As for the 'releasing hydrogen fluoride' thing, Lady Photon was right there. You guys had it under control.
►ManyCandies
Replied On Jan 7th 2011:
Huh, so Atropos was right. Lung was indeed the low-hanging fruit, if he went down this easily.
►UnconcernedFox
Replied On Jan 7th 2011:
*grabs a bucket of fresh popcorn, after checking it for exotic and scary acids*
►GreatAndTerribleAisha
Replied On Jan 7th 2011:
Holy fuck, I am your biggest fan, Atropos! The way you're taking out the gangs like a boss? Fuckin' poetry. You're a real badass!
Any chance of a selfie? I'd totes make it my home screen!
■
<><>
<><>
Taylor
I grinned as I started typing again. To Great and Terrible Aisha, I'd love to. PM me, and we'll work something out.
It was nice to see that some people appreciated my work for what it was.
<><>
0830 Hours, Friday Jan 7
PRT ENE Building
Deputy Director's Office
Armsmaster
Deputy Director Renick frowned. "You say Atropos 'fuzzed' Dragon's sensors in some way? Did Dragon say how? Chaff, flares, whatever else you use?"
Colin shook his head. "She didn't say, sir. But there was no visible evidence of either one."
"Damn it." Renick tapped his desk with the blunt end of a pencil in thought. "Does this mean Atropos is a Tinker as well as a Thinker, or just that she's got Tinker support?"
"I don't like it either way, sir. But the way she manipulated the Dragonslayers into attacking Lung has me particularly concerned." Colin paused. "Oh, and on the 'good news' front, Dragon messaged me about an hour after she left. The thing she had to deal with was the rest of the Dragonslayers. Apparently she got there just before they would've all bugged out. Rolled up the whole gang, including the last powered armour pilot, Dobrynja."
"Well, at least that's something." Renick sat up and lightly slapped the desk. "Thank you for that report. Now, I believe it's time for you to get some more sleep, before the Director has both our heads."
"Yes, sir." Though Colin would never admit it, the long hours were starting to wear on him, and even the best coffee only carried him so far. "I'll see you this afternoon."
He was just turning toward the door when Renick's intercom buzzed. "Yes?" inquired the Deputy Director.
"Sorry to bother you on short notice, sir, but Aegis is here with Tenebrae. He says it's important."
"Oh, does he?" Renick raised an eyebrow. "Send them in."
In the absence of being directed to leave, Colin stayed as well. Aegis was a conscientious member of the Wards and normally he would've been catching shut-eye as per orders, which meant anything keeping him up would actually have to be important.
The door opened, and Aegis entered, followed by Tenebrae (previously Grue, of the Undersiders), the ENE branch's newest probationary Ward. Tall and muscular, with the air of someone who could handle himself in a rough and tumble, the boy had gone with a martial-arts style costume, with a mask that changed the contours of his face without appearing to do so. He wasn't actually going out with the Wards—the legal niceties hadn't yet been completed, so his membership was still in limbo—but he was spending as much time as possible with them so as to be acclimated when the final paperwork was concluded.
"Good morning, Aegis, Tenebrae," Renick said. "What's the situation?"
Aegis cleared his throat. "I know I should be in bed, sir, but Tenebrae came to me with something this morning, and we thought you should hear it." Turning to the ex-villain, he gave him a nudge. "Go ahead, tell them."
Tenebrae took a deep breath. "I've got a little sister. Her name's Aisha. Last night, after Atropos killed Lung, Aisha posted on PHO, asking for a selfie. Atropos replied, and ... well, they're due to meet up tomorrow and do the selfie. And when I saw the post this morning, I asked her about it, and she told me, and I don't know what to do about it."
The pencil was back in Renick's hand. "Well, then," he said softly. "That is a thing." Tap-tap, it went on the desk. Tap-tap.
"Should I tell her not to go?" Tenebrae was evidently used to giving orders rather than taking them, from the hesitation in the question. "It's just that if she gets it into her head to go ..."
Colin could fill the rest in. She'll go anyway, with or without permission. Teenagers were occasionally irritating like that.
Renick looked up, the pencil stilling in his hand. "No. But you will go with her."
"M-me, sir?" The young man pulled back a little, his expression showing confusion. "But I'm not—I'm just—"
"You will not go as a Ward," Renick explained. "You will go as her big brother. No wire, no tail. Given Atropos' prior demonstrated competence, she would spot any of that a mile away. You will solely be there to make sure your sister doesn't say or do anything stupid, or to apologise and get you both out of the line of fire if she does. Is that understood?"
Tenebrae nodded jerkily. "Yes. Yes, sir."
"Good." Renick leaned forward slightly. "You will, during the course of this interaction, observe Atropos. You've got experience in fighting. I want you to take her measure, and fill me in later on your impression of her."
"Yes, sir." Tenebrae seemed less certain, but he nodded anyway.
"Excellent. Dismissed."
Colin waited until the door closed behind them, then turned to Renick. "Isn't that just a little risky, sir?"
The Deputy Director rubbed his hands over his face; by the time he finished, he looked a decade older. "What isn't, Armsmaster?" he asked quietly. "We have minimal data on Atropos. This invitation is an opportunity to correct that. Our clear and unequivocal orders to Tenebrae to not engage under any circumstances are something she will assuredly pick up on, and she has a pattern of not harming those who don't try anything stupid with her."
"All true, sir." Colin grimaced. "I just hate the idea of sending innocents into harm's way."
Renick shook his head. "Do you think I like it any more than you do?" He took a long breath. "Go get some sleep."
"Yes, sir." Colin left the office.
But sleep would be a long time coming.
End of Part Twelve
[A/N: It'll probably be a couple of weeks before I put up another chapter for this fic. Sorry.]
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Part Thirteen: Preparation Beats Luck
Ack
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A Darker Path
Part Thirteen: Preparation Beats Luck
[A/N: this chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
Friday Morning, 8:45 AM
Hookwolf
The flophouse was as shitty as it could get, but Brad had lived in worse. Not during his time in Brockton Bay, of course. Accepting Max's offer to join the Empire Eighty-Eight had considerably bumped up his standard of living.
In any case, he wasn't thinking about the living conditions right now. Last night, that bitch Atropos had been due to take on Lung at midnight. He didn't have access to the internet, so he was reduced to watching the tiny, decrepit TV that he'd paid a few extra bucks for. It was an ancient model, able to pick up exactly two channels, with no remote in sight, but at least he could follow the news.
And now he was learning just how bad it was. Lung was the enemy, he knew that much. He'd tangled with the scaly bastard too often in the past to think any other way. But there was a kinship between them; they both understood fighting and the warrior mindset. He liked to think there was the same kind of wary respect between them as between ancient generals, where they used stuff like trebuchets and castles.
Atropos didn't deserve that sort of respect. She was an assassin, a murderer, a stealthy knife in the back. According to Max's PRT moles, she'd snuck into Coil's house and cut his throat while he slept. Okay, fine, taking out Oni Lee with his own gun was kind of badass, but that was probably by accident or something. As far as Brad was concerned, if you couldn't face your enemy head-on and beat the living fuck out of them the hard way, you weren't a fighter.
Max had been like that. Max had been a fighter. So had Lung.
But now Lung was dead too.
More than that, he'd been burned to death. According to the hushed voice of the newscaster, accompanied by shaky footage of a force field containing a horribly charred corpse, Atropos had put some kind of acid inside Lung's body and brain, and he'd burned alive from within.
He hadn't stood a chance, especially after those Dragonslayer cocksuckers had decided to attack him first, or maybe Atropos had paid them to do that? Brad wasn't clear on that bit, but it made sense. Cowards never fought head-on. They always got someone else to do their dirty work for them.
Up until now, he'd been considering the idea of staying in Brockton Bay anyway. Sure, the rest of the Empire had bugged out, but he'd figured he could get in touch with a few of them and make a gang of his own that could stand up to Lung. Call them Fenrir's Pack, or something like that. The few, the proud, the kickers of ass.
Lung's death changed everything. Victor had said that the Empire was dead with Kaiser, and they should just leave. Brad hadn't believed him then, but he was starting to come around to the idea.
Maybe I should just go. That way, Atropos won't have the chance to shank me in the middle of the night and call it a fair win.
There was a diffident knock at his door. He got up off the bed and turned off the TV, then went over to the door and opened it. "Yeah?"
The guy who ran the flophouse, a run-down little weasel of a guy called Maury, squinted back at him. Maury squinted at everyone because his eyesight was shitty and his glasses were the cheap kind. "Mr Edwards, got someone downstairs lookin' for you. Just a kid, I think, girl, long blonde hair."
'Edwards' was the name he'd checked in under, mainly because the PRT knew his real name. He was pretty sure Maury hadn't twigged to who he was, or he'd be talking with a lot more respect. "She give a name?"
Maury shook his head. Dandruff filtered out of his uncombed hair down onto his shoulders. "She said you'd know who it was."
Which narrowed it all the way down. The valkyrie twins weren't 'kids' by any stretch of the imagination, and Maury probably would've mentioned Othala's eyepatch, so Maury had to be referring to Rune. Why she hadn't left town with Othala, Brad wasn't sure, but it could only be her.
"Right." Brad didn't have much—he'd grabbed a half-assed bug-out bag from what had once been a safehouse before moving on—but he stepped back into the room to snag the backpack from where he'd stuffed it under the bed. He very specifically didn't trust Maury to keep his shit safe when he was out of the room.
Slinging the pack over his shoulder, he double-timed it down the stairs to the dingy lobby. There was still the drunk sleeping in a pool of his own vomit in the corner, but no Rune. Not that he blamed Tammi for not wanting to wait inside; Maury oozed his very own brand of creepazoid when he thought he'd encountered someone who'd run out of options.
Outside, through the decades of shit caked on the door glass, he thought he saw a slender figure wave for a moment before stepping out of sight. He settled his pack more securely over his shoulder and headed for the doors, shoving them open. Blinking against the glare, he looked around and saw Rune, about twenty feet away.
"Why the fuck didn't you leave town?" he demanded.
"Oh, I'm about to." The voice was all wrong. He blinked again, clearing his vision, and looked again. The girl was blonde alright, and about Tammi's age or maybe a year or so older, but it absolutely was not Rune. This girl had green eyes, and was wearing a hoodie and a baseball cap pulled low to shade her face. Her lips formed a wolfish grin. "Just had to help a friend do a thing." Putting two fingers to her lips, she let out a piercing whistle.
Shit—
Brad wouldn't have gotten where he was without picking up certain instincts, and those instincts were yelling DANGER! at the top of their hypothetical lungs. Scanning up and down the street for costumes, PRT vans, or even Atropos herself, he brought the metal to just under the surface of his skin. At a moment's notice, he'd be able to pop foot-long razor-sharp claws.
"Atropos?" he growled, metal clashing in his throat to give his voice extra menace.
She stepped back away from him. "No, not Atropos." Her grin widened. "Tattletale."
Tattletale—Undersiders—fucking BITCH!
Far too late, he looked up.
And that was when the two-ton dog landed on him.
Tattletale
Lisa knew damn well Hookwolf had killed a lot of people and injured many more, but she wasn't someone who enjoyed watching torture. Rachel had told her dogs to 'hurt', and that was what they were doing; growling, ripping, tearing, but not actually finishing the job. Between the three of them, they had him at their mercy, and Lisa knew it.
"Think he's had enough?" she asked the stocky girl beside her as Angelica tore off an arm made of metallic blades and threw it aside. "I'm pretty sure he's never had his ass kicked this thoroughly before."
"He stood there and watched hundreds of dogs get maimed and killed, and laughed, and enjoyed it." Rachel's voice was matter-of-fact. "He needs to know what that's like."
"You know, I'm pretty sure he does," chimed in Alec, who was watching from a little farther away. He'd offered his services for keeping Hookwolf from getting away, though in the end it hadn't been necessary. "Right now, you're just kicking him while he's down. That gets boring after a while."
Lisa was pretty certain Alec wasn't saying it out of any mercy toward Hookwolf; he just wanted to get out of the city, as did she, and Rachel was their ride.
"Mmmh." Rachel nodded. "Okay." She whistled shrilly, and made a hand gesture. "Kill."
The dogs … killed.
World Affairs Class
Taylor
I sat watching Gladly writing on the board, fully aware of the Atropos costume currently stashed in my backpack. Nobody had tried to mess with my homework all week, which was good; it meant I didn't have to run any Paths to murder someone inside the school, or even maim them. My Path to End Skidmark's career and the influence of the Merchants drifted in the back of my mind, along with incipient Paths to deal with the various threats that were still out there.
More than I'd expected, really. It seemed a lot of people had been invested in Brockton Bay remaining a crime-riddled shithole. Well, that was just their bad luck.
"Hey, Taylor!" whispered Greg from beside me. "Guess what I saw on the news just now?"
I frowned. There were many things that could interest Greg on the news, and I was pretty sure a lot of them wouldn't grab me. On the other hand, absent the constant pressure of the bullying, Greg's cluelessness wasn't so hard to tolerate. "I have no idea. What?"
"Hookwolf's dead." He looked like he couldn't quite believe it himself. "They say Hellhound's dogs tore him to pieces this morning."
Well, that explained why Hookwolf had so suddenly dropped off my radar. I'd known he was going to cease to be a threat, but I'd actually chalked it up to getting cold feet once he saw Lung's demise. "Well, that's different. Another one bites the dust, I guess?"
"Damn right." He looked unexpectedly fierce for a moment. "One of Mom's friends is black. He got cut up by Hookwolf once. He lived, but he's never been the same since. I'd like to give Hellhound a high-five."
"Eh, she'd probably punch you." While considering how to End Coil, I'd looked into trying a Path to Ending the criminal activity of the Undersiders by recruiting them as minions, but Hellhound (or Bitch, as she preferred) needed way too many steps to keep happy, so I'd dropped the idea. Grue was in the Wards program now anyway, which I didn't have a problem with.
Though I found it interesting that a tentative Path to ending the PRT's distrust of me had suddenly snapped into focus when Aisha asked for the selfie and I agreed to meet her. It seemed her brother Brian—the self-same Grue, now rebranded as Tenebrae—was being sent along as a chaperone. Not as a Ward, just as a big brother. It seemed that if I could hang and chill with them for a bit, and Brian could bring back a favourable report, they'd be able to dial back the perceived threat level. After all, if the heroes didn't try to kill me, I wasn't going to kill them.
This wouldn't be the whole of the Path, of course, but it would be a very good beginning.
Also, unless I missed my guess, this would boost Tenebrae's standing among his fellow Wards to near-legendary status. Not that I cared one way or the other, but he seemed to be doing his best for his sister, and I could respect the hell out of that.
Though I wasn't quite sure why this part of the Path required that I bring along a quarter in my pocket. But I didn't question it. If it wanted me to bring a quarter, I'd bring a quarter.
Mr Gladly started enthusiastically explaining what he'd written on the board, and I began to pay attention once more.
That Afternoon
The bus stop was absolutely in a crappy section of town. That didn't matter; I wouldn't be there long. I stepped off the bus, ignoring the dubious look on the driver's face, and headed down the nearest dark alley.
There were two guys sleeping in it; or rather, one guy sleeping and one dozing. The not so sleepy guy woke up and attempted to grab me. I chose not to kill him, but unfortunately for him, you have to kick someone very hard indeed in the testicles before it's life-threatening.
(It is possible to kill someone by kicking them in the groin; I just chose not to do it this time.)
By the time I left the other end of the alley, I was wearing my full Atropos costume; mainly because that had slightly more chance of causing people to leave me alone than traipsing around as Taylor Hebert. While I knew exactly where I was going—Squealer's current workshop—I didn't know where it was, because my power was the one reading the map. Fortunately, I was able to just let my footsteps take their own path and sure enough, I was there within minutes. An abandoned-looking garage, looming over other dilapidated, decrepit buildings.
Acting on a suggestion from my power, I pulled aside a sheet of galvanised iron that had been artistically leaned up against a wall of the garage, to reveal a keypad mounted roughly on the wall. I zoned out, allowing my power to type in the security code; my eyebrows rose when it turned out to be an eight-digit PIN. It turned out Squealer was invested in her security.
Not invested enough, sadly. She would've been a lot more secure if she'd had her setup elsewhere. Like, say, Jersey City. In the same city as me, it would never be secure enough. She would never be secure enough.
With the entry of the last digit, a door let into the wall clicked and swung open slightly. I grinned; open sesame. Shoving the sheet of metal back over the pad, I went over to the door and carefully pushed it open farther.
It wasn't trapped; or rather, the traps had been disarmed. I stepped inside, allowing it to swing shut behind me. The garage was deserted and dark; no tools clanged, no arc-welders shot sparks into the air. That this was a place where such things happened, I had no doubt. The signs, even the smells, of recent engineering work were plentiful. And in the middle of it all … what I was looking for.
Ironically, it looked less like a total travesty of mechanical engineering than most of Squealer's work. Only a few odd-looking antennae and armatures marred the brutal lines of the oversized truck; even the makeshift armour welded onto the chassis was almost aerodynamic. But that didn't matter to me at all.
I was no Tinker, but a constant truism was that the more complicated a mechanism, the easier it was to make it fail in a truly spectacular way. The bench held the tools I needed, along with the electronic bits and pieces. While the truck door was locked, I knew I wouldn't even need the Screwdriver of Opening; Squealer had left me plenty of ways to get into her pride and joy undetected.
It took me about thirty seconds to jigger the heavily armoured, securely locked door, swing it open and climb into the cab. From there on, it was essentially painting by the numbers. The first bit of sabotage involved popping off a panel on the dash and wiring in a remote receiver; I then glued the fuck out of that panel because I didn't want Squealer getting in there for any reason.
The second bit of sabotage involved components that she'd installed but never set up for activation. This was kind of a pity, so I made sure they would activate when I wanted them to, how I wanted them to. Next, I fiddled with the pedal linkages, making sure that when Squealer tried to make a certain thing happen, a certain other thing would happen instead.
With the truck locked again, I spent some little time first with her angle-grinder then her oxy-acetylene torch (making use of her welding goggles), making sure that forty-eight specific pieces of metal wouldn't be anywhere near as secure as they appeared. By the time I'd finished, the air inside the garage was nice and toasty, which was perfect for my requirements. Almost as an afterthought, I stole one of her cans of spray-paint, a nice cheery yellow in colour.
I slipped out of her workshop and closed the door behind me, then reached in under the sheet of metal to press the button that reset the traps inside. She was definitely going to find out about my various bits of sabotage, but according to my timetable, not hers.
Humming a tune that had the Mission Impossible theme as one of its remote ancestors, I changed back to boring, normal Taylor Hebert and headed back toward the bus stop. Dad would be getting home in good time, and I wanted to have dinner started when he did.
One of the things I truly appreciated about my power was how it had allowed me to take charge of my own life and be more proactive about things. My renewed connection with Dad was a direct result of this, and I couldn't have been happier about it.
Dockworkers Association
Head of Hiring Office
Danny
Kurt leaned in through the office door, holding a cold can of beer. "Hey, Danny. Get your nose away from that grindstone. Five o'clock, time to relax and kick back."
Danny blinked, then looked at the office clock. "Shit, it is too." He looked at the next document he'd been about to peruse, grimaced, and dropped it back into the IN tray. It would keep until Monday. Standing up, he stretched, feeling vertebrae popping in his back. "Time to get home."
Rolling his eyes, Kurt waved the can enticingly. "Jeez, man, come on. Have one with us before you hit the road. You've been working like a madman all week as it is."
Danny hesitated. "I don't like leaving Taylor home alone too long. She'll worry if I'm late …"
That drew a snort from his long-time friend. "You just got through telling us how she's been doing so much better this week. And besides, she's a teenager. Knowing how to use a phone, even that relic you guys have nailed to the wall of your kitchen, is part of their genetics. If she gets worried, she'll call. C'mon into the break room and have a brewski with us."
"Okay, fine." Kurt made some good points, and the beer in his hand was looking better and better all the time. Besides, it was Friday afternoon. Danny rounded the desk and snagged the beer from Kurt's hand on the way past.
They convened in the break room, sitting around the ancient table that predated everyone there, even Danny. Someone had once made a joke about how George Hebert, his father, had salvaged it off Noah's Ark, and Danny figured that probably wasn't far off the truth. The once-pristine veneer was almost worn clean off it, and there were more scratches, ancient cigarette burns (the DWA had been non-smoking for years now) and initials carved into the surface than he could count.
Cracking the can open, Danny took a long pull of the beer. It tasted heavenly as it went down, and he felt himself palpably relaxing. Stretching out his legs under the table, he leaned back. "Yeah," he said. "This was a good idea. Thanks for twisting my arm, Kurt."
"Hey, what are friends for?" Kurt saluted him with his own beer before taking a drink himself. "Oh, yeah. That's the stuff."
Lacey, Alex and Gerry each mimicked the move, and the next few moments were filled with pleasant, silent contemplation. Danny took another drink of his beer, not so deeply this time. He wanted it to last.
"So, hey," Lacey said thoughtfully. "What do you guys reckon about this new cape? Atropos?"
"Scary as fuck," Gerry replied immediately. "I know a guy who knows a guy who said that what she used on Lung was some kind of super-acid, a billion times as bad as sulphuric. The name started with 'fluoro' or something."
Danny blinked. He'd heard about stuff like that, as part of briefings on things no Dockworker would ever be authorised to come near, let alone handle. Any substance with 'fluoro' as part of the name was generally to be avoided like the plague. From what he'd heard, the plague would be friendlier.
"Jesus Christ," muttered Kurt. "No wonder he went down so hard."
"But that's what you'd need, for a cape like Lung," Alex argued. "He fuckin' fought Leviathan, mano a mano. Name one other cape in the Bay who's done that."
There was a moment of silence to acknowledge the truth of his statement, then Lacey took up the thread once more. "But that was before he came here and built up the ABB. He could've been a hero. He could've gone and fought Endbringers again. He didn't. He stayed here in Brockton Bay, dealt drugs, ran prostitution rings, murdered people, extorted protection, and generally acted like a total piece of shit. You ask me, Atropos was one hundred percent justified in what she did."
"But she bloody well murdered him," protested Gerry. "Somehow injected that super-acid shit inside him, then watched him die."
"What, burned him to death, like his victims? The ones he didn't rip apart like a wild animal?" Alex, Danny recalled belatedly, had lost a police officer friend to the Asian crime lord. "She gave him fair warning. After Oni Lee, Coil, and Kaiser, the writing was on the wall."
"He's got a point, you know," Kurt said semi-apologetically to Gerry. "Lung was a stain on the city, and Atropos gave him fair warning."
"Just like she gave Coil and Kaiser, I guess," Danny found himself saying. "Not Oni Lee, though."
Lacey rolled her eyes. "That asshole? I'm pretty sure he killed more people than Lung. He was supposed to be nearly unkillable. If you thought you had the drop on him, he was right behind you."
"Yeah." Alex chuckled, finishing his beer and reaching for a new one out of the bar fridge. "But Atropos was one step ahead of him. Pow, bullet to the head. Wham bam, thank you, scary ma'am."
Kurt opened another beer as well. "Oni Lee didn't get a warning," he said thoughtfully. "That's because Oni Lee was a warning. A warning that Atropos wasn't going to play by the rules that everyone else thought were set in stone."
"Yeah," agreed Lacey. "The bad guys liked the rules just how they were. Even after Oni Lee bit it, they thought they were untouchable."
"But if she could kill them, she could've captured them," protested Gerry. "Handed them over to the PRT. Fair trial and all that jazz."
Danny shook his head, not actually disagreeing with Gerry's point but aware of where he was going wrong. "You know what happens when high-end villains end up in custody, especially if they've got gangs at their beck and call. It might take a few days or even a week, but they're always busted out. The last Brockton Bay villains to actually make it to the Birdcage were …" He paused, thinking back.
"Marquis and Galvanate," supplied Kurt. "Marquis never had any capes under him, and Galvanate's underlings got their powers from him, so they weren't able to break him loose."
"And now Atropos is supplying a one-way trip to the morgue instead." Alex shrugged. "Let's see 'em bust out of that."
"I can't believe you guys are being so callous about all this." Gerry shook his head. "They might've been villains, but they were still human beings."
"Really shitty human beings." Lacey peered into her can and finished it off. "Might I remind you that they've all killed innocents, sometimes quite brutally. Kaiser and Lung ran gangs that were frankly racist as fuck. I dunno what Coil's deal was, but he had to be pretty damn bad to make Atropos' list. And Skidmark … well, the Merchants are barely a gang, but they supply drugs to half of the Bay, and that includes to schoolkids. So, he's pretty damn certain got some deaths on his account too. If he doesn't take the hint … well, at midnight tonight we get a new obituary and not one single solitary thing of value will be lost."
Danny drained the last of his own beer and tossed it overhand into the trash can. It caromed off the rim then went in anyway, and he stretched. He knew he should be moving along, but the conversation was oddly intriguing. "You sound like you approve of what she's doing," he said to Lacey.
"Why wouldn't I?" Lacey gave him a hard stare. "She's taking out the trash, and it's well past time it was done. Don't try to tell me you don't agree with me, Danny Hebert. I know you better than that."
"That's not what I'm talking about." Danny shook his head, trying to muster his argument. "This has happened before. Not in the Bay, but in Boston. Remember that? The Games?"
"I heard a bit about it …" Alex said dubiously.
"Shit," Kurt muttered. "Yeah, that got bad."
"Bad isn't the half of it," Gerry agreed. "People died. Innocents. Some villains. And in the end, nothing changed. Villains went right back to running the underworld. Hail to the new boss, same as the old boss. You want to see that in the Bay?"
Lacey shook her head. "We won't see that in the Bay."
Danny tilted his head, curious. "Why not?"
She chuckled darkly. "Because Atropos isn't just doing this for shits and giggles. She's about ten moves ahead of the PRT, playing four-dimensional chess, and they still think they're playing Go Fish. You know that reference she made about skinning a cat? I asked some people I know about that."
"Yeah?" asked Alex. "What was that about?"
"The sword she stabbed through Kaiser's eye belonged to him, is what I heard," she explained. "It was called a katzbalger, which is apparently a slang German term with several meanings, one of which is 'cat skinner'. She stole it from his house, two days before she killed him with it. And I heard a rumour that she mixed up that hell-brew she killed Lung with in the basement of the Medhall building, the same night she made Kaiser's head into a shish kebab."
"So, what's this got to do with new villains coming to the Bay?" asked Gerry. "Maybe villains who aren't willing to accept that the Dockworkers are neutral?"
Lacey rolled her eyes. "Four nights, four extremely precise and well-thought-out kills, of people you and I would normally consider beyond assassination. If any other costumed idiots come to Brockton Bay, she's gonna warn them off, then she's gonna kill them. Tell me I'm wrong."
Silence fell, broken only by the ticking of the clock on the wall. Danny glanced at Kurt, who hooked his head toward Lacey and nodded; yeah, not going to argue with that. Alex seemed to be contemplating the far wall in a semi-trance; Danny wasn't sure how many beers the younger man had had.
"They … might kill her," argued Gerry, but Danny could hear the doubt in his voice.
"She walked into a room full of Empire Eighty-Eight, ended Kaiser with his own sword, and scared the rest so badly they left town," Lacey said flatly. "If any villains come to the Bay looking to carve out a chunk of the action, they'd better not start any long conversations, is all I'm saying."
"Talking about long conversations," Danny said, standing up, "it's time I bowed out of this one. Thanks for the beer and the chat. See you all on Monday."
Amid multiple goodbyes, he made his way out the door and got in the car. For a moment he sat quietly, then turned the ignition key.
Lacey's comments hadn't actually come as much of a surprise to him, but they were definitely something to think about on the way home.
End of Part Thirteen
[A/N: Part Fourteen under prep now. Expect in a day or three.]
Part Thirteen: Preparation Beats Luck
[A/N: this chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
Friday Morning, 8:45 AM
Hookwolf
The flophouse was as shitty as it could get, but Brad had lived in worse. Not during his time in Brockton Bay, of course. Accepting Max's offer to join the Empire Eighty-Eight had considerably bumped up his standard of living.
In any case, he wasn't thinking about the living conditions right now. Last night, that bitch Atropos had been due to take on Lung at midnight. He didn't have access to the internet, so he was reduced to watching the tiny, decrepit TV that he'd paid a few extra bucks for. It was an ancient model, able to pick up exactly two channels, with no remote in sight, but at least he could follow the news.
And now he was learning just how bad it was. Lung was the enemy, he knew that much. He'd tangled with the scaly bastard too often in the past to think any other way. But there was a kinship between them; they both understood fighting and the warrior mindset. He liked to think there was the same kind of wary respect between them as between ancient generals, where they used stuff like trebuchets and castles.
Atropos didn't deserve that sort of respect. She was an assassin, a murderer, a stealthy knife in the back. According to Max's PRT moles, she'd snuck into Coil's house and cut his throat while he slept. Okay, fine, taking out Oni Lee with his own gun was kind of badass, but that was probably by accident or something. As far as Brad was concerned, if you couldn't face your enemy head-on and beat the living fuck out of them the hard way, you weren't a fighter.
Max had been like that. Max had been a fighter. So had Lung.
But now Lung was dead too.
More than that, he'd been burned to death. According to the hushed voice of the newscaster, accompanied by shaky footage of a force field containing a horribly charred corpse, Atropos had put some kind of acid inside Lung's body and brain, and he'd burned alive from within.
He hadn't stood a chance, especially after those Dragonslayer cocksuckers had decided to attack him first, or maybe Atropos had paid them to do that? Brad wasn't clear on that bit, but it made sense. Cowards never fought head-on. They always got someone else to do their dirty work for them.
Up until now, he'd been considering the idea of staying in Brockton Bay anyway. Sure, the rest of the Empire had bugged out, but he'd figured he could get in touch with a few of them and make a gang of his own that could stand up to Lung. Call them Fenrir's Pack, or something like that. The few, the proud, the kickers of ass.
Lung's death changed everything. Victor had said that the Empire was dead with Kaiser, and they should just leave. Brad hadn't believed him then, but he was starting to come around to the idea.
Maybe I should just go. That way, Atropos won't have the chance to shank me in the middle of the night and call it a fair win.
There was a diffident knock at his door. He got up off the bed and turned off the TV, then went over to the door and opened it. "Yeah?"
The guy who ran the flophouse, a run-down little weasel of a guy called Maury, squinted back at him. Maury squinted at everyone because his eyesight was shitty and his glasses were the cheap kind. "Mr Edwards, got someone downstairs lookin' for you. Just a kid, I think, girl, long blonde hair."
'Edwards' was the name he'd checked in under, mainly because the PRT knew his real name. He was pretty sure Maury hadn't twigged to who he was, or he'd be talking with a lot more respect. "She give a name?"
Maury shook his head. Dandruff filtered out of his uncombed hair down onto his shoulders. "She said you'd know who it was."
Which narrowed it all the way down. The valkyrie twins weren't 'kids' by any stretch of the imagination, and Maury probably would've mentioned Othala's eyepatch, so Maury had to be referring to Rune. Why she hadn't left town with Othala, Brad wasn't sure, but it could only be her.
"Right." Brad didn't have much—he'd grabbed a half-assed bug-out bag from what had once been a safehouse before moving on—but he stepped back into the room to snag the backpack from where he'd stuffed it under the bed. He very specifically didn't trust Maury to keep his shit safe when he was out of the room.
Slinging the pack over his shoulder, he double-timed it down the stairs to the dingy lobby. There was still the drunk sleeping in a pool of his own vomit in the corner, but no Rune. Not that he blamed Tammi for not wanting to wait inside; Maury oozed his very own brand of creepazoid when he thought he'd encountered someone who'd run out of options.
Outside, through the decades of shit caked on the door glass, he thought he saw a slender figure wave for a moment before stepping out of sight. He settled his pack more securely over his shoulder and headed for the doors, shoving them open. Blinking against the glare, he looked around and saw Rune, about twenty feet away.
"Why the fuck didn't you leave town?" he demanded.
"Oh, I'm about to." The voice was all wrong. He blinked again, clearing his vision, and looked again. The girl was blonde alright, and about Tammi's age or maybe a year or so older, but it absolutely was not Rune. This girl had green eyes, and was wearing a hoodie and a baseball cap pulled low to shade her face. Her lips formed a wolfish grin. "Just had to help a friend do a thing." Putting two fingers to her lips, she let out a piercing whistle.
Shit—
Brad wouldn't have gotten where he was without picking up certain instincts, and those instincts were yelling DANGER! at the top of their hypothetical lungs. Scanning up and down the street for costumes, PRT vans, or even Atropos herself, he brought the metal to just under the surface of his skin. At a moment's notice, he'd be able to pop foot-long razor-sharp claws.
"Atropos?" he growled, metal clashing in his throat to give his voice extra menace.
She stepped back away from him. "No, not Atropos." Her grin widened. "Tattletale."
Tattletale—Undersiders—fucking BITCH!
Far too late, he looked up.
And that was when the two-ton dog landed on him.
<><>
Tattletale
Lisa knew damn well Hookwolf had killed a lot of people and injured many more, but she wasn't someone who enjoyed watching torture. Rachel had told her dogs to 'hurt', and that was what they were doing; growling, ripping, tearing, but not actually finishing the job. Between the three of them, they had him at their mercy, and Lisa knew it.
"Think he's had enough?" she asked the stocky girl beside her as Angelica tore off an arm made of metallic blades and threw it aside. "I'm pretty sure he's never had his ass kicked this thoroughly before."
"He stood there and watched hundreds of dogs get maimed and killed, and laughed, and enjoyed it." Rachel's voice was matter-of-fact. "He needs to know what that's like."
"You know, I'm pretty sure he does," chimed in Alec, who was watching from a little farther away. He'd offered his services for keeping Hookwolf from getting away, though in the end it hadn't been necessary. "Right now, you're just kicking him while he's down. That gets boring after a while."
Lisa was pretty certain Alec wasn't saying it out of any mercy toward Hookwolf; he just wanted to get out of the city, as did she, and Rachel was their ride.
"Mmmh." Rachel nodded. "Okay." She whistled shrilly, and made a hand gesture. "Kill."
The dogs … killed.
<><>
World Affairs Class
Taylor
I sat watching Gladly writing on the board, fully aware of the Atropos costume currently stashed in my backpack. Nobody had tried to mess with my homework all week, which was good; it meant I didn't have to run any Paths to murder someone inside the school, or even maim them. My Path to End Skidmark's career and the influence of the Merchants drifted in the back of my mind, along with incipient Paths to deal with the various threats that were still out there.
More than I'd expected, really. It seemed a lot of people had been invested in Brockton Bay remaining a crime-riddled shithole. Well, that was just their bad luck.
"Hey, Taylor!" whispered Greg from beside me. "Guess what I saw on the news just now?"
I frowned. There were many things that could interest Greg on the news, and I was pretty sure a lot of them wouldn't grab me. On the other hand, absent the constant pressure of the bullying, Greg's cluelessness wasn't so hard to tolerate. "I have no idea. What?"
"Hookwolf's dead." He looked like he couldn't quite believe it himself. "They say Hellhound's dogs tore him to pieces this morning."
Well, that explained why Hookwolf had so suddenly dropped off my radar. I'd known he was going to cease to be a threat, but I'd actually chalked it up to getting cold feet once he saw Lung's demise. "Well, that's different. Another one bites the dust, I guess?"
"Damn right." He looked unexpectedly fierce for a moment. "One of Mom's friends is black. He got cut up by Hookwolf once. He lived, but he's never been the same since. I'd like to give Hellhound a high-five."
"Eh, she'd probably punch you." While considering how to End Coil, I'd looked into trying a Path to Ending the criminal activity of the Undersiders by recruiting them as minions, but Hellhound (or Bitch, as she preferred) needed way too many steps to keep happy, so I'd dropped the idea. Grue was in the Wards program now anyway, which I didn't have a problem with.
Though I found it interesting that a tentative Path to ending the PRT's distrust of me had suddenly snapped into focus when Aisha asked for the selfie and I agreed to meet her. It seemed her brother Brian—the self-same Grue, now rebranded as Tenebrae—was being sent along as a chaperone. Not as a Ward, just as a big brother. It seemed that if I could hang and chill with them for a bit, and Brian could bring back a favourable report, they'd be able to dial back the perceived threat level. After all, if the heroes didn't try to kill me, I wasn't going to kill them.
This wouldn't be the whole of the Path, of course, but it would be a very good beginning.
Also, unless I missed my guess, this would boost Tenebrae's standing among his fellow Wards to near-legendary status. Not that I cared one way or the other, but he seemed to be doing his best for his sister, and I could respect the hell out of that.
Though I wasn't quite sure why this part of the Path required that I bring along a quarter in my pocket. But I didn't question it. If it wanted me to bring a quarter, I'd bring a quarter.
Mr Gladly started enthusiastically explaining what he'd written on the board, and I began to pay attention once more.
<><>
That Afternoon
The bus stop was absolutely in a crappy section of town. That didn't matter; I wouldn't be there long. I stepped off the bus, ignoring the dubious look on the driver's face, and headed down the nearest dark alley.
There were two guys sleeping in it; or rather, one guy sleeping and one dozing. The not so sleepy guy woke up and attempted to grab me. I chose not to kill him, but unfortunately for him, you have to kick someone very hard indeed in the testicles before it's life-threatening.
(It is possible to kill someone by kicking them in the groin; I just chose not to do it this time.)
By the time I left the other end of the alley, I was wearing my full Atropos costume; mainly because that had slightly more chance of causing people to leave me alone than traipsing around as Taylor Hebert. While I knew exactly where I was going—Squealer's current workshop—I didn't know where it was, because my power was the one reading the map. Fortunately, I was able to just let my footsteps take their own path and sure enough, I was there within minutes. An abandoned-looking garage, looming over other dilapidated, decrepit buildings.
Acting on a suggestion from my power, I pulled aside a sheet of galvanised iron that had been artistically leaned up against a wall of the garage, to reveal a keypad mounted roughly on the wall. I zoned out, allowing my power to type in the security code; my eyebrows rose when it turned out to be an eight-digit PIN. It turned out Squealer was invested in her security.
Not invested enough, sadly. She would've been a lot more secure if she'd had her setup elsewhere. Like, say, Jersey City. In the same city as me, it would never be secure enough. She would never be secure enough.
With the entry of the last digit, a door let into the wall clicked and swung open slightly. I grinned; open sesame. Shoving the sheet of metal back over the pad, I went over to the door and carefully pushed it open farther.
It wasn't trapped; or rather, the traps had been disarmed. I stepped inside, allowing it to swing shut behind me. The garage was deserted and dark; no tools clanged, no arc-welders shot sparks into the air. That this was a place where such things happened, I had no doubt. The signs, even the smells, of recent engineering work were plentiful. And in the middle of it all … what I was looking for.
Ironically, it looked less like a total travesty of mechanical engineering than most of Squealer's work. Only a few odd-looking antennae and armatures marred the brutal lines of the oversized truck; even the makeshift armour welded onto the chassis was almost aerodynamic. But that didn't matter to me at all.
I was no Tinker, but a constant truism was that the more complicated a mechanism, the easier it was to make it fail in a truly spectacular way. The bench held the tools I needed, along with the electronic bits and pieces. While the truck door was locked, I knew I wouldn't even need the Screwdriver of Opening; Squealer had left me plenty of ways to get into her pride and joy undetected.
It took me about thirty seconds to jigger the heavily armoured, securely locked door, swing it open and climb into the cab. From there on, it was essentially painting by the numbers. The first bit of sabotage involved popping off a panel on the dash and wiring in a remote receiver; I then glued the fuck out of that panel because I didn't want Squealer getting in there for any reason.
The second bit of sabotage involved components that she'd installed but never set up for activation. This was kind of a pity, so I made sure they would activate when I wanted them to, how I wanted them to. Next, I fiddled with the pedal linkages, making sure that when Squealer tried to make a certain thing happen, a certain other thing would happen instead.
With the truck locked again, I spent some little time first with her angle-grinder then her oxy-acetylene torch (making use of her welding goggles), making sure that forty-eight specific pieces of metal wouldn't be anywhere near as secure as they appeared. By the time I'd finished, the air inside the garage was nice and toasty, which was perfect for my requirements. Almost as an afterthought, I stole one of her cans of spray-paint, a nice cheery yellow in colour.
I slipped out of her workshop and closed the door behind me, then reached in under the sheet of metal to press the button that reset the traps inside. She was definitely going to find out about my various bits of sabotage, but according to my timetable, not hers.
Humming a tune that had the Mission Impossible theme as one of its remote ancestors, I changed back to boring, normal Taylor Hebert and headed back toward the bus stop. Dad would be getting home in good time, and I wanted to have dinner started when he did.
One of the things I truly appreciated about my power was how it had allowed me to take charge of my own life and be more proactive about things. My renewed connection with Dad was a direct result of this, and I couldn't have been happier about it.
<><>
Dockworkers Association
Head of Hiring Office
Danny
Kurt leaned in through the office door, holding a cold can of beer. "Hey, Danny. Get your nose away from that grindstone. Five o'clock, time to relax and kick back."
Danny blinked, then looked at the office clock. "Shit, it is too." He looked at the next document he'd been about to peruse, grimaced, and dropped it back into the IN tray. It would keep until Monday. Standing up, he stretched, feeling vertebrae popping in his back. "Time to get home."
Rolling his eyes, Kurt waved the can enticingly. "Jeez, man, come on. Have one with us before you hit the road. You've been working like a madman all week as it is."
Danny hesitated. "I don't like leaving Taylor home alone too long. She'll worry if I'm late …"
That drew a snort from his long-time friend. "You just got through telling us how she's been doing so much better this week. And besides, she's a teenager. Knowing how to use a phone, even that relic you guys have nailed to the wall of your kitchen, is part of their genetics. If she gets worried, she'll call. C'mon into the break room and have a brewski with us."
"Okay, fine." Kurt made some good points, and the beer in his hand was looking better and better all the time. Besides, it was Friday afternoon. Danny rounded the desk and snagged the beer from Kurt's hand on the way past.
They convened in the break room, sitting around the ancient table that predated everyone there, even Danny. Someone had once made a joke about how George Hebert, his father, had salvaged it off Noah's Ark, and Danny figured that probably wasn't far off the truth. The once-pristine veneer was almost worn clean off it, and there were more scratches, ancient cigarette burns (the DWA had been non-smoking for years now) and initials carved into the surface than he could count.
Cracking the can open, Danny took a long pull of the beer. It tasted heavenly as it went down, and he felt himself palpably relaxing. Stretching out his legs under the table, he leaned back. "Yeah," he said. "This was a good idea. Thanks for twisting my arm, Kurt."
"Hey, what are friends for?" Kurt saluted him with his own beer before taking a drink himself. "Oh, yeah. That's the stuff."
Lacey, Alex and Gerry each mimicked the move, and the next few moments were filled with pleasant, silent contemplation. Danny took another drink of his beer, not so deeply this time. He wanted it to last.
"So, hey," Lacey said thoughtfully. "What do you guys reckon about this new cape? Atropos?"
"Scary as fuck," Gerry replied immediately. "I know a guy who knows a guy who said that what she used on Lung was some kind of super-acid, a billion times as bad as sulphuric. The name started with 'fluoro' or something."
Danny blinked. He'd heard about stuff like that, as part of briefings on things no Dockworker would ever be authorised to come near, let alone handle. Any substance with 'fluoro' as part of the name was generally to be avoided like the plague. From what he'd heard, the plague would be friendlier.
"Jesus Christ," muttered Kurt. "No wonder he went down so hard."
"But that's what you'd need, for a cape like Lung," Alex argued. "He fuckin' fought Leviathan, mano a mano. Name one other cape in the Bay who's done that."
There was a moment of silence to acknowledge the truth of his statement, then Lacey took up the thread once more. "But that was before he came here and built up the ABB. He could've been a hero. He could've gone and fought Endbringers again. He didn't. He stayed here in Brockton Bay, dealt drugs, ran prostitution rings, murdered people, extorted protection, and generally acted like a total piece of shit. You ask me, Atropos was one hundred percent justified in what she did."
"But she bloody well murdered him," protested Gerry. "Somehow injected that super-acid shit inside him, then watched him die."
"What, burned him to death, like his victims? The ones he didn't rip apart like a wild animal?" Alex, Danny recalled belatedly, had lost a police officer friend to the Asian crime lord. "She gave him fair warning. After Oni Lee, Coil, and Kaiser, the writing was on the wall."
"He's got a point, you know," Kurt said semi-apologetically to Gerry. "Lung was a stain on the city, and Atropos gave him fair warning."
"Just like she gave Coil and Kaiser, I guess," Danny found himself saying. "Not Oni Lee, though."
Lacey rolled her eyes. "That asshole? I'm pretty sure he killed more people than Lung. He was supposed to be nearly unkillable. If you thought you had the drop on him, he was right behind you."
"Yeah." Alex chuckled, finishing his beer and reaching for a new one out of the bar fridge. "But Atropos was one step ahead of him. Pow, bullet to the head. Wham bam, thank you, scary ma'am."
Kurt opened another beer as well. "Oni Lee didn't get a warning," he said thoughtfully. "That's because Oni Lee was a warning. A warning that Atropos wasn't going to play by the rules that everyone else thought were set in stone."
"Yeah," agreed Lacey. "The bad guys liked the rules just how they were. Even after Oni Lee bit it, they thought they were untouchable."
"But if she could kill them, she could've captured them," protested Gerry. "Handed them over to the PRT. Fair trial and all that jazz."
Danny shook his head, not actually disagreeing with Gerry's point but aware of where he was going wrong. "You know what happens when high-end villains end up in custody, especially if they've got gangs at their beck and call. It might take a few days or even a week, but they're always busted out. The last Brockton Bay villains to actually make it to the Birdcage were …" He paused, thinking back.
"Marquis and Galvanate," supplied Kurt. "Marquis never had any capes under him, and Galvanate's underlings got their powers from him, so they weren't able to break him loose."
"And now Atropos is supplying a one-way trip to the morgue instead." Alex shrugged. "Let's see 'em bust out of that."
"I can't believe you guys are being so callous about all this." Gerry shook his head. "They might've been villains, but they were still human beings."
"Really shitty human beings." Lacey peered into her can and finished it off. "Might I remind you that they've all killed innocents, sometimes quite brutally. Kaiser and Lung ran gangs that were frankly racist as fuck. I dunno what Coil's deal was, but he had to be pretty damn bad to make Atropos' list. And Skidmark … well, the Merchants are barely a gang, but they supply drugs to half of the Bay, and that includes to schoolkids. So, he's pretty damn certain got some deaths on his account too. If he doesn't take the hint … well, at midnight tonight we get a new obituary and not one single solitary thing of value will be lost."
Danny drained the last of his own beer and tossed it overhand into the trash can. It caromed off the rim then went in anyway, and he stretched. He knew he should be moving along, but the conversation was oddly intriguing. "You sound like you approve of what she's doing," he said to Lacey.
"Why wouldn't I?" Lacey gave him a hard stare. "She's taking out the trash, and it's well past time it was done. Don't try to tell me you don't agree with me, Danny Hebert. I know you better than that."
"That's not what I'm talking about." Danny shook his head, trying to muster his argument. "This has happened before. Not in the Bay, but in Boston. Remember that? The Games?"
"I heard a bit about it …" Alex said dubiously.
"Shit," Kurt muttered. "Yeah, that got bad."
"Bad isn't the half of it," Gerry agreed. "People died. Innocents. Some villains. And in the end, nothing changed. Villains went right back to running the underworld. Hail to the new boss, same as the old boss. You want to see that in the Bay?"
Lacey shook her head. "We won't see that in the Bay."
Danny tilted his head, curious. "Why not?"
She chuckled darkly. "Because Atropos isn't just doing this for shits and giggles. She's about ten moves ahead of the PRT, playing four-dimensional chess, and they still think they're playing Go Fish. You know that reference she made about skinning a cat? I asked some people I know about that."
"Yeah?" asked Alex. "What was that about?"
"The sword she stabbed through Kaiser's eye belonged to him, is what I heard," she explained. "It was called a katzbalger, which is apparently a slang German term with several meanings, one of which is 'cat skinner'. She stole it from his house, two days before she killed him with it. And I heard a rumour that she mixed up that hell-brew she killed Lung with in the basement of the Medhall building, the same night she made Kaiser's head into a shish kebab."
"So, what's this got to do with new villains coming to the Bay?" asked Gerry. "Maybe villains who aren't willing to accept that the Dockworkers are neutral?"
Lacey rolled her eyes. "Four nights, four extremely precise and well-thought-out kills, of people you and I would normally consider beyond assassination. If any other costumed idiots come to Brockton Bay, she's gonna warn them off, then she's gonna kill them. Tell me I'm wrong."
Silence fell, broken only by the ticking of the clock on the wall. Danny glanced at Kurt, who hooked his head toward Lacey and nodded; yeah, not going to argue with that. Alex seemed to be contemplating the far wall in a semi-trance; Danny wasn't sure how many beers the younger man had had.
"They … might kill her," argued Gerry, but Danny could hear the doubt in his voice.
"She walked into a room full of Empire Eighty-Eight, ended Kaiser with his own sword, and scared the rest so badly they left town," Lacey said flatly. "If any villains come to the Bay looking to carve out a chunk of the action, they'd better not start any long conversations, is all I'm saying."
"Talking about long conversations," Danny said, standing up, "it's time I bowed out of this one. Thanks for the beer and the chat. See you all on Monday."
Amid multiple goodbyes, he made his way out the door and got in the car. For a moment he sat quietly, then turned the ignition key.
Lacey's comments hadn't actually come as much of a surprise to him, but they were definitely something to think about on the way home.
End of Part Thirteen
[A/N: Part Fourteen under prep now. Expect in a day or three.]
Part Fourteen: End of the Line
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A Darker Path
Part Fourteen: End of the Line
[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
PRT ENE, Conference Room A
Later That Afternoon
Director Piggot
Emily let her eyes rake over the room, reading the atmosphere in a sweep. Only PRT, Protectorate and Wards were present; she'd declined New Wave assistance this time around. Some of the people in the room were tense and some apprehensive, while Assault was doing a good impression of having dozed off. She cleared her throat theatrically; as expected, Battery elbowed him lightly in the ribs.
"Last night," Emily began deliberately, "was a shit show." She paused for a beat, then shook her head. "Correction; it would have been a shit show by any other metric, but for the fact that every single one of you obeyed orders, carried out your duties to the best of your ability, and there were no friendly casualties."
She stopped talking and looked around the room again. Her words seemed to have had the desired effect; after the faux chewing out, the praise was coming across twice as welcome. This was good; the last thing she wanted was a bunch of troops and capes who were unwilling to put in the effort because they didn't think it was worth it.
"Lung is dead, it's true," she said. "The Dragonslayers, as well. But that's not down to us. We didn't kill any of them. They died because they were stupid." She paused to allow a brief wave of chuckles to run its course. "We couldn't have stopped the Dragonslayers from attacking Lung, and attempting to save them from him would almost certainly have resulted in them still dead, and some of our own dead or injured. The forces we had available to engage him would not have been sufficient to force a retreat, and in any case I would not have ordered Aegis or Glory Girl to take on Lung. It might seem callous, but I am not prepared to sacrifice our younger and brighter heroes to save a couple of idiots in power armour. Neither was I prepared to send any of you against Atropos, just because Lung was too arrogant to leave town when warned."
Assault lifted two fingers in lieu of raising his hand. She gave him a nod of acknowledgement.
"Pretty sure taking Lung on wouldn't have done any good anyway," he said. "According to Atropos' post on PHO, they were there for her, and she decoyed them onto him. They came to the Bay to kill her, which meant they were gonna die no matter what. It seems to be her style."
"That is what my analysts have decided, yes," she confirmed. "I put in a query to Watchdog, to see what their Thinkers could figure out about her. It didn't go well. Two of their capes reported 'Vantablack' and 'infinity squared' as indicators for the danger level of directly engaging her, while a third one went into fetal position, mumbling about eyes in the darkness. That precog has now taken to wearing a tinfoil hat and refuses to even acknowledge the fact that Atropos exists."
The last trace of the previous humour was now gone from the room. Watchdog's reputation was not the best, unsurprisingly so as its predictions were usually so arcane or obscure that little real use could be made of them. Such an unequivocal series of statements left little to the imagination, and conveyed Emily's point to her captive audience. Don't be stupid when it comes to Atropos.
"Now," she said. "As anyone with eyes can probably see by now, Atropos is warning the villains off not only with her words but with her methods. Coil had his throat cut twice with the same weapon. Kaiser had a sword shoved all the way through his head. Lung died to a type of acid I still have trouble believing wasn't created by some demented Tinker. Each time she kills her target, she uses a more extreme method. If Skidmark had the common sense God gave a stunned gerbil, he would be out of town by now, and he may well be." She frowned. "But because that would actually make my life easier, I'm going to assume he isn't. Any questions so far?"
Aegis raised his hand. "I just want to verify that we're still on the same rules of engagement with Atropos."
Emily nodded. "You're only to engage her in the case that she poses a clear and present threat to the life or well-being of an innocent or a teammate," she confirmed. "Considering the way she killed Lung, I believe this is more imperative than ever. I do not intend to lose anyone to her just because they thought they could pull off a high-profile capture. On the other hand, we can still save Skidmark by taking him into custody, and I fully intend to make that happen if at all possible."
This time it was Kid Win who raised a hand. "We looked all over where the Merchants usually hang out, but we didn't spot Skidmark once last night, not even after the thing started with Lung. It's like he dug a hole and pulled it in after himself."
"Frightened rats have a habit of doing things like that," she agreed. "Tonight, we've got one target instead of two. The Wards will be carrying out patrols in other parts of the city, while the Protectorate capes will be scouring known hideouts and haunts for Skidmark, with PRT backup and support. If you find him, you subdue and arrest him. Let me be brutally honest; we should've done this long ago, but we allowed ourselves to be distracted by other matters. This won't be 'protective custody'. It will be arrest, pure and simple. Followed by charging with multiple crimes and then being held for trial."
"One more question." Assault had two fingers up again. "If we spot Skidmark at the same time as Atropos does, and it looks like she's going to get to him before we do, are we expected to face off against her to save someone like him?"
Emily leaned forward, fully aware that the recording for this meeting was audio only. She was also aware that every word she spoke on the topic would be scrutinized to a fare-thee-well by armchair generals, long after the fact.
"Yes," she said, shaking her head firmly from side to side. "Yes, you are." She paused. "Does anyone not understand? Raise your hand if you need further clarification."
Every hand stayed down.
A Little Later
Tenebrae
Brian raised his hand and knocked on Director Piggot's door, then waited.
"Enter!" she called from within.
Opening the door, he stepped inside, closing it carefully behind him. "Tenebrae reporting as ordered, ma'am."
"Mr Laborn," she said blandly, looking him over. "Unfortunately, I don't hear much from your side of things, so how are you getting along with the other Wards?"
He noted her use of the word 'other', intended to convey that he was already a part of the team. "Reasonably well, ma'am. I don't necessarily have much in common with some of them, but everyone's giving me a fair shake. I'm getting a good vibe out of it. Vista's already met Aisha, and they're getting along frighteningly well."
"Good, good." She clasped her hands together, giving the impression that she was now getting to the nitty-gritty of the matter. "Have you been following the news today?"
The sudden change in topic caught him off balance. "Uh … no, ma'am. Has something important happened?"
"Not in the grand scheme of things, no. But there was a cape battle at about nine this morning, in one of the more run-down areas that the Empire Eighty-Eight used to control." Her concentration on him redoubled. "All the evidence points toward Hookwolf being attacked and killed by your ex-teammate, Hellhound. Rachel Lindt."
By the time he absorbed what that meant, it was already too late to look shocked, so he didn't. Instead, he told the simple truth. "Unfortunately, that doesn't surprise me."
"I'm going to need you to explain that." There was no mistaking the command as a request.
He took a deep breath. "Hookwolf was just stubborn enough to stick around and see if Atropos could really kill Lung. And Rachel … Rachel hated Hookwolf with a passion. Definitely enough to kill him. See, he used to preside over dogfights, which left dozens of dogs dead or mutilated. Rachel's power makes her empathise very strongly with dogs. I've known her to yell at people for carrying their dogs everywhere or putting stupid sweaters on them. If she was leaving town, and knew Hookwolf was still here … yeah, I can see her going out of her way to kill him before she left."
"I see." She rubbed her lower lip with her thumbnail. "Is she likely to take this anger out on anyone else? Are we going to see a wave of random citizens killed by monster dogs because she thinks they deserve it?"
Hoping he was right, he shook his head. "I don't really think so, no. Hookwolf was the main offender in all this. Now that he's dead, Tattletale will be telling her to get out of town, and she listens to Tattletale … sometimes."
"I see." She paused for another long moment. "One more question, regarding the upcoming meeting with Atropos."
Right on cue, a chill ran down his back. "Yes, ma'am?"
"You're fully aware of your role in this, yes?" Her gaze was intent again. "This may have been set up by Deputy Director Renick, but I have no intention of allowing it to go wrong."
He nodded. "To be Aisha's chaperone and big brother, and to get her out if she offends Atropos. Also, to observe and report on my impressions of Atropos."
"Excellent. Now." She leaned forward slightly. "I understand you didn't volunteer for this. What are your feelings about simply being told that you're doing it?"
"Complicated." He took another deep breath. "I'm scared, of course. I've never killed anyone. Not really sure I could, if it came down to it. If Atropos could murder Lung and Kaiser so theatrically, to a schedule, all the while manipulating the people around them like puppets on a string, I doubt I'd stand a chance against her. But …"
"But …?" She made a go on gesture.
"But … Aisha needs me to be there. And I'm not about to mess this up for her. Too many other people have treated her needs and wants like she's worthless. So, I'm going to be there for her."
"A laudable goal." Her eyes didn't shift away from him. "Do you see any obstacles to you being in the Wards, going forward?"
"Not really." He knew that was a nothing answer, so he tried to elaborate. "Triumph already spoke to me and asked that exact question. He also informed me that as the Wards team leader, he was in the loop about me being an ex-villain; just as a heads-up, not as something to hold over me. I told him that so long as he was okay with my past, I was good with being in the Wards."
"I'm glad to hear it." Brian would've bet a large amount of money right then that Triumph would soon be called into the Director's office, to hear the other side of that same conversation. "You'll be doubling up with Gallant on the console tonight, to nail down any problems you have with procedures there. Understood?"
He nodded firmly. "Yes, ma'am. Understood."
"Good. Dismissed."
Danny
Pleasant odours wafted through the kitchen as Danny stirred the pasta dish Taylor had started before he got home. It was nearly ready; he figured another fifteen minutes to finish cooking, and another fifteen after that before they could eat. Definitely better than the mac & cheese they'd subsisted on far too many times when he was in his depressive moods.
"Dad?" Taylor leaned in through the doorway from the living room. She'd been doing her homework upstairs, and was even now holding an exercise book. "Can I ask you a question, or are you busy?"
"Not that busy," he said. Giving the pasta one last stir, he put the lid back on the pot and turned to face her. "I'm not sure how I'll be able to help with your homework, but feel free to ask anyway."
"This is a Brockton Bay thing," she said, stepping all the way into the kitchen. "Mr Gladly wants us to do a report on the aftermath of the gangs. What's likely to stop happening now that Oni Lee and Lung are out of the picture, and what the remainder of the ABB's probably going to keep doing, stuff like that."
"Wow, he's not pulling any punches, is he?" Danny asked, leaning against the table while he thought about the question. It wasn't a topic he would've thought a high school teacher would introduce. But then, he wouldn't have expected four major capes to be killed in a row, either.
She rolled her eyes in typical teen fashion. "He likes to think he's avant-garde and ahead of the curve, whatever that means."
That wasn't actually too far from the impression Danny had gotten during the one meeting he'd had with the man. "Well … the ABB has been doing the protection racket since forever, backed by Lung. I suspect that'll go by the wayside. Likewise, the drug trade is likely to at least walk itself back to levels sustainable by non-capes. Then there's the prostitution …" He grimaced.
"The ABB runs prostitutes?" Taylor looked surprised and troubled. "I never knew that."
Danny hadn't wanted to go there, but Taylor was a bright kid and she would've put the pieces together eventually anyway. "The rumour is that the ABB grabs girls off the street in poor neighbourhoods, and they end up in the unlicensed brothels. I don't know how true this is, but I have heard stories about girls just vanishing."
"Jesus." She shook her head. "Why don't the cops do anything? Or the PRT?"
He shrugged. "Poor neighbourhoods. Most of the tenants have prior experience with law enforcement that isn't so great, and they don't trust the cops to listen. And to be fair, some cops are on the take, and others just plain don't care. As for the PRT, you've got to prove it was a cape crime before they can step in."
"I thought we were better than that." Her hand, where she was holding the exercise book, had clenched so much that her knuckles had turned white. "Someone should do something."
Lacey's words came back to him. She's taking out the trash, and it's well past time it was done. "Someone is doing something, remember?"
She looked up at him. "So, you think Atropos is doing the right thing?"
A hollow chuckle came to his lips. "Not necessarily the right thing, but … sometimes, all you've got are bad options. And if I'm being brutally honest, I'm not sure anything less would actually work for this city, right now." He fixed her with a stern gaze. "Don't quote me on that."
"Wouldn't dream of it. Thanks, Dad!" She turned and headed back through the living room again.
"You're welcome." He wandered through into the living room himself and found the remote. Ten minutes of TV before it was time to start serving dinner sounded about right.
Taylor
Path to Ending the influence of the ABB in Brockton Bay.
Once Skidmark is dead, post on PHO and call them out for everything Dad said; the protection, the drugs, the kidnapping girls and the prostitution. That'll get their attention and put them on notice. And then if they come after me, or if they just ignore me and keep doing it …
Taylor's musings were interrupted by a sudden flash of a vision. Her power had shown her things before, but never as clearly as this. It was an unused warehouse, she knew this instinctively. Arrayed on the floor, sprawled in death—she knew that too—were young women and even girls, some she was sure were younger than herself. Their throats had been cut, the blood allowed to pool together into one grotesque lake in which they were the islands. A gleaming pair of shears, the blades dulled with blood, lay nearby. Words, written on a nearby wall in the same blood, read: THEY OFFENDED ATROPOS. It was 'signed' with a rough outline of shears.
The image she saw wasn't immediate, she knew that instinctively. It would come about after midnight, as a direct result of the message she intended to send. The perpetrators would be deliberately attempting to draw attention away from themselves and toward her.
Such an act would entirely overturn the Path she was setting out on by meeting Aisha. No matter how she protested or proved she was elsewhere, and that she had no reason to murder them, the PRT would never begin to trust her. Whether they placed a Birdcage sentence or even a kill order on her, it would hamper further Paths to an unacceptable degree.
In addition, they sought to dilute her brand, to put their mark on the name of Atropos, and that was unacceptable. I kill in the name of Atropos. Nobody else has my permission to do so.
Deep down, she was aware that allowing the deaths of the girls would be wrong in another way altogether, but she didn't allow that to affect her conclusions. The would-be perpetrators were going to die anyway. Nobody screws with my Paths.
Another Path unfolded itself in her mind. How to End that shit before it happens. She smiled grimly. Congratulations, dipshits. You just got my attention.
10:03 PM
Squealer
Sherrel pulled aside the sheet of galvanised iron and tapped in the eight-digit passcode. When the door clicked open, she strode on into the garage, flicking just one light switch on the panel just inside the door; a ceiling flood came on, bathing the massive truck in light. "All aboard, assholes!" she proclaimed, hitting the remote fob that unlocked the armoured doors.
"Fuck you too," Skidmark said fondly, smacking her ass on the way past. "I'm not an asshole, I'm the asshole. 'Cause I supply the best shit in town."
A joke like that was like a guy's dick, Sherrel decided. It would be much more appreciated if he didn't whip it out every chance he got. "Yeah, yeah," she said out loud. "If you're brewin' any farts, let 'em out now, 'cause we're gonna be locked in with each other for the next two hours an' change, an' I didn't sign up to drive no rolling Dutch oven."
"One time," whined Mush. "One fuckin' time." He pulled the truck door open and climbed up inside, then scrambled back into the nest he'd made up for himself.
"Once is enough for one of your farts," Sherrel sniped back, and climbed up into the cab while Skidmark went around to the passenger-side door.
"Hey," said Skidmark as he climbed in. "How come you gave me an ejector seat to sit in?"
Sherrel shrugged. "I always build ejector seats. Sometimes I just don't rig 'em to eject. Yours is safe. It's not connected to shit."
"Oh. Okay."
Once they were all in and settled, she pressed the button to power up the oversized engine. All the dashboard lights came on, one after the other, until she was satisfied that the vehicle was in proper running order. Then she flipped up a cover and pressed a green button. Below the button was a label that promptly lit up: CLOAKING FIELD ACTIVE.
"Time to hit the fuckin' road, bitches!" crowed Skidmark. "Put your head between your legs and kiss your nasty ass goodbye, 'cause we're going to town."
Sherrel pressed the button on the remote taped to the dash, and the large roller-door rumbled and squeaked and squealed upward until it was out of the way. Letting out the clutch a little, she idled the truck forward until it was clear of the garage, then hit the button again. As they pulled away onto the road, she could see in her rear-view camera that the garage door was rumbling downward again.
The plan was simplicity itself: they would drive around Brockton Bay in the invisible, soundless armoured truck until well after midnight. Once Atropos admitted defeat in her nightly PHO post, they could head back to base. Fuck Atropos, and fuck every cape she'd already killed. They were smarter than everyone.
11:30
Lord Street
Taylor
I pulled over in my 'borrowed' car and parked at the side of the road. Currently I was wearing all but the mask and hat; to any curious passer-by, I would have seemed to be a slightly more formally-dressed motorist than normal. I was happy to maintain that illusion for just a little while longer.
Although I saw and heard nothing—Squealer's cloaking tech was sincerely bullshit—I knew exactly when the truck was about to pass by, at something over the speed limit. I knew where I could've gotten a rifle with armour-piercing rounds, to blind-snipe him through the window, but I'd chosen instead to go with the most horrifyingly spectacular kill I could manage under the time constraints. So, as it whipped by, I merely pressed the first remote button.
Under the dash of the hurtling monstrosity, a timer was now counting down.
14:59
14:58
14:57
14:56
11:45 PM
Armsmaster
Colin changed down a gear and cruised around a corner, mindful of the PRT van trailing him at a discreet distance. The area he was in had long since been marked out for Merchant activity; the trick was determining what was old and what was fresh. As he was scanning the street ahead for movement, his radio earpiece crackled.
"Assault here. We've located what we figure is where Squealer's been working. Signs of fresh activity, last day or so. No sign of her, Skidmark or Mush. Tyre tracks of a large vehicle, in the ten-ton range, also not here. Over."
"Armsmaster copies," Colin answered automatically. "Send me your location. I might be able to—"
He broke off because the impossible had just happened. Just as he'd been slowing to take another turn, a large Tinker-built truck had appeared in the middle of the intersection, right in front of him. Trailing shreds of electricity, it went from totally invisible and silent to extremely present and thunderously loud as it boomed though the intersection and off down the street.
Colin locked up the front and rear wheels on his bike and skidded to a halt, staring in the wake of the vehicle.
"Ah, Armsmaster, you're gonna have to repeat your last," Assault replied. "You cut out in the middle there, over."
"Never mind," Colin snapped, jamming his bike into gear. "Everyone, home on my signal. I just spotted them. In pursuit. Armsmaster, out."
As his bike left a long smoking trail of rubber in the haste of its acceleration, he locked his sensors onto the receding truck.
You're not getting away this time.
Skidmark
The meth in his pipe was the best quality, and Adam was enjoying his night to the fullest. Who gave a shit that some pretentious wannabe assassin was after his hot-shit ass? Nobody could get to him. Nobody and nothing. They didn't even know where he was. They couldn't see him.
"Run, run, run, as fast as you can," he slurred. "Can't catch me, 'cause you got shit for brains."
"Fuck," muttered Squealer, peering at the rearview camera. "They can see us."
"No, they can't," Adam said automatically. "Your cloaking thingy don't let them. We're 'visible and shit."
Squealer glared at the green button and pressed it several times in a row. The little message about the cloaking field never changed. She then tried to wedge her nails under a dashboard panel, which didn't budge. "Well, we've got three PRT vans and a chopper, plus Armsmaster and Velocity, all trying to climb up our exhaust pipe. I think they can fucking see us."
"Oh. Shit." Adrenaline flushed through his system, prodding him toward a semblance of sobriety. "Want me to do anything?"
"I'll let you know," she said tensely. "In the meantime, strap the fuck in."
Muttering to himself, he started fumbling with the five-point straps. What was the point of a cloaking field, he wanted to know, if it didn't cloak?
11:59 PM
Taylor
Humming to myself, I finished using the yellow spray paint to mark out a large rectangle in the middle of the road, then placed the can itself right on the edge of the rectangle. As I heard the sound of a distant engine, I knew it was nearly showtime; reaching into my pocket, I took out the second remote and held it in my left hand. Then I stepped back until I was about three yards back from the rectangle, and waited.
It didn't take long.
Armsmaster
Colin gritted his teeth and tried again to ease up alongside the oversized truck, but Squealer was just too good a driver. All she had to do was dance her multi-ton vehicle sideways a few feet, and he'd be kissing asphalt. Letting off on the throttle, he backed off again.
"Console, this is Birdseye One, I have eyes on Atropos. She's about four hundred yards ahead, standing in the middle of the road, over."
"Shit," muttered Colin. He activated a HUD window and got an image from the chopper's cameras. Sure enough, there she was, standing foursquare just on the other side of a large yellow rectangle that had been painted on the road. Her long-coat blew sideways in a dramatic fashion as she raised her right hand, index and middle fingers pointed gun-fashion.
This is what she did with Kaiser.
There was a roar of exhaust from the massive truck as Squealer evidently decided to accelerate and run Atropos down. Colin had a feeling in the back of his mind that this was a) precisely what Atropos had expected them to do, and b) a very bad idea.
On the transmitted image, just as the timestamp ticked over to midnight, Atropos' hand kicked up, as though she'd fired an imaginary pistol. At the very same instant, visible on another image, the top of the truck cab burst open and Skidmark blasted out, riding an ejection seat ...
... which promptly flipped over forward, rocketing downward at an angle until it hit the roadway directly ahead of the speeding truck. With Skidmark under it.
The truck had a low front bumper. This caught the upturned ejection seat and forced it down onto the road as the truck kept going. Unfortunately, the seat was not constructed of the best materials, which meant that first it and then its contents—that is, Skidmark—were ground off onto the asphalt.
Squealer had to have realised this immediately, as the engine note changed and Colin heard the brakes come on. Then they came off again, and the engine roared once more. Off again. On again. Off again. On again.
When the truck finally came to an agonizing halt right in the middle of the yellow rectangle—from the way it stopped, Squealer had yanked something vital from under the dash—it was far too late for the boss of the Merchants. To put it bluntly, he had been smeared over more than two hundred yards of roadway.
Colin stopped his bike and climbed off. Just as he went to walk past the length of the truck, Atropos herself appeared at the front and raised her hand in a 'stop' gesture. He paused just for half a second, wondering what her intent was. Then he heard a slight metallic creaking; a moment later, with multiple pings and clangs, every single lug-nut broke away from the truck, and all six wheels came off at once.
The entire chassis hit the asphalt with an almighty crash, and the wheels rolled in all directions.
When he looked again, she was gone.
An ABB Safe House
Johnny Quan had always known the ABB were the 'bad' guys—good guys didn't extort money or services with menace—but he hadn't considered them to be the bad bad guys. He'd joined under coercion, and he'd done what he was told, mainly because he didn't want to be shot or stabbed or burned to death. But now, Oni Lee was dead, and Lung was dead, and many of the previous upper echelon were quietly filtering away.
Which Johnny thought was a good idea, but his colleagues seemed to have other priorities in mind. Specifically, the girls working under them in the unlicensed brothels. Minding them was a job Johnny had been doing for some time, and as he didn't consider himself a bad guy, he tried not to be an asshole with them. It was just a job, nothing personal. No need to make it any harder on them.
"So why don't we just, you know, go?" asked Johnny. "Once the girls realise we're gone, they can get out. They've got families to go back to." He really wasn't looking forward to facing the angry parents of any of the girls, which was why he was pushing to just leave.
"Can't do that," said Pham. "They know our faces. They talk to the cops, give our descriptions, we're fucked, see?"
"Well, it's not like we can take them with us." They had two cars. The girls wouldn't fit, not with all the luggage that was also going.
"No." Ken Tanaka was a big guy. "We gotta wait until we know if this Atropos bitch is gonna keep coming at the ABB. If she is, we gotta bail. And we can't leave them to tell the cops about us."
The penny finally dropped. "Kill them?" He shook his head. He hadn't signed up for this shit. "They'll get us for murder one. That's worse than just minding the girls."
"Nah. They won't. I been thinking about this, see?" Pham produced a large pair of shears. "We off 'em with these. Cut their throats. Put a message on the wall, 'They have offended Atropos' or some shit like that, see? Cops'll eat it up. They'll be all over the known murderer and we just walk. Free and easy, see?"
"Yeah, I see. And I'm not going to let you do it." Johnny reached for the gun in his waistband, but Ken grabbed his arms and held them behind him. "Hey, let me go!"
"Don't think so." Pham waved the shears in front of Johnny's eyes. "We can practice on you, see?"
"You first." The voice, that of a teenage girl, came from across the room. Johnny and the other two looked around, to see a dark-clad figure. She was also holding a pair of shears, but hers looked a whole heap deadlier.
"The fuck?" Ken stared, then his brain apparently caught up with his eyes. "Fuck, it's her!"
He let go Johnny's arms as Pham dropped the shears and scrabbled for the pistol he had tucked into his own waistband. But Atropos moved faster than either one of them. All Johnny saw was skeins of light reflecting off the shears as she crossed the room and slashed, then turned and slashed again. By the time he heard the double thump on the ground, he was huddled over in a kneeling position with his arms doubled over his head.
He heard footsteps moving across the floor, then they stopped beside him. The urge to piss himself was almost unbearable. Cloth whispered as she leaned down next to him. Her voice was a murmur next to his ear.
"Do better."
He stayed there for the next fifteen minutes, then peeked around cautiously. She was gone, only the cooling bodies of Pham and Ken showing that she'd ever been there.
Somehow, he knew that for the rest of his life, whenever he closed his eyes, he would hear those two words.
Danny
He was asleep when the sound of the twanging side-gate reached his ears and folded itself into his dreams, making him stir and roll over. When the back door opened, then closed with a definitive thump, the noise insinuated itself past his dream state and into his subconscious, where it ticked over a red flag. Someone is in the house.
Then the basement door opened and closed. He opened his eyes, just barely, not even sure why, and that was when he heard the footsteps. Crossing the living room and climbing the stairs.
Jarred fully awake by the realisation that the slow, steady boot-steps were not in his imagination, nor part of any dream, he sat up in bed. Grabbing the first thing that came to hand, a heavy flashlight, he crossed the room as quietly as he could. Then he wrenched the door open and clicked the flashlight on, shining it into the face of the intruder—
"Hi, Dad," said Taylor. She was wearing a familiar costume, carrying a broad-brimmed hat in one hand and a cloth mask in the other. "Looks like you caught me."
Her straightforward, matter-of-fact tone disarmed him; there was no attempt at denial or concealment of the truth. "Taylor?" he asked, still not sure if this was a dream or not. "You're Atropos?"
"Well, if I'm not, I'm for damn sure wearing her costume," Taylor confirmed with a breezy grin. "I'd say it's a long story, but it's really not. I've been taking steps to clean up Brockton Bay, the only way that'll stick."
This was rapidly becoming too much to deal with in his barely-awake state. "But … you're my daughter."
It was almost like a conjuring trick. The morph mask went on, then the hat over the top. A menacing stranger stood there, terrifying in the circle of illumination cast by the flashlight. A stranger who spoke with Taylor's voice. "And I'm also Atropos."
Just as fast, she removed them again, and grinned at him. "It's me, Dad. Really."
He felt he should protest, but not quite how. "You're … you're killing people."
She nodded, then shrugged. "You were right, this afternoon. This is all that'll work for this city, right now."
It was unfair, he felt, to use his own words back at him. "Can we talk about this in the morning?"
She gave him a flashing grin. "Absolutely. Night, Dad."
"Night, Taylor." He turned and went back into his room.
I have absolutely no idea how to handle this.
Taylor
As Dad's door closed, I went along to my room and got out of my costume. I hadn't sweated all that much, but I grabbed my pyjamas and trotted along the hallway to the bathroom for a shower anyway. As I turned my face to the spray and mentally composed the PHO post I'd be putting up in a few minutes, I smiled.
Path to End the need to lie to Dad about this: complete.
End of Part Fourteen
Part Fourteen: End of the Line
[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
PRT ENE, Conference Room A
Later That Afternoon
Director Piggot
Emily let her eyes rake over the room, reading the atmosphere in a sweep. Only PRT, Protectorate and Wards were present; she'd declined New Wave assistance this time around. Some of the people in the room were tense and some apprehensive, while Assault was doing a good impression of having dozed off. She cleared her throat theatrically; as expected, Battery elbowed him lightly in the ribs.
"Last night," Emily began deliberately, "was a shit show." She paused for a beat, then shook her head. "Correction; it would have been a shit show by any other metric, but for the fact that every single one of you obeyed orders, carried out your duties to the best of your ability, and there were no friendly casualties."
She stopped talking and looked around the room again. Her words seemed to have had the desired effect; after the faux chewing out, the praise was coming across twice as welcome. This was good; the last thing she wanted was a bunch of troops and capes who were unwilling to put in the effort because they didn't think it was worth it.
"Lung is dead, it's true," she said. "The Dragonslayers, as well. But that's not down to us. We didn't kill any of them. They died because they were stupid." She paused to allow a brief wave of chuckles to run its course. "We couldn't have stopped the Dragonslayers from attacking Lung, and attempting to save them from him would almost certainly have resulted in them still dead, and some of our own dead or injured. The forces we had available to engage him would not have been sufficient to force a retreat, and in any case I would not have ordered Aegis or Glory Girl to take on Lung. It might seem callous, but I am not prepared to sacrifice our younger and brighter heroes to save a couple of idiots in power armour. Neither was I prepared to send any of you against Atropos, just because Lung was too arrogant to leave town when warned."
Assault lifted two fingers in lieu of raising his hand. She gave him a nod of acknowledgement.
"Pretty sure taking Lung on wouldn't have done any good anyway," he said. "According to Atropos' post on PHO, they were there for her, and she decoyed them onto him. They came to the Bay to kill her, which meant they were gonna die no matter what. It seems to be her style."
"That is what my analysts have decided, yes," she confirmed. "I put in a query to Watchdog, to see what their Thinkers could figure out about her. It didn't go well. Two of their capes reported 'Vantablack' and 'infinity squared' as indicators for the danger level of directly engaging her, while a third one went into fetal position, mumbling about eyes in the darkness. That precog has now taken to wearing a tinfoil hat and refuses to even acknowledge the fact that Atropos exists."
The last trace of the previous humour was now gone from the room. Watchdog's reputation was not the best, unsurprisingly so as its predictions were usually so arcane or obscure that little real use could be made of them. Such an unequivocal series of statements left little to the imagination, and conveyed Emily's point to her captive audience. Don't be stupid when it comes to Atropos.
"Now," she said. "As anyone with eyes can probably see by now, Atropos is warning the villains off not only with her words but with her methods. Coil had his throat cut twice with the same weapon. Kaiser had a sword shoved all the way through his head. Lung died to a type of acid I still have trouble believing wasn't created by some demented Tinker. Each time she kills her target, she uses a more extreme method. If Skidmark had the common sense God gave a stunned gerbil, he would be out of town by now, and he may well be." She frowned. "But because that would actually make my life easier, I'm going to assume he isn't. Any questions so far?"
Aegis raised his hand. "I just want to verify that we're still on the same rules of engagement with Atropos."
Emily nodded. "You're only to engage her in the case that she poses a clear and present threat to the life or well-being of an innocent or a teammate," she confirmed. "Considering the way she killed Lung, I believe this is more imperative than ever. I do not intend to lose anyone to her just because they thought they could pull off a high-profile capture. On the other hand, we can still save Skidmark by taking him into custody, and I fully intend to make that happen if at all possible."
This time it was Kid Win who raised a hand. "We looked all over where the Merchants usually hang out, but we didn't spot Skidmark once last night, not even after the thing started with Lung. It's like he dug a hole and pulled it in after himself."
"Frightened rats have a habit of doing things like that," she agreed. "Tonight, we've got one target instead of two. The Wards will be carrying out patrols in other parts of the city, while the Protectorate capes will be scouring known hideouts and haunts for Skidmark, with PRT backup and support. If you find him, you subdue and arrest him. Let me be brutally honest; we should've done this long ago, but we allowed ourselves to be distracted by other matters. This won't be 'protective custody'. It will be arrest, pure and simple. Followed by charging with multiple crimes and then being held for trial."
"One more question." Assault had two fingers up again. "If we spot Skidmark at the same time as Atropos does, and it looks like she's going to get to him before we do, are we expected to face off against her to save someone like him?"
Emily leaned forward, fully aware that the recording for this meeting was audio only. She was also aware that every word she spoke on the topic would be scrutinized to a fare-thee-well by armchair generals, long after the fact.
"Yes," she said, shaking her head firmly from side to side. "Yes, you are." She paused. "Does anyone not understand? Raise your hand if you need further clarification."
Every hand stayed down.
<><>
A Little Later
Tenebrae
Brian raised his hand and knocked on Director Piggot's door, then waited.
"Enter!" she called from within.
Opening the door, he stepped inside, closing it carefully behind him. "Tenebrae reporting as ordered, ma'am."
"Mr Laborn," she said blandly, looking him over. "Unfortunately, I don't hear much from your side of things, so how are you getting along with the other Wards?"
He noted her use of the word 'other', intended to convey that he was already a part of the team. "Reasonably well, ma'am. I don't necessarily have much in common with some of them, but everyone's giving me a fair shake. I'm getting a good vibe out of it. Vista's already met Aisha, and they're getting along frighteningly well."
"Good, good." She clasped her hands together, giving the impression that she was now getting to the nitty-gritty of the matter. "Have you been following the news today?"
The sudden change in topic caught him off balance. "Uh … no, ma'am. Has something important happened?"
"Not in the grand scheme of things, no. But there was a cape battle at about nine this morning, in one of the more run-down areas that the Empire Eighty-Eight used to control." Her concentration on him redoubled. "All the evidence points toward Hookwolf being attacked and killed by your ex-teammate, Hellhound. Rachel Lindt."
By the time he absorbed what that meant, it was already too late to look shocked, so he didn't. Instead, he told the simple truth. "Unfortunately, that doesn't surprise me."
"I'm going to need you to explain that." There was no mistaking the command as a request.
He took a deep breath. "Hookwolf was just stubborn enough to stick around and see if Atropos could really kill Lung. And Rachel … Rachel hated Hookwolf with a passion. Definitely enough to kill him. See, he used to preside over dogfights, which left dozens of dogs dead or mutilated. Rachel's power makes her empathise very strongly with dogs. I've known her to yell at people for carrying their dogs everywhere or putting stupid sweaters on them. If she was leaving town, and knew Hookwolf was still here … yeah, I can see her going out of her way to kill him before she left."
"I see." She rubbed her lower lip with her thumbnail. "Is she likely to take this anger out on anyone else? Are we going to see a wave of random citizens killed by monster dogs because she thinks they deserve it?"
Hoping he was right, he shook his head. "I don't really think so, no. Hookwolf was the main offender in all this. Now that he's dead, Tattletale will be telling her to get out of town, and she listens to Tattletale … sometimes."
"I see." She paused for another long moment. "One more question, regarding the upcoming meeting with Atropos."
Right on cue, a chill ran down his back. "Yes, ma'am?"
"You're fully aware of your role in this, yes?" Her gaze was intent again. "This may have been set up by Deputy Director Renick, but I have no intention of allowing it to go wrong."
He nodded. "To be Aisha's chaperone and big brother, and to get her out if she offends Atropos. Also, to observe and report on my impressions of Atropos."
"Excellent. Now." She leaned forward slightly. "I understand you didn't volunteer for this. What are your feelings about simply being told that you're doing it?"
"Complicated." He took another deep breath. "I'm scared, of course. I've never killed anyone. Not really sure I could, if it came down to it. If Atropos could murder Lung and Kaiser so theatrically, to a schedule, all the while manipulating the people around them like puppets on a string, I doubt I'd stand a chance against her. But …"
"But …?" She made a go on gesture.
"But … Aisha needs me to be there. And I'm not about to mess this up for her. Too many other people have treated her needs and wants like she's worthless. So, I'm going to be there for her."
"A laudable goal." Her eyes didn't shift away from him. "Do you see any obstacles to you being in the Wards, going forward?"
"Not really." He knew that was a nothing answer, so he tried to elaborate. "Triumph already spoke to me and asked that exact question. He also informed me that as the Wards team leader, he was in the loop about me being an ex-villain; just as a heads-up, not as something to hold over me. I told him that so long as he was okay with my past, I was good with being in the Wards."
"I'm glad to hear it." Brian would've bet a large amount of money right then that Triumph would soon be called into the Director's office, to hear the other side of that same conversation. "You'll be doubling up with Gallant on the console tonight, to nail down any problems you have with procedures there. Understood?"
He nodded firmly. "Yes, ma'am. Understood."
"Good. Dismissed."
<><>
Danny
Pleasant odours wafted through the kitchen as Danny stirred the pasta dish Taylor had started before he got home. It was nearly ready; he figured another fifteen minutes to finish cooking, and another fifteen after that before they could eat. Definitely better than the mac & cheese they'd subsisted on far too many times when he was in his depressive moods.
"Dad?" Taylor leaned in through the doorway from the living room. She'd been doing her homework upstairs, and was even now holding an exercise book. "Can I ask you a question, or are you busy?"
"Not that busy," he said. Giving the pasta one last stir, he put the lid back on the pot and turned to face her. "I'm not sure how I'll be able to help with your homework, but feel free to ask anyway."
"This is a Brockton Bay thing," she said, stepping all the way into the kitchen. "Mr Gladly wants us to do a report on the aftermath of the gangs. What's likely to stop happening now that Oni Lee and Lung are out of the picture, and what the remainder of the ABB's probably going to keep doing, stuff like that."
"Wow, he's not pulling any punches, is he?" Danny asked, leaning against the table while he thought about the question. It wasn't a topic he would've thought a high school teacher would introduce. But then, he wouldn't have expected four major capes to be killed in a row, either.
She rolled her eyes in typical teen fashion. "He likes to think he's avant-garde and ahead of the curve, whatever that means."
That wasn't actually too far from the impression Danny had gotten during the one meeting he'd had with the man. "Well … the ABB has been doing the protection racket since forever, backed by Lung. I suspect that'll go by the wayside. Likewise, the drug trade is likely to at least walk itself back to levels sustainable by non-capes. Then there's the prostitution …" He grimaced.
"The ABB runs prostitutes?" Taylor looked surprised and troubled. "I never knew that."
Danny hadn't wanted to go there, but Taylor was a bright kid and she would've put the pieces together eventually anyway. "The rumour is that the ABB grabs girls off the street in poor neighbourhoods, and they end up in the unlicensed brothels. I don't know how true this is, but I have heard stories about girls just vanishing."
"Jesus." She shook her head. "Why don't the cops do anything? Or the PRT?"
He shrugged. "Poor neighbourhoods. Most of the tenants have prior experience with law enforcement that isn't so great, and they don't trust the cops to listen. And to be fair, some cops are on the take, and others just plain don't care. As for the PRT, you've got to prove it was a cape crime before they can step in."
"I thought we were better than that." Her hand, where she was holding the exercise book, had clenched so much that her knuckles had turned white. "Someone should do something."
Lacey's words came back to him. She's taking out the trash, and it's well past time it was done. "Someone is doing something, remember?"
She looked up at him. "So, you think Atropos is doing the right thing?"
A hollow chuckle came to his lips. "Not necessarily the right thing, but … sometimes, all you've got are bad options. And if I'm being brutally honest, I'm not sure anything less would actually work for this city, right now." He fixed her with a stern gaze. "Don't quote me on that."
"Wouldn't dream of it. Thanks, Dad!" She turned and headed back through the living room again.
"You're welcome." He wandered through into the living room himself and found the remote. Ten minutes of TV before it was time to start serving dinner sounded about right.
<><>
Taylor
Path to Ending the influence of the ABB in Brockton Bay.
Once Skidmark is dead, post on PHO and call them out for everything Dad said; the protection, the drugs, the kidnapping girls and the prostitution. That'll get their attention and put them on notice. And then if they come after me, or if they just ignore me and keep doing it …
Taylor's musings were interrupted by a sudden flash of a vision. Her power had shown her things before, but never as clearly as this. It was an unused warehouse, she knew this instinctively. Arrayed on the floor, sprawled in death—she knew that too—were young women and even girls, some she was sure were younger than herself. Their throats had been cut, the blood allowed to pool together into one grotesque lake in which they were the islands. A gleaming pair of shears, the blades dulled with blood, lay nearby. Words, written on a nearby wall in the same blood, read: THEY OFFENDED ATROPOS. It was 'signed' with a rough outline of shears.
The image she saw wasn't immediate, she knew that instinctively. It would come about after midnight, as a direct result of the message she intended to send. The perpetrators would be deliberately attempting to draw attention away from themselves and toward her.
Such an act would entirely overturn the Path she was setting out on by meeting Aisha. No matter how she protested or proved she was elsewhere, and that she had no reason to murder them, the PRT would never begin to trust her. Whether they placed a Birdcage sentence or even a kill order on her, it would hamper further Paths to an unacceptable degree.
In addition, they sought to dilute her brand, to put their mark on the name of Atropos, and that was unacceptable. I kill in the name of Atropos. Nobody else has my permission to do so.
Deep down, she was aware that allowing the deaths of the girls would be wrong in another way altogether, but she didn't allow that to affect her conclusions. The would-be perpetrators were going to die anyway. Nobody screws with my Paths.
Another Path unfolded itself in her mind. How to End that shit before it happens. She smiled grimly. Congratulations, dipshits. You just got my attention.
<><>
10:03 PM
Squealer
Sherrel pulled aside the sheet of galvanised iron and tapped in the eight-digit passcode. When the door clicked open, she strode on into the garage, flicking just one light switch on the panel just inside the door; a ceiling flood came on, bathing the massive truck in light. "All aboard, assholes!" she proclaimed, hitting the remote fob that unlocked the armoured doors.
"Fuck you too," Skidmark said fondly, smacking her ass on the way past. "I'm not an asshole, I'm the asshole. 'Cause I supply the best shit in town."
A joke like that was like a guy's dick, Sherrel decided. It would be much more appreciated if he didn't whip it out every chance he got. "Yeah, yeah," she said out loud. "If you're brewin' any farts, let 'em out now, 'cause we're gonna be locked in with each other for the next two hours an' change, an' I didn't sign up to drive no rolling Dutch oven."
"One time," whined Mush. "One fuckin' time." He pulled the truck door open and climbed up inside, then scrambled back into the nest he'd made up for himself.
"Once is enough for one of your farts," Sherrel sniped back, and climbed up into the cab while Skidmark went around to the passenger-side door.
"Hey," said Skidmark as he climbed in. "How come you gave me an ejector seat to sit in?"
Sherrel shrugged. "I always build ejector seats. Sometimes I just don't rig 'em to eject. Yours is safe. It's not connected to shit."
"Oh. Okay."
Once they were all in and settled, she pressed the button to power up the oversized engine. All the dashboard lights came on, one after the other, until she was satisfied that the vehicle was in proper running order. Then she flipped up a cover and pressed a green button. Below the button was a label that promptly lit up: CLOAKING FIELD ACTIVE.
"Time to hit the fuckin' road, bitches!" crowed Skidmark. "Put your head between your legs and kiss your nasty ass goodbye, 'cause we're going to town."
Sherrel pressed the button on the remote taped to the dash, and the large roller-door rumbled and squeaked and squealed upward until it was out of the way. Letting out the clutch a little, she idled the truck forward until it was clear of the garage, then hit the button again. As they pulled away onto the road, she could see in her rear-view camera that the garage door was rumbling downward again.
The plan was simplicity itself: they would drive around Brockton Bay in the invisible, soundless armoured truck until well after midnight. Once Atropos admitted defeat in her nightly PHO post, they could head back to base. Fuck Atropos, and fuck every cape she'd already killed. They were smarter than everyone.
<><>
11:30
Lord Street
Taylor
I pulled over in my 'borrowed' car and parked at the side of the road. Currently I was wearing all but the mask and hat; to any curious passer-by, I would have seemed to be a slightly more formally-dressed motorist than normal. I was happy to maintain that illusion for just a little while longer.
Although I saw and heard nothing—Squealer's cloaking tech was sincerely bullshit—I knew exactly when the truck was about to pass by, at something over the speed limit. I knew where I could've gotten a rifle with armour-piercing rounds, to blind-snipe him through the window, but I'd chosen instead to go with the most horrifyingly spectacular kill I could manage under the time constraints. So, as it whipped by, I merely pressed the first remote button.
Under the dash of the hurtling monstrosity, a timer was now counting down.
14:59
14:58
14:57
14:56
<><>
11:45 PM
Armsmaster
Colin changed down a gear and cruised around a corner, mindful of the PRT van trailing him at a discreet distance. The area he was in had long since been marked out for Merchant activity; the trick was determining what was old and what was fresh. As he was scanning the street ahead for movement, his radio earpiece crackled.
"Assault here. We've located what we figure is where Squealer's been working. Signs of fresh activity, last day or so. No sign of her, Skidmark or Mush. Tyre tracks of a large vehicle, in the ten-ton range, also not here. Over."
"Armsmaster copies," Colin answered automatically. "Send me your location. I might be able to—"
He broke off because the impossible had just happened. Just as he'd been slowing to take another turn, a large Tinker-built truck had appeared in the middle of the intersection, right in front of him. Trailing shreds of electricity, it went from totally invisible and silent to extremely present and thunderously loud as it boomed though the intersection and off down the street.
Colin locked up the front and rear wheels on his bike and skidded to a halt, staring in the wake of the vehicle.
"Ah, Armsmaster, you're gonna have to repeat your last," Assault replied. "You cut out in the middle there, over."
"Never mind," Colin snapped, jamming his bike into gear. "Everyone, home on my signal. I just spotted them. In pursuit. Armsmaster, out."
As his bike left a long smoking trail of rubber in the haste of its acceleration, he locked his sensors onto the receding truck.
You're not getting away this time.
<><>
Skidmark
The meth in his pipe was the best quality, and Adam was enjoying his night to the fullest. Who gave a shit that some pretentious wannabe assassin was after his hot-shit ass? Nobody could get to him. Nobody and nothing. They didn't even know where he was. They couldn't see him.
"Run, run, run, as fast as you can," he slurred. "Can't catch me, 'cause you got shit for brains."
"Fuck," muttered Squealer, peering at the rearview camera. "They can see us."
"No, they can't," Adam said automatically. "Your cloaking thingy don't let them. We're 'visible and shit."
Squealer glared at the green button and pressed it several times in a row. The little message about the cloaking field never changed. She then tried to wedge her nails under a dashboard panel, which didn't budge. "Well, we've got three PRT vans and a chopper, plus Armsmaster and Velocity, all trying to climb up our exhaust pipe. I think they can fucking see us."
"Oh. Shit." Adrenaline flushed through his system, prodding him toward a semblance of sobriety. "Want me to do anything?"
"I'll let you know," she said tensely. "In the meantime, strap the fuck in."
Muttering to himself, he started fumbling with the five-point straps. What was the point of a cloaking field, he wanted to know, if it didn't cloak?
<><>
11:59 PM
Taylor
Humming to myself, I finished using the yellow spray paint to mark out a large rectangle in the middle of the road, then placed the can itself right on the edge of the rectangle. As I heard the sound of a distant engine, I knew it was nearly showtime; reaching into my pocket, I took out the second remote and held it in my left hand. Then I stepped back until I was about three yards back from the rectangle, and waited.
It didn't take long.
<><>
Armsmaster
Colin gritted his teeth and tried again to ease up alongside the oversized truck, but Squealer was just too good a driver. All she had to do was dance her multi-ton vehicle sideways a few feet, and he'd be kissing asphalt. Letting off on the throttle, he backed off again.
"Console, this is Birdseye One, I have eyes on Atropos. She's about four hundred yards ahead, standing in the middle of the road, over."
"Shit," muttered Colin. He activated a HUD window and got an image from the chopper's cameras. Sure enough, there she was, standing foursquare just on the other side of a large yellow rectangle that had been painted on the road. Her long-coat blew sideways in a dramatic fashion as she raised her right hand, index and middle fingers pointed gun-fashion.
This is what she did with Kaiser.
There was a roar of exhaust from the massive truck as Squealer evidently decided to accelerate and run Atropos down. Colin had a feeling in the back of his mind that this was a) precisely what Atropos had expected them to do, and b) a very bad idea.
On the transmitted image, just as the timestamp ticked over to midnight, Atropos' hand kicked up, as though she'd fired an imaginary pistol. At the very same instant, visible on another image, the top of the truck cab burst open and Skidmark blasted out, riding an ejection seat ...
... which promptly flipped over forward, rocketing downward at an angle until it hit the roadway directly ahead of the speeding truck. With Skidmark under it.
The truck had a low front bumper. This caught the upturned ejection seat and forced it down onto the road as the truck kept going. Unfortunately, the seat was not constructed of the best materials, which meant that first it and then its contents—that is, Skidmark—were ground off onto the asphalt.
Squealer had to have realised this immediately, as the engine note changed and Colin heard the brakes come on. Then they came off again, and the engine roared once more. Off again. On again. Off again. On again.
When the truck finally came to an agonizing halt right in the middle of the yellow rectangle—from the way it stopped, Squealer had yanked something vital from under the dash—it was far too late for the boss of the Merchants. To put it bluntly, he had been smeared over more than two hundred yards of roadway.
Colin stopped his bike and climbed off. Just as he went to walk past the length of the truck, Atropos herself appeared at the front and raised her hand in a 'stop' gesture. He paused just for half a second, wondering what her intent was. Then he heard a slight metallic creaking; a moment later, with multiple pings and clangs, every single lug-nut broke away from the truck, and all six wheels came off at once.
The entire chassis hit the asphalt with an almighty crash, and the wheels rolled in all directions.
When he looked again, she was gone.
<><>
An ABB Safe House
Johnny Quan had always known the ABB were the 'bad' guys—good guys didn't extort money or services with menace—but he hadn't considered them to be the bad bad guys. He'd joined under coercion, and he'd done what he was told, mainly because he didn't want to be shot or stabbed or burned to death. But now, Oni Lee was dead, and Lung was dead, and many of the previous upper echelon were quietly filtering away.
Which Johnny thought was a good idea, but his colleagues seemed to have other priorities in mind. Specifically, the girls working under them in the unlicensed brothels. Minding them was a job Johnny had been doing for some time, and as he didn't consider himself a bad guy, he tried not to be an asshole with them. It was just a job, nothing personal. No need to make it any harder on them.
"So why don't we just, you know, go?" asked Johnny. "Once the girls realise we're gone, they can get out. They've got families to go back to." He really wasn't looking forward to facing the angry parents of any of the girls, which was why he was pushing to just leave.
"Can't do that," said Pham. "They know our faces. They talk to the cops, give our descriptions, we're fucked, see?"
"Well, it's not like we can take them with us." They had two cars. The girls wouldn't fit, not with all the luggage that was also going.
"No." Ken Tanaka was a big guy. "We gotta wait until we know if this Atropos bitch is gonna keep coming at the ABB. If she is, we gotta bail. And we can't leave them to tell the cops about us."
The penny finally dropped. "Kill them?" He shook his head. He hadn't signed up for this shit. "They'll get us for murder one. That's worse than just minding the girls."
"Nah. They won't. I been thinking about this, see?" Pham produced a large pair of shears. "We off 'em with these. Cut their throats. Put a message on the wall, 'They have offended Atropos' or some shit like that, see? Cops'll eat it up. They'll be all over the known murderer and we just walk. Free and easy, see?"
"Yeah, I see. And I'm not going to let you do it." Johnny reached for the gun in his waistband, but Ken grabbed his arms and held them behind him. "Hey, let me go!"
"Don't think so." Pham waved the shears in front of Johnny's eyes. "We can practice on you, see?"
"You first." The voice, that of a teenage girl, came from across the room. Johnny and the other two looked around, to see a dark-clad figure. She was also holding a pair of shears, but hers looked a whole heap deadlier.
"The fuck?" Ken stared, then his brain apparently caught up with his eyes. "Fuck, it's her!"
He let go Johnny's arms as Pham dropped the shears and scrabbled for the pistol he had tucked into his own waistband. But Atropos moved faster than either one of them. All Johnny saw was skeins of light reflecting off the shears as she crossed the room and slashed, then turned and slashed again. By the time he heard the double thump on the ground, he was huddled over in a kneeling position with his arms doubled over his head.
He heard footsteps moving across the floor, then they stopped beside him. The urge to piss himself was almost unbearable. Cloth whispered as she leaned down next to him. Her voice was a murmur next to his ear.
"Do better."
He stayed there for the next fifteen minutes, then peeked around cautiously. She was gone, only the cooling bodies of Pham and Ken showing that she'd ever been there.
Somehow, he knew that for the rest of his life, whenever he closed his eyes, he would hear those two words.
<><>
Danny
He was asleep when the sound of the twanging side-gate reached his ears and folded itself into his dreams, making him stir and roll over. When the back door opened, then closed with a definitive thump, the noise insinuated itself past his dream state and into his subconscious, where it ticked over a red flag. Someone is in the house.
Then the basement door opened and closed. He opened his eyes, just barely, not even sure why, and that was when he heard the footsteps. Crossing the living room and climbing the stairs.
Jarred fully awake by the realisation that the slow, steady boot-steps were not in his imagination, nor part of any dream, he sat up in bed. Grabbing the first thing that came to hand, a heavy flashlight, he crossed the room as quietly as he could. Then he wrenched the door open and clicked the flashlight on, shining it into the face of the intruder—
"Hi, Dad," said Taylor. She was wearing a familiar costume, carrying a broad-brimmed hat in one hand and a cloth mask in the other. "Looks like you caught me."
Her straightforward, matter-of-fact tone disarmed him; there was no attempt at denial or concealment of the truth. "Taylor?" he asked, still not sure if this was a dream or not. "You're Atropos?"
"Well, if I'm not, I'm for damn sure wearing her costume," Taylor confirmed with a breezy grin. "I'd say it's a long story, but it's really not. I've been taking steps to clean up Brockton Bay, the only way that'll stick."
This was rapidly becoming too much to deal with in his barely-awake state. "But … you're my daughter."
It was almost like a conjuring trick. The morph mask went on, then the hat over the top. A menacing stranger stood there, terrifying in the circle of illumination cast by the flashlight. A stranger who spoke with Taylor's voice. "And I'm also Atropos."
Just as fast, she removed them again, and grinned at him. "It's me, Dad. Really."
He felt he should protest, but not quite how. "You're … you're killing people."
She nodded, then shrugged. "You were right, this afternoon. This is all that'll work for this city, right now."
It was unfair, he felt, to use his own words back at him. "Can we talk about this in the morning?"
She gave him a flashing grin. "Absolutely. Night, Dad."
"Night, Taylor." He turned and went back into his room.
I have absolutely no idea how to handle this.
<><>
Taylor
As Dad's door closed, I went along to my room and got out of my costume. I hadn't sweated all that much, but I grabbed my pyjamas and trotted along the hallway to the bathroom for a shower anyway. As I turned my face to the spray and mentally composed the PHO post I'd be putting up in a few minutes, I smiled.
Path to End the need to lie to Dad about this: complete.
End of Part Fourteen
Part Fifteen: A Reaction Piece
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A Darker Path
Part Fifteen: Reaction Piece
[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
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♦ Topic: Four Down, Many More to Come
In: Boards ► Brockton Bay ► New Capes ► Atropos
Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
Posted On Jan 8th 2011:
Greetings once more to you wonderful people of Brockton Bay!
I don't even have to be ironic about saying that. Over the past week, I've killed five supervillains, which has in turn caused seventeen other villains to leave town for good. The average 'wonderful' aspect has definitely gone up a notch or two. (I've also done some other stuff, which has had its own beneficial effect, but we'll get to that later).
So, let's recap. All photos and footage (involuntarily) supplied by the PRT. Thanks, guys!
On Monday evening, I demonstrated to Oni Lee how proper gun handling was essential to a long and healthy life (mine).
[image: mask with bullethole]
Tuesday midnight was Coil's turn. He was always a two-faced asshole, so I cut his throat twice, once for each face.
[image: coroner pic]
Wednesday midnight, I stuck a katzbalger (rough translation: cat skinner) through Kaiser's head, and scattered the Empire Eighty-Eight far and wide.
[image: splitting headache]
Thursday just before midnight, the Dragonslayers came gunning for me. 'Somehow' their HUDs mistook Lung for me, and the Dragonslayers were slain by a dragon.
Oh, the irony.
Then Lung got to learn what it was like to burn to death, because irony cuts both ways.
[image: acid reflux]
And finally, just a little while ago, Skidmark became a real skidmark, along Lord Street.
[footage: Skidmark being yeeted]
[image: skidmark]
I understand they're mopping him up with a squeegee and bucket. Careful of that contact high, guys.
Now see, people might be upset with me for killing those guys, but the truth of the matter is that everything after Oni Lee happened because people don't pay attention. I warned everyone exactly what was going to happen. They thought they were untouchable.
Nobody's untouchable.
So, this is what's going to happen from here on in. Life is going to go on. The Undersiders are no more, and I'm going to give Faultline a little extra time to pick up her business and move it elsewhere, because while I do want her gone, she doesn't usually operate inside Brockton Bay so I've chosen to cut her some slack. As for the rest of the Brockton Bay criminal element, Imma leave them to the BBPD and PRT. They're probably unhappy because they've been left out of the action so far. You go, boys. I have faith in you.
On that note, there's still some corruption and incompetence within the ranks of the BBPD and the PRT ENE. You know who you are, and some of you know who they are. You get one chance to straighten yourselves and your buddies out before I come have a chat. You don't want that.
Just by the way: Uber and Leet, don't go anywhere just yet. I need to have a word with you.
One very specific note: the drug trade inside Brockton Bay *is* coming to an end, by word of me. I *will* find and destroy every last trace of hard drugs within this city, along with anyone who tries to stop me. Marijuana, coffee, booze and nicotine, I don't give a shit about. Anything harder than that will be gone. So will those who keep dealing it, after one warning.
Oh, and anyone who's thinking about doing copycat crimes or framing me for a kill, understand this. I have no problem with killing, but I take brand dilution *very* seriously, and I *will* murder the fuck out of anyone for even attempting it. Just ask the three ... well, two ... okay, one ABB guy whose idiot buddies were gonna kill some girls to cover their tracks. He was the smart one, and tried to stop them. Now they're dead and he's alive, and that's the way it should be.
And finally, the others. You know who you are. Those outside organizations and individuals who have suddenly realized that the criminal underworld in Brockton Bay just became a vacuum. You're all eyeing this city off like a bunch of hyenas closing in on a zebra with a broken leg.
I have one word for you:
Don't.
If you come to this city intending to start shit, you will die.
If you come to this city intending to kill me and then start shit, you will die *really horribly*.
If you come to this city intending to gather information, you will get your ass kicked then handed over to the PRT or the cops (depending on whether or not you're a cape).
If you send underlings into this city under the mistaken impression that this makes you safe from my retribution, you won't get them back *and* I'll tap you on the shoulder when you least expect it.
Yes, Valefor, that means you too. Don't make me come over there.
(Note that this also applies to anyone who tries shipping drugs or guns or any other kind of contraband into or through Brockton Bay. I *can* travel, I *will* find you, and I *will* murder you in a hilariously appropriate way.)
Specifically, everyone from the following list is banned from Brockton Bay on general principles (unless I make a personal exception):
Don't say I never did anything for you guys.
Anyways, you lovely people have a wonderful weekend, and I'll see you Monday. Or not.
Toodles!
►Bagrat (Veteran Member) (The Guy in the Know)
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
Oh, holy Christ. Where do I begin.
I attended the site where Skidmark died.
I've seen traffic accidents before. There are those where you have to laugh out loud at how stupid they are, those where you have to scratch your head and wonder exactly how that happened, the ones where you go 'ewww' at the sheer amount of damage, the ones where you have to turn away for a moment because of the tragedy … and the ones where you throw up.
I threw up.
Even Assault wasn't making inappropriate jokes (well, okay, one or two, but he gave up after nobody even groaned). It was just sheer visceral horror (and yes, that's part of what they're still scrubbing off two hundred yards of Lord Street).
Look, I'm just going to come out and say it. Atropos told us she would kill Skidmark if he didn't give himself up or get out of town. She made Lung's death so horrific nobody thought she could top it.
She topped it.
Skidmark is now a literal skidmark.
There, I said it.
On to slightly better news.
Squealer and Mush survived, the latter with a concussion because he wasn't strapped in when the vehicle stopped. Both are in custody, mainly due to the fact that Atropos didn't just kill Skidmark. She also killed the vehicle. Sometime before midnight, she gained access to Squealer's workshop and worked on the wheel studs (the things that lug nuts screw on to) with an angle-grinder and an oxy-torch to weaken them so that all forty-eight studs broke off at the same time (Armsmaster witnessed this personally), about five seconds after the vehicle came to a complete stop. All the wheels just fell off, and the vehicle ceased being a vehicle at that point.
Squealer was found still holding the steering wheel. It had come off in her hands at some point, but we're fairly sure that was just shoddy construction.
To further underline the sheer bullshit that is Atropos, she stole a can of yellow spray paint from Squealer's workshop (it was later matched up with other cans Squealer had in stock). She drew a rectangle on the road before the vehicle ever got there, and it stopped *precisely* inside that rectangle. She also drew six little x's on the road and sidewalk; when the wheels finished rolling around, each one landed on top of its own x. And finally, she left the can itself on the edge of the rectangle. When the wheels came off, the bumper landed on the can, crushing it flat and spraying everything around with yellow paint.
I don't even know what her rating is right now, but it needs to be upgraded.
Everyone on her list: stay the fuck away. I cannot emphasize this strongly enough. I don't *want* to see what she does to you. (Though … Cauldron? What the fuck is up with that?)
If anyone else said they were going to take out the Nine, I'd be dubious. Haha, nope. I'm going to stand way back over here and award points for style.
I suppose we should be glad that her attitude toward the PRT seems to be exasperated tolerance. It could be a whole fucking lot worse.
As for me, I think I need therapy. There is no way in hell I'm ever going to be able to unsee that.
If anyone wants me, I'll be in the shower, huddled in a fetal position.
►TheRealGloryGirl (Verified Cape) (Cape Daughter) (New Wave Member) (Temp Banned)
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
What? Come on now!
She flat-out murdered Skidmark, just like she murdered Lung, right in front of you guys, and you let her walk away AGAIN?
What part of "murder is a crime" are we having trouble with, here?
If you murder a murderer, the number of murderers doesn't change.
Yes, things need to be fixed, but NOT LIKE THIS!
Since when did the PRT become the Atropos Cheer Squad?
ARREST her already!
►TeamMom (Senior Moderator)
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
@TheRealGloryGirl - do not poke Atropos. Just ... don't. Have a temp ban while you think about how stupid that was.
@Atropos - Please don't kill her. Idiot teenagers are idiots.
►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
Oh, I had no intention of it. Everyone's entitled to their opinion, no matter how misguided. Personally, I think she's just butt-hurt because I've done more to fix crime in Brockton Bay in one week than she's done in three years.
See you around, GG.
►TheRealPanacea (Verified Cape) (Cape Daughter) (New Wave Member)
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
Vicky just broke her keyboard. She's going to be impossible to live with now. Atropos, I hope you're proud of yourself.
►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
*adds 'one keyboard' to kill list*
*whistles nonchalantly*
►Reave (Verified PRT Agent)
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
The PRT would like to verify the statement about the two ABB persons who Atropos has claimed as kills. We were called to an address in what used to be their territory, and found two males who had been killed the same way as Coil, and one unharmed (though traumatized) male. His statement gave Atropos the kills, and indicated that they had been about to murder him for refusing to go along with their plan to kill a number of their prostitutes and blame Atropos for it, to cover their tracks when leaving town.
@Atropos - I would like to reiterate our offer for you to cease working at cross purposes with the PRT, and come in to see us face-to-face. We can work something out, I'm sure. DM me.
►UnconcernedFox
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
*reads opening post. Puts in a new order to the popcorn company. Just back the truck up and leave it there*
►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
@Reave - while that's a truly sweet offer, I'm gonna have to say no. First, because there are still people inside that building who sincerely wish me harm, and it might get awkward if/when I have to kill them. Second, if you hadn't noticed, I'm currently doing okay on my own. Third, the only person who gets to say whether or not I kill someone is me. If I come in, someone (*cough*Armsmaster*cough*) might get the mistaken impression that I have to follow their orders, and I hate to see a grown man cry.
I'd say it's not you, it's me ... but it's totally you.
►Chaos_Revenant
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
Hollllyyyy shit that was brutal!
Is it okay to say I love it?
What does that say about my state of mind?
End of Page. 1, 2, 3 ... 10, 11, 12
►TeamMom (Senior Moderator)
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
*sigh* Yes, you're allowed to say that. Just don't make suggestions. She might follow them.
►SilentWhispers
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
Those idiots thought framing *Atropos* was a good plan? I'm not even in the city anymore and I wouldn't try that.
►Al'Ta
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
Literally a Skidmark...
Love it!
►OmegaGrez
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
God damn, this puts a smile on my face like the news never does.
►Virgerl
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
I'm a little confused. Did Skidmark accidentally trigger the ejection seat at the wrong moment? How did Atropos manage to do that with a finger-gun?
►Reave (Verified PRT Agent)
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
Analysis of the vehicle after the fact revealed that remote triggers had been installed to a) turn off the cloaking after a timer ran down, and b) to activate Skidmark's ejection seat. Why did he have a working ejection seat? We may never know.
►XxVoid_CowboyxX
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
Finally! I haven't been able to stay up this late before, but my mom said it was okay because it's not a school night.
@Atropos - I've got an important question to ask you. Do you solve other murders? Because, you know, you've got a unique insight into the mind of a killer. Anyway, a girl at my school was murdered on Monday, and the cops have got nothing, and there's a whisper that capes were involved, but the PRT's not telling us shit. So, um, if you could help, that would be great. If you don't work for free, I guess I could empty my savings account or something.
►Miss Mercury (Protectorate Employee)
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
Void, you idiot.
►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
Hmm... let me consult my crystal ball ... I'm getting something ...
The victim's initials were ... S H ... or maybe S S ...
She was ... athletic ... vindictive … arrogant ... violent ... a total asshole ... could never take a hint ...
Yes, now I see it ... the killer is coming into plain view ... I have a face and a name ...
Oh, wait. It was me.
Ta-da! Mystery solved! (Put your money away, I did that one for free).
As for why … well, as I just said, she could never take a hint. She was given a clear warning, and chose to ignore it.
You've seen how that works out.
►Virgerl
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
wut
End of Page. 1, 2, 3, 4 ... 10, 11, 12
►XxVoid_CowboyxX
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
But ... why would you do a thing like that? She was just a kid!
►Reave (Verified PRT Agent)
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
@XxVoid_CowboyxX - Shut up.
►TeamMom (Senior Moderator)
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
@XxVoid_CowboyxX - have a temp ban while you think about the inadvisability of arguing with someone of Atropos' capability.
►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
No, it's fine. He doesn't need to be banned for that.
Void, there are things about the matter you're not aware of. Specifically ... ahh, fuck it. Her family's in protective custody and the Empire's on the way out anyway, so I'll just say it. She was a cape. Worse, she was a cape who liked to pretend to be a hero while taking pleasure in hurting people who she thought couldn't fight back.
I fought back.
She was also the type to never admit that she was in the wrong, or that she could be beaten. If I'd just kicked her around then let her get back up, she would've kept coming until she got some kind of win, no matter how petty or spiteful.
I wasn't down for that, so I killed her. Problem solved.
She got warned twice, she ignored it twice. She died of stupid.
Just like Coil, Kaiser, Lung and Skidmark.
I don't play.
►GreatAndTerribleAisha
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
Damn right you don't, sister! Holy fuck, the mess you made of Skiddy! Could you do that to my mom's dealer, too?
►TeamMom (Senior Moderator)
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
*sigh*
@GreatAndTerribleAisha - please do not encourage acts of violence on here. This is your first and last warning.
►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
Not precisely, but he might object when I take his stash away from him. No promises, but there might be broken bones involved.
►GreatAndTerribleAisha
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
Good!
Also, my annoying older brother has invited himself along. I promise to make sure he doesn't say or do anything stupid. Hope that's all good?
►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
Sure, sounds like fun. I'm looking forward to it.
►BrickFrog
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
What even is this.
End of Page. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 ... 10, 11, 12
►CrazyAndy
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
It's a new day for Brockton Bay, that's what it is.
With the gang leaders gone, what's next? I mean, the Nine, sure, but after that? Global problems? Hey, Atropos, do you intend to show up and fight the Endbringers when they attack?
►Ijuset
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
Much as I'm in favor of the gangs being defanged, I'm going to have to take issue with that kind of sweeping statement. Yes, the gangs will be losing a lot of their power with their cape leaders gone. But they weren't really the cause of Brockton Bay's economic downturn, so much as they were a symptom of it. Which means that removing them won't automatically usher in a golden age for the city. A year from now, we'll still be stuck where we are today, unless someone does something to dig us out of this hole.
►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
@CrazyAndy - Fight, no. I don't fight. Kill, yes.
@Ijuset - You raise some valid points. Fortunately, I can end more than just people. I'll get right on that.
►UnconcernedFox
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
*sits forward, ignoring a mouthful of popcorn*
►SilentWhispers
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
Did … did you just say you can kill Endbringers?
►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
What part of 'Can Actually Kill Anything' were you unsure about? If it can die, I can kill it, and yes, Endbringers can absolutely die.
►Ijuset
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
Wait, you're saying you can kill *economic problems*, too? How does that even work?
►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
The same way I kill everything else. I bring the right weapon to the fight. (Duh)
►Al'Ta
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
Okay, I'll bite. How do you stab a depressed economy to death?
►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
You don't. You stab the things that are holding it down. With money. Lots and lots of money. *After* killing off the people who have a vested interest in keeping it depressed.
You *did* see the part about how I'm going to be killing off the Slaughterhouse Nine tomorrow, right? I'm not doing that just for shits and giggles, you know.
Though I have to admit, I would've gotten around to them eventually, even if there was no reward for doing the deed. Jack Slash is just so damn tacky. He gives serial killers a bad name.
End of Page. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 ... 10, 11, 12
Very Early Saturday Morning
Director Piggot
Ignoring the aches and pains, and the feeling of sandpaper under her eyelids, Emily stared at the screen. The sheer gall implicit in the challenge to the various gangs which might threaten Brockton Bay left her shaken and breathless. Either Atropos was the most stupidly arrogant, self-assured cape Emily had ever encountered—and she'd met a few, in her time—or she could actually pull it off.
In all honesty, Emily wasn't certain which was the scarier possibility.
Her phone began to ring. Glancing at it, she saw that it was Armsmaster calling. She acknowledged the call and put it on speaker, then went back to scrolling down the screen.
"You're reading PHO too?" she asked rhetorically.
"Yes, ma'am." He sounded almost as shaken as she felt.
"Your views on her statements?" She decided against pointing out the implication that he'd cry if Atropos refused his orders. It was neither the time nor the place.
"On the one hand, nobody's ever pulled off what she's claiming to be able to do." His tone was cautious.
"But?" That there was a 'but' involved, she was utterly convinced. She even had most of an idea what form it would take.
"But nobody ever did what she's already managed to do, either."
Mentally, she paid off on the bet she'd made with herself. "Do you think she can manage it?"
Even now, he didn't want to commit himself. "I'd feel a lot more secure about it if she was sharing her plans and accepting resources from us … and doing less killing, of course."
In other words, if Atropos was under his orders. "She seems to think otherwise."
It wasn't that she was on Atropos' side … exactly. The law was the law, and she was oath-bound to uphold it as best she could. But …
… Atropos had made a bold statement, and carried it off without a hitch, working around the interference posed by the PRT as if they hadn't even been there. And some small part of her had silently approved of the sights of Kaiser and the others dead, after all the death and devastation they'd caused.
"The Nine are a lot more dangerous than even Lung was. She's likely to need assistance, even if she doesn't know it herself."
Emily pursed her lips in a frown. Armsmaster had a touch of the glory-hound in him. She'd long since seen and recognised it for what it was. For the most part, it didn't hamper his heroic endeavours, but if he kept pushing for this, it might end up as a problem.
The very last thing she wanted was Atropos getting annoyed at Armsmaster. There was no doubt in her mind as to who would survive that particular encounter.
"You will stand down on that matter," she ordered him. "You will only supply assistance if she specifically requests it. Is that understood?"
His tone was audibly reluctant, even over the phone. "Yes, ma'am."
"Good. Do you have any idea what she wants with Uber and Leet?"
"None whatsoever. They haven't even weighed into the thread yet."
"Hmm. Okay. Was there anything else?"
"No, ma'am."
"Understood." She cut the call, and went back to reading through the PHO comments.
And she was the one who took out Shadow Stalker, after all. Well, fuck.
Right now, that was the least of her problems.
End of Part Fifteen
Part Fifteen: Reaction Piece
[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
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♦ Topic: Four Down, Many More to Come
In: Boards ► Brockton Bay ► New Capes ► Atropos
Atropos (Original Poster) (
Posted On Jan 8th 2011:
Greetings once more to you wonderful people of Brockton Bay!
I don't even have to be ironic about saying that. Over the past week, I've killed five supervillains, which has in turn caused seventeen other villains to leave town for good. The average 'wonderful' aspect has definitely gone up a notch or two. (I've also done some other stuff, which has had its own beneficial effect, but we'll get to that later).
So, let's recap. All photos and footage (involuntarily) supplied by the PRT. Thanks, guys!
On Monday evening, I demonstrated to Oni Lee how proper gun handling was essential to a long and healthy life (mine).
[image: mask with bullethole]
Tuesday midnight was Coil's turn. He was always a two-faced asshole, so I cut his throat twice, once for each face.
[image: coroner pic]
Wednesday midnight, I stuck a katzbalger (rough translation: cat skinner) through Kaiser's head, and scattered the Empire Eighty-Eight far and wide.
[image: splitting headache]
Thursday just before midnight, the Dragonslayers came gunning for me. 'Somehow' their HUDs mistook Lung for me, and the Dragonslayers were slain by a dragon.
Oh, the irony.
Then Lung got to learn what it was like to burn to death, because irony cuts both ways.
[image: acid reflux]
And finally, just a little while ago, Skidmark became a real skidmark, along Lord Street.
[footage: Skidmark being yeeted]
[image: skidmark]
I understand they're mopping him up with a squeegee and bucket. Careful of that contact high, guys.
Now see, people might be upset with me for killing those guys, but the truth of the matter is that everything after Oni Lee happened because people don't pay attention. I warned everyone exactly what was going to happen. They thought they were untouchable.
Nobody's untouchable.
So, this is what's going to happen from here on in. Life is going to go on. The Undersiders are no more, and I'm going to give Faultline a little extra time to pick up her business and move it elsewhere, because while I do want her gone, she doesn't usually operate inside Brockton Bay so I've chosen to cut her some slack. As for the rest of the Brockton Bay criminal element, Imma leave them to the BBPD and PRT. They're probably unhappy because they've been left out of the action so far. You go, boys. I have faith in you.
On that note, there's still some corruption and incompetence within the ranks of the BBPD and the PRT ENE. You know who you are, and some of you know who they are. You get one chance to straighten yourselves and your buddies out before I come have a chat. You don't want that.
Just by the way: Uber and Leet, don't go anywhere just yet. I need to have a word with you.
One very specific note: the drug trade inside Brockton Bay *is* coming to an end, by word of me. I *will* find and destroy every last trace of hard drugs within this city, along with anyone who tries to stop me. Marijuana, coffee, booze and nicotine, I don't give a shit about. Anything harder than that will be gone. So will those who keep dealing it, after one warning.
Oh, and anyone who's thinking about doing copycat crimes or framing me for a kill, understand this. I have no problem with killing, but I take brand dilution *very* seriously, and I *will* murder the fuck out of anyone for even attempting it. Just ask the three ... well, two ... okay, one ABB guy whose idiot buddies were gonna kill some girls to cover their tracks. He was the smart one, and tried to stop them. Now they're dead and he's alive, and that's the way it should be.
And finally, the others. You know who you are. Those outside organizations and individuals who have suddenly realized that the criminal underworld in Brockton Bay just became a vacuum. You're all eyeing this city off like a bunch of hyenas closing in on a zebra with a broken leg.
I have one word for you:
Don't.
If you come to this city intending to start shit, you will die.
If you come to this city intending to kill me and then start shit, you will die *really horribly*.
If you come to this city intending to gather information, you will get your ass kicked then handed over to the PRT or the cops (depending on whether or not you're a cape).
If you send underlings into this city under the mistaken impression that this makes you safe from my retribution, you won't get them back *and* I'll tap you on the shoulder when you least expect it.
Yes, Valefor, that means you too. Don't make me come over there.
(Note that this also applies to anyone who tries shipping drugs or guns or any other kind of contraband into or through Brockton Bay. I *can* travel, I *will* find you, and I *will* murder you in a hilariously appropriate way.)
Specifically, everyone from the following list is banned from Brockton Bay on general principles (unless I make a personal exception):
- Elite
- Fallen
- Teeth
- Adepts
- Blasto
- Lost Garden
- Damsel of Distress
- Accord (& Ambassadors)
- Cauldron (you know what you did)
- Anyone else I add to the list later.
- Anyone who even *suspects* I might not want them in my town.
Don't say I never did anything for you guys.
Anyways, you lovely people have a wonderful weekend, and I'll see you Monday. Or not.
Toodles!
■
(Showing page 1 of 12)►Bagrat (Veteran Member) (The Guy in the Know)
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
Oh, holy Christ. Where do I begin.
I attended the site where Skidmark died.
I've seen traffic accidents before. There are those where you have to laugh out loud at how stupid they are, those where you have to scratch your head and wonder exactly how that happened, the ones where you go 'ewww' at the sheer amount of damage, the ones where you have to turn away for a moment because of the tragedy … and the ones where you throw up.
I threw up.
Even Assault wasn't making inappropriate jokes (well, okay, one or two, but he gave up after nobody even groaned). It was just sheer visceral horror (and yes, that's part of what they're still scrubbing off two hundred yards of Lord Street).
Look, I'm just going to come out and say it. Atropos told us she would kill Skidmark if he didn't give himself up or get out of town. She made Lung's death so horrific nobody thought she could top it.
She topped it.
Skidmark is now a literal skidmark.
There, I said it.
On to slightly better news.
Squealer and Mush survived, the latter with a concussion because he wasn't strapped in when the vehicle stopped. Both are in custody, mainly due to the fact that Atropos didn't just kill Skidmark. She also killed the vehicle. Sometime before midnight, she gained access to Squealer's workshop and worked on the wheel studs (the things that lug nuts screw on to) with an angle-grinder and an oxy-torch to weaken them so that all forty-eight studs broke off at the same time (Armsmaster witnessed this personally), about five seconds after the vehicle came to a complete stop. All the wheels just fell off, and the vehicle ceased being a vehicle at that point.
Squealer was found still holding the steering wheel. It had come off in her hands at some point, but we're fairly sure that was just shoddy construction.
To further underline the sheer bullshit that is Atropos, she stole a can of yellow spray paint from Squealer's workshop (it was later matched up with other cans Squealer had in stock). She drew a rectangle on the road before the vehicle ever got there, and it stopped *precisely* inside that rectangle. She also drew six little x's on the road and sidewalk; when the wheels finished rolling around, each one landed on top of its own x. And finally, she left the can itself on the edge of the rectangle. When the wheels came off, the bumper landed on the can, crushing it flat and spraying everything around with yellow paint.
I don't even know what her rating is right now, but it needs to be upgraded.
Everyone on her list: stay the fuck away. I cannot emphasize this strongly enough. I don't *want* to see what she does to you. (Though … Cauldron? What the fuck is up with that?)
If anyone else said they were going to take out the Nine, I'd be dubious. Haha, nope. I'm going to stand way back over here and award points for style.
I suppose we should be glad that her attitude toward the PRT seems to be exasperated tolerance. It could be a whole fucking lot worse.
As for me, I think I need therapy. There is no way in hell I'm ever going to be able to unsee that.
If anyone wants me, I'll be in the shower, huddled in a fetal position.
►TheRealGloryGirl (Verified Cape) (Cape Daughter) (New Wave Member) (Temp Banned)
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
What? Come on now!
She flat-out murdered Skidmark, just like she murdered Lung, right in front of you guys, and you let her walk away AGAIN?
What part of "murder is a crime" are we having trouble with, here?
If you murder a murderer, the number of murderers doesn't change.
Yes, things need to be fixed, but NOT LIKE THIS!
Since when did the PRT become the Atropos Cheer Squad?
ARREST her already!
►TeamMom (Senior Moderator)
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
@TheRealGloryGirl - do not poke Atropos. Just ... don't. Have a temp ban while you think about how stupid that was.
@Atropos - Please don't kill her. Idiot teenagers are idiots.
►Atropos (Original Poster) (
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
Oh, I had no intention of it. Everyone's entitled to their opinion, no matter how misguided. Personally, I think she's just butt-hurt because I've done more to fix crime in Brockton Bay in one week than she's done in three years.
See you around, GG.
►TheRealPanacea (Verified Cape) (Cape Daughter) (New Wave Member)
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
Vicky just broke her keyboard. She's going to be impossible to live with now. Atropos, I hope you're proud of yourself.
►Atropos (Original Poster) (
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
*adds 'one keyboard' to kill list*
*whistles nonchalantly*
►Reave (Verified PRT Agent)
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
The PRT would like to verify the statement about the two ABB persons who Atropos has claimed as kills. We were called to an address in what used to be their territory, and found two males who had been killed the same way as Coil, and one unharmed (though traumatized) male. His statement gave Atropos the kills, and indicated that they had been about to murder him for refusing to go along with their plan to kill a number of their prostitutes and blame Atropos for it, to cover their tracks when leaving town.
@Atropos - I would like to reiterate our offer for you to cease working at cross purposes with the PRT, and come in to see us face-to-face. We can work something out, I'm sure. DM me.
►UnconcernedFox
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
*reads opening post. Puts in a new order to the popcorn company. Just back the truck up and leave it there*
►Atropos (Original Poster) (
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
@Reave - while that's a truly sweet offer, I'm gonna have to say no. First, because there are still people inside that building who sincerely wish me harm, and it might get awkward if/when I have to kill them. Second, if you hadn't noticed, I'm currently doing okay on my own. Third, the only person who gets to say whether or not I kill someone is me. If I come in, someone (*cough*Armsmaster*cough*) might get the mistaken impression that I have to follow their orders, and I hate to see a grown man cry.
I'd say it's not you, it's me ... but it's totally you.
►Chaos_Revenant
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
Hollllyyyy shit that was brutal!
Is it okay to say I love it?
What does that say about my state of mind?
(Showing page 2 of 12)►TeamMom (Senior Moderator)
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
*sigh* Yes, you're allowed to say that. Just don't make suggestions. She might follow them.
►SilentWhispers
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
Those idiots thought framing *Atropos* was a good plan? I'm not even in the city anymore and I wouldn't try that.
►Al'Ta
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
Literally a Skidmark...
Love it!
►OmegaGrez
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
God damn, this puts a smile on my face like the news never does.
►Virgerl
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
I'm a little confused. Did Skidmark accidentally trigger the ejection seat at the wrong moment? How did Atropos manage to do that with a finger-gun?
►Reave (Verified PRT Agent)
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
Analysis of the vehicle after the fact revealed that remote triggers had been installed to a) turn off the cloaking after a timer ran down, and b) to activate Skidmark's ejection seat. Why did he have a working ejection seat? We may never know.
►XxVoid_CowboyxX
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
Finally! I haven't been able to stay up this late before, but my mom said it was okay because it's not a school night.
@Atropos - I've got an important question to ask you. Do you solve other murders? Because, you know, you've got a unique insight into the mind of a killer. Anyway, a girl at my school was murdered on Monday, and the cops have got nothing, and there's a whisper that capes were involved, but the PRT's not telling us shit. So, um, if you could help, that would be great. If you don't work for free, I guess I could empty my savings account or something.
►Miss Mercury (Protectorate Employee)
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
Void, you idiot.
►Atropos (Original Poster) (
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
Hmm... let me consult my crystal ball ... I'm getting something ...
The victim's initials were ... S H ... or maybe S S ...
She was ... athletic ... vindictive … arrogant ... violent ... a total asshole ... could never take a hint ...
Yes, now I see it ... the killer is coming into plain view ... I have a face and a name ...
Oh, wait. It was me.
Ta-da! Mystery solved! (Put your money away, I did that one for free).
As for why … well, as I just said, she could never take a hint. She was given a clear warning, and chose to ignore it.
You've seen how that works out.
►Virgerl
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
wut
(Showing page 3 of 12)►XxVoid_CowboyxX
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
But ... why would you do a thing like that? She was just a kid!
►Reave (Verified PRT Agent)
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
@XxVoid_CowboyxX - Shut up.
►TeamMom (Senior Moderator)
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
@XxVoid_CowboyxX - have a temp ban while you think about the inadvisability of arguing with someone of Atropos' capability.
►Atropos (Original Poster) (
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
No, it's fine. He doesn't need to be banned for that.
Void, there are things about the matter you're not aware of. Specifically ... ahh, fuck it. Her family's in protective custody and the Empire's on the way out anyway, so I'll just say it. She was a cape. Worse, she was a cape who liked to pretend to be a hero while taking pleasure in hurting people who she thought couldn't fight back.
I fought back.
She was also the type to never admit that she was in the wrong, or that she could be beaten. If I'd just kicked her around then let her get back up, she would've kept coming until she got some kind of win, no matter how petty or spiteful.
I wasn't down for that, so I killed her. Problem solved.
She got warned twice, she ignored it twice. She died of stupid.
Just like Coil, Kaiser, Lung and Skidmark.
I don't play.
►GreatAndTerribleAisha
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
Damn right you don't, sister! Holy fuck, the mess you made of Skiddy! Could you do that to my mom's dealer, too?
►TeamMom (Senior Moderator)
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
*sigh*
@GreatAndTerribleAisha - please do not encourage acts of violence on here. This is your first and last warning.
►Atropos (Original Poster) (
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
Not precisely, but he might object when I take his stash away from him. No promises, but there might be broken bones involved.
►GreatAndTerribleAisha
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
Good!
Also, my annoying older brother has invited himself along. I promise to make sure he doesn't say or do anything stupid. Hope that's all good?
►Atropos (Original Poster) (
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
Sure, sounds like fun. I'm looking forward to it.
►BrickFrog
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
What even is this.
(Showing page 4 of 12)►CrazyAndy
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
It's a new day for Brockton Bay, that's what it is.
With the gang leaders gone, what's next? I mean, the Nine, sure, but after that? Global problems? Hey, Atropos, do you intend to show up and fight the Endbringers when they attack?
►Ijuset
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
Much as I'm in favor of the gangs being defanged, I'm going to have to take issue with that kind of sweeping statement. Yes, the gangs will be losing a lot of their power with their cape leaders gone. But they weren't really the cause of Brockton Bay's economic downturn, so much as they were a symptom of it. Which means that removing them won't automatically usher in a golden age for the city. A year from now, we'll still be stuck where we are today, unless someone does something to dig us out of this hole.
►Atropos (Original Poster) (
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
@CrazyAndy - Fight, no. I don't fight. Kill, yes.
@Ijuset - You raise some valid points. Fortunately, I can end more than just people. I'll get right on that.
►UnconcernedFox
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
*sits forward, ignoring a mouthful of popcorn*
►SilentWhispers
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
Did … did you just say you can kill Endbringers?
►Atropos (Original Poster) (
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
What part of 'Can Actually Kill Anything' were you unsure about? If it can die, I can kill it, and yes, Endbringers can absolutely die.
►Ijuset
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
Wait, you're saying you can kill *economic problems*, too? How does that even work?
►Atropos (Original Poster) (
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
The same way I kill everything else. I bring the right weapon to the fight. (Duh)
►Al'Ta
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
Okay, I'll bite. How do you stab a depressed economy to death?
►Atropos (Original Poster) (
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
You don't. You stab the things that are holding it down. With money. Lots and lots of money. *After* killing off the people who have a vested interest in keeping it depressed.
You *did* see the part about how I'm going to be killing off the Slaughterhouse Nine tomorrow, right? I'm not doing that just for shits and giggles, you know.
Though I have to admit, I would've gotten around to them eventually, even if there was no reward for doing the deed. Jack Slash is just so damn tacky. He gives serial killers a bad name.
<><>
Very Early Saturday Morning
Director Piggot
Ignoring the aches and pains, and the feeling of sandpaper under her eyelids, Emily stared at the screen. The sheer gall implicit in the challenge to the various gangs which might threaten Brockton Bay left her shaken and breathless. Either Atropos was the most stupidly arrogant, self-assured cape Emily had ever encountered—and she'd met a few, in her time—or she could actually pull it off.
In all honesty, Emily wasn't certain which was the scarier possibility.
Her phone began to ring. Glancing at it, she saw that it was Armsmaster calling. She acknowledged the call and put it on speaker, then went back to scrolling down the screen.
"You're reading PHO too?" she asked rhetorically.
"Yes, ma'am." He sounded almost as shaken as she felt.
"Your views on her statements?" She decided against pointing out the implication that he'd cry if Atropos refused his orders. It was neither the time nor the place.
"On the one hand, nobody's ever pulled off what she's claiming to be able to do." His tone was cautious.
"But?" That there was a 'but' involved, she was utterly convinced. She even had most of an idea what form it would take.
"But nobody ever did what she's already managed to do, either."
Mentally, she paid off on the bet she'd made with herself. "Do you think she can manage it?"
Even now, he didn't want to commit himself. "I'd feel a lot more secure about it if she was sharing her plans and accepting resources from us … and doing less killing, of course."
In other words, if Atropos was under his orders. "She seems to think otherwise."
It wasn't that she was on Atropos' side … exactly. The law was the law, and she was oath-bound to uphold it as best she could. But …
… Atropos had made a bold statement, and carried it off without a hitch, working around the interference posed by the PRT as if they hadn't even been there. And some small part of her had silently approved of the sights of Kaiser and the others dead, after all the death and devastation they'd caused.
"The Nine are a lot more dangerous than even Lung was. She's likely to need assistance, even if she doesn't know it herself."
Emily pursed her lips in a frown. Armsmaster had a touch of the glory-hound in him. She'd long since seen and recognised it for what it was. For the most part, it didn't hamper his heroic endeavours, but if he kept pushing for this, it might end up as a problem.
The very last thing she wanted was Atropos getting annoyed at Armsmaster. There was no doubt in her mind as to who would survive that particular encounter.
"You will stand down on that matter," she ordered him. "You will only supply assistance if she specifically requests it. Is that understood?"
His tone was audibly reluctant, even over the phone. "Yes, ma'am."
"Good. Do you have any idea what she wants with Uber and Leet?"
"None whatsoever. They haven't even weighed into the thread yet."
"Hmm. Okay. Was there anything else?"
"No, ma'am."
"Understood." She cut the call, and went back to reading through the PHO comments.
And she was the one who took out Shadow Stalker, after all. Well, fuck.
Right now, that was the least of her problems.
End of Part Fifteen
Last edited:
Part Sixteen: More Reactions
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A Darker Path
Part Sixteen: More Reactions
[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
Relevant Side Story
(fleshed out a little for the actual narrative)
Danny
"Morning, Dad." Taylor said as he sat down to the table. The plate of bacon and eggs she put down in front of wafted odours only slightly more enticing than those drifting up from the freshly brewed cup of coffee. And right now, he absolutely needed that coffee.
Danny made a non-committal grunt before taking a sip from the mug. His eyes opened wide as the extra-strength caffeine bulldozed through his taste-buds before opening a direct line to his hindbrain and announcing that all hands were needed on deck right now. Even as he sat bolt upright, he detected a faint hint of salt in there, which just sealed the deal.
"Taylor," he enquired just a little plaintively, "when did you learn to make Navy coffee?"
She shrugged slightly, and he thought he caught the hint of a mischievous grin. "I figured you'd want something a little stronger than usual after last night."
He looked at the cup warily, then took another sip. It was still as powerful as ever, and he could feel his groggy neurons waking up and sparking to life. "I'm worried that it might dissolve the mug. You didn't just poison me did you? I heard about that super acid you used on Lung." Not the best morning joke he'd ever mustered, but he was still waking up.
"No, Dad." Taylor said with a perfectly straight face as she sat down with her own breakfast. Tough room. "I'm guessing you have some questions?"
Questions, yeah. Boy, did he have some questions. How did this all happen was at the top of the list, but after a couple of moments sipping coffee—god damn, but he'd missed a good cup of joe this strong, first thing in the morning—he pushed it aside for another one that was worrying at him even more.
"I do." For a long moment, he hesitated while he debated exactly how to approach the topic. "That girl who died at school. Sophia. You killed her didn't you?" He wasn't quite sure if he wanted it to be true or not, given what he'd also figured out, but it was a good starting place.
Taylor met his eyes. "Yes." Her tone wasn't boastful or regretful, just matter of fact. Yes, I took out the trash.
The confirmation led him onto the next question. He wasn't quite trying to excuse her actions, so much as find reasoning for them. Some way to frame them inside the larger context. "She, Emma and that other girl Madison. They did something horrible to you didn't they?" Given the absolute mess Emma had been in, Taylor had clearly done something to her as well, but as Emma was alive, that was definitely a secondary concern.
Again, the direct, forthright answer. "Yes." No anger, no pain. Yes, I stubbed my toe.
Now was the big one, the sixty-four-million-dollar question. He suspected he knew the answer to this one, but he asked it anyway. "Would I have done the same? Killed her for what she did to you?"
Taylor seemed to think that over, then shrugged. "Probably. They tried to kill me first after all. I did give Sophia plenty of warning though. She just wouldn't take the hint. Plus, it turned out she was Shadow Stalker, so I guess it's a good thing I killed her before she decided to do something even more stupid, like coming after you."
Well, that was a thing. Danny blinked a couple of times, seeking to assimilate what he'd just heard. That this Sophia girl wasn't just some random bully, but a cape and an actual Ward … that was a body blow. It wasn't just that she'd been bullying Taylor with Emma's assistance, though that was bad enough. Neither did it help in the slightest that they'd done something that Taylor characterised as a murder attempt. And finally, Taylor's implication that Shadow Stalker would've gone after him if she couldn't beat Taylor … that was downright chilling. Did she take out Shadow Stalker to save my life?
Also, what the fuck is the PRT teaching those little shits?
Taylor was still watching him patiently. He took a breath, and tried to order his thoughts. "Finding out that one of the people who had been tormenting you for over a year was a Ward makes me feel very conflicted." That was more or less the understatement of the century, but he suspected she knew what he meant. That she'd been forced to kill the girl, potentially to save his own life … he wasn't sure what to think about that.
She shook her head, looking thoughtful. "I honestly don't think the PRT really knew what was going on with her. Just goes to show how little they actually do. I mean, I've had powers for less than a week and all the villains in town are either dead, gone or hiding under the biggest rock they can."
He had to hand it to her. Good zingers took talent to deliver, and that one had been perfectly on target. Still, as much as he would've liked to dwell on how badly the PRT had screwed up—and they had—there were other issues he needed to address, somewhat closer to home.
Taking another sip of the coffee, still not sure how she'd managed to hit the exact balance of salt and sugar, he gave her a direct stare of his own. "You have managed to accrue a rather fearsome reputation very quickly, Taylor." By which he meant, holy shit, you killed five supervillains in as many days. But he figured understatement was probably the best idea there. Gibbering maniacally was probably not the ideal reaction, and might worry her.
Now she raised one eyebrow slightly, looking just a little concerned. "You're not mad?"
It was a good question. He felt maybe he should've been at least a little censorious about killing someone who was technically a superhero, but the whole 'to save my life' aspect kind of worked against that. Call him old-fashioned, but he didn't want to discourage her from keeping him alive.
As for the others who had died, he figured they were only 'victims' in the broadest sense of the term. They had killed so many people and ruined so many lives that sooner or later they were going to die to someone's hand, be that another villain, a rival from within their own ranks, or a hero failing to pull their punch in time. Long story short, they had been the very furthest thing from peaceful innocents minding their own business. And as he'd reminded Gerry, it didn't matter how many times the big-name capes were arrested, they just busted out and kept right on committing crimes and hurting people.
Not this damn time.
He took a deep breath, committing himself. "On the one hand, you're a merciless killer. On the other, you're my daughter." And that was all there was to it. "I am wondering though, when you showed the detective your hands, they weren't bruised or anything. Is that part of your power?" He wouldn't have been in the least bit surprised. From everything he'd heard, powers were bullshit.
She held up her hands, turning them one way and another. "Sort of, I'm not bulletproof or super strong or anything like that. I'm just the best there is at what I do." Folding her fist into a peculiar configuration, she feinted a punch that blurred through the air. Then, as if nothing untoward had happened, she went back to eating.
He was reminded of a comic book character from his youth, but decided not to make a reference. For one thing, she probably wouldn't get it. For another, that character had had his butt handed to him more than once. Taylor was currently batting a thousand. As Lacey had put it, she was playing four-dimensional chess while the PRT was still trying to play Go Fish.
Nodding in acknowledgement for the statement and the demonstration both, he gave her a querying look. "So... what now?"
Now, she actually smiled broadly. "Today, I'm going to meet a fan. Curry some favor, so to speak, so Armsmaster and the rest of the Protectorate don't get any silly ideas. It's not like they don't know what I'm capable of, but some people just can't help but poke the bear."
It probably wasn't a bad idea, at that, and if anyone could pull it off, it was Taylor. Though the idea of her having actual fans was kind of weird.
On second thought, this was Brockton Bay. Also, Earth Bet. Endbringers had fans … so to speak. Someone who was actually taking down the gangs? I shouldn't have been surprised.
Of course, there was something he needed to say. "Please try not to kill anyone today, Taylor."
She raised her eyebrows and gave him a direct look. "I won't make any promises, Dad. If somebody decides they really want a Darwin Award, well..."
Which was a perfectly good point. He pitied the gangster who picked on his daughter today, or any other day for that matter. Especially if she was meeting with a fan and wanted to make a good impression.
"Would it help if I drove you there and back?" He regretted the offer almost as soon as he made it. She probably had her own plans, and jumping in with a half-assed suggestion might make her feel bad for refusing it.
Instead, she gave him a beaming smile. "That would be really helpful, actually. There's no cars I can steal around the neighbourhood and get back without the owners noticing, at least during the day, so I was gonna take the bus or something. I could've done it, but it would've been awkward."
"Stealing cars? Really?" He gave her his best raised-eyebrows Dad look. "I thought I raised you better than that, miss."
"You totally did," she agreed. "Unfortunately, my power is ending things, not crossing the city in minutes. So I had to improvise. Which, by the way, is one of the several reasons I'm happy you know now. Because now I don't have to sneak out, and getting the occasional lift would also be helpful. It makes cleaning up the city so much easier."
"And by 'cleaning up the city' you mean killing people?" He folded his arms. "Most of the villain capes are either dead, captured or gone. Is more killing really necessary?"
"Well, no." She gave him a cheery smile. "My power isn't just about killing things. It's about ending things. For instance, once I decided that I wanted to end the Brockton Bay drug trade, I became aware of the location of every single stash of illegal hard drugs in the city, and exactly how to destroy it. I don't have to kill anyone … well, unless they really want to force the issue. But I'll probably only have to break a few bones."
He blinked. "Every stash. Everywhere."
"All of it." Her tone of assurance was rock-solid.
"There's dealers from out of town supplying them …" he said uncertainly.
"And I know who they are, the routes, the vehicles and the times," she rattled off. "I can bring the incoming supply to a dead stop. I can tip off the cops to upcoming raids on pharmacies to grab prescription drugs. And I'm going to end the corruption and incompetence within the BBPD and PRT that's allowing all this to go on."
"And you can do all this without killing anyone?" He found that hard to believe.
She snorted. "Hardly. Sooner or later, someone's going to try the hard way rather than the easy way. When I fight, I don't fight nice or fair. My power guides me into strikes or shots that will be lethal unless I pull the punch. But these idiots would otherwise just keep on doing what they're doing. Hurting other people for profit. Killing other people for profit. So, if I put a few of them down for good, the rest learn the lesson. But I won't be going out there with the aim to kill everyone who opposes me. That's just sloppy. Also, tedious."
Her delivery was straightforward and logical; almost against his will, he found himself agreeing with her. Still, there were other questions he needed to ask. "What if the cops show up and try to arrest you?"
She shook her head. "It won't be an issue. I can literally dodge bullets. I'd probably handcuff them to each other and steal their badges or something, then mail them back to the precinct for fun."
"Heroes, then," he pressed. "They're harder to take down non-lethally than cops. Are you going to kill them?" He hated to ask the question, but she had been killing capes fairly frequently over the last few days. Villain capes, but still capes.
"Like Shadow Stalker, you mean?" She rolled her eyes with a snort. "She wasn't a hero. But if one does show up who decides to defy the PRT's current hands-off order on me, I'll know not only that they're coming, but also how to get past their defences and take them down long enough to vanish."
"… the PRT's got a hands-off order on you?" He stared at her. "How did you manage that? Are you somehow blackmailing the Director?"
"Nope." She shrugged. "Somewhere between Kaiser and Lung, they decided all on their own that it was a bad idea to try to engage me face to face. Not entirely certain whether it's because they're terrified of me, or if they just want to see who I take down next, or whether it's a bit of column A and a bit of column B."
"To be honest, I wouldn't be surprised whichever way they jumped," he admitted. "So, this 'going to meet a fan' thing. What were you planning on doing? Wow the tourists on the Boardwalk?"
"No, actually." She shrugged. "She was going to meet me at the Westlake Park and hang out for a bit. Take a few selfies, stuff like that. Big crowds can get complicated, and I don't want anyone getting hurt unnecessarily."
"Selfies, huh?" A memory stirred, and he raised a finger. "Wait one moment."
"Okay." She took a drink of her juice and applied herself to her bacon and eggs as he got up and headed through the living room to the entrance hall.
Upstairs in his room, he pulled out several drawers in his dresser before he finally located what he was looking for, the angular plastic case cool under his fingers. When he pressed the power button, the LEDs only glowed dimly, so he swapped out the batteries for fresh ones. Triumphantly, he bore his prize downstairs. "Here, you can use this."
She stared at it. "Our old Polaroid camera. I thought that thing died years ago."
Putting it on the table in front of her, he sat down again. "Nah, I just put it away one year and never took it out again." That was the year Annette had died, but neither one of them wanted to mention it. "Anyway, you can get a photo of yourselves, then sign it for her. It's fully loaded, which means you've got eight shots."
Taking up the camera, she sighted through the viewfinder. "Wow, thanks. She'll love this."
Leaning back in his chair, he basked in the knowledge that he'd gotten it right this time. "Hey, what are dads for?"
He was entirely unprepared for her to get up and come around the table to give him a hug.
Some days, he decided as he returned the hug, being a parent was just plain worth it.
Leet
The avatar on the screen lurked in the alleyway, crossbow at the ready. The bad guys were somewhere nearby, but if he could get the jump on them …
"Holy fuck! Get here now!"
Rodney jumped, his thumb slipping on the buttons so that the avatar lunged forward into the open air, where it was hit by three attacks at once. "Oh, come on!" he complained as the damage bar quickly mounted. "What the fuck?"
"Get here right the fuck now," his best buddy insisted. "We're in the shit."
Despite Rodney's best efforts, the onscreen character succumbed to the successful ambush, and he went into the death screen. "Fine," he mumbled, rolling his eyes. Discarding the controller, he got up and headed over to where Uber was reading through the PHO boards. "What happened? Did someone get Atropos?"
It was the hottest thing that had happened on PHO for weeks. There were at least three discussion threads ongoing, apart from the ones she herself had started. After she took Oni Lee and Coil out, people started taking her seriously, though the 'vs' threads were still adamant that she wasn't all that great. Kaiser's death, followed by Lung's, had quietened some of her more vociferous opponents but raised some others to boiling point.
"No." Uber rolled aside so he could look at the screen properly. "She got Skidmark. Turned him into a meat crayon. But that's not the worst part. This is the worst part."
Leaning in, Rodney began to read out loud to himself.
"So, this is what's going to happen from here on in. Life is going to go on … yadda yadda … give Faultline a little extra time to pick up her business and move it elsewhere … shit, Faultline's moving? That sucks … rest of the Brockton Bay criminal element, Imma leave them to the BBPD and PRT … pfft, not on their best day … I have faith in you … I don't … corruption and incompetence within the ranks of the BBPD … damn right there is … wait." He stopped and stared at the next line. Though his throat had suddenly gone dry, he read it out anyway. "Just by the way: Uber and Leet, don't go anywhere just yet. I need to have a word with you."
His eyes flicked over the next few lines and found nothing more, then he straightened up and stared at his buddy. "What … what does she mean she needs to have a word with us? What did you do? Did you shitpost her? What have I told you about shitposting capes who can probably find out where we live?"
"Me shitposting capes?" demanded Uber. "I thought you were the one who'd shitposted them!"
"Well, it wasn't me this time!" Rodney yelled. "I haven't said word one to her!"
"So why does she want to talk to us?" Uber jabbed one finger at the screen. "Because that pretty damn definitely means we've done something to get on her radar!"
"I don't know!"
"Do you think she wants to kill us?"
Rodney stopped and thought about that. They were villains, and she definitely killed villains. But ... "Her list!" he said suddenly. "We're not on her list!" A pause as he tried to think back. "... are we?"
Uber rolled back into place and started flicking through the threads. "I don't think so ... no, we're not. This is the first mention of us."
Rodney started feeling the first stirrings of relief. "And she told everyone she killed to get out of town or die. She's telling us to stay put. Whatever she wants, I don't think it's to kill us. I hope."
Uber nodded slowly, apparently accepting his logic. "So what do you think she does want?"
"No fuckin' idea, dude." Rodney blinked, a horrifying concept occurring to him. "Shit, what if she wants me to make something for her and it doesn't work?"
"Christ." Uber shook his head. "Don't go there, dude. Just don't."
Rodney glanced at the door. "Maybe we should just make a bolt for it anyway? Like, right now?"
Uber shook his head. "Bad idea. Really bad idea. She's got no problem with leaving town to deal with someone who's pissed her off. 'I can travel, I will find you ...'" He trailed off.
"Right. So we stay in town and hope she doesn't ask for anything we can't deliver." Rodney shivered. "I told you we should've left town when she killed Oni Lee."
"No, you didn't."
"Well, I thought it."
"Uh huh. Sure."
PRT Building ENE
Conference Room A
Armsmaster
Colin looked around the conference room. Every Protectorate hero was here, as were all the Wards; Gallant, Kid Win and Vista yawning and in street clothes with domino masks. This only made him wonder what emergency had made it necessary for them to show up on what was clearly their off-day. Balancing the heroes across the table were various high-ranking members of the PRT.
One thing they all seemed to have in common, gauging from the surreptitious comments passed between them, was that nobody actually knew what this meeting was about. He began to wonder if Director Piggot had called it then fallen asleep before getting there. She'd been running herself ragged, trying to deal with the Atropos situation, and it was starting to show.
The door opened and Deputy Director Renick entered. Crossing to the table, he took his position at the head but didn't bother sitting down.
"Good morning," he said crisply. "Thank you for attending this meeting. I won't keep you long. This is merely an informational update, to keep you all in the loop as to the investigation into the death of Shadow Stalker. This is a strictly confidential discussion, and it will not leave this room."
Colin sat up straighter, wondering where this was going. He'd seen the PHO posting from Atropos, claiming responsibility, but he hadn't yet had the chance to start checking into it.
"Atropos got her ... didn't she?" That was Assault. "That's what she said on PHO." A murmur of voices agreed with him.
Slowly, Renick shook his head. "Anyone can claim anything online, especially if they are seeking to double down on pre-existing notoriety. After consultation with Director Piggot, my conclusion is that the current theory of Othala granting Cricket an unrevealed Stranger or Changer power is more likely, and we will be holding to that one until further evidence comes to light."
What? Even though he'd been the one to originate that hypothesis, Colin had been entirely willing to dump it in favour of 'Atropos did it' as the more likely, and he couldn't figure out why Renick and Piggot were dismissing the girl's own confession. It made no sense at all.
"Sir, are you sure about that?" asked Battery. "She described Stalker's attitude pretty much to a T, you have to admit."
Renick cleared his throat theatrically. "Battery, are you seriously suggesting that Atropos invaded Stalker's school and cornered her in a classroom, never having met her before, for the sole purpose of beating her to death? What kind of sense does that make?"
"No, but what if Atropos was a student there?" Triumph called out. Colin couldn't really fault him on that, as the same question had surely been on everyone else's lips. Since the PHO post, that had become more or less the default assumption. "One that Stalker was picking on, like she said?"
"I find that hard to believe." Renick should've been a star of stage or screen, from the way he delivered the line straight-faced. "I doubt very much any investigation would find even one student with a motive for harming Shadow Stalker at that school."
That outrageous statement hung in the air for a long moment, the atmosphere charged with disbelief from everyone sitting around the table. And then, between one instant and the next, Colin got it. Anyone running such an investigation into students who might have had a motive to kill Shadow Stalker risked outing Atropos. From the murmurs around him, everyone else was getting the point as well.
Given the events of the past week, nobody wanted to piss off the dark-clad assassin who could apparently stroll through the most strenuous of security and dance between the raindrops. She currently seemed to have no serious beef with the PRT, and everyone there absolutely wanted to keep it that way.
Before making the post, there'd been the danger that the investigation of the students would connect Stalker's murder to one particular suspect, and thus in turn to her activities as Atropos. But by directly connecting herself to Stalker's murder, Atropos had killed the investigation deader than Stalker herself. In a sense, she was playing chicken with the PRT, and they had blinked first. It was a masterful move.
It wouldn't make her popular, but she'd definitely won that round.
Battery nodded slowly. "I see your point, sir. The Empire angle makes much more sense."
"Good," said Renick, affording her a paternal nod. "Once again, the topic of this meeting is not to be discussed outside of this room. Is that understood by everyone?"
Colin leaned forward and surveyed the table, then nodded to Renick. "Yes, sir," he replied.
"Excellent." Renick clapped his hands together lightly, once. "Dismissed."
As Colin got up and headed for the door, he mused that the truth would come out sooner or later. But by then, if Atropos had taken down the Slaughterhouse Nine in the meantime, nobody would care.
End of Part Sixteen
Part Sixteen: More Reactions
[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
Relevant Side Story
(fleshed out a little for the actual narrative)
Danny
"Morning, Dad." Taylor said as he sat down to the table. The plate of bacon and eggs she put down in front of wafted odours only slightly more enticing than those drifting up from the freshly brewed cup of coffee. And right now, he absolutely needed that coffee.
Danny made a non-committal grunt before taking a sip from the mug. His eyes opened wide as the extra-strength caffeine bulldozed through his taste-buds before opening a direct line to his hindbrain and announcing that all hands were needed on deck right now. Even as he sat bolt upright, he detected a faint hint of salt in there, which just sealed the deal.
"Taylor," he enquired just a little plaintively, "when did you learn to make Navy coffee?"
She shrugged slightly, and he thought he caught the hint of a mischievous grin. "I figured you'd want something a little stronger than usual after last night."
He looked at the cup warily, then took another sip. It was still as powerful as ever, and he could feel his groggy neurons waking up and sparking to life. "I'm worried that it might dissolve the mug. You didn't just poison me did you? I heard about that super acid you used on Lung." Not the best morning joke he'd ever mustered, but he was still waking up.
"No, Dad." Taylor said with a perfectly straight face as she sat down with her own breakfast. Tough room. "I'm guessing you have some questions?"
Questions, yeah. Boy, did he have some questions. How did this all happen was at the top of the list, but after a couple of moments sipping coffee—god damn, but he'd missed a good cup of joe this strong, first thing in the morning—he pushed it aside for another one that was worrying at him even more.
"I do." For a long moment, he hesitated while he debated exactly how to approach the topic. "That girl who died at school. Sophia. You killed her didn't you?" He wasn't quite sure if he wanted it to be true or not, given what he'd also figured out, but it was a good starting place.
Taylor met his eyes. "Yes." Her tone wasn't boastful or regretful, just matter of fact. Yes, I took out the trash.
The confirmation led him onto the next question. He wasn't quite trying to excuse her actions, so much as find reasoning for them. Some way to frame them inside the larger context. "She, Emma and that other girl Madison. They did something horrible to you didn't they?" Given the absolute mess Emma had been in, Taylor had clearly done something to her as well, but as Emma was alive, that was definitely a secondary concern.
Again, the direct, forthright answer. "Yes." No anger, no pain. Yes, I stubbed my toe.
Now was the big one, the sixty-four-million-dollar question. He suspected he knew the answer to this one, but he asked it anyway. "Would I have done the same? Killed her for what she did to you?"
Taylor seemed to think that over, then shrugged. "Probably. They tried to kill me first after all. I did give Sophia plenty of warning though. She just wouldn't take the hint. Plus, it turned out she was Shadow Stalker, so I guess it's a good thing I killed her before she decided to do something even more stupid, like coming after you."
Well, that was a thing. Danny blinked a couple of times, seeking to assimilate what he'd just heard. That this Sophia girl wasn't just some random bully, but a cape and an actual Ward … that was a body blow. It wasn't just that she'd been bullying Taylor with Emma's assistance, though that was bad enough. Neither did it help in the slightest that they'd done something that Taylor characterised as a murder attempt. And finally, Taylor's implication that Shadow Stalker would've gone after him if she couldn't beat Taylor … that was downright chilling. Did she take out Shadow Stalker to save my life?
Also, what the fuck is the PRT teaching those little shits?
Taylor was still watching him patiently. He took a breath, and tried to order his thoughts. "Finding out that one of the people who had been tormenting you for over a year was a Ward makes me feel very conflicted." That was more or less the understatement of the century, but he suspected she knew what he meant. That she'd been forced to kill the girl, potentially to save his own life … he wasn't sure what to think about that.
She shook her head, looking thoughtful. "I honestly don't think the PRT really knew what was going on with her. Just goes to show how little they actually do. I mean, I've had powers for less than a week and all the villains in town are either dead, gone or hiding under the biggest rock they can."
He had to hand it to her. Good zingers took talent to deliver, and that one had been perfectly on target. Still, as much as he would've liked to dwell on how badly the PRT had screwed up—and they had—there were other issues he needed to address, somewhat closer to home.
Taking another sip of the coffee, still not sure how she'd managed to hit the exact balance of salt and sugar, he gave her a direct stare of his own. "You have managed to accrue a rather fearsome reputation very quickly, Taylor." By which he meant, holy shit, you killed five supervillains in as many days. But he figured understatement was probably the best idea there. Gibbering maniacally was probably not the ideal reaction, and might worry her.
Now she raised one eyebrow slightly, looking just a little concerned. "You're not mad?"
It was a good question. He felt maybe he should've been at least a little censorious about killing someone who was technically a superhero, but the whole 'to save my life' aspect kind of worked against that. Call him old-fashioned, but he didn't want to discourage her from keeping him alive.
As for the others who had died, he figured they were only 'victims' in the broadest sense of the term. They had killed so many people and ruined so many lives that sooner or later they were going to die to someone's hand, be that another villain, a rival from within their own ranks, or a hero failing to pull their punch in time. Long story short, they had been the very furthest thing from peaceful innocents minding their own business. And as he'd reminded Gerry, it didn't matter how many times the big-name capes were arrested, they just busted out and kept right on committing crimes and hurting people.
Not this damn time.
He took a deep breath, committing himself. "On the one hand, you're a merciless killer. On the other, you're my daughter." And that was all there was to it. "I am wondering though, when you showed the detective your hands, they weren't bruised or anything. Is that part of your power?" He wouldn't have been in the least bit surprised. From everything he'd heard, powers were bullshit.
She held up her hands, turning them one way and another. "Sort of, I'm not bulletproof or super strong or anything like that. I'm just the best there is at what I do." Folding her fist into a peculiar configuration, she feinted a punch that blurred through the air. Then, as if nothing untoward had happened, she went back to eating.
He was reminded of a comic book character from his youth, but decided not to make a reference. For one thing, she probably wouldn't get it. For another, that character had had his butt handed to him more than once. Taylor was currently batting a thousand. As Lacey had put it, she was playing four-dimensional chess while the PRT was still trying to play Go Fish.
Nodding in acknowledgement for the statement and the demonstration both, he gave her a querying look. "So... what now?"
Now, she actually smiled broadly. "Today, I'm going to meet a fan. Curry some favor, so to speak, so Armsmaster and the rest of the Protectorate don't get any silly ideas. It's not like they don't know what I'm capable of, but some people just can't help but poke the bear."
It probably wasn't a bad idea, at that, and if anyone could pull it off, it was Taylor. Though the idea of her having actual fans was kind of weird.
On second thought, this was Brockton Bay. Also, Earth Bet. Endbringers had fans … so to speak. Someone who was actually taking down the gangs? I shouldn't have been surprised.
Of course, there was something he needed to say. "Please try not to kill anyone today, Taylor."
She raised her eyebrows and gave him a direct look. "I won't make any promises, Dad. If somebody decides they really want a Darwin Award, well..."
Which was a perfectly good point. He pitied the gangster who picked on his daughter today, or any other day for that matter. Especially if she was meeting with a fan and wanted to make a good impression.
"Would it help if I drove you there and back?" He regretted the offer almost as soon as he made it. She probably had her own plans, and jumping in with a half-assed suggestion might make her feel bad for refusing it.
Instead, she gave him a beaming smile. "That would be really helpful, actually. There's no cars I can steal around the neighbourhood and get back without the owners noticing, at least during the day, so I was gonna take the bus or something. I could've done it, but it would've been awkward."
"Stealing cars? Really?" He gave her his best raised-eyebrows Dad look. "I thought I raised you better than that, miss."
"You totally did," she agreed. "Unfortunately, my power is ending things, not crossing the city in minutes. So I had to improvise. Which, by the way, is one of the several reasons I'm happy you know now. Because now I don't have to sneak out, and getting the occasional lift would also be helpful. It makes cleaning up the city so much easier."
"And by 'cleaning up the city' you mean killing people?" He folded his arms. "Most of the villain capes are either dead, captured or gone. Is more killing really necessary?"
"Well, no." She gave him a cheery smile. "My power isn't just about killing things. It's about ending things. For instance, once I decided that I wanted to end the Brockton Bay drug trade, I became aware of the location of every single stash of illegal hard drugs in the city, and exactly how to destroy it. I don't have to kill anyone … well, unless they really want to force the issue. But I'll probably only have to break a few bones."
He blinked. "Every stash. Everywhere."
"All of it." Her tone of assurance was rock-solid.
"There's dealers from out of town supplying them …" he said uncertainly.
"And I know who they are, the routes, the vehicles and the times," she rattled off. "I can bring the incoming supply to a dead stop. I can tip off the cops to upcoming raids on pharmacies to grab prescription drugs. And I'm going to end the corruption and incompetence within the BBPD and PRT that's allowing all this to go on."
"And you can do all this without killing anyone?" He found that hard to believe.
She snorted. "Hardly. Sooner or later, someone's going to try the hard way rather than the easy way. When I fight, I don't fight nice or fair. My power guides me into strikes or shots that will be lethal unless I pull the punch. But these idiots would otherwise just keep on doing what they're doing. Hurting other people for profit. Killing other people for profit. So, if I put a few of them down for good, the rest learn the lesson. But I won't be going out there with the aim to kill everyone who opposes me. That's just sloppy. Also, tedious."
Her delivery was straightforward and logical; almost against his will, he found himself agreeing with her. Still, there were other questions he needed to ask. "What if the cops show up and try to arrest you?"
She shook her head. "It won't be an issue. I can literally dodge bullets. I'd probably handcuff them to each other and steal their badges or something, then mail them back to the precinct for fun."
"Heroes, then," he pressed. "They're harder to take down non-lethally than cops. Are you going to kill them?" He hated to ask the question, but she had been killing capes fairly frequently over the last few days. Villain capes, but still capes.
"Like Shadow Stalker, you mean?" She rolled her eyes with a snort. "She wasn't a hero. But if one does show up who decides to defy the PRT's current hands-off order on me, I'll know not only that they're coming, but also how to get past their defences and take them down long enough to vanish."
"… the PRT's got a hands-off order on you?" He stared at her. "How did you manage that? Are you somehow blackmailing the Director?"
"Nope." She shrugged. "Somewhere between Kaiser and Lung, they decided all on their own that it was a bad idea to try to engage me face to face. Not entirely certain whether it's because they're terrified of me, or if they just want to see who I take down next, or whether it's a bit of column A and a bit of column B."
"To be honest, I wouldn't be surprised whichever way they jumped," he admitted. "So, this 'going to meet a fan' thing. What were you planning on doing? Wow the tourists on the Boardwalk?"
"No, actually." She shrugged. "She was going to meet me at the Westlake Park and hang out for a bit. Take a few selfies, stuff like that. Big crowds can get complicated, and I don't want anyone getting hurt unnecessarily."
"Selfies, huh?" A memory stirred, and he raised a finger. "Wait one moment."
"Okay." She took a drink of her juice and applied herself to her bacon and eggs as he got up and headed through the living room to the entrance hall.
Upstairs in his room, he pulled out several drawers in his dresser before he finally located what he was looking for, the angular plastic case cool under his fingers. When he pressed the power button, the LEDs only glowed dimly, so he swapped out the batteries for fresh ones. Triumphantly, he bore his prize downstairs. "Here, you can use this."
She stared at it. "Our old Polaroid camera. I thought that thing died years ago."
Putting it on the table in front of her, he sat down again. "Nah, I just put it away one year and never took it out again." That was the year Annette had died, but neither one of them wanted to mention it. "Anyway, you can get a photo of yourselves, then sign it for her. It's fully loaded, which means you've got eight shots."
Taking up the camera, she sighted through the viewfinder. "Wow, thanks. She'll love this."
Leaning back in his chair, he basked in the knowledge that he'd gotten it right this time. "Hey, what are dads for?"
He was entirely unprepared for her to get up and come around the table to give him a hug.
Some days, he decided as he returned the hug, being a parent was just plain worth it.
<><>
Leet
The avatar on the screen lurked in the alleyway, crossbow at the ready. The bad guys were somewhere nearby, but if he could get the jump on them …
"Holy fuck! Get here now!"
Rodney jumped, his thumb slipping on the buttons so that the avatar lunged forward into the open air, where it was hit by three attacks at once. "Oh, come on!" he complained as the damage bar quickly mounted. "What the fuck?"
"Get here right the fuck now," his best buddy insisted. "We're in the shit."
Despite Rodney's best efforts, the onscreen character succumbed to the successful ambush, and he went into the death screen. "Fine," he mumbled, rolling his eyes. Discarding the controller, he got up and headed over to where Uber was reading through the PHO boards. "What happened? Did someone get Atropos?"
It was the hottest thing that had happened on PHO for weeks. There were at least three discussion threads ongoing, apart from the ones she herself had started. After she took Oni Lee and Coil out, people started taking her seriously, though the 'vs' threads were still adamant that she wasn't all that great. Kaiser's death, followed by Lung's, had quietened some of her more vociferous opponents but raised some others to boiling point.
"No." Uber rolled aside so he could look at the screen properly. "She got Skidmark. Turned him into a meat crayon. But that's not the worst part. This is the worst part."
Leaning in, Rodney began to read out loud to himself.
"So, this is what's going to happen from here on in. Life is going to go on … yadda yadda … give Faultline a little extra time to pick up her business and move it elsewhere … shit, Faultline's moving? That sucks … rest of the Brockton Bay criminal element, Imma leave them to the BBPD and PRT … pfft, not on their best day … I have faith in you … I don't … corruption and incompetence within the ranks of the BBPD … damn right there is … wait." He stopped and stared at the next line. Though his throat had suddenly gone dry, he read it out anyway. "Just by the way: Uber and Leet, don't go anywhere just yet. I need to have a word with you."
His eyes flicked over the next few lines and found nothing more, then he straightened up and stared at his buddy. "What … what does she mean she needs to have a word with us? What did you do? Did you shitpost her? What have I told you about shitposting capes who can probably find out where we live?"
"Me shitposting capes?" demanded Uber. "I thought you were the one who'd shitposted them!"
"Well, it wasn't me this time!" Rodney yelled. "I haven't said word one to her!"
"So why does she want to talk to us?" Uber jabbed one finger at the screen. "Because that pretty damn definitely means we've done something to get on her radar!"
"I don't know!"
"Do you think she wants to kill us?"
Rodney stopped and thought about that. They were villains, and she definitely killed villains. But ... "Her list!" he said suddenly. "We're not on her list!" A pause as he tried to think back. "... are we?"
Uber rolled back into place and started flicking through the threads. "I don't think so ... no, we're not. This is the first mention of us."
Rodney started feeling the first stirrings of relief. "And she told everyone she killed to get out of town or die. She's telling us to stay put. Whatever she wants, I don't think it's to kill us. I hope."
Uber nodded slowly, apparently accepting his logic. "So what do you think she does want?"
"No fuckin' idea, dude." Rodney blinked, a horrifying concept occurring to him. "Shit, what if she wants me to make something for her and it doesn't work?"
"Christ." Uber shook his head. "Don't go there, dude. Just don't."
Rodney glanced at the door. "Maybe we should just make a bolt for it anyway? Like, right now?"
Uber shook his head. "Bad idea. Really bad idea. She's got no problem with leaving town to deal with someone who's pissed her off. 'I can travel, I will find you ...'" He trailed off.
"Right. So we stay in town and hope she doesn't ask for anything we can't deliver." Rodney shivered. "I told you we should've left town when she killed Oni Lee."
"No, you didn't."
"Well, I thought it."
"Uh huh. Sure."
<><>
PRT Building ENE
Conference Room A
Armsmaster
Colin looked around the conference room. Every Protectorate hero was here, as were all the Wards; Gallant, Kid Win and Vista yawning and in street clothes with domino masks. This only made him wonder what emergency had made it necessary for them to show up on what was clearly their off-day. Balancing the heroes across the table were various high-ranking members of the PRT.
One thing they all seemed to have in common, gauging from the surreptitious comments passed between them, was that nobody actually knew what this meeting was about. He began to wonder if Director Piggot had called it then fallen asleep before getting there. She'd been running herself ragged, trying to deal with the Atropos situation, and it was starting to show.
The door opened and Deputy Director Renick entered. Crossing to the table, he took his position at the head but didn't bother sitting down.
"Good morning," he said crisply. "Thank you for attending this meeting. I won't keep you long. This is merely an informational update, to keep you all in the loop as to the investigation into the death of Shadow Stalker. This is a strictly confidential discussion, and it will not leave this room."
Colin sat up straighter, wondering where this was going. He'd seen the PHO posting from Atropos, claiming responsibility, but he hadn't yet had the chance to start checking into it.
"Atropos got her ... didn't she?" That was Assault. "That's what she said on PHO." A murmur of voices agreed with him.
Slowly, Renick shook his head. "Anyone can claim anything online, especially if they are seeking to double down on pre-existing notoriety. After consultation with Director Piggot, my conclusion is that the current theory of Othala granting Cricket an unrevealed Stranger or Changer power is more likely, and we will be holding to that one until further evidence comes to light."
What? Even though he'd been the one to originate that hypothesis, Colin had been entirely willing to dump it in favour of 'Atropos did it' as the more likely, and he couldn't figure out why Renick and Piggot were dismissing the girl's own confession. It made no sense at all.
"Sir, are you sure about that?" asked Battery. "She described Stalker's attitude pretty much to a T, you have to admit."
Renick cleared his throat theatrically. "Battery, are you seriously suggesting that Atropos invaded Stalker's school and cornered her in a classroom, never having met her before, for the sole purpose of beating her to death? What kind of sense does that make?"
"No, but what if Atropos was a student there?" Triumph called out. Colin couldn't really fault him on that, as the same question had surely been on everyone else's lips. Since the PHO post, that had become more or less the default assumption. "One that Stalker was picking on, like she said?"
"I find that hard to believe." Renick should've been a star of stage or screen, from the way he delivered the line straight-faced. "I doubt very much any investigation would find even one student with a motive for harming Shadow Stalker at that school."
That outrageous statement hung in the air for a long moment, the atmosphere charged with disbelief from everyone sitting around the table. And then, between one instant and the next, Colin got it. Anyone running such an investigation into students who might have had a motive to kill Shadow Stalker risked outing Atropos. From the murmurs around him, everyone else was getting the point as well.
Given the events of the past week, nobody wanted to piss off the dark-clad assassin who could apparently stroll through the most strenuous of security and dance between the raindrops. She currently seemed to have no serious beef with the PRT, and everyone there absolutely wanted to keep it that way.
Before making the post, there'd been the danger that the investigation of the students would connect Stalker's murder to one particular suspect, and thus in turn to her activities as Atropos. But by directly connecting herself to Stalker's murder, Atropos had killed the investigation deader than Stalker herself. In a sense, she was playing chicken with the PRT, and they had blinked first. It was a masterful move.
It wouldn't make her popular, but she'd definitely won that round.
Battery nodded slowly. "I see your point, sir. The Empire angle makes much more sense."
"Good," said Renick, affording her a paternal nod. "Once again, the topic of this meeting is not to be discussed outside of this room. Is that understood by everyone?"
Colin leaned forward and surveyed the table, then nodded to Renick. "Yes, sir," he replied.
"Excellent." Renick clapped his hands together lightly, once. "Dismissed."
As Colin got up and headed for the door, he mused that the truth would come out sooner or later. But by then, if Atropos had taken down the Slaughterhouse Nine in the meantime, nobody would care.
End of Part Sixteen
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Part Seventeen: A Walk in the Park
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A Darker Path
Part Seventeen: A Walk in the Park
[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
Cauldron Base
Contessa
Alexandria's voice echoed down the corridors. "Oh, what the fuck?"
Fortuna didn't even bother using a Path on that one. She's read the PHO post.
A moment later, Alexandria swooped to a halt in front of her. In her hand, gripped almost tightly enough to crack the casing, was a tablet. "What the hell is going on in Brockton Bay?"
"Atropos is a Thinker," Fortuna reminded her, somewhat unnecessarily. "At least as good as me." That confession cost her the pound of flesh closest to her heart, figuratively speaking. "It looks like she figured out our feudal experiment, and how we were giving Coil free rein in the city. At least. She might know more."
"And she's killed Coil, and straight-up told us that we're not welcome in her city. And more people are delving into the name Cauldron than ever, because we can't redact it!" In a cartoon, steam would've been leaking from Alexandria's ears by now.
"On the other hand," Fortuna pointed out, "she's announced that the Nine are next on her list, and she's flat-out announced that she intends to kill the Endbringers when and where they show up. Not fight. Kill."
Alexandria blinked. "Is she insane? Challenging the Nine as well as the other teams on that list? Calling out Valefor by name? They'll be falling over each other to see who can tear her head off first."
"It's only insanity if you can't pull it off." Fortuna waited to see if Alexandria would take the hint.
The black-costumed woman frowned thoughtfully. "You believe she can? Without assistance?"
"Do you believe she can't?" Fortuna raised an eyebrow. "Since she started her operations, a grand total of twenty-three capes have either died, left Brockton Bay, or been captured by the PRT. Several more are planning to leave as we speak."
Alexandria shook her head. "It's a whole different level of scale. She can't possibly think she can take them all on, and win."
"The last time I underestimated her, I ended up looking down the barrel of her pistol. The one she took from Oni Lee's corpse." Fortuna shuddered. "It's a mistake I don't intend to make a second time."
"But Butcher and the Teeth … the Fallen …" Alexandria shook her head. "They can't be beaten. Not conventionally."
"Whoever said Atropos was conventional?"
"Well, you're no help." Alexandria vanished again, flying up the corridor.
Cookies, Fortuna decided. What I need is cookies. "Doorway to where I can buy cookies."
Cookies, she understood.
08:45 AM
Taylor
Dressed in my costume, complete except for the coat, mask, and hat, I sat in the passenger seat and peered intently ahead through the windshield. Instead of the black long-coat, I wore the white lab-coat I'd souvenired from the PRT building that one time; my accoutrements were in the black leather bag I had slung over my shoulder.
"Westlake Park, coming up," Dad said, entirely unnecessarily. Like me, he was almost certainly suffering from nerves. "Do you want me to pull in and park?"
"No." I put my left hand on my seatbelt catch, my nerves melting away. "That corner up ahead, with the bushes up to the sidewalk? Slow down all the way, going around it."
"Uh, okay." He gave me a dubious look, but started slowing for the corner.
I popped the seatbelt and let it retract, then put my hand on the door handle. As we went into the corner, I pulled on the handle and pushed the door all the way open against the resistance of the turn. Then I slid out of the seat and stepped onto the asphalt, clearing the car by inches. The last of the turn swung the door shut and it latched closed as I continued up onto the sidewalk and onward into the bushes.
Once out of sight, I shrugged out of the lab-coat and replaced it with the long-coat, then took my glasses off and replaced them with my mask and hat. With the lab-coat and glasses in the bag—now slung over my shoulder—I strode out of the bushes, on track to meet with my current number one fan.
Tenebrae
If there was anything worse than Aisha when she was smugly certain about something, Brian decided, it was Aisha when she had the jitters. He was beginning to regret not insisting on danger pay. Much more of this, and he was going to go nuts.
"Where is she, where is she, where is she?" fretted Aisha, fidgeting so hard Brian was sure people in Boston knew she was twitchy. "She said she'd be here. She said!"
"Relax," he said automatically, though he knew it would do no good. "Are you sure you both agreed on Westlake Park?"
"It was her idea," Aisha insisted, swinging her legs back and forth on the picnic table bench like a metronome on speed. "She said right here, nine o'clock."
Brian automatically checked his watch. "You know it's still ten minutes oof nine, right?"
"What?" she grabbed his wrist and stared at the clock face. "Can't be. Must be slow."
"Nope. I set it to the time on my phone." He pulled out the phone to show her. The times matched, near enough.
"Here, let me check mine." She dug out her own phone. The time on it was fifteen minutes ahead of his. "See?"
Brian shook his head. "Aisha ... why is your phone set up like that?"
She regarded it dubiously for a moment, then her expression cleared. "So I can remind myself not to be late."
He sighed in mild aggravation. "Okay. Just saying? That's probably not—"
"Excuse me?" The voice came from behind them. "Is this picnic table booked, or can anyone sit here?"
Brian turned at the same time that Aisha did. Even as he opened his mouth to politely inform the newcomer that they were waiting on a friend, he registered who was standing there.
Tall, slender, wearing a black long-coat, morph mask and hat. The coat flapped open gently in the gathering breeze, revealing a sheathed knife of some sort and a pistol in a shoulder holster. Brian felt his mouth go dry.
Atropos had arrived.
Taylor
"Holy shit!" blurted the teenaged girl. "You came!" Leaping up from her bench, she took two rapid paces toward me then stopped short. In a display of what was possibly the worse acting I had ever seen, she strove to put on an air of nonchalance. "I mean ... 'sup?"
"Hey, Aisha." I was grinning under the morph mask, which I knew they couldn't see, but it transferred to my tone of voice as I held out my hand to shake. "It's good to meet you, too."
Grabbing it with both hands, she shook it vigorously. "Holy shit, it's really you." Her voice teetered close to fangirl-squee. "Did you really wreck all of Skidmark's shit? And make the wheels fall off Squealer's shitty-ass ride?"
Holding up one finger, I reached into my pocket and produced one of the small remote transmitters I'd rigged up a few days ago. As she watched avidly, I made the finger-gun gesture, then clicked the button as I mimed shooting the 'gun'. Nothing else happened, of course. "Boom," I said cheerfully.
Aisha's eyes were wide by now. "Holy crap," she breathed. "So when you did it there ..."
"This was in my left hand, yeah," I said, then looked at Brian. "Feel free to tell Armsmaster that. It's nothing he won't already know."
He was already looking apprehensive; now, he went paler than anyone I'd ever seen with his skin tone. "Shit," he muttered, curls of darkness beginning to waft out of his palms. "This isn't—I'm not—"
"Jeez, relax," I said with a chuckle. "It's good that you're here. I know this isn't a sting or a bust. You're not here in any official capacity. Just to make sure Aisha's okay. I get it."
The darkness went away and he lost some of the pallor, though there was a slight sheen of sweat on his brow after the fact. He stared at me, probably trying to make out my expression through the morph mask.
"Yeah, Brian, unclench," jeered Aisha, rolling her eyes extravagantly. "My girl Atropos is chill. She's not here to hurt us. Are you?"
"Not in the slightest," I confirmed. "And I'll go one further. I'm not going to hurt any member of the PRT, Protectorate or Wards, or any hero in town, unless they aggress on me first, and even then I promise not to kill them." Strolling around the table, I seated myself opposite them. "I don't promise not to embarrass the fuck out of them, though."
Aisha cackled out loud. "See, Bri? This is why she's so damn cool." Hopping up from her seat, she grabbed up her phone as she rounded the table to me. "Get a photo of us, then I'll grab a selfie."
Brian sighed. He still looked apprehensive, but not to the level that he looked like he was about to pass out. "I'm sorry, Atropos. Aisha's never really learned about personal boundaries, or that you're supposed to ask about that sort of thing first."
I chuckled. "It's all good. If she bothers me, I'll just do this." Slipping one arm around her neck, I made sure not to apply dangerous levels of pressure to her carotids as I gave her a brief noogie.
"Wha—hey!" Her squawk of protest was cut off as I released her, then she glared at Brian, who was chuckling. "What's so funny, asshole?"
"Nothing. Nothing at all." He rubbed his finger across his lips. "Are you okay with me taking your photo, Atropos?"
"Sure, but wait one second." Reaching inside the long-coat, I drew out the bodice shears. They gleamed in the sunlight, the edges glittering dangerously.
"Whoa ..." breathed Aisha, staring at them. "Where did you get those from?"
"Kaiser's personal collection, about eight hours before I killed Coil with them." I snipped the air a couple of times. "Careful, the outer edges are sharp too."
Reaching out, Aisha ran one finger over the detail on the handgrips, then trailed it cautiously down the blade. "That is the most motherfucking badass thing I've ever seen," she declared, "and I once saw Lung set fire to an eighteen-wheeler full of booze and ride it into the Bay."
"When did you see that, and why were you close enough to see it?" asked Brian, suddenly intent.
She crossed her eyes and stuck out her tongue at him. "Wouldn't you like to know?"
"Mmm." He gave her a medium-level stink-eye. "Let's leave this family discussion for later. Did you want to pose with those shears for the photo?"
"Yeah," I said, then opened them up behind Aisha's head so they stuck up like bunny-ears. Then, with my other hand, I made the 'live long and prosper' sign out of Star Trek. "Aisha?"
"Hang on." She threw the horns with both hands at once then nodded, grinning with her whole face. "Do it."
The electronic shutter on Brian's phone clicked once, then he turned it the other way and took another pic. "Okay, more pictures?"
"Selfies!" Aisha picked up her phone.
I put the shears away, then reached into my bag. "Sure, but then I've got a surprise for you."
"Surprise?" Brian looked apprehensive again.
I chuckled. "Don't worry. Nothing bad. Aisha's gonna love it to bits."
"I am?" She looked at me like a kid finding an unexpected present under the Christmas tree. "What is it?"
"You'll see." I leaned in toward her. "Selfies, remember?"
"Right, right." It seemed the promise of a surprise had put her off her stride; it took three attempts to get the camera set up for the first one. But she managed it, and took a fairly credible picture with the park's small lake in the background, along with the two people who were feeding the ducks there.
I knew who they were, of course, and what was about to happen.
Panacea
Amy hunched her shoulders into her hoodie and tossed a handful of oats onto the surface of the small lake. The few ducks that had chosen not to fly south, or got left behind, paddled over and started dipping their bills in the water, collecting the pieces. They didn't look thrilled, and she could sympathise with them.
"I don't even know why I'm here," she groused, glaring at her sister's back. Vicky had chosen to show up in costume, for some incomprehensible reason. "You're the one who got in the shit with the PRT, not me."
"If by that you mean I'm the one who called out the PRT for their weak-sauce attitude toward Atropos, then sure," Vicky sniped back. "Aunt Sarah sent me to feed ducks here until I figured out where I'd gone wrong. She sent you along to make sure I didn't just go off and spend the day at Dean's or something."
"So, go," Amy invited. "I honestly couldn't give a flying fuck." She was lying, of course. But that wasn't exactly something she could tell the truth about. Spending time with Vicky was always something she was down for, but when Vicky had her nose out of joint it was a lot less fun.
"I can't." Vicky threw a handful of oats at a bunch of ducks and scored a direct hit; they scattered, quacking in agitation. Once they'd settled down, they shook themselves to get the oats off their feathers and onto the water, where they scooped them up. "If Aunt Sarah asks you where we've been …"
"… I'll say we were here." Amy looked around aimlessly. There was a group of people at a picnic table some distance away. One was dressed oddly, all in black.
"You can't lie worth a damn." Vicky's tone held no censure. It was a fact of life. "She'll know, and then I'll be in trouble all over again."
"So why did you even call them out?" asked Amy, peering across at the other group. "You had to know they'd complain to Aunt Sarah." The one in black was wearing a hat and a long coat, and either had close-cut hair or …
Vicky threw some more oats to the ducks. "Because Mom's right, and all capes need to be held accountable for shit they do. And the PRT's all 'no, don't engage with Atropos because it might be dangerous' but she's a fucking murderer and punching beats Thinking in combat. Nobody can think straight with a busted nose, and if the Thinker wants to talk, I'll bust their jaw as well."
"She seems to be pretty good at what she does," ventured Amy. "Even not counting Oni Lee, she managed to fuck up four supervillains pretty good. None of them saw her coming, and she took them down by the numbers."
Vicky rolled her eyes. "Because she had time to prepare. Also, she murdered Shadow Stalker. Admitted to it, right there. But what's the PRT saying about it? Nothing. 'Cannot comment on an ongoing investigation', my muscular gluteus maximus!"
And that was the trouble with teaching Vicky something. Amy had explained various parts of the body to her sister once, and Vicky had latched on to the name of the ass muscle forever after. "Well, maybe they can't."
"Pfft, I don't see why not. We're affiliate capes, right? But even Dean's all, 'sorry, not allowed to talk about it'. If not to his own girlfriend, who?" Vicky froze, her gaze fixed on the picnic table. "Holy shit. Holy shit. Ames, you see that?"
"Those people? What about them?" Amy knew damn well 'what about them'. But the chances of Atropos actually showing up at random in the same park she and Vicky had been sent to seemed minimal to zero. Also, there were two other people with the maybe-Atropos, and she hadn't had any associates that Amy had heard of.
"That's Atropos, I'd swear to it!" Vicky pointed. "I watched her fucking murder Lung, and I couldn't do a damn thing about it. Well, now it's different."
"Vicky, wait a minute. Let's just take a—" But Vicky was gone, rocketing across the park, bag of oats dropped and spilling on the ground. The ducks, sensing a feast, waddled out of the water, quacking loudly.
"Fuck it. Enjoy." Amy dropped her bag next to Vicky's, and started running after her sister.
Tenebrae
Brian had no idea what was going on. Aisha was being her usual self, and Atropos was … playing along? Clowning around? For a terrifyingly effective assassin, she seemed intent on enjoying herself, even pulling out her own phone for a couple of selfies.
It was not how he'd expected this to go.
Then Atropos took the Polaroid camera out of her bag, and Brian grinned at the look of confusion on his sister's face. She peered at the admittedly odd-looking device, her head tilted to one side, for all the world like one of Rachel's dogs when it didn't understand a command.
"Okay," she said. "What the fuck is it supposed to do?"
"Prints out a physical photo," Atropos explained.
"You're shitting me."
"She is not," Brian assured her. "Those things have been around for years. Longer than I've been alive."
"Yeah, right," jeered Aisha. "That thing looks like a Tinker threw it together yesterday. Out of spare parts."
"Oh, ye of little faith." Atropos' voice took on the quality that made Brian think she was smiling. "Come on, I'll set it up to take a timed photo." Placing it on the table, she pressed a button and stepped back until she was standing directly in front of it. "Both of you get in the frame with me," she urged. "We've got about eight seconds."
"Oh, this I gotta see." Aisha crowded up on one side of Atropos, so Brian naturally moved in on the other side.
If sitting back and watching his sister clown around with a terrifying cape assassin was deeply weird, he didn't even know what to feel about standing so close he was shoulder to shoulder with her. There was an air of palpable danger about her, or maybe that was just because he knew what she was capable of. And as for her personal combat capability, she moved like the best fighters he'd known, always perfectly in balance with her surroundings. Except where it came to Aisha; Aisha, she let inside her guard.
The Polaroid camera beeped once, then twice more. He forced a smile onto his face, because he didn't want Aisha grumping at him for screwing up the photo.
beep-beep-beep-beeee—
"Down!" shouted Atropos; at the same time as he felt the shove, his leg was kicked out from under him so he went sprawling. Distantly, he heard Aisha yelp in protest, but all that was overshadowed an instant later when something swept over them and the picnic table dissolved in a shattering crash.
He rolled over and did a kip-up to get to his feet, looking around to see what the fuck had just happened. Thankfully, Aisha was okay, sitting up with her hair falling across her eyes and an indignant expression on her face. The picnic table had been demolished, and Atropos was already standing, left hand extended as though she'd just caught the camera that was now in her hand. In her right, she held the photo.
Some yards beyond the wreckage of the table was Glory Girl, just now slowing down and turning around. "Stand still!" she shouted.
"Nuh-uh," Atropos retorted flippantly. "Here, catch." She tossed the camera to Brian, then stood there waving the photo in the air.
"Glory Girl, stand down!" Brian called out as he automatically caught it. "This is a really bad idea!"
"It'll be a bad idea for you to get in my way." Glory Girl clenched her fists. "This is between me and Atropos."
"Oh, for fuck's sake, why can't you just fuck off?" demanded Aisha. "We were having a perfectly fun day here, and you had to come in with your 'hurr durr me big hero' shit."
"She's a villain," Glory Girl explained slowly, as though to a child. "And a murderer. I'm a hero. Stopping people like her is what I do."
"You're a humungous twatwaffle, is what you are," declared Aisha impudently. "She's the hero. How many villains have you stopped this week? How many have you chased out of town ever?"
Brian wanted to facepalm. Not only was his sister arguing with Glory Girl, but insulting her as well. He didn't even want to know where she'd gotten 'twatwaffle' from. "Aisha …"
"Well, she is!" Aisha actually sounded upset now. "Atropos is cool! Because of her, there's barely any villains left in town!"
"And there'll be one less in just a second," promised Glory Girl. Brian felt waves of fear pulsing out from her. It was never any less real, even when he knew where it was coming from. She lunged forward, gathering speed in an obvious move to punch Atropos as a fly-by attack.
Atropos barely seemed to move, but she swayed aside just far enough to avoid the attack. Moreover, her hand darted out; when Glory Girl came to a halt, she was no longer wearing the tiara. She didn't seem to realise it for a moment, until Atropos tossed the headgear to Aisha. "Here. Souvenir."
Aisha seemed to be one of those people who reacted to fear with defiance. She caught the tiara out of the air and brandished it like a weapon. "Hah! Score!"
"What the fuck?" Glory Girl felt at her head. "Hey, give that back!"
"Go away and I'll think about it." Atropos' voice was steady. If she was feeling the same level of fear as Brian, she was a master at hiding it. Her hand went into her pocket, then came out with a shiny quarter. She flipped it in the air, then caught it without looking. "Right now, you're intruding."
"I'll show you intruding!" shouted Glory Girl. As her voice rose to a shout, she lanced toward Atropos again.
The quarter spun into the air once more as Atropos did a perfect limbo twist to avoid the charging attack. Glory Girl, for her part, choked and grabbed her throat, then crash-landed in an ungainly sprawl beyond the wreckage of the table.
What the fuck? Did she just flip that coin into Glory Girl's mouth?
Brian hurried over, but Atropos got there first. She dropped with one knee into Glory Girl's stomach; the stricken superhero let out a loud hacking cough, and the coin was expelled upward with some force. Atropos caught it out of the air, then dropped it into her pocket and drew the shears again.
"Hey," she said, and rapped Glory Girl on the forehead with the heavy blades. "Pay attention."
Slowly, Glory Girl's eyes came back into focus, and she found herself with the tip of the shears an inch from her eye. "What … what the fuck?"
Atropos hit her with them again, just hard enough to leave a bruise. "I said, pay attention. I know how to bring your power down. I know how to kill you. Do you understand?" Clack, went the shears
"Wha—will you stop fucking doing that!" Glory Girl began to reach for the blades, then froze as Atropos used the very tip of the shears to snip off one of her eyelashes.
"Yeah. It's inside your field. I can put it straight into your brain. It will kill you." Atropos' voice was implacable. "I can do this at any time. Do you understand?"
"I … yeah, I understand." The admission was wrung grudgingly out of her throat. "Do you want me to beg for my life? Is that it?"
"No." Atropos' voice never changed. She wasn't gloating or even admonishing Glory Girl; merely establishing a fact of life. "Next time, if someone tells you to back off … back the fuck off."
Staggering footsteps and heavy panting heralded the arrival of someone Brian belatedly recognized as Panacea. "Please," she gasped. "Please … don't kill … her. Oh god … I need to do … more cardio."
"Wasn't going to," Atropos said. "But your sister could've fucked up really badly just then. She could've hurt my friends here. So … a favour for a favour. I keep quiet about this, and you do something for me, later on. Deal?"
Panacea blinked at her. "A … favour? What sort of … favour?"
Atropos snorted and tapped Glory Girl's forehead with the shears again. "Nothing hugely illegal. Okay?"
"Do I have a choice?" The New Wave healer looked at where her sister was still staring at the shears.
"There's always a choice. Is that a yes?"
Grudgingly, Panacea nodded. "Yes. You don't talk about this, I do you a favour later."
"Awesome." Atropos sheathed the shears, then came to her feet and stepped back in a move so smooth Brian would've sworn it had to be rehearsed. "Sorry about the rough stuff, but some lessons need to have a point before people take them on."
Aisha cackled out loud. "Well, that lesson certainly had a point!" She fitted the tiara on her head, sitting up at a jaunty angle.
Cautiously, with one eye on Atropos, Glory Girl rose into the air. "I want that back. Right now."
"Nope," said Atropos, before Aisha could even protest. "Call it an asshole tax. Take your sister and leave before anything else happens."
"Yeah … let's just … go," panted Panacea. "Are you … okay?"
"She stole my tiara!" Glory Girl pointed at Aisha indignantly.
"No, I stole it and gave it to her," Atropos corrected her. "As I said, asshole tax. Now, fuck off before I decide to get creative."
"Ooh, ooh, get creative!" Aisha urged. "I wanna see this!"
Panacea shook her head. Making a wide berth around Brian and Atropos, she took Glory Girl by the arm. "Let's go home now," she stated firmly. "Before this day goes even further off the rails."
"But … my tiara …"
Atropos shook her head. "Not yours anymore. Bye."
"We've got spares," Panacea stated. "C'mon. Let's go."
Reluctantly, Glory Girl picked up her sister and lofted into the air. Pausing, she looked back at Atropos. "This isn't over."
Atropos pushed her hat back and made a come-at-me gesture. "Anytime."
It almost seemed as though Glory Girl was going to take up the challenge, but Panacea punched her in the shoulder and muttered something about "any more favours". Turning, the brightly clad teen hero flew away, gaining altitude until they disappeared from view.
"Well, that was a thing." Atropos waved the photo—which she'd kept in her hand the whole time—in the air again, then looked at it. "Huh. Action shot."
When Brian looked at it, the colours were still fading in, but it showed Glory Girl's face, charging at the camera, right at the moment when she'd realized her target was no longer in front of her, and that she was about to impact the table at speed. "Wow. Damn."
"Lemme see, lemme see!" Aisha plucked the photo from his fingers. "Okay, that's amazing. The look on her face is classic. 'The moment when she knew she done fucked up.'."
"It is pretty cool, yeah." Atropos retrieved the Polaroid camera from Brian. "Thanks. So, I'm thinking of taking a few selfies with this—signed, of course, for my favourite fan—and then … say, Brian, you brought a car, didn't you?"
Brian nodded. "The PRT's letting me use a hire car to get around and take Aisha to appointments and stuff. Why?"
He couldn't see the expression on her face, but he imagined it to be a calculating smile. "How would you like to help me put a really severe crimp in the Brockton Bay drug trade …?"
Aisha's delighted whoop came as no surprise at all. His sister hated drugs. "Um … would you be needing me to do anything illegal? Because I'm not allowed to do that."
"Nope." Atropos shook her head. "I just need transport from place to place, then you can wait outside while I do my thing. I'm not even going to kill anyone who doesn't try to kill me first."
He glanced at Aisha. She nodded enthusiastically. "Say yes, Bri! Say yes!"
Deputy Director Renick didn't tell me what to do in this situation.
Shit … um … keep her happy while not doing anything illegal?
With a sensation of stepping onto a tight-rope over a bottomless pit, he nodded. "Uh … yes?"
This time, he knew for a fact that she was smiling under the mask. "Excellent."
This is going to make for one hell of an after-action report.
End of Part Seventeen
[A/N: I'll be holding off on writing more on this for a couple of weeks, sorry. Other obligations.]
Part Seventeen: A Walk in the Park
[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
Cauldron Base
Contessa
Alexandria's voice echoed down the corridors. "Oh, what the fuck?"
Fortuna didn't even bother using a Path on that one. She's read the PHO post.
A moment later, Alexandria swooped to a halt in front of her. In her hand, gripped almost tightly enough to crack the casing, was a tablet. "What the hell is going on in Brockton Bay?"
"Atropos is a Thinker," Fortuna reminded her, somewhat unnecessarily. "At least as good as me." That confession cost her the pound of flesh closest to her heart, figuratively speaking. "It looks like she figured out our feudal experiment, and how we were giving Coil free rein in the city. At least. She might know more."
"And she's killed Coil, and straight-up told us that we're not welcome in her city. And more people are delving into the name Cauldron than ever, because we can't redact it!" In a cartoon, steam would've been leaking from Alexandria's ears by now.
"On the other hand," Fortuna pointed out, "she's announced that the Nine are next on her list, and she's flat-out announced that she intends to kill the Endbringers when and where they show up. Not fight. Kill."
Alexandria blinked. "Is she insane? Challenging the Nine as well as the other teams on that list? Calling out Valefor by name? They'll be falling over each other to see who can tear her head off first."
"It's only insanity if you can't pull it off." Fortuna waited to see if Alexandria would take the hint.
The black-costumed woman frowned thoughtfully. "You believe she can? Without assistance?"
"Do you believe she can't?" Fortuna raised an eyebrow. "Since she started her operations, a grand total of twenty-three capes have either died, left Brockton Bay, or been captured by the PRT. Several more are planning to leave as we speak."
Alexandria shook her head. "It's a whole different level of scale. She can't possibly think she can take them all on, and win."
"The last time I underestimated her, I ended up looking down the barrel of her pistol. The one she took from Oni Lee's corpse." Fortuna shuddered. "It's a mistake I don't intend to make a second time."
"But Butcher and the Teeth … the Fallen …" Alexandria shook her head. "They can't be beaten. Not conventionally."
"Whoever said Atropos was conventional?"
"Well, you're no help." Alexandria vanished again, flying up the corridor.
Cookies, Fortuna decided. What I need is cookies. "Doorway to where I can buy cookies."
Cookies, she understood.
<><>
08:45 AM
Taylor
Dressed in my costume, complete except for the coat, mask, and hat, I sat in the passenger seat and peered intently ahead through the windshield. Instead of the black long-coat, I wore the white lab-coat I'd souvenired from the PRT building that one time; my accoutrements were in the black leather bag I had slung over my shoulder.
"Westlake Park, coming up," Dad said, entirely unnecessarily. Like me, he was almost certainly suffering from nerves. "Do you want me to pull in and park?"
"No." I put my left hand on my seatbelt catch, my nerves melting away. "That corner up ahead, with the bushes up to the sidewalk? Slow down all the way, going around it."
"Uh, okay." He gave me a dubious look, but started slowing for the corner.
I popped the seatbelt and let it retract, then put my hand on the door handle. As we went into the corner, I pulled on the handle and pushed the door all the way open against the resistance of the turn. Then I slid out of the seat and stepped onto the asphalt, clearing the car by inches. The last of the turn swung the door shut and it latched closed as I continued up onto the sidewalk and onward into the bushes.
Once out of sight, I shrugged out of the lab-coat and replaced it with the long-coat, then took my glasses off and replaced them with my mask and hat. With the lab-coat and glasses in the bag—now slung over my shoulder—I strode out of the bushes, on track to meet with my current number one fan.
<><>
Tenebrae
If there was anything worse than Aisha when she was smugly certain about something, Brian decided, it was Aisha when she had the jitters. He was beginning to regret not insisting on danger pay. Much more of this, and he was going to go nuts.
"Where is she, where is she, where is she?" fretted Aisha, fidgeting so hard Brian was sure people in Boston knew she was twitchy. "She said she'd be here. She said!"
"Relax," he said automatically, though he knew it would do no good. "Are you sure you both agreed on Westlake Park?"
"It was her idea," Aisha insisted, swinging her legs back and forth on the picnic table bench like a metronome on speed. "She said right here, nine o'clock."
Brian automatically checked his watch. "You know it's still ten minutes oof nine, right?"
"What?" she grabbed his wrist and stared at the clock face. "Can't be. Must be slow."
"Nope. I set it to the time on my phone." He pulled out the phone to show her. The times matched, near enough.
"Here, let me check mine." She dug out her own phone. The time on it was fifteen minutes ahead of his. "See?"
Brian shook his head. "Aisha ... why is your phone set up like that?"
She regarded it dubiously for a moment, then her expression cleared. "So I can remind myself not to be late."
He sighed in mild aggravation. "Okay. Just saying? That's probably not—"
"Excuse me?" The voice came from behind them. "Is this picnic table booked, or can anyone sit here?"
Brian turned at the same time that Aisha did. Even as he opened his mouth to politely inform the newcomer that they were waiting on a friend, he registered who was standing there.
Tall, slender, wearing a black long-coat, morph mask and hat. The coat flapped open gently in the gathering breeze, revealing a sheathed knife of some sort and a pistol in a shoulder holster. Brian felt his mouth go dry.
Atropos had arrived.
<><>
Taylor
"Holy shit!" blurted the teenaged girl. "You came!" Leaping up from her bench, she took two rapid paces toward me then stopped short. In a display of what was possibly the worse acting I had ever seen, she strove to put on an air of nonchalance. "I mean ... 'sup?"
"Hey, Aisha." I was grinning under the morph mask, which I knew they couldn't see, but it transferred to my tone of voice as I held out my hand to shake. "It's good to meet you, too."
Grabbing it with both hands, she shook it vigorously. "Holy shit, it's really you." Her voice teetered close to fangirl-squee. "Did you really wreck all of Skidmark's shit? And make the wheels fall off Squealer's shitty-ass ride?"
Holding up one finger, I reached into my pocket and produced one of the small remote transmitters I'd rigged up a few days ago. As she watched avidly, I made the finger-gun gesture, then clicked the button as I mimed shooting the 'gun'. Nothing else happened, of course. "Boom," I said cheerfully.
Aisha's eyes were wide by now. "Holy crap," she breathed. "So when you did it there ..."
"This was in my left hand, yeah," I said, then looked at Brian. "Feel free to tell Armsmaster that. It's nothing he won't already know."
He was already looking apprehensive; now, he went paler than anyone I'd ever seen with his skin tone. "Shit," he muttered, curls of darkness beginning to waft out of his palms. "This isn't—I'm not—"
"Jeez, relax," I said with a chuckle. "It's good that you're here. I know this isn't a sting or a bust. You're not here in any official capacity. Just to make sure Aisha's okay. I get it."
The darkness went away and he lost some of the pallor, though there was a slight sheen of sweat on his brow after the fact. He stared at me, probably trying to make out my expression through the morph mask.
"Yeah, Brian, unclench," jeered Aisha, rolling her eyes extravagantly. "My girl Atropos is chill. She's not here to hurt us. Are you?"
"Not in the slightest," I confirmed. "And I'll go one further. I'm not going to hurt any member of the PRT, Protectorate or Wards, or any hero in town, unless they aggress on me first, and even then I promise not to kill them." Strolling around the table, I seated myself opposite them. "I don't promise not to embarrass the fuck out of them, though."
Aisha cackled out loud. "See, Bri? This is why she's so damn cool." Hopping up from her seat, she grabbed up her phone as she rounded the table to me. "Get a photo of us, then I'll grab a selfie."
Brian sighed. He still looked apprehensive, but not to the level that he looked like he was about to pass out. "I'm sorry, Atropos. Aisha's never really learned about personal boundaries, or that you're supposed to ask about that sort of thing first."
I chuckled. "It's all good. If she bothers me, I'll just do this." Slipping one arm around her neck, I made sure not to apply dangerous levels of pressure to her carotids as I gave her a brief noogie.
"Wha—hey!" Her squawk of protest was cut off as I released her, then she glared at Brian, who was chuckling. "What's so funny, asshole?"
"Nothing. Nothing at all." He rubbed his finger across his lips. "Are you okay with me taking your photo, Atropos?"
"Sure, but wait one second." Reaching inside the long-coat, I drew out the bodice shears. They gleamed in the sunlight, the edges glittering dangerously.
"Whoa ..." breathed Aisha, staring at them. "Where did you get those from?"
"Kaiser's personal collection, about eight hours before I killed Coil with them." I snipped the air a couple of times. "Careful, the outer edges are sharp too."
Reaching out, Aisha ran one finger over the detail on the handgrips, then trailed it cautiously down the blade. "That is the most motherfucking badass thing I've ever seen," she declared, "and I once saw Lung set fire to an eighteen-wheeler full of booze and ride it into the Bay."
"When did you see that, and why were you close enough to see it?" asked Brian, suddenly intent.
She crossed her eyes and stuck out her tongue at him. "Wouldn't you like to know?"
"Mmm." He gave her a medium-level stink-eye. "Let's leave this family discussion for later. Did you want to pose with those shears for the photo?"
"Yeah," I said, then opened them up behind Aisha's head so they stuck up like bunny-ears. Then, with my other hand, I made the 'live long and prosper' sign out of Star Trek. "Aisha?"
"Hang on." She threw the horns with both hands at once then nodded, grinning with her whole face. "Do it."
The electronic shutter on Brian's phone clicked once, then he turned it the other way and took another pic. "Okay, more pictures?"
"Selfies!" Aisha picked up her phone.
I put the shears away, then reached into my bag. "Sure, but then I've got a surprise for you."
"Surprise?" Brian looked apprehensive again.
I chuckled. "Don't worry. Nothing bad. Aisha's gonna love it to bits."
"I am?" She looked at me like a kid finding an unexpected present under the Christmas tree. "What is it?"
"You'll see." I leaned in toward her. "Selfies, remember?"
"Right, right." It seemed the promise of a surprise had put her off her stride; it took three attempts to get the camera set up for the first one. But she managed it, and took a fairly credible picture with the park's small lake in the background, along with the two people who were feeding the ducks there.
I knew who they were, of course, and what was about to happen.
<><>
Panacea
Amy hunched her shoulders into her hoodie and tossed a handful of oats onto the surface of the small lake. The few ducks that had chosen not to fly south, or got left behind, paddled over and started dipping their bills in the water, collecting the pieces. They didn't look thrilled, and she could sympathise with them.
"I don't even know why I'm here," she groused, glaring at her sister's back. Vicky had chosen to show up in costume, for some incomprehensible reason. "You're the one who got in the shit with the PRT, not me."
"If by that you mean I'm the one who called out the PRT for their weak-sauce attitude toward Atropos, then sure," Vicky sniped back. "Aunt Sarah sent me to feed ducks here until I figured out where I'd gone wrong. She sent you along to make sure I didn't just go off and spend the day at Dean's or something."
"So, go," Amy invited. "I honestly couldn't give a flying fuck." She was lying, of course. But that wasn't exactly something she could tell the truth about. Spending time with Vicky was always something she was down for, but when Vicky had her nose out of joint it was a lot less fun.
"I can't." Vicky threw a handful of oats at a bunch of ducks and scored a direct hit; they scattered, quacking in agitation. Once they'd settled down, they shook themselves to get the oats off their feathers and onto the water, where they scooped them up. "If Aunt Sarah asks you where we've been …"
"… I'll say we were here." Amy looked around aimlessly. There was a group of people at a picnic table some distance away. One was dressed oddly, all in black.
"You can't lie worth a damn." Vicky's tone held no censure. It was a fact of life. "She'll know, and then I'll be in trouble all over again."
"So why did you even call them out?" asked Amy, peering across at the other group. "You had to know they'd complain to Aunt Sarah." The one in black was wearing a hat and a long coat, and either had close-cut hair or …
Vicky threw some more oats to the ducks. "Because Mom's right, and all capes need to be held accountable for shit they do. And the PRT's all 'no, don't engage with Atropos because it might be dangerous' but she's a fucking murderer and punching beats Thinking in combat. Nobody can think straight with a busted nose, and if the Thinker wants to talk, I'll bust their jaw as well."
"She seems to be pretty good at what she does," ventured Amy. "Even not counting Oni Lee, she managed to fuck up four supervillains pretty good. None of them saw her coming, and she took them down by the numbers."
Vicky rolled her eyes. "Because she had time to prepare. Also, she murdered Shadow Stalker. Admitted to it, right there. But what's the PRT saying about it? Nothing. 'Cannot comment on an ongoing investigation', my muscular gluteus maximus!"
And that was the trouble with teaching Vicky something. Amy had explained various parts of the body to her sister once, and Vicky had latched on to the name of the ass muscle forever after. "Well, maybe they can't."
"Pfft, I don't see why not. We're affiliate capes, right? But even Dean's all, 'sorry, not allowed to talk about it'. If not to his own girlfriend, who?" Vicky froze, her gaze fixed on the picnic table. "Holy shit. Holy shit. Ames, you see that?"
"Those people? What about them?" Amy knew damn well 'what about them'. But the chances of Atropos actually showing up at random in the same park she and Vicky had been sent to seemed minimal to zero. Also, there were two other people with the maybe-Atropos, and she hadn't had any associates that Amy had heard of.
"That's Atropos, I'd swear to it!" Vicky pointed. "I watched her fucking murder Lung, and I couldn't do a damn thing about it. Well, now it's different."
"Vicky, wait a minute. Let's just take a—" But Vicky was gone, rocketing across the park, bag of oats dropped and spilling on the ground. The ducks, sensing a feast, waddled out of the water, quacking loudly.
"Fuck it. Enjoy." Amy dropped her bag next to Vicky's, and started running after her sister.
<><>
Tenebrae
Brian had no idea what was going on. Aisha was being her usual self, and Atropos was … playing along? Clowning around? For a terrifyingly effective assassin, she seemed intent on enjoying herself, even pulling out her own phone for a couple of selfies.
It was not how he'd expected this to go.
Then Atropos took the Polaroid camera out of her bag, and Brian grinned at the look of confusion on his sister's face. She peered at the admittedly odd-looking device, her head tilted to one side, for all the world like one of Rachel's dogs when it didn't understand a command.
"Okay," she said. "What the fuck is it supposed to do?"
"Prints out a physical photo," Atropos explained.
"You're shitting me."
"She is not," Brian assured her. "Those things have been around for years. Longer than I've been alive."
"Yeah, right," jeered Aisha. "That thing looks like a Tinker threw it together yesterday. Out of spare parts."
"Oh, ye of little faith." Atropos' voice took on the quality that made Brian think she was smiling. "Come on, I'll set it up to take a timed photo." Placing it on the table, she pressed a button and stepped back until she was standing directly in front of it. "Both of you get in the frame with me," she urged. "We've got about eight seconds."
"Oh, this I gotta see." Aisha crowded up on one side of Atropos, so Brian naturally moved in on the other side.
If sitting back and watching his sister clown around with a terrifying cape assassin was deeply weird, he didn't even know what to feel about standing so close he was shoulder to shoulder with her. There was an air of palpable danger about her, or maybe that was just because he knew what she was capable of. And as for her personal combat capability, she moved like the best fighters he'd known, always perfectly in balance with her surroundings. Except where it came to Aisha; Aisha, she let inside her guard.
The Polaroid camera beeped once, then twice more. He forced a smile onto his face, because he didn't want Aisha grumping at him for screwing up the photo.
beep-beep-beep-beeee—
"Down!" shouted Atropos; at the same time as he felt the shove, his leg was kicked out from under him so he went sprawling. Distantly, he heard Aisha yelp in protest, but all that was overshadowed an instant later when something swept over them and the picnic table dissolved in a shattering crash.
He rolled over and did a kip-up to get to his feet, looking around to see what the fuck had just happened. Thankfully, Aisha was okay, sitting up with her hair falling across her eyes and an indignant expression on her face. The picnic table had been demolished, and Atropos was already standing, left hand extended as though she'd just caught the camera that was now in her hand. In her right, she held the photo.
Some yards beyond the wreckage of the table was Glory Girl, just now slowing down and turning around. "Stand still!" she shouted.
"Nuh-uh," Atropos retorted flippantly. "Here, catch." She tossed the camera to Brian, then stood there waving the photo in the air.
"Glory Girl, stand down!" Brian called out as he automatically caught it. "This is a really bad idea!"
"It'll be a bad idea for you to get in my way." Glory Girl clenched her fists. "This is between me and Atropos."
"Oh, for fuck's sake, why can't you just fuck off?" demanded Aisha. "We were having a perfectly fun day here, and you had to come in with your 'hurr durr me big hero' shit."
"She's a villain," Glory Girl explained slowly, as though to a child. "And a murderer. I'm a hero. Stopping people like her is what I do."
"You're a humungous twatwaffle, is what you are," declared Aisha impudently. "She's the hero. How many villains have you stopped this week? How many have you chased out of town ever?"
Brian wanted to facepalm. Not only was his sister arguing with Glory Girl, but insulting her as well. He didn't even want to know where she'd gotten 'twatwaffle' from. "Aisha …"
"Well, she is!" Aisha actually sounded upset now. "Atropos is cool! Because of her, there's barely any villains left in town!"
"And there'll be one less in just a second," promised Glory Girl. Brian felt waves of fear pulsing out from her. It was never any less real, even when he knew where it was coming from. She lunged forward, gathering speed in an obvious move to punch Atropos as a fly-by attack.
Atropos barely seemed to move, but she swayed aside just far enough to avoid the attack. Moreover, her hand darted out; when Glory Girl came to a halt, she was no longer wearing the tiara. She didn't seem to realise it for a moment, until Atropos tossed the headgear to Aisha. "Here. Souvenir."
Aisha seemed to be one of those people who reacted to fear with defiance. She caught the tiara out of the air and brandished it like a weapon. "Hah! Score!"
"What the fuck?" Glory Girl felt at her head. "Hey, give that back!"
"Go away and I'll think about it." Atropos' voice was steady. If she was feeling the same level of fear as Brian, she was a master at hiding it. Her hand went into her pocket, then came out with a shiny quarter. She flipped it in the air, then caught it without looking. "Right now, you're intruding."
"I'll show you intruding!" shouted Glory Girl. As her voice rose to a shout, she lanced toward Atropos again.
The quarter spun into the air once more as Atropos did a perfect limbo twist to avoid the charging attack. Glory Girl, for her part, choked and grabbed her throat, then crash-landed in an ungainly sprawl beyond the wreckage of the table.
What the fuck? Did she just flip that coin into Glory Girl's mouth?
Brian hurried over, but Atropos got there first. She dropped with one knee into Glory Girl's stomach; the stricken superhero let out a loud hacking cough, and the coin was expelled upward with some force. Atropos caught it out of the air, then dropped it into her pocket and drew the shears again.
"Hey," she said, and rapped Glory Girl on the forehead with the heavy blades. "Pay attention."
Slowly, Glory Girl's eyes came back into focus, and she found herself with the tip of the shears an inch from her eye. "What … what the fuck?"
Atropos hit her with them again, just hard enough to leave a bruise. "I said, pay attention. I know how to bring your power down. I know how to kill you. Do you understand?" Clack, went the shears
"Wha—will you stop fucking doing that!" Glory Girl began to reach for the blades, then froze as Atropos used the very tip of the shears to snip off one of her eyelashes.
"Yeah. It's inside your field. I can put it straight into your brain. It will kill you." Atropos' voice was implacable. "I can do this at any time. Do you understand?"
"I … yeah, I understand." The admission was wrung grudgingly out of her throat. "Do you want me to beg for my life? Is that it?"
"No." Atropos' voice never changed. She wasn't gloating or even admonishing Glory Girl; merely establishing a fact of life. "Next time, if someone tells you to back off … back the fuck off."
Staggering footsteps and heavy panting heralded the arrival of someone Brian belatedly recognized as Panacea. "Please," she gasped. "Please … don't kill … her. Oh god … I need to do … more cardio."
"Wasn't going to," Atropos said. "But your sister could've fucked up really badly just then. She could've hurt my friends here. So … a favour for a favour. I keep quiet about this, and you do something for me, later on. Deal?"
Panacea blinked at her. "A … favour? What sort of … favour?"
Atropos snorted and tapped Glory Girl's forehead with the shears again. "Nothing hugely illegal. Okay?"
"Do I have a choice?" The New Wave healer looked at where her sister was still staring at the shears.
"There's always a choice. Is that a yes?"
Grudgingly, Panacea nodded. "Yes. You don't talk about this, I do you a favour later."
"Awesome." Atropos sheathed the shears, then came to her feet and stepped back in a move so smooth Brian would've sworn it had to be rehearsed. "Sorry about the rough stuff, but some lessons need to have a point before people take them on."
Aisha cackled out loud. "Well, that lesson certainly had a point!" She fitted the tiara on her head, sitting up at a jaunty angle.
Cautiously, with one eye on Atropos, Glory Girl rose into the air. "I want that back. Right now."
"Nope," said Atropos, before Aisha could even protest. "Call it an asshole tax. Take your sister and leave before anything else happens."
"Yeah … let's just … go," panted Panacea. "Are you … okay?"
"She stole my tiara!" Glory Girl pointed at Aisha indignantly.
"No, I stole it and gave it to her," Atropos corrected her. "As I said, asshole tax. Now, fuck off before I decide to get creative."
"Ooh, ooh, get creative!" Aisha urged. "I wanna see this!"
Panacea shook her head. Making a wide berth around Brian and Atropos, she took Glory Girl by the arm. "Let's go home now," she stated firmly. "Before this day goes even further off the rails."
"But … my tiara …"
Atropos shook her head. "Not yours anymore. Bye."
"We've got spares," Panacea stated. "C'mon. Let's go."
Reluctantly, Glory Girl picked up her sister and lofted into the air. Pausing, she looked back at Atropos. "This isn't over."
Atropos pushed her hat back and made a come-at-me gesture. "Anytime."
It almost seemed as though Glory Girl was going to take up the challenge, but Panacea punched her in the shoulder and muttered something about "any more favours". Turning, the brightly clad teen hero flew away, gaining altitude until they disappeared from view.
"Well, that was a thing." Atropos waved the photo—which she'd kept in her hand the whole time—in the air again, then looked at it. "Huh. Action shot."
When Brian looked at it, the colours were still fading in, but it showed Glory Girl's face, charging at the camera, right at the moment when she'd realized her target was no longer in front of her, and that she was about to impact the table at speed. "Wow. Damn."
"Lemme see, lemme see!" Aisha plucked the photo from his fingers. "Okay, that's amazing. The look on her face is classic. 'The moment when she knew she done fucked up.'."
"It is pretty cool, yeah." Atropos retrieved the Polaroid camera from Brian. "Thanks. So, I'm thinking of taking a few selfies with this—signed, of course, for my favourite fan—and then … say, Brian, you brought a car, didn't you?"
Brian nodded. "The PRT's letting me use a hire car to get around and take Aisha to appointments and stuff. Why?"
He couldn't see the expression on her face, but he imagined it to be a calculating smile. "How would you like to help me put a really severe crimp in the Brockton Bay drug trade …?"
Aisha's delighted whoop came as no surprise at all. His sister hated drugs. "Um … would you be needing me to do anything illegal? Because I'm not allowed to do that."
"Nope." Atropos shook her head. "I just need transport from place to place, then you can wait outside while I do my thing. I'm not even going to kill anyone who doesn't try to kill me first."
He glanced at Aisha. She nodded enthusiastically. "Say yes, Bri! Say yes!"
Deputy Director Renick didn't tell me what to do in this situation.
Shit … um … keep her happy while not doing anything illegal?
With a sensation of stepping onto a tight-rope over a bottomless pit, he nodded. "Uh … yes?"
This time, he knew for a fact that she was smiling under the mask. "Excellent."
This is going to make for one hell of an after-action report.
End of Part Seventeen
[A/N: I'll be holding off on writing more on this for a couple of weeks, sorry. Other obligations.]
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Part Eighteen: Drugs Are Bad, Just Ask Atropos
Ack
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A Darker Path
Part Eighteen: Drugs Are Bad, Just Ask Atropos
[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
Atropos
Brian frowned as we neared the location I was giving him instructions to drive to. "That sounds kind of familiar …" he said slowly.
"Yeah, no, duh, it's familiar, bro." Aisha, in the back seat, was having great fun playing with her new tiara. Between that and the Polaroids of me holding the bodice shears up behind her head like bunny ears, I was pretty sure that this was her best day in a long time.
Which was kind of sad, when I came to think about it that way.
"Wait." Having gotten the hint from his sister, Brian was putting two and two together. Impressively enough, he added it up to four all by himself. He turned and stared at me. "Are you taking us to Celia's place?"
"Otherwise known as the Hellbitch Drug Ho," Aisha chimed in. I got the impression that she might harbour a little resentment toward her mother's substance abuse problem.
"That's where we're going," I confirmed. "Now, as I understand it, she's a heroin user but not a heavy one, right?"
Aisha shook her head, the spikes of the tiara rotating one way and then the other. "Not unless she's gotten a lot more into it since I left that ass-crack of a place."
"Good." I smiled. I already didn't like Aisha's mother, and the thought of her having to dry out without the assistance of an addiction program was savagely satisfying to me.
"How did you even know that?" asked Brian. "Have you been here before?"
"Never in my life. Just pull over here." I indicated a parking spot right next to the building I needed to visit. "Whatever you two do, stay in the car. Do not try to come get me, do not call out. I'll be out shortly. Got it?"
"Are you suure I can't come up and see her face when you take all her shit?" Aisha was good at wheedling, but fortunately I was immune to puppy-dog eyes. Unless I chose not to be, of course.
"Certain." I looked at Brian and hooked my head toward Aisha. Don't let her get out. He nodded to me; the silent message had been received loud and clear.
Climbing out of the car, I strode across the sidewalk and in through the front doors. There was supposed to be some kind of buzzer mechanism but it seemed to have been damaged beyond repair by previous tenants. Ignoring the elevator, I took the stairs at a steady trot.
All around me, I was aware of tiny caches of illicit substances here and there, but I was only interested in one. Specifically, the drugs currently being held by Aisha's mother. Her habits—drug-taking and social—had screwed up Aisha's life for the longest time. Drug abuse while pregnant had left baby Aisha with a short attention span; it was manageable, but it could've been a lot worse.
I reached the correct floor and strode along the corridor until I got to the right door. There were several options for entry, ranging from picking the lock (I would've needed lockpicks) to shooting the lock off (a waste of ammunition, in my opinion) to kicking the door in (hard on the ankles). I chose another avenue altogether; leaning in toward the door, I changed my voice to a pack-a-day masculine rasp. Knocking on the door, I called out, "Celia, babe, open up. I got the stuff."
She unlocked the door immediately, of course. I put my shoulder to it and shoved it open, and I was inside before she realised what was going on. "What the fuck?" she demanded. "Who are y—urk!" The reason her question was cut short was because my hand had gone around her throat and pushed her against the wall.
I nudged the door shut with my hip and snapped the locks over, then got the shears out and rested the tip on the bridge of her nose. "You may have heard of me," I said quietly. "My name is Atropos. I killed Skidmark last night, which is why Carl's left town and Troy is taking over for him. Carl was the smart one. Do you understand?" She was staring cross-eyed at the shears, so I lifted them until she was looking across them at me. "Do you understand?" I repeated.
"Uh huh," she whimpered. "Please don't kill me." I smelled fresh urine, and noted that she'd pissed herself. It probably wouldn't be an uncommon reaction in this situation, going forward.
"Not in my plans," I said, and pointed at a chair. "Sit there and don't move. If you run, I will catch you, and it won't be pleasant."
Obediently, she sat. I picked up a crushed paper bag from the table and straightened it out. It had evidently been used to bring drugs into the apartment before now, so this was an appropriate use for it. Warily, she watched me as I moved around the apartment, zeroing in on every drug cache she had, ignoring the ones for weed. Each little baggie went into the paper bag, her face falling a little more with every loss.
"So, who ratted me out?" she asked sullenly as I finished my rounds. Not a fraction of an ounce of white powder, pills or rocks of crack cocaine had been left within the apartment.
"Nobody." I carefully folded the bag over, then moved to stand next to the door.
"Oh, don't give me that bullshit." Given that I hadn't carved her up on the spot, she'd evidently decided that I wasn't going to hurt her. "You just cleaned me out of the hard stuff without looking anywhere else. Somebody who knew where it was had to tell you."
I flicked the locks, pulled the door open, and yanked the aforementioned Troy into the room just as he was about to knock. As he was still staggering, trying to regain his balance, I locked the door again and moved in after him. "Afternoon, Troy," I said. "We need to have a chat."
His butt came up against the table and he stopped short, staring at me. "Fuck!" he said. "You're her … uh …"
"Atropos, yes." It was truly sad, the lack of education in the inner city these days. "Don't pull your gun and you'll be fine—"
He pulled his gun. Which meant he wasn't fine. Throwing the bag I held in his face, I moved into close quarters. The bag made him flinch and blinded him for an instant, which was all the time I needed to secure his wrist and take the gun away from him. Of course, he needed to be reminded why it was a bad idea to pull a gun on me, so I dropped the pistol on the table, drew the shears, and nailed his right hand to the table.
He screamed and dropped the bag he held in his left hand, almost the twin to mine, except for the fact that his was a good deal fuller. I took up his pistol and dropped the magazine out of it, then retrieved the last round out of the chamber. They were the same calibre that Oni Lee's pistol could use, and it wasn't like I could go to a gun shop and buy more ammo.
"Now," I said to Troy, who was screaming a little less now that nobody was jolting the wound. "Do I have your full attention?"
He glared at me, but a warning gesture with my own pistol stopped him from just grabbing the shears and pulling them out of his hand. "You're gonna die for this," he panted. "Nobody fucks with our crew."
"I do," I informed him. "Now, one more time. Are you listening?"
He gritted his teeth and sucked in a long breath through his nostrils. "… yeah."
"Good. What I've got to say is simple. You won't even need to take notes. As of right now, you're out of the drug trade. If I catch you dealing drugs again, I will kill you. It won't be a fair fight, or even a fight at all. You'll just die. Is there any part of what I've just said that you don't understand?"
There was a long pause, then he remembered to shake his head.
"Good," I said, then my power flared.
Something new had impinged on my awareness of danger. It appeared that my power now considered Aisha to be just as worthy of protection as my dad, because it had just told me that she was in danger.
My reaction was immediate: Path to End the danger to Aisha.
Troy screamed all over again as I yanked the shears out of the table and his hand respectively. Grabbing him, I spun him around as though we were dancing, but I made sure that he was always just a little off-balance, tottering around in a series of circles that inevitably led toward the window.
Result to Troy, my power informed me when I queried it. Broken neck, crushed skull, broken spine. Death within minutes.
That wasn't good enough. I'd promised Aisha that I wouldn't kill anyone who wasn't trying to kill me. Also, I'd told Troy that he'd die if he dealt any more drugs. I hadn't given him the chance to avoid dealing drugs in future.
Turning slightly, I amended our trajectory, so that when I let Troy go and he went out the window, it was back-first, not headfirst.
A moment later, I got the acknowledgement from my power: Danger to Aisha ended. Path complete. Result to Troy: broken arm, broken collar-bone, broken kneecap. Will live.
Tenebrae
"I wanna go up and see what's going on," whined Aisha. "The look on that bitch's face with Atropos giving her the good news must be fuckin' epic."
"She said to stay in the car, and that's where we're staying." Brian was adamant on this. He didn't want to know what was happening up in his mother's apartment. If he didn't know about it, he didn't have to report on it.
"Yeah, but—"
Aisha abruptly shut up as a dark shadow loomed next to the car. A scarred leather-jacketed man, his entire demeanour shouting 'I'm a leg breaker' to any who cared to listen, leaned down and looked in through the car windows.
The man looked at Brian, then at Aisha. "What the fuck are you two doing?" he demanded.
Brian opened his mouth to give a de-escalating answer, but Aisha got in first. "Waiting for a fuckin' train. What's it to you, asshole?"
Jesus Christ, Aisha! "Ignore her," he said hastily. "We're just waiting on a friend. We won't be here long."
His heart sank as the guy paid no attention to him and glared at Aisha. "What the fuck did you say, you little bitch?" Leaning into the car, he made a grab for her.
"I said fuck off!" she screamed, and yanked the tiara off her head, jamming one of the spikes into the back of his massive paw.
"Cocksucker!" He jumped back from the car and reached around under the back of his jacket.
Brian was reasonably certain that the asshole wasn't seeking to alleviate his back pain, so he prepared to flood the car with blackness. But before the gun even made an appearance, there was the tinkle of broken glass and a scream from above. The scarred enforcer looked up, just in time for another man to land on him; they both ended up on the sidewalk in a feebly moving heap.
The other enforcer, who'd been standing back and watching the show, drew his pistol and ran into the building. Brian glanced at Aisha, then they both stared at the injured men. From inside the building, they heard the distinct sound of a shot.
The doors opened again, and Atropos emerged. She was carrying two brown paper bags, as well as a bottle of bleach. Strolling across to where the car was, she opened the door and got in. "Drive," she said. "I'll give you directions."
"Are you okay?" asked Aisha. "That guy who ran in there—"
Atropos closed the door and put her seatbelt on. "Don't worry about it," she said. "I saw him coming."
A Small Park
Atropos
Brian and I watched as a madly grinning Aisha poured undiluted bleach over the drugs I'd collected from their mother's apartment. The plastic melted under the onslaught, and the various addictive substances bubbled and fizzed as the bleach attacked their very chemical structures. It was quite interesting, in a scientific sort of way.
"Die, you little pieces of shit!" Aisha cackled. "Die!" She poked at the mixture with a stick—a long stick, given that the fumes coming off the mess were fairly powerful—and watched with intense satisfaction as it all broke down into a formless mass.
Brian turned to me. "I have a question."
"I may have an answer." I knew what he was going to ask, but I preferred to let him keep his illusions of free will for the moment.
"When we stopped at the convenience store, why did you have me buy string and road flares?"
I grinned under the mask. "All things will be revealed in time."
When the last of the drugs were gone—washed down a convenient drain with the application of more bleach—Aisha put the cap back on the bottle and turned to me. Her eyes were bright with tears and the hug she gave me was heartfelt.
"How are you feeling now?" I asked her, ruffling her hair.
"Fuckin' amazeballs," she said, her grin back to its full wattage. "Let's go fuck up some more drug dealers!"
I nodded slowly, as though I was merely considering it, when in fact I'd already decided on my course of action. "I believe we can do that."
"Fuck, yeah!"
Half an Hour Later
Tenebrae
Atropos, Brian decided, was beyond terrifying. Not only could she and would she kill anyone who threatened her for any reason, but she also knew who threatened her and could deal with them before they were aware of her. More than that, when she set her sights on Brockton Bay's drug trade, she had somehow acquired the knowledge of exactly where all the drugs were. All the drugs.
Case in point: the innocuous suburban two-story house before them. It bore all the hallmarks of belonging to a happy couple with two point three children and a dog, including a tricycle artfully displayed in the front yard, and a cutesy little sign saying, "Forget the dog, beware of the kids". Someone had put a lot of effort into making it seem even more normal than the neighbours.
But as it happened, it was a major drug distribution hub for the south side of Brockton Bay. The dealers never came there, of course; the product was loaded into the late-model car (complete with BABY ON BOARD sticker on the rear window) and driven sedately to other locations, where it was handed out. Atropos had explained all this before she got out of the car and headed across the road.
She'd said one other thing, as well. "Call the fire department. They're gonna need it."
After a long few minutes, during which time he heard absolutely nothing, Atropos leaned out the door and beckoned to them. Brian definitely wanted to see what was going on, and so did Aisha; scrambling out of the car, they headed across the road. "What's the matter?" he asked. "Is it a bust?"
"You might say that." He was pretty sure she was grinning under the mask. "Come on in. This is where the drugs that were supplying your mom would've come from." She had her shears in her hand, and seemed to be wiping them down.
Stepping into the front room of the house still looked absolutely normal. Another doorway, not in a direct line with the front door, led to the back of the house … and his mind was blown.
There was no kitchen, no bedrooms, no living room. Carefully hung curtains covered every window. Speakers played TV sounds, and the occasional noise of a baby crying. But the interior of the house had been gutted, and the resultant room was all made over to the division and packaging of drugs for supply to the population of Brockton Bay.
"Holy fuckballs," whispered Aisha. "I'd never have known. This is where they're from?"
"It's where they go through for this part of the distribution, yeah." Atropos sounded remarkably matter-of-fact about the whole thing. "There are other hubs, but I'll get to those in time."
"So, where does this place get 'em from?" asked Brian. He tried hard not to look at the corpses lying on the floor and draped over the table. Several pistols lay here and there. There was rather a lot of blood. "And how come we didn't hear any gunshots?"
Atropos shrugged. "A firefight in the suburbs is too dangerous. The walls are too thin, and bullets might've come your way. I decided not to let them start one." She finished wiping off the shears, and re-sheathed them.
"So … we're calling the cops now as well as the fire department, right?" He eyed the various packets of white powder that lay on the table, and the further stack in the corner. "Because they're going to need to take all this into evidence."
"Nope." She pulled a road flare out of her pocket. "Not all of it would make it into evidence. I'm trying to give them the best chance to kick their corruption, so there's no sense in dangling temptation in front of them. Come on, let's go. And it's time you made that call." She pulled the cap off the end of the flare, and struck it.
Brian finished the call to the fire department as they climbed into the car again. Across the road, the first flickers of flame were showing in the front windows. Putting his phone away, he fastened his seat belt, then started the car. "Where to now?"
Atropos put her hand on his arm. "Are you okay with this? Because if you're not, we can drop you off."
He took a long, deep breath. "Before I say yes or no, is it okay if I make a phone call?"
"Be my guest," she invited. He got the impression that she knew exactly where he was calling and why.
Starting the car, he drove it around the corner and parked again, then pulled out his Wards-issue phone.
PRT Building
Deputy Director Renick's Office
"Renick."
"Sir, it's Laborn."
"Is there a problem?"
There was a pause. "Potentially. I think we've exceeded the orders you gave me already."
"Explain."
"After we left the park, Atropos had me drive her from place to place. She's injuring and killing drug dealers, and destroying the drugs. She just burned down a house full of drugs in the suburbs after killing everyone inside. I need to know what I should be doing right now."
This time, it was Paul's turn to pause. "Is your sister still with her?"
"Yes, sir."
"Is Atropos harming innocents?"
"Not as far as I can tell, sir. She did throw someone out of a third story window to land on someone who was threatening Aisha, but he turned out to be my mother's drug dealer."
Paul blinked. That wasn't a line he heard every day. "Did … did he survive?"
"They both did, but neither one was happy about it, sir."
"Alright then. Stick with her. If you can safely minimise casualties, do it. But do not—I say again, do not—actively interfere, unless she is specifically endangering you, your sister, or any other innocents. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir. I understand."
Atropos
I looked at Brian. He wasn't exactly thrilled right now, and I knew why. He'd never been comfortable with the concept of killing, and he'd been ordered to spend time with someone who killed as easily as breathing (but not casually; never casually). I'd set out to shut down one line of drug trafficking into the city, and the death toll along the way was starting to get to him.
I didn't need to feel guilty about this, and I knew it. My promise had specified that I wouldn't kill anyone so long as they weren't trying to kill me. All the people in the drug distribution hub had been doing their best to end my existence; I just hadn't let them get as far as pointing a gun in my direction. It wasn't my fault that I was better at it than they were.
And of course, there was the money aspect. Supplying illicit drugs to the population had always been a cash cow, and people were ever willing to defend it with lethal force. This meant that the farther up the chain we got, the more likely we were to meet people who were not only willing to kill, but were actually good at it. Which meant in turn that I would normally have had fewer options when it came to ending the fight without killing them.
Not that this bothered me. If they were so eager to die, who was I to gainsay them?
However, there was the extra twist of the report he was going to make to the Deputy Director. I had no doubt that Piggot and Renick would make their final determination about me using their own judgement, but such things could be influenced by reports like the one he was going to give. And if he could give the impression that I was someone who could use restraint when necessary (which I was) then it would be another step on the Path to Ending their institutional distrust of me.
"So, Brian," I said, gesturing at the warehouse across the way. "You think you could fill that with darkness?"
He blinked, then eyed the warehouse itself. As with the faux suburban house, it could've passed as being absolutely normal for its area. Except for a few minor details, of course. For instance, the guard in his little shack (bulletproof, with a code-locked door) was armed with illegally modified firearms. If he called for help, there were more guards within the building, ready to run out at a moment's notice. And inside, yet more guards were just there to patrol the interior of the building. It looked like someone was definitely willing to pay extra to protect their investment.
It was so nice to be taken seriously by people I'd never met. I might almost regret having to kill them, if they refused to change their ways.
"I … guess I could," he said at a moment's notice. "Are you going to kill anyone?"
"Not if they can't see me," I said firmly. It was very much a gauntlet being thrown down. He could save the lives of every person in there, if he was willing to use his power to help me get what I wanted.
"You realise that I'm the only one who can see through my darkness, right?" He eyed me as though unsure whether I knew about his abilities. "Nobody else can. To them, it's pitch darkness."
I shrugged. "Meh. Sight is overrated." Which was funny, because although I could see, without my glasses I was near-sighted. My power just filled in details when I needed them, all in the name of completing the Path.
We got out of the car and Brian approached the guard shack. What the guard couldn't see was that I was directly behind Brian, in the lovely great blind spot created by his muscular torso. The shack had a Perspex window with a small shelf on the outside to allow visitors to sign things—I was pretty sure this was a common configuration for these things.
The downside of a setup like that was while Brian was leaning in close (keeping his hands in plain view) and asking for directions out of the local maze of back streets, it was possible for me to duck down and slither around to where I could reach up and enter the door code. Which I did. The guard reacted far too slowly, expecting one of his colleagues to be relieving him. Me swinging off the door-frame and bouncing his head off the far wall with not quite lethal force might have relieved him of anything resembling consciousness, but he probably didn't mean it that way.
With the guard flex-cuffed (he had a store of these, which I appropriated) we moved on to a human-entry door. I'd lifted the guard's keys, and now I tapped the electronic reader with a particular fob and typed in a four-digit code. Not the same one as on the guard shack, I was pleased to see. These guys weren't stupid, just … well, drug-dealing assholes.
"Darkness, now," I murmured. Brian obediently generated a cloud of the stuff around us.
I opened the door in the secure knowledge that nobody would see a bright sunlit rectangle and two people entering. We stepped inside and I shut the door again. Then I prised off a cover, pulled two wires and touched them together, and shorted out the whole door-alarm system.
With that taken care of, we started off around the perimeter of the warehouse. We lurked around the inside of the wall, travelling in our own little blot of darkness, until we were behind a pallet—of money, as it turned out.
"Holy shit," he whispered. "This is more money than I've ever seen in my life."
That got a dry chuckle from me. "Well, feast your eyes, sunshine, because that bad boy does not survive to the end of the movie."
It took him a few seconds to figure it out. "But—"
"We can't take it, if the cops show up it becomes evidence and helps nobody, and I'm not leaving it for some drug dealer to spend on more drugs." I shrugged. "It is what it is. Now, if we can have some darkness on the issue, please?"
It didn't take him long to decide to play along. Darkness started rolling off him in great waves, washing through the warehouse and slowly rising like a horror-movie tide full of Things Man was not Meant to Eat. I heard the first shouts of alarm then, and headed off to start the cleanup.
It was kind of weird, moving through the blacked-out warehouse, not being able to see a thing, yet knowing where I was and that there was a staircase directly ahead of me. Also, there was a guard feeling his way down the staircase, one cautious step at a time.
Well, I was never one to look a gift horse in the teeth. I went up as he came down, then when I got close enough, I flipped him over the rail. His brief scream ended when he hit the concrete and knocked himself out.
Trotting back down the stairs, I flex-cuffed him, then waved Brian over. "Get him outside," I said. "Far side of the road."
"Got it." Brian grunted as he lifted the man in a fireman's carry. I could never have done that; then again, I lacked an extra hundred pounds of muscle, which probably explained it.
The rest of the clearance went more or less the same way. Everyone was cautiously feeling their way around, while I knew exactly where they were and what they were doing. Brian even assisted in subduing a few of them, which sped things up considerably.
When the last man was accounted for, I sent Brian to the door to wait for me. In the inside pockets of my long-coat, I'd been carrying several of the grenades I'd inherited from Oni Lee. I figured I might want to get some more later on, but right now, these were going to be used to send a message.
Not In My City.
Each grenade was attached to a pallet of drugs or of money; I didn't have enough of them to trap all the pallets, but I figured I had enough to make ready for the second stage. I worked the pin almost free from each grenade, and tied a length of string to it. Strings trailing through my hands, I strolled back to where Brian was waiting. He'd just moved the guy from the guard shack to where the others were, so that we were the only ones on the actual property.
"Ready for the final act?" I asked, beckoning Aisha over.
Brian hadn't been watching too closely, so he didn't know what the strings meant. "Final act?" he asked as Aisha approached. "What final act?"
By way of answer, I handed half the strings to him, and the other half to Aisha. "Pull these when I say 'three'," I said. "One. Two. Three."
They both yanked on the strings. At the same time, I pulled the cap off a road flare and struck it. It flared brightly, even though the sun was still out.
"What's supposed to happen?" asked Aisha, looking at the strings. "And what's the road flare—"
Inside the warehouse, the grenades went off. Being chemically fused, there was of course a slight variation between one and another, but they were close enough to sound like one big explosion. Smoke and powder began to billow out through the open door.
"Run," I said.
Aisha looked at me. "What?"
Brian grabbed her arm. "Run." Dragging her with him, he headed off down the driveway. I turned and threw the road flare underarm toward the doorway, then casually walked after them.
"Why are we running?" protested Aisha as she and Brian crossed the road.
BOOOM
I felt the heat of the explosion, as well as the shift in air pressure, on my back, but I didn't alter my steady pace. Brian and Aisha had dived behind a parked car, and were now peering over it as I strolled over to them. Turning to lean on the car, I surveyed my handiwork.
The warehouse was still there, though there were now holes in the walls and roof. As we watched, parts of the roof caved in. An enormous mushroom cloud climbed into the sky. Smoke was still pouring out of the stricken building, and it was easy to see that fires were blazing within.
"How the fuck did you do that?" demanded Aisha.
"Flour bomb," I explained, then went back to watching the fire.
"Huh?"
"Flour bomb," Brian repeated, in tones of enlightenment. "Particulates suspended in the air can be made to explode, especially if they're flammable. And you just blew up pallets of …"
"Heroin, cocaine, crack cocaine, methamphetamines, PCP and cash," I recited promptly. "Most of which will absolutely form clouds in the air, especially if some unkind person inserts a grenade where it'll do the most good. Cash is of course flammable in its own right."
"And we pulled the pins," marvelled Aisha. "That was so damn cool."
Brian's eyebrows rose toward his hairline as he looked over at the inferno. "That's … how much worth of drugs did we just destroy?"
"Eight figures," I said cheerfully. "Tens of millions. And that's not counting the cash. And all of it comes out of the pockets of the drug dealers. That right there? That was the next few months' worth of distribution in Brockton Bay, as well as the last month or so of outgoing profits."
"Holy fuckballs on acid," Aisha said happily. "They are gonna be so damn pissed."
"That's the general idea, yes," I agreed. "An angry enemy is one who isn't thinking straight."
"But … won't they just get more in?" asked Brian.
"Why, yes." I actually went so far as to steeple my fingertips. "I do believe they will."
Aisha stared at me. "You know where an' when, don't you?"
I nodded, once. "And now you get it."
Aisha was still laughing when we got back into the car.
End of Part Eighteen
[A/N: I am not overly well-informed on how much in the way of illicit drugs a large city will consume. If anyone has any better information than I do, I would welcome the chance to fix my numbers.]
Part Eighteen: Drugs Are Bad, Just Ask Atropos
[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
Atropos
Brian frowned as we neared the location I was giving him instructions to drive to. "That sounds kind of familiar …" he said slowly.
"Yeah, no, duh, it's familiar, bro." Aisha, in the back seat, was having great fun playing with her new tiara. Between that and the Polaroids of me holding the bodice shears up behind her head like bunny ears, I was pretty sure that this was her best day in a long time.
Which was kind of sad, when I came to think about it that way.
"Wait." Having gotten the hint from his sister, Brian was putting two and two together. Impressively enough, he added it up to four all by himself. He turned and stared at me. "Are you taking us to Celia's place?"
"Otherwise known as the Hellbitch Drug Ho," Aisha chimed in. I got the impression that she might harbour a little resentment toward her mother's substance abuse problem.
"That's where we're going," I confirmed. "Now, as I understand it, she's a heroin user but not a heavy one, right?"
Aisha shook her head, the spikes of the tiara rotating one way and then the other. "Not unless she's gotten a lot more into it since I left that ass-crack of a place."
"Good." I smiled. I already didn't like Aisha's mother, and the thought of her having to dry out without the assistance of an addiction program was savagely satisfying to me.
"How did you even know that?" asked Brian. "Have you been here before?"
"Never in my life. Just pull over here." I indicated a parking spot right next to the building I needed to visit. "Whatever you two do, stay in the car. Do not try to come get me, do not call out. I'll be out shortly. Got it?"
"Are you suure I can't come up and see her face when you take all her shit?" Aisha was good at wheedling, but fortunately I was immune to puppy-dog eyes. Unless I chose not to be, of course.
"Certain." I looked at Brian and hooked my head toward Aisha. Don't let her get out. He nodded to me; the silent message had been received loud and clear.
Climbing out of the car, I strode across the sidewalk and in through the front doors. There was supposed to be some kind of buzzer mechanism but it seemed to have been damaged beyond repair by previous tenants. Ignoring the elevator, I took the stairs at a steady trot.
All around me, I was aware of tiny caches of illicit substances here and there, but I was only interested in one. Specifically, the drugs currently being held by Aisha's mother. Her habits—drug-taking and social—had screwed up Aisha's life for the longest time. Drug abuse while pregnant had left baby Aisha with a short attention span; it was manageable, but it could've been a lot worse.
I reached the correct floor and strode along the corridor until I got to the right door. There were several options for entry, ranging from picking the lock (I would've needed lockpicks) to shooting the lock off (a waste of ammunition, in my opinion) to kicking the door in (hard on the ankles). I chose another avenue altogether; leaning in toward the door, I changed my voice to a pack-a-day masculine rasp. Knocking on the door, I called out, "Celia, babe, open up. I got the stuff."
She unlocked the door immediately, of course. I put my shoulder to it and shoved it open, and I was inside before she realised what was going on. "What the fuck?" she demanded. "Who are y—urk!" The reason her question was cut short was because my hand had gone around her throat and pushed her against the wall.
I nudged the door shut with my hip and snapped the locks over, then got the shears out and rested the tip on the bridge of her nose. "You may have heard of me," I said quietly. "My name is Atropos. I killed Skidmark last night, which is why Carl's left town and Troy is taking over for him. Carl was the smart one. Do you understand?" She was staring cross-eyed at the shears, so I lifted them until she was looking across them at me. "Do you understand?" I repeated.
"Uh huh," she whimpered. "Please don't kill me." I smelled fresh urine, and noted that she'd pissed herself. It probably wouldn't be an uncommon reaction in this situation, going forward.
"Not in my plans," I said, and pointed at a chair. "Sit there and don't move. If you run, I will catch you, and it won't be pleasant."
Obediently, she sat. I picked up a crushed paper bag from the table and straightened it out. It had evidently been used to bring drugs into the apartment before now, so this was an appropriate use for it. Warily, she watched me as I moved around the apartment, zeroing in on every drug cache she had, ignoring the ones for weed. Each little baggie went into the paper bag, her face falling a little more with every loss.
"So, who ratted me out?" she asked sullenly as I finished my rounds. Not a fraction of an ounce of white powder, pills or rocks of crack cocaine had been left within the apartment.
"Nobody." I carefully folded the bag over, then moved to stand next to the door.
"Oh, don't give me that bullshit." Given that I hadn't carved her up on the spot, she'd evidently decided that I wasn't going to hurt her. "You just cleaned me out of the hard stuff without looking anywhere else. Somebody who knew where it was had to tell you."
I flicked the locks, pulled the door open, and yanked the aforementioned Troy into the room just as he was about to knock. As he was still staggering, trying to regain his balance, I locked the door again and moved in after him. "Afternoon, Troy," I said. "We need to have a chat."
His butt came up against the table and he stopped short, staring at me. "Fuck!" he said. "You're her … uh …"
"Atropos, yes." It was truly sad, the lack of education in the inner city these days. "Don't pull your gun and you'll be fine—"
He pulled his gun. Which meant he wasn't fine. Throwing the bag I held in his face, I moved into close quarters. The bag made him flinch and blinded him for an instant, which was all the time I needed to secure his wrist and take the gun away from him. Of course, he needed to be reminded why it was a bad idea to pull a gun on me, so I dropped the pistol on the table, drew the shears, and nailed his right hand to the table.
He screamed and dropped the bag he held in his left hand, almost the twin to mine, except for the fact that his was a good deal fuller. I took up his pistol and dropped the magazine out of it, then retrieved the last round out of the chamber. They were the same calibre that Oni Lee's pistol could use, and it wasn't like I could go to a gun shop and buy more ammo.
"Now," I said to Troy, who was screaming a little less now that nobody was jolting the wound. "Do I have your full attention?"
He glared at me, but a warning gesture with my own pistol stopped him from just grabbing the shears and pulling them out of his hand. "You're gonna die for this," he panted. "Nobody fucks with our crew."
"I do," I informed him. "Now, one more time. Are you listening?"
He gritted his teeth and sucked in a long breath through his nostrils. "… yeah."
"Good. What I've got to say is simple. You won't even need to take notes. As of right now, you're out of the drug trade. If I catch you dealing drugs again, I will kill you. It won't be a fair fight, or even a fight at all. You'll just die. Is there any part of what I've just said that you don't understand?"
There was a long pause, then he remembered to shake his head.
"Good," I said, then my power flared.
Something new had impinged on my awareness of danger. It appeared that my power now considered Aisha to be just as worthy of protection as my dad, because it had just told me that she was in danger.
My reaction was immediate: Path to End the danger to Aisha.
Troy screamed all over again as I yanked the shears out of the table and his hand respectively. Grabbing him, I spun him around as though we were dancing, but I made sure that he was always just a little off-balance, tottering around in a series of circles that inevitably led toward the window.
Result to Troy, my power informed me when I queried it. Broken neck, crushed skull, broken spine. Death within minutes.
That wasn't good enough. I'd promised Aisha that I wouldn't kill anyone who wasn't trying to kill me. Also, I'd told Troy that he'd die if he dealt any more drugs. I hadn't given him the chance to avoid dealing drugs in future.
Turning slightly, I amended our trajectory, so that when I let Troy go and he went out the window, it was back-first, not headfirst.
A moment later, I got the acknowledgement from my power: Danger to Aisha ended. Path complete. Result to Troy: broken arm, broken collar-bone, broken kneecap. Will live.
<><>
Tenebrae
"I wanna go up and see what's going on," whined Aisha. "The look on that bitch's face with Atropos giving her the good news must be fuckin' epic."
"She said to stay in the car, and that's where we're staying." Brian was adamant on this. He didn't want to know what was happening up in his mother's apartment. If he didn't know about it, he didn't have to report on it.
"Yeah, but—"
Aisha abruptly shut up as a dark shadow loomed next to the car. A scarred leather-jacketed man, his entire demeanour shouting 'I'm a leg breaker' to any who cared to listen, leaned down and looked in through the car windows.
The man looked at Brian, then at Aisha. "What the fuck are you two doing?" he demanded.
Brian opened his mouth to give a de-escalating answer, but Aisha got in first. "Waiting for a fuckin' train. What's it to you, asshole?"
Jesus Christ, Aisha! "Ignore her," he said hastily. "We're just waiting on a friend. We won't be here long."
His heart sank as the guy paid no attention to him and glared at Aisha. "What the fuck did you say, you little bitch?" Leaning into the car, he made a grab for her.
"I said fuck off!" she screamed, and yanked the tiara off her head, jamming one of the spikes into the back of his massive paw.
"Cocksucker!" He jumped back from the car and reached around under the back of his jacket.
Brian was reasonably certain that the asshole wasn't seeking to alleviate his back pain, so he prepared to flood the car with blackness. But before the gun even made an appearance, there was the tinkle of broken glass and a scream from above. The scarred enforcer looked up, just in time for another man to land on him; they both ended up on the sidewalk in a feebly moving heap.
The other enforcer, who'd been standing back and watching the show, drew his pistol and ran into the building. Brian glanced at Aisha, then they both stared at the injured men. From inside the building, they heard the distinct sound of a shot.
The doors opened again, and Atropos emerged. She was carrying two brown paper bags, as well as a bottle of bleach. Strolling across to where the car was, she opened the door and got in. "Drive," she said. "I'll give you directions."
"Are you okay?" asked Aisha. "That guy who ran in there—"
Atropos closed the door and put her seatbelt on. "Don't worry about it," she said. "I saw him coming."
<><>
A Small Park
Atropos
Brian and I watched as a madly grinning Aisha poured undiluted bleach over the drugs I'd collected from their mother's apartment. The plastic melted under the onslaught, and the various addictive substances bubbled and fizzed as the bleach attacked their very chemical structures. It was quite interesting, in a scientific sort of way.
"Die, you little pieces of shit!" Aisha cackled. "Die!" She poked at the mixture with a stick—a long stick, given that the fumes coming off the mess were fairly powerful—and watched with intense satisfaction as it all broke down into a formless mass.
Brian turned to me. "I have a question."
"I may have an answer." I knew what he was going to ask, but I preferred to let him keep his illusions of free will for the moment.
"When we stopped at the convenience store, why did you have me buy string and road flares?"
I grinned under the mask. "All things will be revealed in time."
When the last of the drugs were gone—washed down a convenient drain with the application of more bleach—Aisha put the cap back on the bottle and turned to me. Her eyes were bright with tears and the hug she gave me was heartfelt.
"How are you feeling now?" I asked her, ruffling her hair.
"Fuckin' amazeballs," she said, her grin back to its full wattage. "Let's go fuck up some more drug dealers!"
I nodded slowly, as though I was merely considering it, when in fact I'd already decided on my course of action. "I believe we can do that."
"Fuck, yeah!"
<><>
Half an Hour Later
Tenebrae
Atropos, Brian decided, was beyond terrifying. Not only could she and would she kill anyone who threatened her for any reason, but she also knew who threatened her and could deal with them before they were aware of her. More than that, when she set her sights on Brockton Bay's drug trade, she had somehow acquired the knowledge of exactly where all the drugs were. All the drugs.
Case in point: the innocuous suburban two-story house before them. It bore all the hallmarks of belonging to a happy couple with two point three children and a dog, including a tricycle artfully displayed in the front yard, and a cutesy little sign saying, "Forget the dog, beware of the kids". Someone had put a lot of effort into making it seem even more normal than the neighbours.
But as it happened, it was a major drug distribution hub for the south side of Brockton Bay. The dealers never came there, of course; the product was loaded into the late-model car (complete with BABY ON BOARD sticker on the rear window) and driven sedately to other locations, where it was handed out. Atropos had explained all this before she got out of the car and headed across the road.
She'd said one other thing, as well. "Call the fire department. They're gonna need it."
After a long few minutes, during which time he heard absolutely nothing, Atropos leaned out the door and beckoned to them. Brian definitely wanted to see what was going on, and so did Aisha; scrambling out of the car, they headed across the road. "What's the matter?" he asked. "Is it a bust?"
"You might say that." He was pretty sure she was grinning under the mask. "Come on in. This is where the drugs that were supplying your mom would've come from." She had her shears in her hand, and seemed to be wiping them down.
Stepping into the front room of the house still looked absolutely normal. Another doorway, not in a direct line with the front door, led to the back of the house … and his mind was blown.
There was no kitchen, no bedrooms, no living room. Carefully hung curtains covered every window. Speakers played TV sounds, and the occasional noise of a baby crying. But the interior of the house had been gutted, and the resultant room was all made over to the division and packaging of drugs for supply to the population of Brockton Bay.
"Holy fuckballs," whispered Aisha. "I'd never have known. This is where they're from?"
"It's where they go through for this part of the distribution, yeah." Atropos sounded remarkably matter-of-fact about the whole thing. "There are other hubs, but I'll get to those in time."
"So, where does this place get 'em from?" asked Brian. He tried hard not to look at the corpses lying on the floor and draped over the table. Several pistols lay here and there. There was rather a lot of blood. "And how come we didn't hear any gunshots?"
Atropos shrugged. "A firefight in the suburbs is too dangerous. The walls are too thin, and bullets might've come your way. I decided not to let them start one." She finished wiping off the shears, and re-sheathed them.
"So … we're calling the cops now as well as the fire department, right?" He eyed the various packets of white powder that lay on the table, and the further stack in the corner. "Because they're going to need to take all this into evidence."
"Nope." She pulled a road flare out of her pocket. "Not all of it would make it into evidence. I'm trying to give them the best chance to kick their corruption, so there's no sense in dangling temptation in front of them. Come on, let's go. And it's time you made that call." She pulled the cap off the end of the flare, and struck it.
Brian finished the call to the fire department as they climbed into the car again. Across the road, the first flickers of flame were showing in the front windows. Putting his phone away, he fastened his seat belt, then started the car. "Where to now?"
Atropos put her hand on his arm. "Are you okay with this? Because if you're not, we can drop you off."
He took a long, deep breath. "Before I say yes or no, is it okay if I make a phone call?"
"Be my guest," she invited. He got the impression that she knew exactly where he was calling and why.
Starting the car, he drove it around the corner and parked again, then pulled out his Wards-issue phone.
<><>
PRT Building
Deputy Director Renick's Office
"Renick."
"Sir, it's Laborn."
"Is there a problem?"
There was a pause. "Potentially. I think we've exceeded the orders you gave me already."
"Explain."
"After we left the park, Atropos had me drive her from place to place. She's injuring and killing drug dealers, and destroying the drugs. She just burned down a house full of drugs in the suburbs after killing everyone inside. I need to know what I should be doing right now."
This time, it was Paul's turn to pause. "Is your sister still with her?"
"Yes, sir."
"Is Atropos harming innocents?"
"Not as far as I can tell, sir. She did throw someone out of a third story window to land on someone who was threatening Aisha, but he turned out to be my mother's drug dealer."
Paul blinked. That wasn't a line he heard every day. "Did … did he survive?"
"They both did, but neither one was happy about it, sir."
"Alright then. Stick with her. If you can safely minimise casualties, do it. But do not—I say again, do not—actively interfere, unless she is specifically endangering you, your sister, or any other innocents. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir. I understand."
<><>
Atropos
I looked at Brian. He wasn't exactly thrilled right now, and I knew why. He'd never been comfortable with the concept of killing, and he'd been ordered to spend time with someone who killed as easily as breathing (but not casually; never casually). I'd set out to shut down one line of drug trafficking into the city, and the death toll along the way was starting to get to him.
I didn't need to feel guilty about this, and I knew it. My promise had specified that I wouldn't kill anyone so long as they weren't trying to kill me. All the people in the drug distribution hub had been doing their best to end my existence; I just hadn't let them get as far as pointing a gun in my direction. It wasn't my fault that I was better at it than they were.
And of course, there was the money aspect. Supplying illicit drugs to the population had always been a cash cow, and people were ever willing to defend it with lethal force. This meant that the farther up the chain we got, the more likely we were to meet people who were not only willing to kill, but were actually good at it. Which meant in turn that I would normally have had fewer options when it came to ending the fight without killing them.
Not that this bothered me. If they were so eager to die, who was I to gainsay them?
However, there was the extra twist of the report he was going to make to the Deputy Director. I had no doubt that Piggot and Renick would make their final determination about me using their own judgement, but such things could be influenced by reports like the one he was going to give. And if he could give the impression that I was someone who could use restraint when necessary (which I was) then it would be another step on the Path to Ending their institutional distrust of me.
"So, Brian," I said, gesturing at the warehouse across the way. "You think you could fill that with darkness?"
He blinked, then eyed the warehouse itself. As with the faux suburban house, it could've passed as being absolutely normal for its area. Except for a few minor details, of course. For instance, the guard in his little shack (bulletproof, with a code-locked door) was armed with illegally modified firearms. If he called for help, there were more guards within the building, ready to run out at a moment's notice. And inside, yet more guards were just there to patrol the interior of the building. It looked like someone was definitely willing to pay extra to protect their investment.
It was so nice to be taken seriously by people I'd never met. I might almost regret having to kill them, if they refused to change their ways.
"I … guess I could," he said at a moment's notice. "Are you going to kill anyone?"
"Not if they can't see me," I said firmly. It was very much a gauntlet being thrown down. He could save the lives of every person in there, if he was willing to use his power to help me get what I wanted.
"You realise that I'm the only one who can see through my darkness, right?" He eyed me as though unsure whether I knew about his abilities. "Nobody else can. To them, it's pitch darkness."
I shrugged. "Meh. Sight is overrated." Which was funny, because although I could see, without my glasses I was near-sighted. My power just filled in details when I needed them, all in the name of completing the Path.
We got out of the car and Brian approached the guard shack. What the guard couldn't see was that I was directly behind Brian, in the lovely great blind spot created by his muscular torso. The shack had a Perspex window with a small shelf on the outside to allow visitors to sign things—I was pretty sure this was a common configuration for these things.
The downside of a setup like that was while Brian was leaning in close (keeping his hands in plain view) and asking for directions out of the local maze of back streets, it was possible for me to duck down and slither around to where I could reach up and enter the door code. Which I did. The guard reacted far too slowly, expecting one of his colleagues to be relieving him. Me swinging off the door-frame and bouncing his head off the far wall with not quite lethal force might have relieved him of anything resembling consciousness, but he probably didn't mean it that way.
With the guard flex-cuffed (he had a store of these, which I appropriated) we moved on to a human-entry door. I'd lifted the guard's keys, and now I tapped the electronic reader with a particular fob and typed in a four-digit code. Not the same one as on the guard shack, I was pleased to see. These guys weren't stupid, just … well, drug-dealing assholes.
"Darkness, now," I murmured. Brian obediently generated a cloud of the stuff around us.
I opened the door in the secure knowledge that nobody would see a bright sunlit rectangle and two people entering. We stepped inside and I shut the door again. Then I prised off a cover, pulled two wires and touched them together, and shorted out the whole door-alarm system.
With that taken care of, we started off around the perimeter of the warehouse. We lurked around the inside of the wall, travelling in our own little blot of darkness, until we were behind a pallet—of money, as it turned out.
"Holy shit," he whispered. "This is more money than I've ever seen in my life."
That got a dry chuckle from me. "Well, feast your eyes, sunshine, because that bad boy does not survive to the end of the movie."
It took him a few seconds to figure it out. "But—"
"We can't take it, if the cops show up it becomes evidence and helps nobody, and I'm not leaving it for some drug dealer to spend on more drugs." I shrugged. "It is what it is. Now, if we can have some darkness on the issue, please?"
It didn't take him long to decide to play along. Darkness started rolling off him in great waves, washing through the warehouse and slowly rising like a horror-movie tide full of Things Man was not Meant to Eat. I heard the first shouts of alarm then, and headed off to start the cleanup.
It was kind of weird, moving through the blacked-out warehouse, not being able to see a thing, yet knowing where I was and that there was a staircase directly ahead of me. Also, there was a guard feeling his way down the staircase, one cautious step at a time.
Well, I was never one to look a gift horse in the teeth. I went up as he came down, then when I got close enough, I flipped him over the rail. His brief scream ended when he hit the concrete and knocked himself out.
Trotting back down the stairs, I flex-cuffed him, then waved Brian over. "Get him outside," I said. "Far side of the road."
"Got it." Brian grunted as he lifted the man in a fireman's carry. I could never have done that; then again, I lacked an extra hundred pounds of muscle, which probably explained it.
The rest of the clearance went more or less the same way. Everyone was cautiously feeling their way around, while I knew exactly where they were and what they were doing. Brian even assisted in subduing a few of them, which sped things up considerably.
When the last man was accounted for, I sent Brian to the door to wait for me. In the inside pockets of my long-coat, I'd been carrying several of the grenades I'd inherited from Oni Lee. I figured I might want to get some more later on, but right now, these were going to be used to send a message.
Not In My City.
Each grenade was attached to a pallet of drugs or of money; I didn't have enough of them to trap all the pallets, but I figured I had enough to make ready for the second stage. I worked the pin almost free from each grenade, and tied a length of string to it. Strings trailing through my hands, I strolled back to where Brian was waiting. He'd just moved the guy from the guard shack to where the others were, so that we were the only ones on the actual property.
"Ready for the final act?" I asked, beckoning Aisha over.
Brian hadn't been watching too closely, so he didn't know what the strings meant. "Final act?" he asked as Aisha approached. "What final act?"
By way of answer, I handed half the strings to him, and the other half to Aisha. "Pull these when I say 'three'," I said. "One. Two. Three."
They both yanked on the strings. At the same time, I pulled the cap off a road flare and struck it. It flared brightly, even though the sun was still out.
"What's supposed to happen?" asked Aisha, looking at the strings. "And what's the road flare—"
Inside the warehouse, the grenades went off. Being chemically fused, there was of course a slight variation between one and another, but they were close enough to sound like one big explosion. Smoke and powder began to billow out through the open door.
"Run," I said.
Aisha looked at me. "What?"
Brian grabbed her arm. "Run." Dragging her with him, he headed off down the driveway. I turned and threw the road flare underarm toward the doorway, then casually walked after them.
"Why are we running?" protested Aisha as she and Brian crossed the road.
BOOOM
I felt the heat of the explosion, as well as the shift in air pressure, on my back, but I didn't alter my steady pace. Brian and Aisha had dived behind a parked car, and were now peering over it as I strolled over to them. Turning to lean on the car, I surveyed my handiwork.
The warehouse was still there, though there were now holes in the walls and roof. As we watched, parts of the roof caved in. An enormous mushroom cloud climbed into the sky. Smoke was still pouring out of the stricken building, and it was easy to see that fires were blazing within.
"How the fuck did you do that?" demanded Aisha.
"Flour bomb," I explained, then went back to watching the fire.
"Huh?"
"Flour bomb," Brian repeated, in tones of enlightenment. "Particulates suspended in the air can be made to explode, especially if they're flammable. And you just blew up pallets of …"
"Heroin, cocaine, crack cocaine, methamphetamines, PCP and cash," I recited promptly. "Most of which will absolutely form clouds in the air, especially if some unkind person inserts a grenade where it'll do the most good. Cash is of course flammable in its own right."
"And we pulled the pins," marvelled Aisha. "That was so damn cool."
Brian's eyebrows rose toward his hairline as he looked over at the inferno. "That's … how much worth of drugs did we just destroy?"
"Eight figures," I said cheerfully. "Tens of millions. And that's not counting the cash. And all of it comes out of the pockets of the drug dealers. That right there? That was the next few months' worth of distribution in Brockton Bay, as well as the last month or so of outgoing profits."
"Holy fuckballs on acid," Aisha said happily. "They are gonna be so damn pissed."
"That's the general idea, yes," I agreed. "An angry enemy is one who isn't thinking straight."
"But … won't they just get more in?" asked Brian.
"Why, yes." I actually went so far as to steeple my fingertips. "I do believe they will."
Aisha stared at me. "You know where an' when, don't you?"
I nodded, once. "And now you get it."
Aisha was still laughing when we got back into the car.
End of Part Eighteen
[A/N: I am not overly well-informed on how much in the way of illicit drugs a large city will consume. If anyone has any better information than I do, I would welcome the chance to fix my numbers.]
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Part Nineteen: Preparations
Ack
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A Darker Path
Part Nineteen: Preparations
[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
Atropos
As we drove away from the still-burning warehouse—all the cops were going to get out of that place was a whole lot of ash and some pretty damn toxic residue—I turned to Brian. "Okay, last stop for the day." I gave him the address. "Not drug related, this time."
"Aww." Aisha mock-pouted in the back seat. "I thought we were going to fuck up the day of some more druggies."
"The shipment won't be coming in until tonight," I said. "Accord has yet to hear about it and arrange to replace the lost product. But I'm gonna wait until it hits the city limits, just to make a point."
"Oh." She brightened. "So, we've already fucked up a supervillain's day, and he doesn't even know it? Which one's Accord, anyway?"
"He is absolutely going to be extremely unhappy about it, yes," I confirmed. "As for what he's like … you know how different Brian is to you when it comes to keeping things neat and tidy, everything in its place?"
"God, yeah." I was pretty sure she'd just rolled her eyes. "I swear, I have to talk him out of ironing the towels."
"Hey!" objected Brian. "I'm not that intense about it!"
"Well, you fold 'em!"
"Towels are supposed to be folded!"
"Since when?"
I cleared my throat. "Aisha, settle. Towels are kind of supposed to be folded. Anyway, imagine someone who makes Brian look twice as untidy as you."
Silence fell in the car. In my peripheral vision, I caught Aisha blinking a couple of times. Eventually, she shook her head in wonder. "Holy motherfucking Smurfballs. Is he really that bad?"
"You tell me." I shrugged. "This is a guy who times his own bathroom breaks to the second."
Now Brian turned toward me. "You're messing with us." He paused, awaiting a response from me. I said nothing. "You are messing with us. Right?"
"Oh, man," breathed Aisha, her entire being alight with an unholy joy. "I could so totally fuck with his head."
"No!" snapped Brian. "Bad Aisha! No poking at supervillains!"
"It's actually a bad idea," I agreed. "If someone interrupts one of his meetings, his immediate reaction is to kill them. In fact, that's his go-to for basically anything that disrupts his routine for any reason. The man has no chill. I'm pretty sure he considers 'chill' to be a dirty word."
"And yet, you've got no problem with blowing up his drugs." Aisha's tone of voice was speculative.
"None whatsoever." I half-turned in my seat, looking back at her. "I know how to handle him. And how to kill him, if he makes it necessary. So even if he comes to town, even if you happen to lay eyes on him, you do nothing. No smartass comments, no little jabs. You walk in the other direction, and you don't stop until you're out of sight. Do you understand?"
She couldn't see my expression, but something in my tone must have gotten through to her. "… yeah, okay. I'll leave him for you to fuck up."
I smiled and reached back with my fist for her to bump. "Good plan. We'll go with that one."
Brian cleared his throat. "Okay, now we've got that settled, what's at the address where we're going?"
"An empty lot." I held up a hand. "But near there are a couple of guys I want to have a word with."
"Wait a minute, wait a minute." Aisha spoke a little breathlessly. "I know who you're going to see. 'Cause I pay attention."
Brian frowned. "Okay, now you've lost me. Who?"
Uber and Leet's Base
Brendan looked around as a buzzer sounded. "What's that?"
There was a thump and some swearing, then Leet stuck his head out of his work-room. "We got someone coming up to the front door. That's the proximity sensor. They'll be in camera range in a minute."
Dropping the controller, Brendan came to his feet. "Are we expecting anyone?"
His phone, on the side table, rang. Scooping it up, he looked at the caller ID, and froze. It said 'ATROPOS'. The phone rang again. Slowly, his thumb swiped to accept the call. "Hello?"
"You're expecting me," a teenage girl's voice said briskly. "Remember? I told you I wanted to talk to you?"
"Dude, what's the matter?" asked Leet, coming out of the work-room. "Who is it?"
Brendan pointed at the screen. "A-Atropos," he croaked. At that moment, two teenagers walked into view. Both were black; one was a tall buff guy, and the other was a petite girl.
"Um, no, they're not." Leet frowned. "What the fuck are they doing here?"
"Waiting for you to let them in." The voice, that of a teenage girl, came from behind them.
Brendan whirled, setting up with a defensive martial-arts pose, while Leet just spun around with a startled squawk. Atropos was standing there, every inch of her radiating menace. Around one finger, she spun a pair of odd-looking shears.
"Where the hell did you come from?" demanded Leet. "How did you get in?" He fumbled a cloth mask out of his pocket and pulled it over his head. Brendan followed suit, though he wasn't sure it would do any good.
"Your back door was unlocked," Atropos said. Brendan was sure she was grinning her head off behind that morph mask.
"It was not!" Leet puffed himself up with outrage. "I made sure of it, an hour ago!"
"Well, it was unlocked after I entered the security code." Atropos shrugged. "It's all the same to me, really." She turned her head toward Brendan and gestured toward the front door with a flip of the shears. "So, you want to let my friends in?"
"That lock has a rotating security passcode that changes every minute, and changes the passcode generation seed every hour," Leet insisted. "Even if someone gave it to you ten minutes ago, there's no way it would've worked."
Brendan left him to it, and went to the front door. The screen showed them simply waiting, not even bothering to knock. He undid the latches and swung the door open. "Hello. You can call me Uber. Come on in." Whoever Atropos' friends were, it was probably a very good idea to be polite to them.
"Thanks." The big guy—about Brendan's size and heft, with an air that said he could handle himself—looked around with interest, but didn't comment.
His reticence was more than made up for by the girl, who sported a purple streak in her hair, Glory Girl's tiara, and an attitude a mile wide. "Holy shit, this place is a mess. Hey, how you doing? This is my big bro, Bravo. I'm Alpha. Because I'm just that cool."
"That's also the name Atropos told you to use," 'Bravo' said, with a long-suffering sigh. "And remember, she told you to keep your hands to yourself. This isn't just a Tinker lab, it's Leet's Tinker lab. We have no idea what any of this stuff does, whether it works, or if it'll just explode instead."
"Hey, he's not that bad," Brendan objected, driven more by the impulse to defend his buddy than to actually set the record straight. "Most of his stuff works, most of the time."
"Really?" 'Alpha' gave him a challenging look. "So, how many times did he lose his eyebrows last year?"
Brendan sighed. "Last year was not a good year for that, I'll admit. But it still wasn't that bad. We're both alive, and still not in prison."
"That's because you were right at the bottom of the priority list," Atropos said from right behind him, making him jump. He'd seen she was wearing knee-high hard-soled boots, and she'd still snuck up on him.
"Jesus, don't do that!" he protested, forgetting his intention of being polite as he turned to glare at her. "And what do you mean, 'priority list'?"
"It's a PRT thing," 'Bravo' said in a professorial tone. "When there's powerful capes they'd love to arrest and low-tier capes who aren't committing high-profile crimes, a sort of paralysis can set in. Going after the big names requires far more resources, and sometimes the powers that be can query if it's really worth putting all that effort into catching one cape, when the same level of force can theoretically roll up four or five lower-level ones. But if they commit to the lower-level ones, you get people—sometimes the very same people—asking why they're not focusing on the really dangerous capes."
He seemed to realise that both Brendan and Leet were staring at him, and he shrugged in a self-effacing way. "Sorry. I had to do a paper on it for one of my classes."
"Wait," Leet said, in a tone of disappointment. "You mean we're not that good at hiding?"
"Pfft, hardly," 'Alpha' said dismissively. "My girl Atropos said, 'let's go visit Uber and Leet' and bingo, we came straight here."
"And don't worry," 'Bravo' said. "We're not going to tell the PRT where you are right now. This is purely a social call. Atropos is calling the shots, here."
"But why are you here?" asked Brendan. "What do you want with us? If you're here to warn us to get out of town, trust me, telling us on PHO would've done the trick."
"Because I don't want you out of town just yet," Atropos explained. "In fact, I'm here to trade a favour for a favour. Leet, if we can just go into your workroom, I'd like to discuss the nitty-gritty with you. Uber, figure you can entertain my friends for a bit? Thanks."
Before either Brendan or Leet had the chance to object, she grabbed Leet by the arm and dragged him into the workroom. The door closed behind them.
"Well," remarked Bravo. "That happened."
"Does it normally? Around Atropos, I mean?" Brendan had a sinking feeling he knew the answer.
"Pfft, when does it not?" Alpha grinned widely. "We met her in the park today for selfies, and before we were done, I had this as a present." She tapped the tiara. "It's genuine as fuck. Glory Girl tried to pull shit with Atropos, and did not have a good time of it."
Brendan's eyes widened. "Holy shit. The Glory Girl? She once dislocated Leet's shoulder. And Atropos beat her up?"
"Something like that," Bravo confirmed. "Just between you, me and the gatepost? Don't ever try to pull shit with Atropos. It's a bad, bad idea. We just torched millions of dollars worth of drugs, and she's going to keep doing it until the people sending it to Brockton Bay get the message."
Alpha pointed. "Hey, nice console setup. What games you got?" She headed over to get a better look.
"Whoa, hold back there," Bravo said reprovingly. "You can't just go poking around someone else's gaming gear."
"We've got all the classics," Brendan said, happy to show off with something that didn't make him feel second class. "You guys play? We've got a third controller around here somewhere if you're interested."
Bravo smiled in the same way that a card shark might, just before asking someone to explain how the game was played. "Oh, I've been known to sit down with my friends from time to time."
"Whoo yeah!" whooped Alpha, vaulting over the back of the sofa and grabbing up one of the controllers. "Let's do this thing!"
"Sorry about her," Bravo said. "She gets … enthusiastic, from time to time."
Brendan shrugged as he went digging under the accumulated detritus of two guys living together for the third controller. "It's okay. Trust me, I've seen worse."
Alpha chuckled darkly. "Challenge … accepted."
"No," Bravo said. "Not challenge accepted. There was no challenge. Do not accept any challenges."
As Brendan located the other controller and plugged it in, he wondered why Bravo was so adamant that there was no challenge.
Half an hour later, he had his answer.
Alpha was a maniac. Her rapid-fire delivery was nothing compared to her gameplay style. While her brother was skilled in his own right, with steady, competent button work, Alpha was chaos incarnate.
He'd never seen anything like it before, and he'd been gaming with Leet since there were console games to play. She alternated between reckless button-mashing, ridiculous off-the-wall plays, and occasional bursts of either madness or brilliance; he couldn't quite tell. While Brendan was specifically very good at controller use, she seemed to have an instinctive quality to outplay him at crucial moments, by doing something totally illogical that still got her the win.
All in all, he was both relieved and disappointed when the work-room door opened, and Atropos emerged with Leet trailing behind. "Okay," said the black-costumed killer. "We're all agreed?"
"Yeah," Leet said. "I'll change the command recognition codes tonight. The other one will take a bit longer. Maybe a week, depending on how it goes."
"Good." Atropos' voice seemed to change, become somehow unearthly. "Just don't screw it up."
"I, uh, won't?" Leet sounded more nervous than ever.
"Good." Atropos came over and leaned on the back of the sofa. "Okay, time to go."
"Aww, I was just getting my eye in," Alpha complained. "Bro, we need a gaming console."
"I'll see if I can ask for one." Bravo got up and dropped the controller on the sofa. "Thanks, Uber. Good game."
"Yeah, me too." Alpha jumped up, then planted her foot on a cushion and vaulted back over the sofa. "That was actually kinda fun."
"Good. Glad you enjoyed yourselves." Atropos straightened up and turned to face Brendan and Leet. "Over and above our arrangement, I'm going to leave you alone. But given that all the big gangs are out of action, you are the big supervillain names in town right now, so you're probably on the top of the priority list all of a sudden. It might be an idea to keep your heads down anyway."
Somehow, the shears had found their way back into her hands, and she began spinning them one way and then the other, the razor-edged blades glinting in the light. "Oh, and I suggest you never have another episode where people get hurt for real. Or you two and I will be having another chat. An extremely brief one. Do I make myself clear?"
Brendan nodded. It didn't seem like a smart idea to do anything else. "Crystal."
"Good. I'm so glad we understand each other."
PRT Building ENE, Director's Office
Director Emily Piggot
Emily eyed the Laborn boy. He seemed unharmed, though one foot kept twitching and he had to cradle the cup of coffee in both hands. She'd seen these signs before, usually in soldiers who'd spent too long in a hot zone. "Are you alright? Did she make you as a Ward?"
He chuckled hollowly. "In about the first ten seconds." A sip of the coffee seemed to steady his nerves. "But she wasn't worried by it. She knew exactly why I was there, and didn't even have a problem with me calling the Deputy Director."
Renick, sitting off to the side in his own chair, shared a glance with her. Then he posed his own question. "Did she threaten you or your sister to keep you in line?"
Laborn shook his head. "No. She didn't bother. The whole time we were with her, she was … nice. Like she was making the extra effort to put us at our ease. She even told me flat-out that so long as the PRT and heroes in this town didn't aggress on her, she wouldn't hurt us. And even if one of us did, she promised not to kill them."
Emily shook her head. "Even having seen what she can do, that's a rather broad and sweeping claim. It presupposes an ability to harm or kill any hero in the city, if they happen to attack her. Did you see any capability that might bear that out?"
"She knows stuff she literally shouldn't," he said frankly. "Like the locations of those drug stash houses she destroyed. There was no checking of data, or making phone calls. She just had me drive straight there. She also knew where Uber and Leet's hideout was, and was able to enter the combination of a secure code-lock in just seconds. If she can do all that, then there's nothing stopping her from knowing any cape's weakness, or figuring out how to kill them."
Emily thought back to Shadow Stalker's autopsy. There had been a faint burn mark on the corpse. Electrical? Did Atropos know to use electricity against her? God damn it.
"Uber and Leet?" Renick sat forward. "You know where they are?"
"She wanted a favour from Leet," Laborn said hastily. "We were essentially there under flag of truce. She asked me not to pass the location on to the PRT, and I'm honouring that."
Emily didn't like that, but she nodded. Truces between heroes and villains were to be respected, because there was no other way to induce the villains to stick to them when the heroes were on the weaker side. Still, that didn't mean she couldn't ask other questions. "Did you find out what she wanted from Leet?"
"No, they were in another room." Laborn paused. "But after they came out, she said she was okay with them staying in town, but they were probably a higher priority for the PRT now. And if they did any more shows where people got hurt, she'd pay them a very brief visit."
In other words, kill them. "Understood," she said. "What's your impression of her capabilities and her motives?"
He took a long drink from his coffee. "Capabilities? Utterly terrifying," he confessed. "When we were in the warehouse, she had me fill it with my darkness … which she flat-out ignored. She said something about how sight is overrated, then went straight into the darkness and started subduing guards. A little earlier than that, the first drug house she torched, she went in there alone, they all pulled guns … and she killed every single one before they could open fire on her. Because she didn't want anyone endangered by bullets flying through walls. As for motives … well, she's not in it for money. She walked straight past a literal pallet of cash and didn't take a dime. In fact, she deliberately burned it."
He drew a long breath, then let it out. "There's one more thing. Something I think we need to keep on the down-low."
"We're listening," Renick said encouragingly.
Laborn seemed to consider his words. "When we were in the park with her, there was an encounter with Glory Girl. We were posing for a group camera selfie when Glory Girl attacked from behind, aiming for Atropos. But because we were standing close together, she would've gotten all of us. Aisha could've been badly hurt. I could've been badly hurt."
"What happened?" asked Emily.
He shrugged. "Atropos shouted a warning at the last instant and pushed us away, then dropped flat. Glory Girl demolished the picnic table. Atropos and I both warned her to back off, but she wouldn't. Then Atropos did something with a coin, and Glory Girl inhaled it on her next pass, and started choking. Panacea arrived just as Atropos was holding her shears right next to Glory Girl's eye."
Renick shook his head. "She'd never get through Glory Girl's invincibility."
"Except she did, sir." Laborn gestured to his eyes with one hand. "She snipped off a couple of Glory Girl's eyelashes, and she kept on smacking her on the forehead with those shears to prove she could hurt her. Then she got a promise from Panacea for a favour if she didn't spill the beans about Glory Girl nearly hurting me and Aisha. Also, she confiscated Glory Girl's tiara and gave it to Aisha."
"Ah." Emily shared another glance with Renick. "I do see what you mean. We'll need a more complete written report about the whole event. Though did she say anything about the favour she wanted?"
"No, ma'am." Laborn looked pensive. "Just that it wouldn't be 'hugely illegal', whatever that means."
"Understood." There was no way Emily wanted to queer any deal Atropos had with Panacea. She's probably setting aside an option for emergency healing, just in case. It sounded as though Glory Girl had learned a salutary lesson anyway. "Your overall impression of Atropos?"
"Impossibly skilled, inhumanly capable, effectively psychic, possibly precognitive," rattled off Laborn. "But she was human enough to not kill anyone in the warehouse, because she could see I was starting to get antsy over all the death. Didn't get angry with me, just pivoted to 'okay, we're not killing anyone this time' and got the job done. And she positively doted over Aisha." His head came up. "Oh, there was also the incident of the drug dealer she threw out the window to save Aisha."
Emily raised her eyebrows. "Details, please."
"We were in the car, waiting downstairs while Atropos deprived our mother of every last drug in her possession. But her dealer showed up, and left his hired muscle downstairs. One of them noticed us and came over. Aisha smarted off to him, things escalated, and he was just pulling a gun when the dealer landed on him from the third floor. Atropos had thrown him out the window."
"There was a police report of a dead man in the stairwell there," Renick noted. "Shot in the face. Atropos?"
Laborn nodded. "Almost certainly. That would be the other bodyguard. He pulled his gun before he went in."
Emily shook her head at the idiocy of some people. "Well, I'm pleased you made it through the ordeal unscathed. How was your sister at the end of the day?"
For the first time, Laborn smiled. "She's over the moon. Atropos brought along a Polaroid camera, and gave us both signed selfies with her. Aisha also got to go along and watch as Atropos destroyed literally millions of dollars' worth of drugs. It's made her entire year."
"And how are you holding up, young man?" asked Renick. "It can't have been easy, to have someone who's killed so many people within arm's reach like that."
"Still a bit jittery," admitted Laborn. "But Aisha had an amazing day, and I think that makes it worth it."
"Good," said Emily. Now came the sixty-four-million-dollar question. "If and when your sister makes another arrangement to meet with Atropos, do you feel up to accompanying her again?"
Laborn drew a deep breath then held it, seeming to think about the question. Finally, he nodded. "Yeah. I can do that."
Renick stood. "Good lad," he said heartily. "You've done well. Go and relax for the time being. Unwind. You've earned it."
"Thank you, sir." Laborn stood up as well, and nodded toward Emily. "Ma'am." Turning, he headed out of the office, taking the coffee cup with him.
Emily waited for the door to close before she turned to Renick. "What do you think?"
Renick rubbed his jaw. "A little rough on the boy," he said judiciously. "But worth it overall, I think. The information that Atropos doesn't intend to hurt our people is very good to have."
"True," Emily said dryly. "Now, if only we could convince all the other idiots to not get in her way."
He snorted gently in amusement. "I'm only a Deputy Director, ma'am. Not a miracle worker."
Later That Night
Atropos
I sat in Dad's car in a turnoff, just inside the Brockton Bay city limits. We had the windows open for ventilation, and so I could hear the traffic. There wasn't much at the moment, which was good. I didn't need any misguided good Samaritans trying to intervene on the other side's behalf.
"Five minutes," I said. "I've said this before, but I'll say it again. There'll be a lead car and a chase car. Each one will have three men in it. The driver's a regular truck driver who doesn't know what he's carrying; he's been offered twice the normal pay to get it into Brockton Bay tonight. There's a secondary location that Accord doesn't think I know about."
"Are you going to do something about it?" asked Dad. "I mean, since they won't have any drugs to distribute?"
"Not at the moment." I leaned back in the seat and relaxed. "I'll let him pay their wages and waste his money until they actually start earning it, at which point I'll cut them off."
"How about Accord himself?" he asked. "You did say something about how people sending their underlings to the Bay wouldn't get away with it either."
"Oh, he'll get the message when I destroy this shipment." I checked the pockets of my long-coat. I wouldn't need my last grenade until tomorrow, but the road flares should come in handy, as would the hand-held two-way radio. I'd scored it from the Dockworkers' Association, and done a little work on it to get it to the right channel. "The man may be nuttier than squirrel shit, but he's unlikely to throw good money after bad. Besides, I've got a use for him in the long term."
Dad shuddered. "The poor bastard," he muttered. I was pretty sure he'd intended for me to hear it.
I smirked. "If he didn't want to get mixed up in my business, he shouldn't be selling drugs in Brockton Bay."
We fell silent then, listening to the vroooom of cars and trucks passing by. When the clock in my head ticked over to one minute, I removed my glasses and put them in the centre console, then opened the door and got out. My mask went on, and then my hat. I retrieved the duffel-bag from the floor of the car, and closed the door. "Stay in the car," I said.
In the semi-darkness, he shook his head; in worry, not negation. "I wish this didn't have to be you."
"It would've been nice if someone did this before I had to," I said with a shrug. "Nobody did, so it's up to me."
I turned away from the car and made my way out of the turnoff toward the side of the road. Even in winter, the trees were thick enough to make spotting Dad's car nigh-impossible unless someone drove down that exact turnoff. With ten seconds to go, I dropped the duffel in the shadows then stepped out onto the edge of the road, drawing my pistol.
The lead car, going like a demon, roared around the corner far up ahead, briefly lighting me up with its high beams. The driver and passengers, keyed up as they were, would be asking themselves, 'was that her, or was it just a shadow?'. The speed limit was seventy, and they were sitting exactly on that, getting closer to me at just over one hundred feet for every second that passed.
Unhurriedly, I raised my pistol. The range was six hundred feet. Five hundred. Four hundred. The driver decided that I was no shadow, and began to edge toward me, aiming to clip me with the corner of his fender and ragdoll me into the trees. Three hundred.
I fired three times, during which interval the car covered another fifty feet toward me. The most immediate effect of this was that the windshield starred all the way across, then crumpled inward due to wind-rush. With the driver and both passengers dead or dying, I switched aim to the driver's side front wheel and shot it out.
The last two shell-casings tinkled to the gravel at the side of the road as the car blew past, already swerving toward the Jersey barrier in the middle of the road. It struck, spun out, then flipped. I'd already put it out of my mind when I turned back to look down the road.
Raising the two-way to my face, I toggled the press-to-talk switch. "Breaker, breaker," I said. "White Peterbilt, license plate ending in Bravo Golf Two, prepare to stop. This is not a request. Atropos, out."
Dropping the radio back into my pocket, I moved into the pool of illumination cast by a streetlight and raised the pistol as the eighteen-wheeler came into view. At first, it slowed; I heard the distinctive sound of a downshift. But then it accelerated again. I smiled grimly under my mask. It seemed that there was someone in that cab who didn't want to do what I said.
Well, he heard my name. He was warned.
At five hundred feet, I fired a single shot. The semi was of a type that had two panels for the windshield, so only the passenger side starred out. Immediately, the eighteen-wheeler began to slow down again, applying brakes and gears as only a master of the art of truck driving can do.
Before it came to a complete halt, I had holstered my pistol and was running up to the passenger side. I scrambled up onto the running board, then hoisted myself up onto the cab, using the wing mirror as a brace for my foot. From there I took a running jump onto the top of the trailer itself.
The chase car came blazing around the corner at this point. I wasn't sure if they could see me, but they could certainly see that the vehicle they were charged with shepherding all the way into Brockton Bay was stopped at the side of the road.
Also, there were four more men in the trailer itself, hemmed about with crates that would stop gunfire from the side but allow them to shoot at anyone opening the rear doors. I drew my pistol again, and fired four shots down into the top of the trailer. Well, there had been four men in the trailer. Now there were four corpses.
A shot winged past me, just close enough for me to notice it, and another pinged off the corner of the trailer. It seemed the men in the car had noticed me. Which meant they could have chosen to drive past peacefully, turn around, and slink back to Boston to give the bad news to Accord … or they could choose to commit suicide.
Suicide it was, then. I fired four times, and the car veered off the road into the trees. Contrary to popular belief spread by Hollywood, it did not burst into flames. I was vaguely disappointed. The next car I sent careening off the road, I decided, would explode into flames in proper action-movie style.
The driver, huddled in his seat, jumped when I swung down alongside his door and tapped on his window. He rolled it down, looking at me as though he expected to die at any second. "I'm not part of it," he quavered. "I just drive. They never tell me what's in the back."
"And that's fine with me," I said. "I want you to unhitch this thing from the trailer, and then take a message back to whoever you work for in Boston. Can you do that for me?"
He nodded urgently, very willing to cooperate with me. "I can totally do that for you."
While he was unhitching the prime mover from the trailer, I went and collected the duffel, then climbed into the back of the trailer. The eighteen-wheeler had been carrying washing machines, or so the crates that greeted me said as much. I appreciated the irony. Passing by two of the crates, I took the pry-bar out of the duffel and levered the top off a third. Within was stacks and stacks of cash; the money Accord had sent to pay his dealers to keep dealing in the face of my threats.
It took me awhile to put enough of it into the duffel to work for what I wanted, then I zipped the bag up and went to the back of the truck. Outside, I could hear the prime mover's engine rumbling as the driver rolled it forward, away from the now abandoned trailer.
Pulling out a road flare, I lit it up and tossed it onto the open crate of cash. The rest of the trailer would catch soon enough, and the entire shipment would become one huge bonfire in the middle of I-95. I jumped down and headed forward to where the truck driver was nervously waiting for me alongside his truck.
"Here," I said, holding the duffel out to him. "Give this to your boss, and tell him to pass it on to Accord. Tell him that this is payment for a service. Also tell him that I've already contacted Accord and told him exactly how much is coming through. Then I suggest you find another line of work. This one might get unhealthy."
He took the bag, staring at me as smoke started to curl out the back of the trailer. "Are you insane?" He shook his head. "You're paying him to do something with his own money?"
"As soon as it entered my city, it stopped being his money," I said. "Pass on exactly what I said. No more and no less. Understood?"
He nodded jerkily. "Understood."
"Good." I watched as he climbed awkwardly into the cab, weighed down by the duffel bag. The heavy door slammed shut, and I heard the clunk as the truck dropped into gear. It rolled off, gathering speed, the driver no doubt wondering if I was going to kill him even now.
I strolled back across the road to the turn-off, then pulled my phone out. As I watched more and more smoke begin to pour out of the back end of the open trailer, I dialled a particular number.
"Who is this and how did you get this number?" demanded a sharp, precise voice.
"Good evening, Accord," I said. "This is Atropos. I'm calling to let you know that your shipment has been unavoidably destroyed. This is formal notice that you don't get to sell your drugs in my city, now or ever. Nor does anyone else."
There was silence for a minute, before he spoke again. "Nobody speaks to me like that and lives."
"You'd think so. Everyone who's tried it with me has died. Now, we can be enemies—briefly—or we can have a working relationship. It's your choice. Would you rather waste resources attempting to regain your foothold in Brockton Bay, or be paid to do what you do best?"
Again, there was silence for exactly sixty seconds. "I'm listening."
"Excellent. I'm sending the truck driver back to you with exactly five hundred thousand dollars in a duffel bag. He will deliver it to his boss, who will pass it along to you. In return, I will be needing a plan for revitalising Brockton Bay at all levels, including dealing with the fallout of a total hard drug prohibition on the whole city, assuming an initial cash influx into the city of approximately ninety-seven million dollars, with more to follow later." I didn't ask if he could deliver. That would've been the greatest insult of all.
This time, the pause was only ten seconds. "I can have it finished by Wednesday."
"Good. I'll contact you then, and let you know where to have it delivered to."
"Understood." He ended the call, regaining what little control he could. I was okay with that.
As I headed back down the turnoff to where Dad waited, I tapped in another number. The voice that answered was feminine and somewhat warmer than Accord's sharp tones. "Hello?"
"Hey, frenemy mine," I greeted her. "I've got a proposition for you."
Dragon sighed. "I thought I said we'd see about the frenemy thing."
I injected faux surprise into my tone. "So, you don't want to come help me kill off the Nine tomorrow?"
Her voice changed, becoming considerably more alert. "Where would you like me to pick you up from?"
"I'll call and let you know."
"I'll be waiting."
"See you then."
Ending the call and dropping the phone into my pocket with a grin, I headed back down the turnoff to where Dad waited. He looked up as I got into the car.
"So, are we all done?" he asked.
"We are," I said, and pulled off my hat and mask. He handed me my glasses, and I put them on. "Let's go home. I've got a big day tomorrow."
"You got it." He started the car.
A thought occurred to me. "Dad?"
"Yeah?"
"Where can I get a fire extinguisher from?"
He sighed. "We'll swing past the Dockworkers' offices again."
I smiled. "You're the best."
End of Part Nineteen
Part Nineteen: Preparations
[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
Atropos
As we drove away from the still-burning warehouse—all the cops were going to get out of that place was a whole lot of ash and some pretty damn toxic residue—I turned to Brian. "Okay, last stop for the day." I gave him the address. "Not drug related, this time."
"Aww." Aisha mock-pouted in the back seat. "I thought we were going to fuck up the day of some more druggies."
"The shipment won't be coming in until tonight," I said. "Accord has yet to hear about it and arrange to replace the lost product. But I'm gonna wait until it hits the city limits, just to make a point."
"Oh." She brightened. "So, we've already fucked up a supervillain's day, and he doesn't even know it? Which one's Accord, anyway?"
"He is absolutely going to be extremely unhappy about it, yes," I confirmed. "As for what he's like … you know how different Brian is to you when it comes to keeping things neat and tidy, everything in its place?"
"God, yeah." I was pretty sure she'd just rolled her eyes. "I swear, I have to talk him out of ironing the towels."
"Hey!" objected Brian. "I'm not that intense about it!"
"Well, you fold 'em!"
"Towels are supposed to be folded!"
"Since when?"
I cleared my throat. "Aisha, settle. Towels are kind of supposed to be folded. Anyway, imagine someone who makes Brian look twice as untidy as you."
Silence fell in the car. In my peripheral vision, I caught Aisha blinking a couple of times. Eventually, she shook her head in wonder. "Holy motherfucking Smurfballs. Is he really that bad?"
"You tell me." I shrugged. "This is a guy who times his own bathroom breaks to the second."
Now Brian turned toward me. "You're messing with us." He paused, awaiting a response from me. I said nothing. "You are messing with us. Right?"
"Oh, man," breathed Aisha, her entire being alight with an unholy joy. "I could so totally fuck with his head."
"No!" snapped Brian. "Bad Aisha! No poking at supervillains!"
"It's actually a bad idea," I agreed. "If someone interrupts one of his meetings, his immediate reaction is to kill them. In fact, that's his go-to for basically anything that disrupts his routine for any reason. The man has no chill. I'm pretty sure he considers 'chill' to be a dirty word."
"And yet, you've got no problem with blowing up his drugs." Aisha's tone of voice was speculative.
"None whatsoever." I half-turned in my seat, looking back at her. "I know how to handle him. And how to kill him, if he makes it necessary. So even if he comes to town, even if you happen to lay eyes on him, you do nothing. No smartass comments, no little jabs. You walk in the other direction, and you don't stop until you're out of sight. Do you understand?"
She couldn't see my expression, but something in my tone must have gotten through to her. "… yeah, okay. I'll leave him for you to fuck up."
I smiled and reached back with my fist for her to bump. "Good plan. We'll go with that one."
Brian cleared his throat. "Okay, now we've got that settled, what's at the address where we're going?"
"An empty lot." I held up a hand. "But near there are a couple of guys I want to have a word with."
"Wait a minute, wait a minute." Aisha spoke a little breathlessly. "I know who you're going to see. 'Cause I pay attention."
Brian frowned. "Okay, now you've lost me. Who?"
<><>
Uber and Leet's Base
Brendan looked around as a buzzer sounded. "What's that?"
There was a thump and some swearing, then Leet stuck his head out of his work-room. "We got someone coming up to the front door. That's the proximity sensor. They'll be in camera range in a minute."
Dropping the controller, Brendan came to his feet. "Are we expecting anyone?"
His phone, on the side table, rang. Scooping it up, he looked at the caller ID, and froze. It said 'ATROPOS'. The phone rang again. Slowly, his thumb swiped to accept the call. "Hello?"
"You're expecting me," a teenage girl's voice said briskly. "Remember? I told you I wanted to talk to you?"
"Dude, what's the matter?" asked Leet, coming out of the work-room. "Who is it?"
Brendan pointed at the screen. "A-Atropos," he croaked. At that moment, two teenagers walked into view. Both were black; one was a tall buff guy, and the other was a petite girl.
"Um, no, they're not." Leet frowned. "What the fuck are they doing here?"
"Waiting for you to let them in." The voice, that of a teenage girl, came from behind them.
Brendan whirled, setting up with a defensive martial-arts pose, while Leet just spun around with a startled squawk. Atropos was standing there, every inch of her radiating menace. Around one finger, she spun a pair of odd-looking shears.
"Where the hell did you come from?" demanded Leet. "How did you get in?" He fumbled a cloth mask out of his pocket and pulled it over his head. Brendan followed suit, though he wasn't sure it would do any good.
"Your back door was unlocked," Atropos said. Brendan was sure she was grinning her head off behind that morph mask.
"It was not!" Leet puffed himself up with outrage. "I made sure of it, an hour ago!"
"Well, it was unlocked after I entered the security code." Atropos shrugged. "It's all the same to me, really." She turned her head toward Brendan and gestured toward the front door with a flip of the shears. "So, you want to let my friends in?"
"That lock has a rotating security passcode that changes every minute, and changes the passcode generation seed every hour," Leet insisted. "Even if someone gave it to you ten minutes ago, there's no way it would've worked."
Brendan left him to it, and went to the front door. The screen showed them simply waiting, not even bothering to knock. He undid the latches and swung the door open. "Hello. You can call me Uber. Come on in." Whoever Atropos' friends were, it was probably a very good idea to be polite to them.
"Thanks." The big guy—about Brendan's size and heft, with an air that said he could handle himself—looked around with interest, but didn't comment.
His reticence was more than made up for by the girl, who sported a purple streak in her hair, Glory Girl's tiara, and an attitude a mile wide. "Holy shit, this place is a mess. Hey, how you doing? This is my big bro, Bravo. I'm Alpha. Because I'm just that cool."
"That's also the name Atropos told you to use," 'Bravo' said, with a long-suffering sigh. "And remember, she told you to keep your hands to yourself. This isn't just a Tinker lab, it's Leet's Tinker lab. We have no idea what any of this stuff does, whether it works, or if it'll just explode instead."
"Hey, he's not that bad," Brendan objected, driven more by the impulse to defend his buddy than to actually set the record straight. "Most of his stuff works, most of the time."
"Really?" 'Alpha' gave him a challenging look. "So, how many times did he lose his eyebrows last year?"
Brendan sighed. "Last year was not a good year for that, I'll admit. But it still wasn't that bad. We're both alive, and still not in prison."
"That's because you were right at the bottom of the priority list," Atropos said from right behind him, making him jump. He'd seen she was wearing knee-high hard-soled boots, and she'd still snuck up on him.
"Jesus, don't do that!" he protested, forgetting his intention of being polite as he turned to glare at her. "And what do you mean, 'priority list'?"
"It's a PRT thing," 'Bravo' said in a professorial tone. "When there's powerful capes they'd love to arrest and low-tier capes who aren't committing high-profile crimes, a sort of paralysis can set in. Going after the big names requires far more resources, and sometimes the powers that be can query if it's really worth putting all that effort into catching one cape, when the same level of force can theoretically roll up four or five lower-level ones. But if they commit to the lower-level ones, you get people—sometimes the very same people—asking why they're not focusing on the really dangerous capes."
He seemed to realise that both Brendan and Leet were staring at him, and he shrugged in a self-effacing way. "Sorry. I had to do a paper on it for one of my classes."
"Wait," Leet said, in a tone of disappointment. "You mean we're not that good at hiding?"
"Pfft, hardly," 'Alpha' said dismissively. "My girl Atropos said, 'let's go visit Uber and Leet' and bingo, we came straight here."
"And don't worry," 'Bravo' said. "We're not going to tell the PRT where you are right now. This is purely a social call. Atropos is calling the shots, here."
"But why are you here?" asked Brendan. "What do you want with us? If you're here to warn us to get out of town, trust me, telling us on PHO would've done the trick."
"Because I don't want you out of town just yet," Atropos explained. "In fact, I'm here to trade a favour for a favour. Leet, if we can just go into your workroom, I'd like to discuss the nitty-gritty with you. Uber, figure you can entertain my friends for a bit? Thanks."
Before either Brendan or Leet had the chance to object, she grabbed Leet by the arm and dragged him into the workroom. The door closed behind them.
"Well," remarked Bravo. "That happened."
"Does it normally? Around Atropos, I mean?" Brendan had a sinking feeling he knew the answer.
"Pfft, when does it not?" Alpha grinned widely. "We met her in the park today for selfies, and before we were done, I had this as a present." She tapped the tiara. "It's genuine as fuck. Glory Girl tried to pull shit with Atropos, and did not have a good time of it."
Brendan's eyes widened. "Holy shit. The Glory Girl? She once dislocated Leet's shoulder. And Atropos beat her up?"
"Something like that," Bravo confirmed. "Just between you, me and the gatepost? Don't ever try to pull shit with Atropos. It's a bad, bad idea. We just torched millions of dollars worth of drugs, and she's going to keep doing it until the people sending it to Brockton Bay get the message."
Alpha pointed. "Hey, nice console setup. What games you got?" She headed over to get a better look.
"Whoa, hold back there," Bravo said reprovingly. "You can't just go poking around someone else's gaming gear."
"We've got all the classics," Brendan said, happy to show off with something that didn't make him feel second class. "You guys play? We've got a third controller around here somewhere if you're interested."
Bravo smiled in the same way that a card shark might, just before asking someone to explain how the game was played. "Oh, I've been known to sit down with my friends from time to time."
"Whoo yeah!" whooped Alpha, vaulting over the back of the sofa and grabbing up one of the controllers. "Let's do this thing!"
"Sorry about her," Bravo said. "She gets … enthusiastic, from time to time."
Brendan shrugged as he went digging under the accumulated detritus of two guys living together for the third controller. "It's okay. Trust me, I've seen worse."
Alpha chuckled darkly. "Challenge … accepted."
"No," Bravo said. "Not challenge accepted. There was no challenge. Do not accept any challenges."
As Brendan located the other controller and plugged it in, he wondered why Bravo was so adamant that there was no challenge.
<><>
Half an hour later, he had his answer.
Alpha was a maniac. Her rapid-fire delivery was nothing compared to her gameplay style. While her brother was skilled in his own right, with steady, competent button work, Alpha was chaos incarnate.
He'd never seen anything like it before, and he'd been gaming with Leet since there were console games to play. She alternated between reckless button-mashing, ridiculous off-the-wall plays, and occasional bursts of either madness or brilliance; he couldn't quite tell. While Brendan was specifically very good at controller use, she seemed to have an instinctive quality to outplay him at crucial moments, by doing something totally illogical that still got her the win.
All in all, he was both relieved and disappointed when the work-room door opened, and Atropos emerged with Leet trailing behind. "Okay," said the black-costumed killer. "We're all agreed?"
"Yeah," Leet said. "I'll change the command recognition codes tonight. The other one will take a bit longer. Maybe a week, depending on how it goes."
"Good." Atropos' voice seemed to change, become somehow unearthly. "Just don't screw it up."
"I, uh, won't?" Leet sounded more nervous than ever.
"Good." Atropos came over and leaned on the back of the sofa. "Okay, time to go."
"Aww, I was just getting my eye in," Alpha complained. "Bro, we need a gaming console."
"I'll see if I can ask for one." Bravo got up and dropped the controller on the sofa. "Thanks, Uber. Good game."
"Yeah, me too." Alpha jumped up, then planted her foot on a cushion and vaulted back over the sofa. "That was actually kinda fun."
"Good. Glad you enjoyed yourselves." Atropos straightened up and turned to face Brendan and Leet. "Over and above our arrangement, I'm going to leave you alone. But given that all the big gangs are out of action, you are the big supervillain names in town right now, so you're probably on the top of the priority list all of a sudden. It might be an idea to keep your heads down anyway."
Somehow, the shears had found their way back into her hands, and she began spinning them one way and then the other, the razor-edged blades glinting in the light. "Oh, and I suggest you never have another episode where people get hurt for real. Or you two and I will be having another chat. An extremely brief one. Do I make myself clear?"
Brendan nodded. It didn't seem like a smart idea to do anything else. "Crystal."
"Good. I'm so glad we understand each other."
<><>
PRT Building ENE, Director's Office
Director Emily Piggot
Emily eyed the Laborn boy. He seemed unharmed, though one foot kept twitching and he had to cradle the cup of coffee in both hands. She'd seen these signs before, usually in soldiers who'd spent too long in a hot zone. "Are you alright? Did she make you as a Ward?"
He chuckled hollowly. "In about the first ten seconds." A sip of the coffee seemed to steady his nerves. "But she wasn't worried by it. She knew exactly why I was there, and didn't even have a problem with me calling the Deputy Director."
Renick, sitting off to the side in his own chair, shared a glance with her. Then he posed his own question. "Did she threaten you or your sister to keep you in line?"
Laborn shook his head. "No. She didn't bother. The whole time we were with her, she was … nice. Like she was making the extra effort to put us at our ease. She even told me flat-out that so long as the PRT and heroes in this town didn't aggress on her, she wouldn't hurt us. And even if one of us did, she promised not to kill them."
Emily shook her head. "Even having seen what she can do, that's a rather broad and sweeping claim. It presupposes an ability to harm or kill any hero in the city, if they happen to attack her. Did you see any capability that might bear that out?"
"She knows stuff she literally shouldn't," he said frankly. "Like the locations of those drug stash houses she destroyed. There was no checking of data, or making phone calls. She just had me drive straight there. She also knew where Uber and Leet's hideout was, and was able to enter the combination of a secure code-lock in just seconds. If she can do all that, then there's nothing stopping her from knowing any cape's weakness, or figuring out how to kill them."
Emily thought back to Shadow Stalker's autopsy. There had been a faint burn mark on the corpse. Electrical? Did Atropos know to use electricity against her? God damn it.
"Uber and Leet?" Renick sat forward. "You know where they are?"
"She wanted a favour from Leet," Laborn said hastily. "We were essentially there under flag of truce. She asked me not to pass the location on to the PRT, and I'm honouring that."
Emily didn't like that, but she nodded. Truces between heroes and villains were to be respected, because there was no other way to induce the villains to stick to them when the heroes were on the weaker side. Still, that didn't mean she couldn't ask other questions. "Did you find out what she wanted from Leet?"
"No, they were in another room." Laborn paused. "But after they came out, she said she was okay with them staying in town, but they were probably a higher priority for the PRT now. And if they did any more shows where people got hurt, she'd pay them a very brief visit."
In other words, kill them. "Understood," she said. "What's your impression of her capabilities and her motives?"
He took a long drink from his coffee. "Capabilities? Utterly terrifying," he confessed. "When we were in the warehouse, she had me fill it with my darkness … which she flat-out ignored. She said something about how sight is overrated, then went straight into the darkness and started subduing guards. A little earlier than that, the first drug house she torched, she went in there alone, they all pulled guns … and she killed every single one before they could open fire on her. Because she didn't want anyone endangered by bullets flying through walls. As for motives … well, she's not in it for money. She walked straight past a literal pallet of cash and didn't take a dime. In fact, she deliberately burned it."
He drew a long breath, then let it out. "There's one more thing. Something I think we need to keep on the down-low."
"We're listening," Renick said encouragingly.
Laborn seemed to consider his words. "When we were in the park with her, there was an encounter with Glory Girl. We were posing for a group camera selfie when Glory Girl attacked from behind, aiming for Atropos. But because we were standing close together, she would've gotten all of us. Aisha could've been badly hurt. I could've been badly hurt."
"What happened?" asked Emily.
He shrugged. "Atropos shouted a warning at the last instant and pushed us away, then dropped flat. Glory Girl demolished the picnic table. Atropos and I both warned her to back off, but she wouldn't. Then Atropos did something with a coin, and Glory Girl inhaled it on her next pass, and started choking. Panacea arrived just as Atropos was holding her shears right next to Glory Girl's eye."
Renick shook his head. "She'd never get through Glory Girl's invincibility."
"Except she did, sir." Laborn gestured to his eyes with one hand. "She snipped off a couple of Glory Girl's eyelashes, and she kept on smacking her on the forehead with those shears to prove she could hurt her. Then she got a promise from Panacea for a favour if she didn't spill the beans about Glory Girl nearly hurting me and Aisha. Also, she confiscated Glory Girl's tiara and gave it to Aisha."
"Ah." Emily shared another glance with Renick. "I do see what you mean. We'll need a more complete written report about the whole event. Though did she say anything about the favour she wanted?"
"No, ma'am." Laborn looked pensive. "Just that it wouldn't be 'hugely illegal', whatever that means."
"Understood." There was no way Emily wanted to queer any deal Atropos had with Panacea. She's probably setting aside an option for emergency healing, just in case. It sounded as though Glory Girl had learned a salutary lesson anyway. "Your overall impression of Atropos?"
"Impossibly skilled, inhumanly capable, effectively psychic, possibly precognitive," rattled off Laborn. "But she was human enough to not kill anyone in the warehouse, because she could see I was starting to get antsy over all the death. Didn't get angry with me, just pivoted to 'okay, we're not killing anyone this time' and got the job done. And she positively doted over Aisha." His head came up. "Oh, there was also the incident of the drug dealer she threw out the window to save Aisha."
Emily raised her eyebrows. "Details, please."
"We were in the car, waiting downstairs while Atropos deprived our mother of every last drug in her possession. But her dealer showed up, and left his hired muscle downstairs. One of them noticed us and came over. Aisha smarted off to him, things escalated, and he was just pulling a gun when the dealer landed on him from the third floor. Atropos had thrown him out the window."
"There was a police report of a dead man in the stairwell there," Renick noted. "Shot in the face. Atropos?"
Laborn nodded. "Almost certainly. That would be the other bodyguard. He pulled his gun before he went in."
Emily shook her head at the idiocy of some people. "Well, I'm pleased you made it through the ordeal unscathed. How was your sister at the end of the day?"
For the first time, Laborn smiled. "She's over the moon. Atropos brought along a Polaroid camera, and gave us both signed selfies with her. Aisha also got to go along and watch as Atropos destroyed literally millions of dollars' worth of drugs. It's made her entire year."
"And how are you holding up, young man?" asked Renick. "It can't have been easy, to have someone who's killed so many people within arm's reach like that."
"Still a bit jittery," admitted Laborn. "But Aisha had an amazing day, and I think that makes it worth it."
"Good," said Emily. Now came the sixty-four-million-dollar question. "If and when your sister makes another arrangement to meet with Atropos, do you feel up to accompanying her again?"
Laborn drew a deep breath then held it, seeming to think about the question. Finally, he nodded. "Yeah. I can do that."
Renick stood. "Good lad," he said heartily. "You've done well. Go and relax for the time being. Unwind. You've earned it."
"Thank you, sir." Laborn stood up as well, and nodded toward Emily. "Ma'am." Turning, he headed out of the office, taking the coffee cup with him.
Emily waited for the door to close before she turned to Renick. "What do you think?"
Renick rubbed his jaw. "A little rough on the boy," he said judiciously. "But worth it overall, I think. The information that Atropos doesn't intend to hurt our people is very good to have."
"True," Emily said dryly. "Now, if only we could convince all the other idiots to not get in her way."
He snorted gently in amusement. "I'm only a Deputy Director, ma'am. Not a miracle worker."
<><>
Later That Night
Atropos
I sat in Dad's car in a turnoff, just inside the Brockton Bay city limits. We had the windows open for ventilation, and so I could hear the traffic. There wasn't much at the moment, which was good. I didn't need any misguided good Samaritans trying to intervene on the other side's behalf.
"Five minutes," I said. "I've said this before, but I'll say it again. There'll be a lead car and a chase car. Each one will have three men in it. The driver's a regular truck driver who doesn't know what he's carrying; he's been offered twice the normal pay to get it into Brockton Bay tonight. There's a secondary location that Accord doesn't think I know about."
"Are you going to do something about it?" asked Dad. "I mean, since they won't have any drugs to distribute?"
"Not at the moment." I leaned back in the seat and relaxed. "I'll let him pay their wages and waste his money until they actually start earning it, at which point I'll cut them off."
"How about Accord himself?" he asked. "You did say something about how people sending their underlings to the Bay wouldn't get away with it either."
"Oh, he'll get the message when I destroy this shipment." I checked the pockets of my long-coat. I wouldn't need my last grenade until tomorrow, but the road flares should come in handy, as would the hand-held two-way radio. I'd scored it from the Dockworkers' Association, and done a little work on it to get it to the right channel. "The man may be nuttier than squirrel shit, but he's unlikely to throw good money after bad. Besides, I've got a use for him in the long term."
Dad shuddered. "The poor bastard," he muttered. I was pretty sure he'd intended for me to hear it.
I smirked. "If he didn't want to get mixed up in my business, he shouldn't be selling drugs in Brockton Bay."
We fell silent then, listening to the vroooom of cars and trucks passing by. When the clock in my head ticked over to one minute, I removed my glasses and put them in the centre console, then opened the door and got out. My mask went on, and then my hat. I retrieved the duffel-bag from the floor of the car, and closed the door. "Stay in the car," I said.
In the semi-darkness, he shook his head; in worry, not negation. "I wish this didn't have to be you."
"It would've been nice if someone did this before I had to," I said with a shrug. "Nobody did, so it's up to me."
I turned away from the car and made my way out of the turnoff toward the side of the road. Even in winter, the trees were thick enough to make spotting Dad's car nigh-impossible unless someone drove down that exact turnoff. With ten seconds to go, I dropped the duffel in the shadows then stepped out onto the edge of the road, drawing my pistol.
The lead car, going like a demon, roared around the corner far up ahead, briefly lighting me up with its high beams. The driver and passengers, keyed up as they were, would be asking themselves, 'was that her, or was it just a shadow?'. The speed limit was seventy, and they were sitting exactly on that, getting closer to me at just over one hundred feet for every second that passed.
Unhurriedly, I raised my pistol. The range was six hundred feet. Five hundred. Four hundred. The driver decided that I was no shadow, and began to edge toward me, aiming to clip me with the corner of his fender and ragdoll me into the trees. Three hundred.
I fired three times, during which interval the car covered another fifty feet toward me. The most immediate effect of this was that the windshield starred all the way across, then crumpled inward due to wind-rush. With the driver and both passengers dead or dying, I switched aim to the driver's side front wheel and shot it out.
The last two shell-casings tinkled to the gravel at the side of the road as the car blew past, already swerving toward the Jersey barrier in the middle of the road. It struck, spun out, then flipped. I'd already put it out of my mind when I turned back to look down the road.
Raising the two-way to my face, I toggled the press-to-talk switch. "Breaker, breaker," I said. "White Peterbilt, license plate ending in Bravo Golf Two, prepare to stop. This is not a request. Atropos, out."
Dropping the radio back into my pocket, I moved into the pool of illumination cast by a streetlight and raised the pistol as the eighteen-wheeler came into view. At first, it slowed; I heard the distinctive sound of a downshift. But then it accelerated again. I smiled grimly under my mask. It seemed that there was someone in that cab who didn't want to do what I said.
Well, he heard my name. He was warned.
At five hundred feet, I fired a single shot. The semi was of a type that had two panels for the windshield, so only the passenger side starred out. Immediately, the eighteen-wheeler began to slow down again, applying brakes and gears as only a master of the art of truck driving can do.
Before it came to a complete halt, I had holstered my pistol and was running up to the passenger side. I scrambled up onto the running board, then hoisted myself up onto the cab, using the wing mirror as a brace for my foot. From there I took a running jump onto the top of the trailer itself.
The chase car came blazing around the corner at this point. I wasn't sure if they could see me, but they could certainly see that the vehicle they were charged with shepherding all the way into Brockton Bay was stopped at the side of the road.
Also, there were four more men in the trailer itself, hemmed about with crates that would stop gunfire from the side but allow them to shoot at anyone opening the rear doors. I drew my pistol again, and fired four shots down into the top of the trailer. Well, there had been four men in the trailer. Now there were four corpses.
A shot winged past me, just close enough for me to notice it, and another pinged off the corner of the trailer. It seemed the men in the car had noticed me. Which meant they could have chosen to drive past peacefully, turn around, and slink back to Boston to give the bad news to Accord … or they could choose to commit suicide.
Suicide it was, then. I fired four times, and the car veered off the road into the trees. Contrary to popular belief spread by Hollywood, it did not burst into flames. I was vaguely disappointed. The next car I sent careening off the road, I decided, would explode into flames in proper action-movie style.
The driver, huddled in his seat, jumped when I swung down alongside his door and tapped on his window. He rolled it down, looking at me as though he expected to die at any second. "I'm not part of it," he quavered. "I just drive. They never tell me what's in the back."
"And that's fine with me," I said. "I want you to unhitch this thing from the trailer, and then take a message back to whoever you work for in Boston. Can you do that for me?"
He nodded urgently, very willing to cooperate with me. "I can totally do that for you."
While he was unhitching the prime mover from the trailer, I went and collected the duffel, then climbed into the back of the trailer. The eighteen-wheeler had been carrying washing machines, or so the crates that greeted me said as much. I appreciated the irony. Passing by two of the crates, I took the pry-bar out of the duffel and levered the top off a third. Within was stacks and stacks of cash; the money Accord had sent to pay his dealers to keep dealing in the face of my threats.
It took me awhile to put enough of it into the duffel to work for what I wanted, then I zipped the bag up and went to the back of the truck. Outside, I could hear the prime mover's engine rumbling as the driver rolled it forward, away from the now abandoned trailer.
Pulling out a road flare, I lit it up and tossed it onto the open crate of cash. The rest of the trailer would catch soon enough, and the entire shipment would become one huge bonfire in the middle of I-95. I jumped down and headed forward to where the truck driver was nervously waiting for me alongside his truck.
"Here," I said, holding the duffel out to him. "Give this to your boss, and tell him to pass it on to Accord. Tell him that this is payment for a service. Also tell him that I've already contacted Accord and told him exactly how much is coming through. Then I suggest you find another line of work. This one might get unhealthy."
He took the bag, staring at me as smoke started to curl out the back of the trailer. "Are you insane?" He shook his head. "You're paying him to do something with his own money?"
"As soon as it entered my city, it stopped being his money," I said. "Pass on exactly what I said. No more and no less. Understood?"
He nodded jerkily. "Understood."
"Good." I watched as he climbed awkwardly into the cab, weighed down by the duffel bag. The heavy door slammed shut, and I heard the clunk as the truck dropped into gear. It rolled off, gathering speed, the driver no doubt wondering if I was going to kill him even now.
I strolled back across the road to the turn-off, then pulled my phone out. As I watched more and more smoke begin to pour out of the back end of the open trailer, I dialled a particular number.
"Who is this and how did you get this number?" demanded a sharp, precise voice.
"Good evening, Accord," I said. "This is Atropos. I'm calling to let you know that your shipment has been unavoidably destroyed. This is formal notice that you don't get to sell your drugs in my city, now or ever. Nor does anyone else."
There was silence for a minute, before he spoke again. "Nobody speaks to me like that and lives."
"You'd think so. Everyone who's tried it with me has died. Now, we can be enemies—briefly—or we can have a working relationship. It's your choice. Would you rather waste resources attempting to regain your foothold in Brockton Bay, or be paid to do what you do best?"
Again, there was silence for exactly sixty seconds. "I'm listening."
"Excellent. I'm sending the truck driver back to you with exactly five hundred thousand dollars in a duffel bag. He will deliver it to his boss, who will pass it along to you. In return, I will be needing a plan for revitalising Brockton Bay at all levels, including dealing with the fallout of a total hard drug prohibition on the whole city, assuming an initial cash influx into the city of approximately ninety-seven million dollars, with more to follow later." I didn't ask if he could deliver. That would've been the greatest insult of all.
This time, the pause was only ten seconds. "I can have it finished by Wednesday."
"Good. I'll contact you then, and let you know where to have it delivered to."
"Understood." He ended the call, regaining what little control he could. I was okay with that.
As I headed back down the turnoff to where Dad waited, I tapped in another number. The voice that answered was feminine and somewhat warmer than Accord's sharp tones. "Hello?"
"Hey, frenemy mine," I greeted her. "I've got a proposition for you."
Dragon sighed. "I thought I said we'd see about the frenemy thing."
I injected faux surprise into my tone. "So, you don't want to come help me kill off the Nine tomorrow?"
Her voice changed, becoming considerably more alert. "Where would you like me to pick you up from?"
"I'll call and let you know."
"I'll be waiting."
"See you then."
Ending the call and dropping the phone into my pocket with a grin, I headed back down the turnoff to where Dad waited. He looked up as I got into the car.
"So, are we all done?" he asked.
"We are," I said, and pulled off my hat and mask. He handed me my glasses, and I put them on. "Let's go home. I've got a big day tomorrow."
"You got it." He started the car.
A thought occurred to me. "Dad?"
"Yeah?"
"Where can I get a fire extinguisher from?"
He sighed. "We'll swing past the Dockworkers' offices again."
I smiled. "You're the best."
End of Part Nineteen
Part Twenty: Seven, Six, Five, Four ...
Ack
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A Darker Path
Part Twenty: Seven, Six, Five, Four …
[A/N 1: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
[A/N 2: I have used some adapted poster comments from Spacebattles in the PHO segment.]
[A/N 3: TRIGGER WARNING: PSYCHOLOGICAL TORTURE.]
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♦ Topic: Drugs are Bad, mmkay?
In: Boards ► Brockton Bay ► New Capes ► Atropos
Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
Posted On Jan 8th 2011:
Good evening, you lovely folks in Brockton Bay!
And yes, you're more lovely than ever, because I have had a Productive Day (tm).
Why, yes, I can actually go out and about in the daylight. Though I have to slather on the sunscreen. It burns, my precious (I kid, I kid).
No, really, I did go out today, to meet with my one-girl (so far) fan club. GreatAndTerribleAisha and I enjoyed a session of selfies in the park with her brother (nice guy, a little twitchy). We did have a kind of Glory Girl interrupt, but Imma let GTA tell that one herself.
Anyways, after that we went out and about in the interests of shoving a whole series of sticks in the spokes of the Brockton Bay drug trade. Along the way, I got to throw a drug dealer out a window so he landed on top of his own bodyguard (cushioned his fall, so there's that). I recommend the experience. We should start Throw A Drug Dealer Out The Window Day. Make it an annual event.
After that, we visited a drug stash house in the suburbs, and all these people decided to try to kill me at once with guns. Listen, I know all about the Second Amendment, but guns in suburbia are *bad*. Aim wrong when you squeeze that trigger and you've just shot your next door neighbour's kid. While he was in bed asleep. Maybe invest in bulletproof walls. Just saying.
Anyway, I killed them before they could kill me. There were all these drugs there, so I kind of un-wanted it all with fire. Gave the fire department something to do instead of polishing those big red trucks of theirs.
Then we found a warehouse full of the stuff. After getting all the guards out of the way, I blew it up. All of it. That explosion and mushroom cloud over the industrial area today? Yeah, that was me. It was *amazing*.
Then I went and had that chat with Uber and Leet I said I was going to have. Don't worry, they survived the experience. But they promised not to repeat that Grand Theft Auto bullshit, so there's that.
And finally? There was a drug shipment coming in to replace the one I blew up. It's currently on fire on I-95, just inside the city limits. When I said the drug trade in this city was coming to an end, I meant it.
So tomorrow I'm totes on track to turn the Slaughterhouse Nine into the Slaughterhouse who?
Stay tuned, and be warned: it's gonna get messy (for them, not me).
Toodles!
(Showing page 1 of 10)
►Bagrat (Veteran Member) (The Guy in the Know)
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
Okay, today wasn't too bad, I suppose?
Boy, when Atropos goes after the drug trade, she doesn't mess around. Of course, having seen her previous efforts, we were already aware of her 'not messing around' capabilities.
Literally tens, maybe hundreds, of millions of dollars worth of drugs have gone up in smoke, over the course of just a few hours. Locations that I could have driven past and never suspected were uncovered and destroyed. An entire warehouse turned into a fuel-air bomb.
And then there's the mess on I-95. Yes, there's a trailer off an eighteen-wheeler that was on fire. It's only very recently been put out. There are also two cars, both crashed, each with three heavily armed men, plus four more in the trailer itself. Still not as bad as the last few days, just saying.
What we don't know is the location of the prime mover and the driver. Knowing Atropos, they could be literally anywhere.
Anyway, it looks like the first shots have been fired in the war between Atropos and drugs. So far, Atropos is winning.
If you deal hard drugs in Brockton Bay, I would suggest a change in either career or location. Just saying.
►StarCat (Verified Cat)
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
You know, not every drug user is an addict. Some drugs even have therapeutic effects. It's a mistake to tar all users with the same brush.
►WingsOnHigh (Verified Not the Simurgh)
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
@StarCat - It's all good, you can keep your pot and shrooms and stuff. It looks like Atropos is only going after the hard stuff.
►King_DuzKhul
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
@StarCat - Pretty sure she's only going after dealers, not users. Also, only targeting the hard stuff like coke, H, meth and things of that class.
►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
@StarCat - Like the others are saying, I'm not targeting users, only dealers. I'll *take* your illegally obtained hard drugs away, but I won't hurt you if you aren't stupid about it. And I'll leave your weed and shrooms and anything that's on the soft end of that scale.
►StarCat (Verified Cat)
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
@Atropos - I don't use. I'm just pointing out that in principle, we should be allowed to put whatever we want into our bodies. And things like ecstasy can be used to treat depression. Other 'hard' drugs can also have useful effects.
►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
@StarCat - As far as I'm concerned, 'principle' is just a weasel word for 'this is my made-up right to do something I'm not supposed to'. If someone wants to use these drugs, they can buy and use them legally or they can get out of Brockton Bay. What you do elsewhere, I don't care. Just don't do it in my city.
►StarCat (Verified Cat)
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
@Atropos - You're forgetting that drug use, and drug addiction are not synonymous.
Banning people from anything "for their own good" is paternalistic bullshit.
►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
@StarCat - See, that's where you make your mistake. I'm not doing this for "your own good". The illegal hard drug trade is bad for the city, so I'm bringing it to an end. Other than that, I don't give a flying fuck.
End of Page. 1, 2, 3 ... 8, 9, 10
(Showing page 2 of 10)
►GreatAndTerribleAisha
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
She really, really doesn't. Holy shit, the day I have had. She beat up Glory Girl and stole her tiara for me, then she threw my mom's fucking drug dealer out the window, then she burned one drug stash and blew the absolute living *fuck* out of another. Then we went and played video games with Uber while she had a chat with Leet (Uber's pretty good, but his end game is a bit lacking).
I have photos. Signed selfies with Atropos.
Best. Fucking. Day. Ever.
►GstringGirl
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
Oh, come on. Details. We want details.
►XxVoid_CowboyxX
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
I'd call bullshit, but I saw the mushroom cloud. Atropos rocks.
►GreatAndTerribleAisha
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
So, Glory Girl.
There we were in the park, taking selfies, and GG comes up and starts getting in Atropos's business. She's really not taking no for an answer. So Atropos takes her down with a *quarter*, no less, after she kind of breaks a picnic table. Took her tiara away for asshole tax, and gave it to me.
[signed selfie]
[pic with tiara]
As for the rest of it, she made me stay back out of the way, so I didn't see much. But holy crap, when she blew up the warehouse, it was *amazeballs*.
►TheRealGloryGirl (Verified Cape) (Cape Daughter) (New Wave Member)
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
YOU DIDN'T HAVE TO TELL EVERYONE ABOUT IT!
►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
She really, really did.
►TheRealBrandish (Verified Cape) (Cape Wife) (New Wave Member)
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
Victoria, get offline NOW.
►Brocktonite03 (Veteran Member)
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
Whoo, buss-ted.
►Reave (Verified PRT Agent)
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
@Atropos - I'm probably just shouting into the wind right now, but the offer is still open for you to come in to the PRT and work out some kind of cooperation deal. You've got good ideas, and we've got the resources necessary to carry them out without quite so much bloodshed.
►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
@Reave – I still appreciate the offer, but you know what my answer's going to be. Sometimes you need to perpetrate a little bloodshed (or a lot) to make the opposition sit up and pay attention. But thanks anyway.
End of Page. 1, 2, 3, 4 ... 8, 9, 10
Early Afternoon, January 9, 2011
Outskirts of Brockton Bay
Jack Slash engaged the indicator—no sense in drawing law-enforcement attention before time—and turned the RV off the main road. He didn't know the location he was looking for, but he knew he'd recognise it when he saw it. Every city had them; areas where the money had dried up, where the city services didn't happen anymore, and only the truly desperate called home.
In other words, an ideal place to stop and make his plans.
And plans did need to be made. For all the notoriety currently gathering around Atropos, especially following her boast that she was going to kill him and his whole team, he had next to no intel on her. He needed to know who she was, what she was, what made her tick and where her weak points were. That she had weak points was a given; everyone had them.
Except him, of course. Anyone who wished to appeal to his 'better nature' or his sense of fair play quickly learned that this was his best nature, and fair play was what he defined it to be. 'Whatever suits me at the time' was a reasonable description.
Passing through another intersection, he cast a discerning eye over the neighbourhood. Derelict traffic lights, shattered streetlights, only stripped-down cars at the side of the street ...this was looking promising. Buildings were boarded up, the road was more pothole than asphalt and even the trash looked old.
"This will do quite nicely," he decided, and pulled the RV up next to an extremely decrepit park. "We'll stop here for the next hour or so. Everyone, amuse yourself as you will. I'm going to be doing some planning."
One of the features about the RV that had attracted him was an awning that folded out from the side of the vehicle. He got this into place, fetched a folding chair from inside, and set himself up in comfort. As he got his phone out in preparation for scouring the internet for information on Atropos, he noted that Crawler had rolled onto his back in the middle of the park and gone to sleep, legs splayed out like the world's biggest and ugliest Labrador retriever, while his poppet was doing maintenance on one of her spider-bots.
"I'm going for a walk, to collect some glass," announced Shatterbird, indicating the broken windows all around. "If Atropos is all that, we're going to need as much as we can get."
"Take someone with you," Jack advised. "I'd prefer nobody go anywhere alone right now, until we get a feel for the city."
"I'll go," Burnscar offered immediately. "I need to stretch my legs anyway."
Shatterbird nodded. "Sure, okay."
The pair started off, and Jack commenced his research. Hatchet Face was sharpening his axe at the far end of the RV, Siberian was prowling around the perimeter of the park, and Mannequin was disassembling one of his hands to check on the articulation. All in all, quite a domestic scene if one did not look too closely.
Now, if only he could get a sense of how Atropos operated ...
Atropos
"Are you sure you don't need any assistance?" Dragon brought her suit down to a feather-light landing on the building I'd indicated. This was on the crappy side of Brockton Bay, where hardly anyone lived. "You're good, I know, but—"
"Wow." I chuckled, so she knew it was a joke. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you were concerned for my well-being." I unclipped the five-point belt, then hefted the backpack with its burden and climbed out. The Snitch--reprogrammed to follow my orders--hummed into the air and followed me out of the suit.
"Fortunately for the pair of us, we both know you don't mean that." It seemed Dragon was equally adept at snark. I approved. "But these are very dangerous individuals, and nobody's ever killed even one of them before without inviting serious backlash. If you don't kill enough of them in time, they might escape into the city proper and go on a rampage."
"Oh, they're going to die," I assured her. "All of 'em, even. I just need you to fire that missile on my call. Coordinates locked in?"
"Locked and loaded," she confirmed. "I'm not even going to ask where you got them from."
"If I told you a little Shatterbirdie gave them to me, would you believe me?" I was grinning now, pulling her non-existent leg, and I could tell she was fully aware of it.
"Not in the slightest. But you knew that."
"See, we can be friends. We understand each other so well." Slinging the pack over my back, I started down the fire escape.
Her voice followed me down. "You have a very odd definition of friendship."
Well, that was fair. I was a very odd person to be friends with. I parkour'd down the fire escape, dropped onto a dumpster, then forward-flipped to land on my feet. My first and second targets were a quarter of a mile away, and I had five minutes to get into position. Fortunately for my shoulders and back, I'd be able to discard the pack after that.
The Snitch followed me into the slums.
Burnscar
"This place is an absolute shithole."
Fire crackled gently at the back of Mimi's mind as Shatterbird spoke. It dulled her emotions and echoed the flickers of flame that ran up and down the edges of her hands. She looked on, uncaring, as her teammate drifted upward to alight on a heap of rubble where one of the decrepit buildings had exceeded its own use-by date and partially collapsed.
"Jack said we're here to recruit Atropos," she said. "According to him, she's really good at killing."
Shatterbird's eyes rolled behind her glass-beaked mask. "We're all good at killing." The words were scornful, almost as cutting as the glass blades she used to kill her opponents with. "It's kind of a requirement for joining."
Feeling that she'd made herself look stupid, Burnscar turned away. "It's just what he said."
There was an odd metallic klong, then Shatterbird spoke again. "It was a mistake for you to come here. This city is broken glass. Touch it wrong, and you die."
That didn't sound right. Slowly, Mimi turned. "What do you mean?"
The first thing she registered was that Shatterbird wasn't wearing her mask; in fact, it was lying in pieces on the ground between them. Then her brain caught up with her eyes, and she realised that Atropos was right there, behind a very groggy-looking Shatterbird, holding her upright. Even worse, Atropos had Shatterbird's mouth open and was in the process of forcing a jagged-looking chunk of glass—part of the mask, but that wasn't important—down her throat.
"I mean, I already told you I was going to kill you," Atropos went on, dropping Shatterbird's voice. "Actually making it easy for me is … well, par for the course, to be honest."
Just as the silicokinetic's eyes cleared fully, the piece of glass seemed to slip into position, and she began to choke. Atropos released her and she fell to her knees, pawing at her mouth as her face darkened horribly. Mimi knew Shatterbird had to 'sing' to use her power, and right now she couldn't draw enough breath to string two notes together.
"It won't go down, and she can't cough it back up," Atropos confided. "Looks like she bit off more than she can chew, this time." Black-gloved hands spread ironically as Shatterbird fell over, her eyes rolling up into her head. "Whoops."
The flames surged along Mimi's hands, translating her sudden fury into violent action. An inferno roared out toward the importunate killer. Even if Jack wanted to recruit Atropos, Mimi honestly didn't care right now. She was going to die screaming.
But she wasn't there anymore. Even as Mimi tried to guide the flames onto the black-costumed bitch, she rolled out of the way, then jumped up and dived over the top as they angled down to scorch the rubble-strewn asphalt. On the way, she grabbed some kind of red cylinder which swung up toward Mimi's face—
klong
Everything was hazy. Nothing worked right. Mimi knew she was in trouble and tried to generate fire so she could teleport away and get the others, but it only came out in fits and starts. An arm settled around her neck, holding her in place.
"You know," murmured a voice into her ear, "this probably breaks all kinds of regulations, but honestly, I couldn't give a flying fuck. I mean, who even thinks about killing someone with safety equipment?"
Before she realised she should close her mouth, her jaws were forced open and a thick hose was fed between her teeth and down into her throat. The grip around her neck was loosened, a hand clamped her lips shut around the hose, and there was a dreadful hssssss. A terrible chill gusted down into her lungs as air was forced out of her nostrils.
"Oh, right," whispered the voice. "I do."
Her final thought was, cold.
Atropos
The last of the contents of the five-pound carbon dioxide extinguisher were exhausted before I let Burnscar drop, along with the extinguisher itself. Given that I'd just flushed more than twenty cubic feet of frigid carbon dioxide through her lungs and out via her sinuses, her brain was about as frozen solid as her alveoli were. It had served its purpose; as would she, I figured, once I collected her reward. Along with the one for Shatterbird, who was well and truly deceased by now as well.
Turning to glance at the Snitch as it bobbed out from its stealthy observation position—I hadn't wanted either Shatterbird or Burnscar to use it for target practice, for obvious reasons—I held up two fingers. Two down, six to go.
Continuing the same motion, I drew the bodice shears from their sheath and kept turning as I threw them, hard. Bonesaw's cute little spider-bot scuttled around the corner right on schedule, and the shears nailed it right through the braincase from thirty feet away. Even I would've been impressed if I hadn't been fully aware of just how bullshit my power could be with things like that. It wasn't like the shears were balanced for throwing, after all.
Retrieving the shears and wiping the brain bits off with the oily cloth I'd brought along for the purpose, I looked around for my next ambush spot. It needed both good acoustics, and good cover. There.
Jack had decided it was time to keep moving into the city, and he'd told Bonesaw to send the spider-bot to fetch Burnscar and Shatterbird back from their glass-gathering stroll. The little bio-organic robot hadn't seen me, so she'd be at a loss as to why it had stopped responding. Jack was no fool, though; instead of sending Bonesaw (his sole source of medical care) or the Siberian (his unbreakable protection) to see what had happened to it, he would next delegate the task to Mannequin.
On the face of it, it wasn't a bad choice. Built into a ceramic shell of his own devising, Mannequin was fast, strong and very hard to damage. Stealthier than Crawler and more versatile than Hatchet Face (and smarter than both of them), he also possessed built-in weaponry, limited solely by his own imagination and Tinkering capability. And right now, my power told me, he was very pleased with himself; having dissected the information on how I'd killed the gang bosses, he had coated himself with Teflon, just in case I'd saved a vial of the acid that I'd killed Lung with.
His mistake lay in the assumption that I only made use of physical weapons. It wasn't even a defensible error; Mannequin himself loved to employ psychological tactics against his chosen victims. So his real blunder was assuming that I had no such leverage that I could bring to bear against him.
Normally, I wouldn't have. And even if I'd somehow had access to the requisite knowledge, there would've been no way to use it against him.
But with my power, I could cheat like a motherfucker.
Mannequin
The first moment that he knew something was truly wrong was when he heard the voice.
"Alan?"
He froze, then stared around wildly. He knew that voice.
Catherine.
It was impossible for her to be here. Impossible for her to be alive. But there was nobody nearby whose voice he could've mistaken for hers.
He even knew where he'd heard it before. But I destroyed that recording! he insisted in his own mind.
He had destroyed the recording.
Hadn't he?
"Alan?" His wife spoke again, the strain evident in her voice. "Where are you? I'm scared."
It was a repeat of the increasingly disturbing series of phone calls that were the last communication he'd ever gotten from his wife. He'd been on the moon and she'd tried to get through to him during the Simurgh attack that killed her and the girls, but someone along the line had decided that letting her talk directly to him was too dangerous. He'd only gotten the recording afterward; in fact, they'd tried (and failed) to withhold the latter part of it from him. It was one of the things that had pushed him over the edge from being Sphere into being Mannequin.
"Mommy?" It was Kira, seven years old and smart as a whip. But right now, the terror in her voice tore at his heart like a rusty razor. "Where's Daddy? Is Daddy coming to save us?"
"Daddy will be here," Catherine assured their daughters. "I promise." Her voice changed, becoming quieter as she put her mouth closer to the phone earpiece. He could hear her quick breathing, could tell that she was fighting back tears, just from her tone. "Alan, please. She's already swooped over the house once, and I can hear her in my head. Where are you? Are you coming to get us? Please talk to me."
"Mommy!" Francine, their five year old, shrieked in panic. "The scary bird lady is coming back!"
He wanted to gather them up and comfort them, to tell them that he would save them from the Simurgh, but they were years dead and buried. Somehow he found himself on his hands and knees, head bowed, as the sounds from his buried past continued to hammer at him.
One subtle difference from before made it even worse. When this had actually happened, the recording of the calls had had all the subtle distortions and interference of a long-distance connection. What he was hearing possessed none of that. It was clear and fresh and visceral, and cut all the way to the core of his being.
Catherine spoke again, and this time he heard the tiny giggle in her voice, which made it even more horrific. "Alan? You know I never complained about not having you in my life when you were up there on the moon or out on the continental shelf, building your habitats, but …" She paused to giggle again. The sound was broken, and made him flinch within his unbreakable ceramic shell. "I really, really think you should've been here for us this time. Francine, stop stabbing your sister, I mean it."
"Daddy?" It was Kira. There was a gurgle in her voice that sounded like blood in her throat. "Francine's hurt me, and it's all your fault, Daddy. Mommy said you would come and save us. Why didn't you come and save us, Daddy? Why?"
"Oooh." Francine's piping tones made it even worse. "Scary bird lady is so pretty, and she sings so nice." Her giggle was entirely deranged. "She's telling me to cut and cut and cut, until everything is as pretty as she is. Daddy, you should be here to see how pretty I'm making everything."
There was a pause, punctuated by incoherent screaming, then he heard his wife's voice again.
"Alan?" Now Catherine just sounded tired. Even her giggle took effort. "I've put the girls to sleep. They look so peaceful, lying there. Waiting for you to come home and give them a good night kiss. I think I'll lie down and take a nap now. I love you, Alan. Come home soon.
"Come home …
"Save us …
"Please."
Then there was nothing but a fading gurgle.
Mannequin became aware that his blades were extended and he was stabbing the ground with them, over and over. Slowly, he retracted them. He was going to have to seek out Bonesaw and determine the cause of this auditory hallucination—
"Alan?"
He wanted to run, to get away from the memories that bombarded him with every reminder of his wife's voice, but his legs would not move. It was even worse this time: he could hear every tremble of her voice, the inevitable progression of her madness, and the underlying despair of the woman he'd loved, seeing herself descending into the pit and being unable to stop it.
When the ghostly voices ended once more, he found himself on his knees, sawing away at his wrist with his blade, as though that could possibly harm him. He wished he had not removed his eyes, and the tear ducts with them, so he could weep for those he had lost—
"Alan?"
Now, all he could hear was the accusation in her voice. You left us to die. It's all your fault.
And he knew it was true.
Atropos
I paused to silently clear my throat—doing different voices in rapid succession, though entirely possible, was a strain on my larynx—but Mannequin wasn't listening anymore. Still kneeling, he angled back and clutched his head with his hands, for all the world as though he were screaming his anguish to the skies. But when he'd dissected himself to fit into his own personal sardine can, he'd left out important aspects like speech, so no sound emerged.
When that apparently failed to assuage his denial and guilt and rage, he took hold of his head—not physically attached, it was apparently held on by a cunningly-placed array of magnets—and tore it free from its 'neck'. It wasn't a vital part of him, used mainly to invite attacks and carry incidental items, so when he smashed it on the ground before him and cast the pieces aside, there wasn't much harm done. In fact, I was pretty sure he had spares.
Next, though, he split his torso in half, down the middle. From the angle I was standing, I could see between the pieces. The interior surfaces were transparent, and I could see an unidentified organ gently pulsing as a machine pumped fluids through it. If I'd had a high-powered rifle, I could've punctured the glass wall with a single shot, and killed him that way.
But I didn't need to.
Slumping forward, his hands on the ground, the headless torso gave the vivid impression of a man in the utmost extremity of grief. He was already broken—his track record over the past few years had proven that beyond the shadow of a doubt—but my little shadow-play had pushed him past his new threshold and broken him all over again. This time, for good.
Air hissed as seals were broken. The glass walls separated from their mountings, and fell away. Several organs followed them out, slumping to the ground. The various recycling and regulatory machines whirred and clicked and hummed to a stop. Slowly, the two halves of the white carapace fell over, to the left and right, as the chains holding them together unreeled.
Mannequin was dead.
The clock was ticking.
With the Snitch trailing behind, I hurried off. I had a little bit of work to do before my next ambush, and I needed the outcome to be a surprise to certain parties.
Jacob
Jack Slash stood up from his folding chair and looked around, frowning. "There's something wrong," he said, folding the notepad and sliding it into his pocket, then putting the pen next to it. "Mannequin should've fetched them both back by now, and retrieved the spider-bot."
Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wondered if they'd simply decided to cut and run. It would fit the feeling he had that they were never coming back. But he knew them, better than their own families did by now. They wouldn't have betrayed him like this. He would've seen it coming.
"Told you we shoulda left 'em behind," Crawler rumbled, now awakened from his nap. "They snooze, they lose."
"Still think they're fuckin'." That was Hatchet Face's contribution.
Riley wrinkled her nose. "That's rude and crude, and uncalled for," she said in a scolding tone.
"Sorry. I meant they're foolin' around." Hatchet Face glared at Crawler, who'd just laughed raucously at his screwup.
"No, I don't think so." Jack chewed on his thumbnail for a moment. "Nor do I think they've found someone to torture and kill. Something tells me it's more serious than that."
Crawler, who'd come up with the last theory, stopped laughing at Jack's words. "Reckon someone got 'em?"
"If they had, and if they'd 'got' Mannequin as well, I imagine we would've heard something," Jack decided, frowning hard. "I defy anyone to take on all three and still keep it quiet. No explosions, no gunshots." And yet, there they weren't. It was a conundrum, and he hated those.
"What if it's a cape?" asked Hatchet Face eagerly. "Capes don't always make noise."
Jack shook his head. "Not a cape." He knew it in his gut.
"So, what do we do?" asked Crawler. "Want me to go look?"
"You and Hatchet Face both," decided Jack. "Stick together. As soon as you've found out what's happened, report back."
"And what if whoever did it's still there?" asked Hatchet Face.
"Kill them and then report back, of course." Jack shook his head. "Do I have to tell you how to do everything around here?"
Crawler
Ned was already bored.
Travelling was kinda fun, because he got to see new places. Fighting capes was lots of fun, because he got new powers used on him. Sometimes they tickled, and sometimes they did a lot more than just tickle.
But looking for three missing teammates? That was boring. They were probably lost, that was all. Him and Hatchet Face would find them, they'd be perfectly okay, and Jack would yell at them for a bit—
"Holy fuck!" Hatchet Face stopped suddenly, causing Ned to backpedal quickly so he didn't get caught in the power null field. The heavy axe Hatchet Face carried these days—and sharpened at every opportunity—swung out to point at something. "Look at that!"
"What?" asked Ned, edging sideways to see where Hatchet Face was indicating. Then he spotted it; Mannequin's carapace, lying empty and gutted, with the actual innards lying in an untidy heap between the two halves. "Shit, is that what I think it is?"
"If you think it means someone fucked up Mannequin big time, then it's definitely what you think it is." The voice was that of a teenage girl, and came from where a black-masked figure in a long-coat was leaning casually against the wall of a building, a small ball hovering back out of the way. The only thing in her hand was an elaborate pair of shears, which she tossed up and caught again without looking, the blades glinting in the sunlight. "Hi, guys. The name's Atropos, and I'm here to collect on your generous offer. Brockton Bay thanks you for your donations."
"Donations?" Hatchet Face asked the question first, but only by a second or so. "What fuckin' donations?"
"Your kill order bounties, duh," Atropos explained mockingly. Toss, catch. "I can tell you're not the brains of the Nine. Or are you ugly, stupid and deaf instead of just ugly and stupid?" Toss, catch.
Ned wasn't the sharpest knife in the drawer, but even he knew that was exactly the wrong thing to say to Hatchet Face at any time, ever. Insulting his looks was one thing; he didn't like it, but he was actually kinda ugly and knew it. But calling him stupid set him off every damn time.
"I'll show you who's stupid!" roared Hatchet Face, and charged to the attack.
Atropos
I didn't even need to lean into my power to goad Hatchet Face into chasing me. All I had to do was think of all the things I'd ever wanted to say to Sophia or Emma after the fact. I had no need to save those zingers now, of course. Sophia was forever out of my hair due to a severe case of mortality, and I'd permanently killed Emma's desire to mess with me ever again.
With Tall, Bald and Ugly hot on my heels and Crawler trying to be smart by running the other way around the building, it might have looked as though I'd bitten off more than I could chew. It was supposed to look that way.
I skidded around the corner of the building; a precisely timed duck let Hatchet Face's axe bury itself in the wall just above my head. "Missed me, missed me, you don't get to kiss me!"
"Kiss you?" he bellowed, wrenching the weapon out of the divot it had made in the crumbling brickwork. "I'm gonna rip your head off and fuck the neck-hole 'til your eyes pop out!"
"Eww!" I stopped in front of the boarded-up main doors into the building, the shears still in my hand. "I bet you don't talk like that in front of Bonesaw!"
"I talk how I want!" He thundered toward me, his heavy footsteps raising dust with every running footfall. My power coolly measured the angles and prompted me into the correct posture; I set myself, poised for the right instant.
When he got too close, I could feel his nullification power trying to overcome mine, clawing at my capabilities in an attempt to strip them away from me. Because he's a cheaty cheating cheater.
I could also feel my power doing the equivalent of giving his power the finger.
I'd ducked under the last blow, so he swung low this time. The instant he committed himself, I leaped into the air and let it pass under me. As the axe blade passed under my feet and shattered the boards, I lunged with the shears. He was tough, tougher by far than any normal human, but even a needle will penetrate a human eyeball. The razor-sharp blades drove into his right eye with all my weight and strength behind them, and popped it like a particularly gross grape. His eye-socket stopped them from going any farther, which I had fully accounted for.
He roared in agony and reached for his ruined eye; as he pulled the axe from the newly opened doorway, my feet landed on his arm and I kicked off, diving into the building through the gap thus created. Rolling to my feet, I bolted for the stairway up to the second floor. A wordless scream of pure incandescent rage echoed behind me as he finished the job on the doorway and came pounding into the building after me.
Even what little caution Hatchet Face would normally have been exercising was now dead and gone. Exactly as planned.
Sheathing the shears as I started up the stairs, I reached into my pocket for the remote and clicked it twice. Bip-bip.
Dragon
The remote signal came sooner than she'd expected. Bip-bip.
There was just one missile prepped and ready on the launch rails; its target coordinates had been locked in since before the suit arrived on location. She'd honoured Atropos' stipulation to refrain from sending any remote sensor drones into the target zone, mainly because Mannequin absolutely had tech that would detect such signals and raise the alarm; even the Snitch was recording as opposing to re-broadcasting. But she suspected that once this missile went off, the alarm would be raised by default, so the missile included a nosecone camera.
She really, really wanted to see what a killer of Atropos' caliber considered worth expending a high-explosive missile on.
Caliber. Hah. I kill me.
The missile's guidance systems were already spun up and ready to go. She sent the firing signal. With a thunder of expended propellant—it was times like this that she welcomed the fact that her suits had no sense of smell—it scorched off the rails, already vectoring in on the logged coordinates.
Calculated flight time: three seconds.
Taylor
Three …
I swung around the landing and powered my way up the second flight of stairs, taking them two and three at a time. Once I reached the top, I pelted toward one particular window. The grimy glass was already broken, and someone had made a half-assed attempt at nailing a board over it, but I didn't give a shit.
Hatchet Face bellowed something behind me, promising to perform an act that was both gross and probably impossible without Bonesaw's assistance, but I wasn't listening. I'd gained half a second by taking his eye out and another half-second on the stairs, and that was all I needed. Crossing my arms over my face, I launched myself at the window.
Two …
Glass and wood, both shattering on impact, sprayed out alongside me. I paid them no mind, tucking for a forward somersault to land on Crawler's back, just ten feet below. Multiple eyes swivelled toward me and I heard the beginnings of a grunt of confusion as I made contact and rebounded off him. Landed in the street, I kept moving at a dead sprint.
Back in the building, I knew, Hatchet Face had reached the top of the stairs and was charging toward the same window I'd gone out.
One …
There was a derelict car thirty feet away from Crawler, and I was halfway there. Every footstep I made was ideally placed for maximum traction and running speed. It was literally my life's goal to be on the other side of that car in … point eight of a second.
The remains of the window and part of the wall burst outward as Hatchet Face bellowed his rage—and hurled his axe—at my retreating back. As he plummeted toward his teammate, I dived over the hood of the car, already opening my mouth wide and jamming my thumbs into my ear canals.
Zero.
Dragon
As the (strangely muffled) sound of the explosion reached her audio sensors, Dragon studied the last image the missile had captured before it entered its final burn stage. It was a tableau unlike any other, but the more she looked at it, the more she appreciated the sheer artistry that had gone into it.
First, she picked out Atropos, dropping for cover behind a car as a large axe flashed over her head. Second was Crawler himself, turning his monstrous head toward where Atropos had gone, and opening his primary mouth, probably in an instinctive attempt to snap at her. The open mouth, incidentally, was now directly in the missile's path.
Third, in the midst of a cloud of tumbling rubble, was Hatchet Face, falling toward Crawler. More importantly, he was close enough that his power-nullification field would be entirely enveloping the insanely durable cape at the moment the missile struck.
Oh, I see. Combat Thinker, indeed.
With a casual signal, she cast the image back to the PRT building and started printing it in full colour. This one, she was going to frame.
End of Part Twenty
Part Twenty: Seven, Six, Five, Four …
[A/N 1: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
[A/N 2: I have used some adapted poster comments from Spacebattles in the PHO segment.]
[A/N 3: TRIGGER WARNING: PSYCHOLOGICAL TORTURE.]
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♦ Topic: Drugs are Bad, mmkay?
In: Boards ► Brockton Bay ► New Capes ► Atropos
Atropos (Original Poster) (
Posted On Jan 8th 2011:
Good evening, you lovely folks in Brockton Bay!
And yes, you're more lovely than ever, because I have had a Productive Day (tm).
Why, yes, I can actually go out and about in the daylight. Though I have to slather on the sunscreen. It burns, my precious (I kid, I kid).
No, really, I did go out today, to meet with my one-girl (so far) fan club. GreatAndTerribleAisha and I enjoyed a session of selfies in the park with her brother (nice guy, a little twitchy). We did have a kind of Glory Girl interrupt, but Imma let GTA tell that one herself.
Anyways, after that we went out and about in the interests of shoving a whole series of sticks in the spokes of the Brockton Bay drug trade. Along the way, I got to throw a drug dealer out a window so he landed on top of his own bodyguard (cushioned his fall, so there's that). I recommend the experience. We should start Throw A Drug Dealer Out The Window Day. Make it an annual event.
After that, we visited a drug stash house in the suburbs, and all these people decided to try to kill me at once with guns. Listen, I know all about the Second Amendment, but guns in suburbia are *bad*. Aim wrong when you squeeze that trigger and you've just shot your next door neighbour's kid. While he was in bed asleep. Maybe invest in bulletproof walls. Just saying.
Anyway, I killed them before they could kill me. There were all these drugs there, so I kind of un-wanted it all with fire. Gave the fire department something to do instead of polishing those big red trucks of theirs.
Then we found a warehouse full of the stuff. After getting all the guards out of the way, I blew it up. All of it. That explosion and mushroom cloud over the industrial area today? Yeah, that was me. It was *amazing*.
Then I went and had that chat with Uber and Leet I said I was going to have. Don't worry, they survived the experience. But they promised not to repeat that Grand Theft Auto bullshit, so there's that.
And finally? There was a drug shipment coming in to replace the one I blew up. It's currently on fire on I-95, just inside the city limits. When I said the drug trade in this city was coming to an end, I meant it.
So tomorrow I'm totes on track to turn the Slaughterhouse Nine into the Slaughterhouse who?
Stay tuned, and be warned: it's gonna get messy (for them, not me).
Toodles!
(Showing page 1 of 10)
►Bagrat (Veteran Member) (The Guy in the Know)
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
Okay, today wasn't too bad, I suppose?
Boy, when Atropos goes after the drug trade, she doesn't mess around. Of course, having seen her previous efforts, we were already aware of her 'not messing around' capabilities.
Literally tens, maybe hundreds, of millions of dollars worth of drugs have gone up in smoke, over the course of just a few hours. Locations that I could have driven past and never suspected were uncovered and destroyed. An entire warehouse turned into a fuel-air bomb.
And then there's the mess on I-95. Yes, there's a trailer off an eighteen-wheeler that was on fire. It's only very recently been put out. There are also two cars, both crashed, each with three heavily armed men, plus four more in the trailer itself. Still not as bad as the last few days, just saying.
What we don't know is the location of the prime mover and the driver. Knowing Atropos, they could be literally anywhere.
Anyway, it looks like the first shots have been fired in the war between Atropos and drugs. So far, Atropos is winning.
If you deal hard drugs in Brockton Bay, I would suggest a change in either career or location. Just saying.
►StarCat (Verified Cat)
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
You know, not every drug user is an addict. Some drugs even have therapeutic effects. It's a mistake to tar all users with the same brush.
►WingsOnHigh (Verified Not the Simurgh)
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
@StarCat - It's all good, you can keep your pot and shrooms and stuff. It looks like Atropos is only going after the hard stuff.
►King_DuzKhul
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
@StarCat - Pretty sure she's only going after dealers, not users. Also, only targeting the hard stuff like coke, H, meth and things of that class.
►Atropos (Original Poster) (
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
@StarCat - Like the others are saying, I'm not targeting users, only dealers. I'll *take* your illegally obtained hard drugs away, but I won't hurt you if you aren't stupid about it. And I'll leave your weed and shrooms and anything that's on the soft end of that scale.
►StarCat (Verified Cat)
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
@Atropos - I don't use. I'm just pointing out that in principle, we should be allowed to put whatever we want into our bodies. And things like ecstasy can be used to treat depression. Other 'hard' drugs can also have useful effects.
►Atropos (Original Poster) (
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
@StarCat - As far as I'm concerned, 'principle' is just a weasel word for 'this is my made-up right to do something I'm not supposed to'. If someone wants to use these drugs, they can buy and use them legally or they can get out of Brockton Bay. What you do elsewhere, I don't care. Just don't do it in my city.
►StarCat (Verified Cat)
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
@Atropos - You're forgetting that drug use, and drug addiction are not synonymous.
Banning people from anything "for their own good" is paternalistic bullshit.
►Atropos (Original Poster) (
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
@StarCat - See, that's where you make your mistake. I'm not doing this for "your own good". The illegal hard drug trade is bad for the city, so I'm bringing it to an end. Other than that, I don't give a flying fuck.
(Showing page 2 of 10)
►GreatAndTerribleAisha
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
She really, really doesn't. Holy shit, the day I have had. She beat up Glory Girl and stole her tiara for me, then she threw my mom's fucking drug dealer out the window, then she burned one drug stash and blew the absolute living *fuck* out of another. Then we went and played video games with Uber while she had a chat with Leet (Uber's pretty good, but his end game is a bit lacking).
I have photos. Signed selfies with Atropos.
Best. Fucking. Day. Ever.
►GstringGirl
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
Oh, come on. Details. We want details.
►XxVoid_CowboyxX
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
I'd call bullshit, but I saw the mushroom cloud. Atropos rocks.
►GreatAndTerribleAisha
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
So, Glory Girl.
There we were in the park, taking selfies, and GG comes up and starts getting in Atropos's business. She's really not taking no for an answer. So Atropos takes her down with a *quarter*, no less, after she kind of breaks a picnic table. Took her tiara away for asshole tax, and gave it to me.
[signed selfie]
[pic with tiara]
As for the rest of it, she made me stay back out of the way, so I didn't see much. But holy crap, when she blew up the warehouse, it was *amazeballs*.
►TheRealGloryGirl (Verified Cape) (Cape Daughter) (New Wave Member)
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
YOU DIDN'T HAVE TO TELL EVERYONE ABOUT IT!
►Atropos (Original Poster) (
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
She really, really did.
►TheRealBrandish (Verified Cape) (Cape Wife) (New Wave Member)
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
Victoria, get offline NOW.
►Brocktonite03 (Veteran Member)
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
Whoo, buss-ted.
►Reave (Verified PRT Agent)
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
@Atropos - I'm probably just shouting into the wind right now, but the offer is still open for you to come in to the PRT and work out some kind of cooperation deal. You've got good ideas, and we've got the resources necessary to carry them out without quite so much bloodshed.
►Atropos (Original Poster) (
Replied On Jan 8th 2011:
@Reave – I still appreciate the offer, but you know what my answer's going to be. Sometimes you need to perpetrate a little bloodshed (or a lot) to make the opposition sit up and pay attention. But thanks anyway.
■
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Early Afternoon, January 9, 2011
Outskirts of Brockton Bay
Jack Slash engaged the indicator—no sense in drawing law-enforcement attention before time—and turned the RV off the main road. He didn't know the location he was looking for, but he knew he'd recognise it when he saw it. Every city had them; areas where the money had dried up, where the city services didn't happen anymore, and only the truly desperate called home.
In other words, an ideal place to stop and make his plans.
And plans did need to be made. For all the notoriety currently gathering around Atropos, especially following her boast that she was going to kill him and his whole team, he had next to no intel on her. He needed to know who she was, what she was, what made her tick and where her weak points were. That she had weak points was a given; everyone had them.
Except him, of course. Anyone who wished to appeal to his 'better nature' or his sense of fair play quickly learned that this was his best nature, and fair play was what he defined it to be. 'Whatever suits me at the time' was a reasonable description.
Passing through another intersection, he cast a discerning eye over the neighbourhood. Derelict traffic lights, shattered streetlights, only stripped-down cars at the side of the street ...this was looking promising. Buildings were boarded up, the road was more pothole than asphalt and even the trash looked old.
"This will do quite nicely," he decided, and pulled the RV up next to an extremely decrepit park. "We'll stop here for the next hour or so. Everyone, amuse yourself as you will. I'm going to be doing some planning."
One of the features about the RV that had attracted him was an awning that folded out from the side of the vehicle. He got this into place, fetched a folding chair from inside, and set himself up in comfort. As he got his phone out in preparation for scouring the internet for information on Atropos, he noted that Crawler had rolled onto his back in the middle of the park and gone to sleep, legs splayed out like the world's biggest and ugliest Labrador retriever, while his poppet was doing maintenance on one of her spider-bots.
"I'm going for a walk, to collect some glass," announced Shatterbird, indicating the broken windows all around. "If Atropos is all that, we're going to need as much as we can get."
"Take someone with you," Jack advised. "I'd prefer nobody go anywhere alone right now, until we get a feel for the city."
"I'll go," Burnscar offered immediately. "I need to stretch my legs anyway."
Shatterbird nodded. "Sure, okay."
The pair started off, and Jack commenced his research. Hatchet Face was sharpening his axe at the far end of the RV, Siberian was prowling around the perimeter of the park, and Mannequin was disassembling one of his hands to check on the articulation. All in all, quite a domestic scene if one did not look too closely.
Now, if only he could get a sense of how Atropos operated ...
<><>
Atropos
"Are you sure you don't need any assistance?" Dragon brought her suit down to a feather-light landing on the building I'd indicated. This was on the crappy side of Brockton Bay, where hardly anyone lived. "You're good, I know, but—"
"Wow." I chuckled, so she knew it was a joke. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you were concerned for my well-being." I unclipped the five-point belt, then hefted the backpack with its burden and climbed out. The Snitch--reprogrammed to follow my orders--hummed into the air and followed me out of the suit.
"Fortunately for the pair of us, we both know you don't mean that." It seemed Dragon was equally adept at snark. I approved. "But these are very dangerous individuals, and nobody's ever killed even one of them before without inviting serious backlash. If you don't kill enough of them in time, they might escape into the city proper and go on a rampage."
"Oh, they're going to die," I assured her. "All of 'em, even. I just need you to fire that missile on my call. Coordinates locked in?"
"Locked and loaded," she confirmed. "I'm not even going to ask where you got them from."
"If I told you a little Shatterbirdie gave them to me, would you believe me?" I was grinning now, pulling her non-existent leg, and I could tell she was fully aware of it.
"Not in the slightest. But you knew that."
"See, we can be friends. We understand each other so well." Slinging the pack over my back, I started down the fire escape.
Her voice followed me down. "You have a very odd definition of friendship."
Well, that was fair. I was a very odd person to be friends with. I parkour'd down the fire escape, dropped onto a dumpster, then forward-flipped to land on my feet. My first and second targets were a quarter of a mile away, and I had five minutes to get into position. Fortunately for my shoulders and back, I'd be able to discard the pack after that.
The Snitch followed me into the slums.
<><>
Burnscar
"This place is an absolute shithole."
Fire crackled gently at the back of Mimi's mind as Shatterbird spoke. It dulled her emotions and echoed the flickers of flame that ran up and down the edges of her hands. She looked on, uncaring, as her teammate drifted upward to alight on a heap of rubble where one of the decrepit buildings had exceeded its own use-by date and partially collapsed.
"Jack said we're here to recruit Atropos," she said. "According to him, she's really good at killing."
Shatterbird's eyes rolled behind her glass-beaked mask. "We're all good at killing." The words were scornful, almost as cutting as the glass blades she used to kill her opponents with. "It's kind of a requirement for joining."
Feeling that she'd made herself look stupid, Burnscar turned away. "It's just what he said."
There was an odd metallic klong, then Shatterbird spoke again. "It was a mistake for you to come here. This city is broken glass. Touch it wrong, and you die."
That didn't sound right. Slowly, Mimi turned. "What do you mean?"
The first thing she registered was that Shatterbird wasn't wearing her mask; in fact, it was lying in pieces on the ground between them. Then her brain caught up with her eyes, and she realised that Atropos was right there, behind a very groggy-looking Shatterbird, holding her upright. Even worse, Atropos had Shatterbird's mouth open and was in the process of forcing a jagged-looking chunk of glass—part of the mask, but that wasn't important—down her throat.
"I mean, I already told you I was going to kill you," Atropos went on, dropping Shatterbird's voice. "Actually making it easy for me is … well, par for the course, to be honest."
Just as the silicokinetic's eyes cleared fully, the piece of glass seemed to slip into position, and she began to choke. Atropos released her and she fell to her knees, pawing at her mouth as her face darkened horribly. Mimi knew Shatterbird had to 'sing' to use her power, and right now she couldn't draw enough breath to string two notes together.
"It won't go down, and she can't cough it back up," Atropos confided. "Looks like she bit off more than she can chew, this time." Black-gloved hands spread ironically as Shatterbird fell over, her eyes rolling up into her head. "Whoops."
The flames surged along Mimi's hands, translating her sudden fury into violent action. An inferno roared out toward the importunate killer. Even if Jack wanted to recruit Atropos, Mimi honestly didn't care right now. She was going to die screaming.
But she wasn't there anymore. Even as Mimi tried to guide the flames onto the black-costumed bitch, she rolled out of the way, then jumped up and dived over the top as they angled down to scorch the rubble-strewn asphalt. On the way, she grabbed some kind of red cylinder which swung up toward Mimi's face—
klong
Everything was hazy. Nothing worked right. Mimi knew she was in trouble and tried to generate fire so she could teleport away and get the others, but it only came out in fits and starts. An arm settled around her neck, holding her in place.
"You know," murmured a voice into her ear, "this probably breaks all kinds of regulations, but honestly, I couldn't give a flying fuck. I mean, who even thinks about killing someone with safety equipment?"
Before she realised she should close her mouth, her jaws were forced open and a thick hose was fed between her teeth and down into her throat. The grip around her neck was loosened, a hand clamped her lips shut around the hose, and there was a dreadful hssssss. A terrible chill gusted down into her lungs as air was forced out of her nostrils.
"Oh, right," whispered the voice. "I do."
Her final thought was, cold.
<><>
Atropos
The last of the contents of the five-pound carbon dioxide extinguisher were exhausted before I let Burnscar drop, along with the extinguisher itself. Given that I'd just flushed more than twenty cubic feet of frigid carbon dioxide through her lungs and out via her sinuses, her brain was about as frozen solid as her alveoli were. It had served its purpose; as would she, I figured, once I collected her reward. Along with the one for Shatterbird, who was well and truly deceased by now as well.
Turning to glance at the Snitch as it bobbed out from its stealthy observation position—I hadn't wanted either Shatterbird or Burnscar to use it for target practice, for obvious reasons—I held up two fingers. Two down, six to go.
Continuing the same motion, I drew the bodice shears from their sheath and kept turning as I threw them, hard. Bonesaw's cute little spider-bot scuttled around the corner right on schedule, and the shears nailed it right through the braincase from thirty feet away. Even I would've been impressed if I hadn't been fully aware of just how bullshit my power could be with things like that. It wasn't like the shears were balanced for throwing, after all.
Retrieving the shears and wiping the brain bits off with the oily cloth I'd brought along for the purpose, I looked around for my next ambush spot. It needed both good acoustics, and good cover. There.
Jack had decided it was time to keep moving into the city, and he'd told Bonesaw to send the spider-bot to fetch Burnscar and Shatterbird back from their glass-gathering stroll. The little bio-organic robot hadn't seen me, so she'd be at a loss as to why it had stopped responding. Jack was no fool, though; instead of sending Bonesaw (his sole source of medical care) or the Siberian (his unbreakable protection) to see what had happened to it, he would next delegate the task to Mannequin.
On the face of it, it wasn't a bad choice. Built into a ceramic shell of his own devising, Mannequin was fast, strong and very hard to damage. Stealthier than Crawler and more versatile than Hatchet Face (and smarter than both of them), he also possessed built-in weaponry, limited solely by his own imagination and Tinkering capability. And right now, my power told me, he was very pleased with himself; having dissected the information on how I'd killed the gang bosses, he had coated himself with Teflon, just in case I'd saved a vial of the acid that I'd killed Lung with.
His mistake lay in the assumption that I only made use of physical weapons. It wasn't even a defensible error; Mannequin himself loved to employ psychological tactics against his chosen victims. So his real blunder was assuming that I had no such leverage that I could bring to bear against him.
Normally, I wouldn't have. And even if I'd somehow had access to the requisite knowledge, there would've been no way to use it against him.
But with my power, I could cheat like a motherfucker.
<><>
Mannequin
The first moment that he knew something was truly wrong was when he heard the voice.
"Alan?"
He froze, then stared around wildly. He knew that voice.
Catherine.
It was impossible for her to be here. Impossible for her to be alive. But there was nobody nearby whose voice he could've mistaken for hers.
He even knew where he'd heard it before. But I destroyed that recording! he insisted in his own mind.
He had destroyed the recording.
Hadn't he?
"Alan?" His wife spoke again, the strain evident in her voice. "Where are you? I'm scared."
It was a repeat of the increasingly disturbing series of phone calls that were the last communication he'd ever gotten from his wife. He'd been on the moon and she'd tried to get through to him during the Simurgh attack that killed her and the girls, but someone along the line had decided that letting her talk directly to him was too dangerous. He'd only gotten the recording afterward; in fact, they'd tried (and failed) to withhold the latter part of it from him. It was one of the things that had pushed him over the edge from being Sphere into being Mannequin.
"Mommy?" It was Kira, seven years old and smart as a whip. But right now, the terror in her voice tore at his heart like a rusty razor. "Where's Daddy? Is Daddy coming to save us?"
"Daddy will be here," Catherine assured their daughters. "I promise." Her voice changed, becoming quieter as she put her mouth closer to the phone earpiece. He could hear her quick breathing, could tell that she was fighting back tears, just from her tone. "Alan, please. She's already swooped over the house once, and I can hear her in my head. Where are you? Are you coming to get us? Please talk to me."
"Mommy!" Francine, their five year old, shrieked in panic. "The scary bird lady is coming back!"
He wanted to gather them up and comfort them, to tell them that he would save them from the Simurgh, but they were years dead and buried. Somehow he found himself on his hands and knees, head bowed, as the sounds from his buried past continued to hammer at him.
One subtle difference from before made it even worse. When this had actually happened, the recording of the calls had had all the subtle distortions and interference of a long-distance connection. What he was hearing possessed none of that. It was clear and fresh and visceral, and cut all the way to the core of his being.
Catherine spoke again, and this time he heard the tiny giggle in her voice, which made it even more horrific. "Alan? You know I never complained about not having you in my life when you were up there on the moon or out on the continental shelf, building your habitats, but …" She paused to giggle again. The sound was broken, and made him flinch within his unbreakable ceramic shell. "I really, really think you should've been here for us this time. Francine, stop stabbing your sister, I mean it."
"Daddy?" It was Kira. There was a gurgle in her voice that sounded like blood in her throat. "Francine's hurt me, and it's all your fault, Daddy. Mommy said you would come and save us. Why didn't you come and save us, Daddy? Why?"
"Oooh." Francine's piping tones made it even worse. "Scary bird lady is so pretty, and she sings so nice." Her giggle was entirely deranged. "She's telling me to cut and cut and cut, until everything is as pretty as she is. Daddy, you should be here to see how pretty I'm making everything."
There was a pause, punctuated by incoherent screaming, then he heard his wife's voice again.
"Alan?" Now Catherine just sounded tired. Even her giggle took effort. "I've put the girls to sleep. They look so peaceful, lying there. Waiting for you to come home and give them a good night kiss. I think I'll lie down and take a nap now. I love you, Alan. Come home soon.
"Come home …
"Save us …
"Please."
Then there was nothing but a fading gurgle.
Mannequin became aware that his blades were extended and he was stabbing the ground with them, over and over. Slowly, he retracted them. He was going to have to seek out Bonesaw and determine the cause of this auditory hallucination—
"Alan?"
He wanted to run, to get away from the memories that bombarded him with every reminder of his wife's voice, but his legs would not move. It was even worse this time: he could hear every tremble of her voice, the inevitable progression of her madness, and the underlying despair of the woman he'd loved, seeing herself descending into the pit and being unable to stop it.
When the ghostly voices ended once more, he found himself on his knees, sawing away at his wrist with his blade, as though that could possibly harm him. He wished he had not removed his eyes, and the tear ducts with them, so he could weep for those he had lost—
"Alan?"
Now, all he could hear was the accusation in her voice. You left us to die. It's all your fault.
And he knew it was true.
<><>
Atropos
I paused to silently clear my throat—doing different voices in rapid succession, though entirely possible, was a strain on my larynx—but Mannequin wasn't listening anymore. Still kneeling, he angled back and clutched his head with his hands, for all the world as though he were screaming his anguish to the skies. But when he'd dissected himself to fit into his own personal sardine can, he'd left out important aspects like speech, so no sound emerged.
When that apparently failed to assuage his denial and guilt and rage, he took hold of his head—not physically attached, it was apparently held on by a cunningly-placed array of magnets—and tore it free from its 'neck'. It wasn't a vital part of him, used mainly to invite attacks and carry incidental items, so when he smashed it on the ground before him and cast the pieces aside, there wasn't much harm done. In fact, I was pretty sure he had spares.
Next, though, he split his torso in half, down the middle. From the angle I was standing, I could see between the pieces. The interior surfaces were transparent, and I could see an unidentified organ gently pulsing as a machine pumped fluids through it. If I'd had a high-powered rifle, I could've punctured the glass wall with a single shot, and killed him that way.
But I didn't need to.
Slumping forward, his hands on the ground, the headless torso gave the vivid impression of a man in the utmost extremity of grief. He was already broken—his track record over the past few years had proven that beyond the shadow of a doubt—but my little shadow-play had pushed him past his new threshold and broken him all over again. This time, for good.
Air hissed as seals were broken. The glass walls separated from their mountings, and fell away. Several organs followed them out, slumping to the ground. The various recycling and regulatory machines whirred and clicked and hummed to a stop. Slowly, the two halves of the white carapace fell over, to the left and right, as the chains holding them together unreeled.
Mannequin was dead.
The clock was ticking.
With the Snitch trailing behind, I hurried off. I had a little bit of work to do before my next ambush, and I needed the outcome to be a surprise to certain parties.
<><>
Jacob
Jack Slash stood up from his folding chair and looked around, frowning. "There's something wrong," he said, folding the notepad and sliding it into his pocket, then putting the pen next to it. "Mannequin should've fetched them both back by now, and retrieved the spider-bot."
Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wondered if they'd simply decided to cut and run. It would fit the feeling he had that they were never coming back. But he knew them, better than their own families did by now. They wouldn't have betrayed him like this. He would've seen it coming.
"Told you we shoulda left 'em behind," Crawler rumbled, now awakened from his nap. "They snooze, they lose."
"Still think they're fuckin'." That was Hatchet Face's contribution.
Riley wrinkled her nose. "That's rude and crude, and uncalled for," she said in a scolding tone.
"Sorry. I meant they're foolin' around." Hatchet Face glared at Crawler, who'd just laughed raucously at his screwup.
"No, I don't think so." Jack chewed on his thumbnail for a moment. "Nor do I think they've found someone to torture and kill. Something tells me it's more serious than that."
Crawler, who'd come up with the last theory, stopped laughing at Jack's words. "Reckon someone got 'em?"
"If they had, and if they'd 'got' Mannequin as well, I imagine we would've heard something," Jack decided, frowning hard. "I defy anyone to take on all three and still keep it quiet. No explosions, no gunshots." And yet, there they weren't. It was a conundrum, and he hated those.
"What if it's a cape?" asked Hatchet Face eagerly. "Capes don't always make noise."
Jack shook his head. "Not a cape." He knew it in his gut.
"So, what do we do?" asked Crawler. "Want me to go look?"
"You and Hatchet Face both," decided Jack. "Stick together. As soon as you've found out what's happened, report back."
"And what if whoever did it's still there?" asked Hatchet Face.
"Kill them and then report back, of course." Jack shook his head. "Do I have to tell you how to do everything around here?"
<><>
Crawler
Ned was already bored.
Travelling was kinda fun, because he got to see new places. Fighting capes was lots of fun, because he got new powers used on him. Sometimes they tickled, and sometimes they did a lot more than just tickle.
But looking for three missing teammates? That was boring. They were probably lost, that was all. Him and Hatchet Face would find them, they'd be perfectly okay, and Jack would yell at them for a bit—
"Holy fuck!" Hatchet Face stopped suddenly, causing Ned to backpedal quickly so he didn't get caught in the power null field. The heavy axe Hatchet Face carried these days—and sharpened at every opportunity—swung out to point at something. "Look at that!"
"What?" asked Ned, edging sideways to see where Hatchet Face was indicating. Then he spotted it; Mannequin's carapace, lying empty and gutted, with the actual innards lying in an untidy heap between the two halves. "Shit, is that what I think it is?"
"If you think it means someone fucked up Mannequin big time, then it's definitely what you think it is." The voice was that of a teenage girl, and came from where a black-masked figure in a long-coat was leaning casually against the wall of a building, a small ball hovering back out of the way. The only thing in her hand was an elaborate pair of shears, which she tossed up and caught again without looking, the blades glinting in the sunlight. "Hi, guys. The name's Atropos, and I'm here to collect on your generous offer. Brockton Bay thanks you for your donations."
"Donations?" Hatchet Face asked the question first, but only by a second or so. "What fuckin' donations?"
"Your kill order bounties, duh," Atropos explained mockingly. Toss, catch. "I can tell you're not the brains of the Nine. Or are you ugly, stupid and deaf instead of just ugly and stupid?" Toss, catch.
Ned wasn't the sharpest knife in the drawer, but even he knew that was exactly the wrong thing to say to Hatchet Face at any time, ever. Insulting his looks was one thing; he didn't like it, but he was actually kinda ugly and knew it. But calling him stupid set him off every damn time.
"I'll show you who's stupid!" roared Hatchet Face, and charged to the attack.
<><>
Atropos
I didn't even need to lean into my power to goad Hatchet Face into chasing me. All I had to do was think of all the things I'd ever wanted to say to Sophia or Emma after the fact. I had no need to save those zingers now, of course. Sophia was forever out of my hair due to a severe case of mortality, and I'd permanently killed Emma's desire to mess with me ever again.
With Tall, Bald and Ugly hot on my heels and Crawler trying to be smart by running the other way around the building, it might have looked as though I'd bitten off more than I could chew. It was supposed to look that way.
I skidded around the corner of the building; a precisely timed duck let Hatchet Face's axe bury itself in the wall just above my head. "Missed me, missed me, you don't get to kiss me!"
"Kiss you?" he bellowed, wrenching the weapon out of the divot it had made in the crumbling brickwork. "I'm gonna rip your head off and fuck the neck-hole 'til your eyes pop out!"
"Eww!" I stopped in front of the boarded-up main doors into the building, the shears still in my hand. "I bet you don't talk like that in front of Bonesaw!"
"I talk how I want!" He thundered toward me, his heavy footsteps raising dust with every running footfall. My power coolly measured the angles and prompted me into the correct posture; I set myself, poised for the right instant.
When he got too close, I could feel his nullification power trying to overcome mine, clawing at my capabilities in an attempt to strip them away from me. Because he's a cheaty cheating cheater.
I could also feel my power doing the equivalent of giving his power the finger.
I'd ducked under the last blow, so he swung low this time. The instant he committed himself, I leaped into the air and let it pass under me. As the axe blade passed under my feet and shattered the boards, I lunged with the shears. He was tough, tougher by far than any normal human, but even a needle will penetrate a human eyeball. The razor-sharp blades drove into his right eye with all my weight and strength behind them, and popped it like a particularly gross grape. His eye-socket stopped them from going any farther, which I had fully accounted for.
He roared in agony and reached for his ruined eye; as he pulled the axe from the newly opened doorway, my feet landed on his arm and I kicked off, diving into the building through the gap thus created. Rolling to my feet, I bolted for the stairway up to the second floor. A wordless scream of pure incandescent rage echoed behind me as he finished the job on the doorway and came pounding into the building after me.
Even what little caution Hatchet Face would normally have been exercising was now dead and gone. Exactly as planned.
Sheathing the shears as I started up the stairs, I reached into my pocket for the remote and clicked it twice. Bip-bip.
<><>
Dragon
The remote signal came sooner than she'd expected. Bip-bip.
There was just one missile prepped and ready on the launch rails; its target coordinates had been locked in since before the suit arrived on location. She'd honoured Atropos' stipulation to refrain from sending any remote sensor drones into the target zone, mainly because Mannequin absolutely had tech that would detect such signals and raise the alarm; even the Snitch was recording as opposing to re-broadcasting. But she suspected that once this missile went off, the alarm would be raised by default, so the missile included a nosecone camera.
She really, really wanted to see what a killer of Atropos' caliber considered worth expending a high-explosive missile on.
Caliber. Hah. I kill me.
The missile's guidance systems were already spun up and ready to go. She sent the firing signal. With a thunder of expended propellant—it was times like this that she welcomed the fact that her suits had no sense of smell—it scorched off the rails, already vectoring in on the logged coordinates.
Calculated flight time: three seconds.
<><>
Taylor
Three …
I swung around the landing and powered my way up the second flight of stairs, taking them two and three at a time. Once I reached the top, I pelted toward one particular window. The grimy glass was already broken, and someone had made a half-assed attempt at nailing a board over it, but I didn't give a shit.
Hatchet Face bellowed something behind me, promising to perform an act that was both gross and probably impossible without Bonesaw's assistance, but I wasn't listening. I'd gained half a second by taking his eye out and another half-second on the stairs, and that was all I needed. Crossing my arms over my face, I launched myself at the window.
Two …
Glass and wood, both shattering on impact, sprayed out alongside me. I paid them no mind, tucking for a forward somersault to land on Crawler's back, just ten feet below. Multiple eyes swivelled toward me and I heard the beginnings of a grunt of confusion as I made contact and rebounded off him. Landed in the street, I kept moving at a dead sprint.
Back in the building, I knew, Hatchet Face had reached the top of the stairs and was charging toward the same window I'd gone out.
One …
There was a derelict car thirty feet away from Crawler, and I was halfway there. Every footstep I made was ideally placed for maximum traction and running speed. It was literally my life's goal to be on the other side of that car in … point eight of a second.
The remains of the window and part of the wall burst outward as Hatchet Face bellowed his rage—and hurled his axe—at my retreating back. As he plummeted toward his teammate, I dived over the hood of the car, already opening my mouth wide and jamming my thumbs into my ear canals.
Zero.
<><>
Dragon
As the (strangely muffled) sound of the explosion reached her audio sensors, Dragon studied the last image the missile had captured before it entered its final burn stage. It was a tableau unlike any other, but the more she looked at it, the more she appreciated the sheer artistry that had gone into it.
First, she picked out Atropos, dropping for cover behind a car as a large axe flashed over her head. Second was Crawler himself, turning his monstrous head toward where Atropos had gone, and opening his primary mouth, probably in an instinctive attempt to snap at her. The open mouth, incidentally, was now directly in the missile's path.
Third, in the midst of a cloud of tumbling rubble, was Hatchet Face, falling toward Crawler. More importantly, he was close enough that his power-nullification field would be entirely enveloping the insanely durable cape at the moment the missile struck.
Oh, I see. Combat Thinker, indeed.
With a casual signal, she cast the image back to the PRT building and started printing it in full colour. This one, she was going to frame.
End of Part Twenty
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Part Twenty-One: Three, Two, One, Zero ...
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A Darker Path
Part Twenty-One: Three, Two, One, Zero
[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
PRT Building ENE
Director Piggot's Office
Emily didn't quite know why she was jittery. There had been no explosions in her city, with or without mushroom clouds, all morning. No call-outs for a sudden case of death for any given bunch of criminals. The local gangs—non-powered, as well as Uber and Leet—were keeping their heads all the way down, which in her own mind was the smartest thing to do with someone like Atropos on the prowl. Nobody wanted to be the first to get her attention.
Of course, she'd also announced that she would be ending the Nine as a matter of course. It had carried the same kind of casual assurance as someone saying that they'd be spending the day at the Boardwalk. Which suggested to Emily that Atropos would be spending the day out of town, because in order to kill the Nine, she'd have to go to where the Nine were. It wasn't as though she could give them the glare of death from a thousand miles away or something.
Still, she had the impending feeling that the other shoe was about to drop, and it was getting stronger all the time. Maybe those late nights I had screwed with my head. It wouldn't have surprised her in the slightest. The job was not conducive to mental well-being at the best of times.
Her inbox pinged. She glanced that way, and it was from Renick; the title read, 'You have to see this'.
The unprofessional tone was what warned her. Paul Renick was always formal in his communications to her. Something was going on, and all her foreboding suddenly made sense. Moving the mouse, she clicked the email to open it.
It was a single image. She knew the type; nosecone cameras on missiles took them just before impact, to verify a good kill. There were the crosshairs, indicating the point of aim … which happened to be Crawler's open mouth. With Hatchet Face directly above him. Missiles wouldn't normally affect Crawler (unless they were an exotic Tinker tech warhead) but Hatchet Face's presence entirely derailed that.
Off to the side was Atropos, very sensibly going for cover. Emily even recognised the fact that she had her thumbs in her ears, so as to save her eardrums. Smart girl.
Having taken in the individual details, Emily took the time to survey the image as a whole. Atropos had engaged the Nine; there was no other interpretation. The notation on the image showed that Dragon had fired the missile, and the time-date stamp was … one minute ago.
And then her eye fell on the latitude and longitude of the designated coordinates for the missile's aimpoint. They went all the way down to the fractions of a second. This had been a missile pre-loaded with coordinates to place it within inches of where it was supposed to be. Dragon was good, but she wasn't that good. I'm betting that Atropos supplied the coordinates.
And then she looked at the numbers again, and blinked. Wait a minute … those coordinates gave a location inside Brockton Bay. On the outskirts, to be sure, and in an area that was only technically part of the city anymore … but Atropos hadn't left town to go to the Nine. They had come to her.
That was when she started swearing.
Atropos
Even thirty feet away, on the other side of a car, with my thumbs blocking my ears, the explosion was way too loud. But I knew the ringing would go away soon enough, and my power would be able to compensate for it, so that was okay. When I poked my head up, my first impression was that there had been a whole lot of Crawler, and now he was everywhere.
Just behind me, stuck in the side of the building, was Hatchet Face's axe. The asshole himself was lying groaning about twenty yards away, covered in bits of Crawler. The explosion seemed to have shaken him up, but he wasn't actually injured in any significant way.
That was fine. I intended to remedy that situation myself.
Standing up, I braced my foot on the wall and pulled the axe free. The Snitch emerged from wherever it had been hiding, and followed behind as I stalked toward Hatchet Face. He and I had a play date, and I intended for it to be his last.
He'd gotten through all of his previous encounters with capes by being a cheating cheater, as I'd noted before. Ranged capes had to deal with his impressive durability; I doubted that even being dropped off a building would make much of an impression on him. Meanwhile, anyone (except me) who got within the radius of his no-power aura would suddenly be a normal up against a super-strong asshole with an axe. Which was the way he liked it.
Well, sorry (not sorry), but he wasn't going to get everything his own way. Or anything, really. Not anymore.
His skin was tough, sure. I wasn't going to be able to cut through it, even with his axe. But it was flexible. No hard carapace, here. Underneath, even though he undoubtedly had an impressively high pain threshold, he still had a nervous system. And the human nervous system came with all sorts of exploits just waiting for me to make use of them.
Not with my own fists and feet, of course. I could punch and kick him all day, and barely tickle him. But he'd thoughtfully supplied me with a long wooden handle equipped with a heavy metal weight on one end. I wasn't Archimedes, and Hatchet Face wasn't the world, but this lever was definitely long enough for me to move him to where I wanted him to go.
Specifically, the morgue.
I wouldn't even need to use the sharp edge.
Hefting the axe, I strode over toward where he lay.
Batter up, asshole.
Hatchet Face
Motherfucker.
I am going to murder her in ways that give me fucking nightmares.
Head ringing, he lay there, covered in bits and pieces of Crawler. They'd never been close, but being a member of the Slaughterhouse Nine had a tight-knit pride all of its own. You earned your membership in blood, and you only left if someone had the audacity and the capability to kill you.
He didn't know how Atropos had blown Crawler the fuck up, but he was going to make her pay for it in spades, even if Bonesaw had to bring her back to life a dozen times before he was satisfied. Raising himself to one elbow, he rubbed shit from the explosion out of his good eye—yet another reason to be pissed at that black-dressed little cocksucker—and began to look around … just in time to catch a tremendous blow to the face that smashed his nose in.
Eye filling with tears, he fell onto his back, hand coming up to cup his throbbing face and caved-in cartilage. "What th' fuck?" he mumbled.
He hadn't yet recovered from that before another thundering impact rocked his head sideways, sending his brain sloshing around in his skull. He tried to pull himself together, lashing out blindly, but he contacted nothing. The next hammer-blow smashed into his ear on the other side, compressing the air in his ear canal painfully and coming close to bursting his eardrum.
He'd always prided himself on being able to take a beating, but this was ridiculous. Being smacked around like a piñata, not being able to catch his bearings between one hit and the next, that wasn't his thing. He was the one who dealt out the damage, not the other guy.
Forcing himself to roll over despite his jangled wits, he pushed himself up into a crouch, head hanging down. Out of the corner of his good eye, he caught the faintest flicker of black before the next smashing impact caught him on the base of the skull in a classic rabbit-punch, dropping him face-first into the gory dirt once more.
It was more pure blind stubbornness that made him get up again. Apart from his nose, he wasn't injured as far as he could tell, but his skull was well and truly rattled, and it was getting harder and harder to make his limbs do what he wanted. But if he could just get his hands on Atropos ...
This time, he made it all the way up onto his knees before his vision cleared and he saw her standing before him, hefting his axe. He began to sneer at her; not only for not being strong enough to use it one-handed, but also for holding it the wrong way around. She side-stepped his grab like they'd choreographed it ahead of time, then she swung the axe in a deadly blur. Blunt though the back of it might be, it still hit him in the throat hard enough to make him choke and fall over backward.
He found he could still breathe, barely, as she loomed over him and spoke for the first time.
"I've only had to do this once before. She was an annoying little bitch, too. But she was on her second warning, so she got a pass. You're all out."
Before he could find his voice to curse at her, or say anything really, she slammed the head of the axe down into his solar plexus. His eye widened and his mouth gaped open as his difficulty with breathing became a total inability. Fuck! Fuck! What did she do? This was some Bonesaw-level shit, and he had no idea how to get out of it.
As his hands twitched feebly and his eye rolled in its socket, he saw her nod toward the little floating sphere he'd seen before. "Five down, three to go." Then she set off at a steady jog, out of his line of sight.
The last thing he heard as the darkness closed in was her receding footsteps.
Fuuuck ...
And then there was nothing.
Bonesaw
Jack's head came up, just as Riley heard what she thought was Hatchet Face shouting. It was probably something rude, she decided. He was always being rude when he thought he could get away with it.
"… something's going on," Jack said. "I think there's a fight."
"Is it a cape, like Hatchet Face said?" asked Riley.
Jack tilted his head, as though listening to something far away. "… no. I'm not sure what's happening, but I don't think—"
The explosion shook the ground and raised a cloud of oily smoke, several blocks away. Riley stared at it, then at Jack. "What was that?"
Now Jack actually looked concerned. This was a new expression for him. "I think it might be the PRT, to be honest. They must have tangled with our friends. No capes involved, or very few."
"Who won?" Jack would know. He always knew.
"We're leaving," Jack decided. "Now. No more waiting." He turned and hustled Riley toward the RV.
"What about the others?" Riley wanted to know. "Why aren't we waiting for them?"
"Because they aren't coming." He more or less lifted her on board. "Strap in, poppet. We're going to be driving far and fast."
She was too used to obeying his commands to argue. A good girl always did as she was told. As she was clicking the belt into the latch, Jack yanked the door shut—the Siberian was already in the RV—and settled into the driver's seat. The engine burst harshly to life, and he pushed it roughly into gear.
What did he mean, they're not coming? How could something kill them all? Especially Crawler?
The RV started off slowly, gradually accelerating over the potholed asphalt. Riley could feel the suspension creaking and groaning as Jack tried to force the massive vehicle to do something it wasn't suited to.
Then she heard Jack swear.
Atropos
I knew which way they'd come in by, and which road led back to the highway, so I probably could've figured out which way they'd go when Jack lost his nerve and tried to flee. With my power giving me a helping hand, I not only had that down, but also the precise second I could step out onto the road, pistol levelled. And as it happened, the escape route wasn't all that far from where Hatchet Face was resting in peace, and Crawler was resting in pieces.
Jack accelerated of course, swerving to aim directly at me. I could see him struggling to open his window, so he could lean out with a knife. The big RV, engine chuntering, bucked and rollicked through the potholes on a more or less direct course for me.
I fired four shots in quick succession.
Two went into the windshield, one on either side of Jack's head. Aiming at his head would've been useless, unless I made a very difficult shot; possible, but not in my plans. The entire pane of safety glass, of course, immediately crazed all the way across, making visibility a thing of the past.
My next two shots hit the passenger side front wheel, one blowing the valve stem clear off. The tyre began to deflate rapidly, catching Jack unawares and forcing the RV to veer sharply. Then I took three quick paces; not back into the alley I'd come from, but out into the street.
The RV blew past me and rammed into an electricity pole, going from a relatively sedate twenty miles per hour to a dead stop in an instant of time. It subsided, the front end more or less wrapped around the pole, the engine dying on the spot. The only way it was going to be moving again would be with outside assistance.
I re-holstered my pistol and pulled another small item from my pocket—a metal ring with a bent metal pin attached to it—as the side door opened and the Siberian emerged. In the distance, as the RV's engine cooled with ticks and pops, I heard another engine kick over.
The tiger-striped woman moved up to me in almost stop-motion fashion, her razor-sharp nails crooked like claws. I didn't try to flee, or even draw a weapon. "I'm sorry," I said.
She tilted her head sideways, as though trying to convey that all the 'sorry' in the world would do me no good right now.
"No," I clarified. "I'm saying sorry because I don't have a funny or witty or ironic death for you. I'm just going to kill you." I gently spun the ring on my finger, so the pin went around and around. "Here," I said, and tossed it to her.
She automatically caught it and stared at it for a moment. Then her eyes came up to meet mine, as I drew the shears and held them up between us. Deliberately, I snipped at the air, with a sound of metal sliding on metal. "Goodbye."
Her eyes went very wide, then she popped like a soap bubble. As the grenade pin fell to the ground, I heard the distant explosion of the grenade I'd taken it from; the one I'd carefully set up under William Manton's van before doubling back to intercept Crawler and Hatchet Face. A small fireball climbed into the sky, about ten blocks away.
Oni Lee, I suspected, would be pleased with that, if nothing else.
It was time for weapons again. I drew the pistol with my left hand. This time I had both Bonesaw and Jack Slash upset with me, but seriously, I'd warned them. What did they expect, coming to my city after I'd said I was going to kill them? A stern warning not to do it again?
Bonesaw stepped into the doorway at the same time as Jack Slash came around the front of the bus. She pointed, and a swarm of spider-bots poured past her, scuttling in my direction. Jack brought up the sharp-looking knife in his hand, aiming to disarm and then cripple me. Aww, he thinks he can bend me to his will and have Bonesaw remake me. That's almost cute.
I had twelve rounds left in the pistol, and Bonesaw had fifteen spider-bots. Each one was independently active and was armed with a neurotoxin that would paralyse me almost instantly. Off to my right, Jack Slash was highly skilled with his knife, and knew just where to cut for the greatest effect.
Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath. In my mind's eye swarmed the fifteen dots as they came toward me. One leaped at me, and I fired; the bullet went through it and one of its fellows. More came at me, climbing over each other in their eagerness. My pistol twitched back and forth, each shot taking a toll of the opposition. As I disposed of them, I moved closer, step by deliberate step.
Neither was my right hand idle. Jack's power swept over me, doing its level best to slice through my costume and draw blood. Unlike the other aspect of his power, which my power was currently glaring at and tapping a fist into its palm, this could actually hurt me if I chose to let it.
I didn't choose to let it.
The bodice shears I'd stolen from Kaiser's collection mere days ago (and were now counted among my most prized possessions) were made from solid high-quality steel. I could feel the impact of Jack's power as I used the shears to block it, like a gentle pressure trying to nudge past the obstacle. No matter where his cutting-effect went, I either wasn't there or had the shears in the way. From the way he was swinging the knife back and forth, he was getting more and more aggravated all the time.
Not that I could really blame him. He'd been playing the cape game on easy mode all his life, and now he was facing a deathmatch-level player. Being thrown in at the deep end like this would leave anyone feeling somewhat aggrieved.
Not that I really gave a fuck about his feelings. Welcome to what my world used to be like.
When the last of the spider-bots fell, I still had two bullets left and I was just a couple of paces from Bonesaw. Still fending off Jack's ever more desperate attacks with my right hand, I lunged forward. She came to meet me, fingernails popping metallic extensions which were no doubt treated with some horrific biotoxin or other.
I faked to the left, evading her attacks, then went to the right. A quick flip of the wrist sent my pistol spinning into the air, further distracting Bonesaw, then I reached out and grabbed the tool I needed from a pocket in her bloodstained apron. Specifically, a long, sharp medical probe.
While she was still reacting to the theft, I stabbed it into her ear canal, all the way into her brain. Her eyes rolled up into her head almost immediately, even as I was pulling it out again, and she collapsed on the spot. Discarding the probe, I caught the pistol again and fired a single unnecessary shot into her skull.
Unnecessary in that it wouldn't do a damn thing to her, given how armoured her bones were. But the fact of the shot, and her stillness thereafter, would serve to convince nearly everyone that she was dead. As a matter of fact, she was merely unconscious; I'd used the probe to give her hypothalamus a good nudge, damaging the part that regulated sleep. She would be out like a light for the foreseeable future, which left me free to concentrate on Jack Slash himself.
Turning toward him, I deliberately started forward. "That makes seven." Almost casually, I deflected another attempt at slicing me open. My pace was nice and steady, all the better to intimidate him. "Your turn, Jack. How do you want it?"
Even before he opened his mouth, I knew the bullshit was about to start flowing. It was his modus operandi, his bread and butter. Mastering capes with his voice was how he'd survived for so long.
Unfortunately for him, every time his power tried to get its hooks into me, it was met with the equivalent of a nail-studded baseball bat. My power didn't play. He had to be trying to figure out why he wasn't getting any hunches about me ... but once again, I gave no shits whatsoever.
"Ahh ... you're very good at what you do. I can totally respect that." It wasn't the best start in the world, but he was used to being able to cheat, so I didn't deduct as many marks as I might have.
"You've never respected another human being in your life. Lie to me again, and you die." He was going to die anyway, so I was telling the technical truth. The best kind, in my opinion. "What are you doing in my city? I believe I already put the word out that I was going to kill you. Just how stupid are you, anyway?"
It wasn't a warm day, but I could see a sheen of sweat on his forehead. "I ... uh ... the truth of the matter is, we weren't coming to kill you. We wanted to recruit you."
"Recruit?" I repeated the word with all the enthusiasm I would use for handling a thoroughly deceased skunk. "What on earth gave you the idea that I would allow a bunch of losers like you to associate with me? Your methods are tacky, self-defeating, pointless and utterly lacking in anything resembling a sense of style. Hell, I wouldn't recruit you, let alone allow you to recruit me."
His eyes flared at that. I'd attacked his pride, which wasn't difficult; it was the easiest target on him. His ego should've been visible from space. "Now, hold on there—!"
As he raised his voice, he spun his knife, then tried to use his cutting attack again. Firing from the hip, I shot the knife from his hand, the blade shattering in mid-air. At the same time, I surged forward, getting right up into his face. My shears pricked at the flesh under his jaw.
He froze. I knew he had subdermal mesh, and he knew he had subdermal mesh, but he couldn't be absolutely certain that I was unable to punch the shears up into his brain anyway. Or kill him in half a dozen other painful or unforeseen ways; Lung's demise had certainly taught all and sundry to be wary of me.
Also, he'd seen me vanish the Siberian with a snip of the shears, but he hadn't seen the grenade pin or figured out how I'd defended myself against his attack. For all he knew, they were a piece of ungodly powerful Tinkertech that could disintegrate him at a thought.
"You get a one-minute head start, Jack," I said quietly. "And that's being generous. Go."
He tried briefly to stare me down, but it wasn't exactly an option to use on someone who was wearing a morph mask. Then abruptly, he turned and bolted.
I was in no hurry. Strolling into the alley, I retrieved Hatchet Face's axe from where I'd stashed it behind an ancient dumpster. Then I reloaded the pistol, waited exactly one minute, and set out at a steady jog. Not in pursuit; the word suggested a chase of some kind. Instead, I went to where he'd be.
Jacob
Jack Slash ran for his life. Sweat dripping into his eyes, breath rasping in his lungs, he forced himself onward, looking for someplace he could hide and maybe ambush Atropos from surprise. Recruiting her was no longer on the table; she'd torn through his entire line-up like a bandsaw on steroids, and there was no indication that she felt like being any more merciful to him.
Staggering into a narrow alleyway, he leaned against the wall and tried to catch his breath. It wasn't fair; he was never the one who had to run for his life. That was the victim's job. What he'd usually consider a fun and bracing diversion was no such thing when seen from the other side.
The pause gave him a chance to think. If I double back, I can get behind her. All I need to do is catch her off guard just once.
Looking up gave him the clue he needed to put his plan into action. A fire escape, rusty and partially fallen apart, hung almost to ground level. Its saving grace had been the narrowness of the alley; where it was detached from the wall on one side, it was able to lean against the other.
Seizing the rungs, he began to climb upward, careful to minimise the amount of creaking. The higher he got without Atropos appearing at either end of the alleyway, the more confidence he regained. Think you're so smart, do you? Well, I've been doing this since before you were born.
Finally, he scrambled up onto the roof, his hands scraped and sore from the rough metal. Two of his nails were broken, and the sleeve of his dress shirt was torn. You're going to die, just for that. Drawing a knife, he kept low by instinct and circled around the perimeter of the rooftop, looking out for a black-dressed figure or a bobbing sphere. Neither one appeared, which meant she'd probably passed him by altogether.
A lesser man would've given up on getting the better of her and simply left Brockton Bay for greener pastures and the chance to start rebuilding the Nine, but Jack Slash was cut from tougher cloth than that. He had been winning against capes since the beginning of his career, when he killed King for the leadership of the Nine, and he didn't intend to stop now. He thought he'd figured out her secret already, and he was going to kill her then display her corpse for all of Brockton Bay to see.
"Think you're so smart, don't you?" he muttered to himself as he used a tanto knife to force open the rusting door at the top of the stairwell. "A normal using Tinkertech to pretend to have powers. Well, you're not the first one to think of that. Not by a long shot. Once I figure out how to get around your tech, you're going to be just as dead as everyone else who's come up against me."
Cautiously, guiding himself with one hand against the wall, he descended into the shadowed depths of the building. A little light filtered through here and there, but most of the windows were boarded up to one degree or another, so it mainly served to accentuate the darkness. He breathed carefully, trying not to inhale dust; the last thing he wanted was for a random sneeze to alert his pursuer.
When he reached the first floor, he took up a position around the corner from the main entrance. The front door was barely open, with a thin line of light spilling onto the floor within. He'd know if she passed by, or if she tried to gain entry. Either way, he could attack from surprise, and she'd never see it coming.
Savouring the moment of atavism, he worked his fingers on the hilt of the knife. The moment she let him out of her sight, she'd signed her own death certificate. He had the advantage now, and he wasn't going to let it go—
From right behind him, a voice murmured, "Dark in here, isn't it?"
Atropos
He froze for half a second, then with a scream partly composed of anger and partly of terror, he pivoted toward me, knife hand coming around. I ducked under the effect of his blade, then swung the axe. The difference between our two attacks? He thought he knew my location, whereas I definitely knew his. More specifically, I knew where his wrist was going to be.
He'd been armoured and reinforced by Bonesaw, but only so much could be done for his wrist. When a heavy axe propelled by a moderately determined set of muscles encounters the delicate collection of bones and ligaments that make up the average adult's wrist, it's usually the wrist that gives way.
His hand separated from the rest of him and fell to the floor, the knife clattering alongside it. At that moment, his scream hit a decidedly higher pitch, going from 'terror plus anger' to 'oh my god what happened to my hand'. "Fuuck!" he shrieked as I wrenched the axe from where it had buried itself in the wall. "What did you do? What did you do?"
I'd kind of thought that was obvious. "I cut your hand off, duh. Might want to put some pressure on that, it's going to start bleeding badly in a moment."
Once my words penetrated his consciousness, he actually reacted correctly. Maybe his decades as America's most hated murderhobo had actually instilled some useful skills, after all. More or less tearing off his shirt with his left hand, he wrapped it tightly around the stump of his right wrist and pulled it tight. Blood soaked through it immediately, of course, but he wouldn't bleed out in the next few minutes.
Once he had it secured as well as he was going to, he turned to me. "I'm not getting medical attention, am I?"
"No," I said quietly. "You are not."
"You were waiting in here for me, weren't you?" There was still a spark of the old Jack there, keeping a lookout for a chance, but he wasn't reaching for a knife just yet.
"Yeah. Came in through the front door while you were climbing the other side."
The conclusion had to be obvious. He might've been an unrepentant mass murderer, but he wasn't stupid. "You … knew where I'd be. You knew where we'd all be."
I swung the axe up to rest across my shoulders. "It wasn't all that hard to figure out. Honestly, Jack, you're getting predictable in your old age."
He let out the ghost of a pained snort. "Not that predictable. You're like me. A monster who knows how to read people. So, why are you opposing me? If we were on the same side, we could be so much greater than the sum of our parts."
And there it came once more; the inevitable attempt to turn this around with his infamous silver tongue. As my power smacked his power across the face, it was my turn to chuckle dryly. "Hardly. You flatter yourself if you think you're anything like me. I set you on this Path the moment I killed Oni Lee and announced myself, and you've followed every footstep ever since like a good little puppet, right to this moment. As for being a monster, we're still nothing alike."
"Monsters are still monsters, no matter how they pretty themselves up," he argued. "You're just playing the nice guy for the peanut gallery. One day, you'll realise that they only like you for what they can get from you. You should start taking your due now, rather than waiting until it's almost too late." I could feel him beaming, sure he'd made his point.
"Oh, I'm definitely a monster," I agreed. "I'm someone who commits atrocities and breaks the social contract on the regular. That's me all over. But what you don't get is the difference between you and me. See, I'm reliable. I announce what I'm going to do, and I do it. I warn people if they're a problem for me, and I let them live if they change their ways. You kill people for fun, at random, for no good reason except that you want to see their blood run down your blade. All that effort does nothing but earn you negative press, which makes the whole thing self-defeating. Not to mention, tacky as fuck."
"Oh, I see," he sneered. "A monster with a code. How very dreary. Did you give Oni Lee any kind of warning before you shot him in the face? How about us? Or do you just break your code whenever it's convenient?"
I had to chuckle. "You don't get it, do you? Oni Lee was the warning, to everyone in Brockton Bay. You're the warning to everyone outside of it. As for codes? I don't have one. Codes can be manipulated and exploited. I just do what works, to keep my life as simple as possible."
"Still boring," he challenged me. "I've splashed the reputation of the Slaughterhouse Nine in blood across the public consciousness for more than two decades. They'll forget you the day after you hang up the mask, but they'll be scared of me for years to come."
"No," I said. "They won't. You see, Jack, I don't just kill people. I end things. And one of the things I'll be ending is your legacy. Your reputation. By the time I'm finished with you, you'll be nothing but a footnote, a cautionary tale: 'Don't be an idiot. Don't be like Jack Slash'. When the kids play heroes and villains … not even the edgiest of edgelords will want to be you."
Now, finally, I had penetrated to the core of him. I saw him shake his head, no longer playfully, but desperately. "No," he said. Where he wouldn't plead for his life, he would plead for this. "You wouldn't. You can't."
Smoothly, I stepped to the side and brought the axe off my shoulders. "I can, I have, I am, and I will. Time to cut this short, Jack."
"Wait—"
He turned his head in the darkness, his left hand grabbing for one of the knives he was still wearing, but it was too late. The axe hissed through the air, its carefully honed edge still razor-sharp despite the trials it had been through. It struck squarely between the second and third cervical vertebrae, splitting the armoured mesh and severing his spinal cord.
Jack Slash fell, a puppet with his strings cut. I put my foot on his back and wrenched the axe out, then struck again and again, deepening the first cut. It took some effort to get all the way through the 'improvements' Bonesaw had added to his neck—attempting to cut his throat with anything short of a chainsaw would've been utterly useless—but eventually his head rolled free.
Picking it up by his hair, I put the axe over my other shoulder, and left the building. The Snitch hummed out after me. I took a moment to enjoy the afternoon sunlight, then headed back toward the RV.
Nothing had disturbed the scene, and Bonesaw still lay half-in, half-out of the vehicle as though she'd just lain down for a nap. Her fingernail extensions had automatically retracted, which was a good thing; I didn't want to risk anyone getting hurt. I dropped Jack's head beside the RV, then put the axe down for a moment. It took me both hands to sling Bonesaw over my shoulder, and one to steady her once she was in place; she was heavy, but I wasn't going to be carrying her far.
Turning to the tiny floating ball, I gestured with my free hand. "Show's over," I said.
Obediently, it stopped recording and headed off toward where Dragon was still waiting patiently. The PRT would absolutely want the footage it had gathered. Picking up the axe again, I strolled out of the area, back toward civilisation; or rather, toward the car that had pulled up on a quiet side-street, two minutes ago.
Dad looked a little askance as I deposited Bonesaw's still-sleeping form on the back seat of the car and pulled a blanket over her. "Do I even want to know?" he asked.
"Part of ending the legacy of the Nine," I explained as I wrapped the axe head in the cloth I'd left there for just that purpose, and placed it on the floor of the car. Then I removed my hat and mask, and climbed in.
"And the axe?" He raised an eyebrow.
"Hatchet Face doesn't need it anymore," I said lightly. "Plus, I just beat him to death with it, and cut off Jack Slash's head. I figure it's earned a break."
He shuddered slightly. "I wish I could say I was surprised, but I'm really not. And what are we going to do with Bonesaw?"
I grinned. "I've got that sorted. Someone owes me a solid."
End of Part Twenty-One
[A/N: Taking a break for the next few days, due to a family thing. Might throw out a couple more posts after I get back, before my next two-week hiatus. We shall see.]
Part Twenty-One: Three, Two, One, Zero
[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
PRT Building ENE
Director Piggot's Office
Emily didn't quite know why she was jittery. There had been no explosions in her city, with or without mushroom clouds, all morning. No call-outs for a sudden case of death for any given bunch of criminals. The local gangs—non-powered, as well as Uber and Leet—were keeping their heads all the way down, which in her own mind was the smartest thing to do with someone like Atropos on the prowl. Nobody wanted to be the first to get her attention.
Of course, she'd also announced that she would be ending the Nine as a matter of course. It had carried the same kind of casual assurance as someone saying that they'd be spending the day at the Boardwalk. Which suggested to Emily that Atropos would be spending the day out of town, because in order to kill the Nine, she'd have to go to where the Nine were. It wasn't as though she could give them the glare of death from a thousand miles away or something.
Still, she had the impending feeling that the other shoe was about to drop, and it was getting stronger all the time. Maybe those late nights I had screwed with my head. It wouldn't have surprised her in the slightest. The job was not conducive to mental well-being at the best of times.
Her inbox pinged. She glanced that way, and it was from Renick; the title read, 'You have to see this'.
The unprofessional tone was what warned her. Paul Renick was always formal in his communications to her. Something was going on, and all her foreboding suddenly made sense. Moving the mouse, she clicked the email to open it.
It was a single image. She knew the type; nosecone cameras on missiles took them just before impact, to verify a good kill. There were the crosshairs, indicating the point of aim … which happened to be Crawler's open mouth. With Hatchet Face directly above him. Missiles wouldn't normally affect Crawler (unless they were an exotic Tinker tech warhead) but Hatchet Face's presence entirely derailed that.
Off to the side was Atropos, very sensibly going for cover. Emily even recognised the fact that she had her thumbs in her ears, so as to save her eardrums. Smart girl.
Having taken in the individual details, Emily took the time to survey the image as a whole. Atropos had engaged the Nine; there was no other interpretation. The notation on the image showed that Dragon had fired the missile, and the time-date stamp was … one minute ago.
And then her eye fell on the latitude and longitude of the designated coordinates for the missile's aimpoint. They went all the way down to the fractions of a second. This had been a missile pre-loaded with coordinates to place it within inches of where it was supposed to be. Dragon was good, but she wasn't that good. I'm betting that Atropos supplied the coordinates.
And then she looked at the numbers again, and blinked. Wait a minute … those coordinates gave a location inside Brockton Bay. On the outskirts, to be sure, and in an area that was only technically part of the city anymore … but Atropos hadn't left town to go to the Nine. They had come to her.
That was when she started swearing.
<><>
Atropos
Even thirty feet away, on the other side of a car, with my thumbs blocking my ears, the explosion was way too loud. But I knew the ringing would go away soon enough, and my power would be able to compensate for it, so that was okay. When I poked my head up, my first impression was that there had been a whole lot of Crawler, and now he was everywhere.
Just behind me, stuck in the side of the building, was Hatchet Face's axe. The asshole himself was lying groaning about twenty yards away, covered in bits of Crawler. The explosion seemed to have shaken him up, but he wasn't actually injured in any significant way.
That was fine. I intended to remedy that situation myself.
Standing up, I braced my foot on the wall and pulled the axe free. The Snitch emerged from wherever it had been hiding, and followed behind as I stalked toward Hatchet Face. He and I had a play date, and I intended for it to be his last.
He'd gotten through all of his previous encounters with capes by being a cheating cheater, as I'd noted before. Ranged capes had to deal with his impressive durability; I doubted that even being dropped off a building would make much of an impression on him. Meanwhile, anyone (except me) who got within the radius of his no-power aura would suddenly be a normal up against a super-strong asshole with an axe. Which was the way he liked it.
Well, sorry (not sorry), but he wasn't going to get everything his own way. Or anything, really. Not anymore.
His skin was tough, sure. I wasn't going to be able to cut through it, even with his axe. But it was flexible. No hard carapace, here. Underneath, even though he undoubtedly had an impressively high pain threshold, he still had a nervous system. And the human nervous system came with all sorts of exploits just waiting for me to make use of them.
Not with my own fists and feet, of course. I could punch and kick him all day, and barely tickle him. But he'd thoughtfully supplied me with a long wooden handle equipped with a heavy metal weight on one end. I wasn't Archimedes, and Hatchet Face wasn't the world, but this lever was definitely long enough for me to move him to where I wanted him to go.
Specifically, the morgue.
I wouldn't even need to use the sharp edge.
Hefting the axe, I strode over toward where he lay.
Batter up, asshole.
<><>
Hatchet Face
Motherfucker.
I am going to murder her in ways that give me fucking nightmares.
Head ringing, he lay there, covered in bits and pieces of Crawler. They'd never been close, but being a member of the Slaughterhouse Nine had a tight-knit pride all of its own. You earned your membership in blood, and you only left if someone had the audacity and the capability to kill you.
He didn't know how Atropos had blown Crawler the fuck up, but he was going to make her pay for it in spades, even if Bonesaw had to bring her back to life a dozen times before he was satisfied. Raising himself to one elbow, he rubbed shit from the explosion out of his good eye—yet another reason to be pissed at that black-dressed little cocksucker—and began to look around … just in time to catch a tremendous blow to the face that smashed his nose in.
Eye filling with tears, he fell onto his back, hand coming up to cup his throbbing face and caved-in cartilage. "What th' fuck?" he mumbled.
He hadn't yet recovered from that before another thundering impact rocked his head sideways, sending his brain sloshing around in his skull. He tried to pull himself together, lashing out blindly, but he contacted nothing. The next hammer-blow smashed into his ear on the other side, compressing the air in his ear canal painfully and coming close to bursting his eardrum.
He'd always prided himself on being able to take a beating, but this was ridiculous. Being smacked around like a piñata, not being able to catch his bearings between one hit and the next, that wasn't his thing. He was the one who dealt out the damage, not the other guy.
Forcing himself to roll over despite his jangled wits, he pushed himself up into a crouch, head hanging down. Out of the corner of his good eye, he caught the faintest flicker of black before the next smashing impact caught him on the base of the skull in a classic rabbit-punch, dropping him face-first into the gory dirt once more.
It was more pure blind stubbornness that made him get up again. Apart from his nose, he wasn't injured as far as he could tell, but his skull was well and truly rattled, and it was getting harder and harder to make his limbs do what he wanted. But if he could just get his hands on Atropos ...
This time, he made it all the way up onto his knees before his vision cleared and he saw her standing before him, hefting his axe. He began to sneer at her; not only for not being strong enough to use it one-handed, but also for holding it the wrong way around. She side-stepped his grab like they'd choreographed it ahead of time, then she swung the axe in a deadly blur. Blunt though the back of it might be, it still hit him in the throat hard enough to make him choke and fall over backward.
He found he could still breathe, barely, as she loomed over him and spoke for the first time.
"I've only had to do this once before. She was an annoying little bitch, too. But she was on her second warning, so she got a pass. You're all out."
Before he could find his voice to curse at her, or say anything really, she slammed the head of the axe down into his solar plexus. His eye widened and his mouth gaped open as his difficulty with breathing became a total inability. Fuck! Fuck! What did she do? This was some Bonesaw-level shit, and he had no idea how to get out of it.
As his hands twitched feebly and his eye rolled in its socket, he saw her nod toward the little floating sphere he'd seen before. "Five down, three to go." Then she set off at a steady jog, out of his line of sight.
The last thing he heard as the darkness closed in was her receding footsteps.
Fuuuck ...
And then there was nothing.
<><>
Bonesaw
Jack's head came up, just as Riley heard what she thought was Hatchet Face shouting. It was probably something rude, she decided. He was always being rude when he thought he could get away with it.
"… something's going on," Jack said. "I think there's a fight."
"Is it a cape, like Hatchet Face said?" asked Riley.
Jack tilted his head, as though listening to something far away. "… no. I'm not sure what's happening, but I don't think—"
The explosion shook the ground and raised a cloud of oily smoke, several blocks away. Riley stared at it, then at Jack. "What was that?"
Now Jack actually looked concerned. This was a new expression for him. "I think it might be the PRT, to be honest. They must have tangled with our friends. No capes involved, or very few."
"Who won?" Jack would know. He always knew.
"We're leaving," Jack decided. "Now. No more waiting." He turned and hustled Riley toward the RV.
"What about the others?" Riley wanted to know. "Why aren't we waiting for them?"
"Because they aren't coming." He more or less lifted her on board. "Strap in, poppet. We're going to be driving far and fast."
She was too used to obeying his commands to argue. A good girl always did as she was told. As she was clicking the belt into the latch, Jack yanked the door shut—the Siberian was already in the RV—and settled into the driver's seat. The engine burst harshly to life, and he pushed it roughly into gear.
What did he mean, they're not coming? How could something kill them all? Especially Crawler?
The RV started off slowly, gradually accelerating over the potholed asphalt. Riley could feel the suspension creaking and groaning as Jack tried to force the massive vehicle to do something it wasn't suited to.
Then she heard Jack swear.
<><>
Atropos
I knew which way they'd come in by, and which road led back to the highway, so I probably could've figured out which way they'd go when Jack lost his nerve and tried to flee. With my power giving me a helping hand, I not only had that down, but also the precise second I could step out onto the road, pistol levelled. And as it happened, the escape route wasn't all that far from where Hatchet Face was resting in peace, and Crawler was resting in pieces.
Jack accelerated of course, swerving to aim directly at me. I could see him struggling to open his window, so he could lean out with a knife. The big RV, engine chuntering, bucked and rollicked through the potholes on a more or less direct course for me.
I fired four shots in quick succession.
Two went into the windshield, one on either side of Jack's head. Aiming at his head would've been useless, unless I made a very difficult shot; possible, but not in my plans. The entire pane of safety glass, of course, immediately crazed all the way across, making visibility a thing of the past.
My next two shots hit the passenger side front wheel, one blowing the valve stem clear off. The tyre began to deflate rapidly, catching Jack unawares and forcing the RV to veer sharply. Then I took three quick paces; not back into the alley I'd come from, but out into the street.
The RV blew past me and rammed into an electricity pole, going from a relatively sedate twenty miles per hour to a dead stop in an instant of time. It subsided, the front end more or less wrapped around the pole, the engine dying on the spot. The only way it was going to be moving again would be with outside assistance.
I re-holstered my pistol and pulled another small item from my pocket—a metal ring with a bent metal pin attached to it—as the side door opened and the Siberian emerged. In the distance, as the RV's engine cooled with ticks and pops, I heard another engine kick over.
The tiger-striped woman moved up to me in almost stop-motion fashion, her razor-sharp nails crooked like claws. I didn't try to flee, or even draw a weapon. "I'm sorry," I said.
She tilted her head sideways, as though trying to convey that all the 'sorry' in the world would do me no good right now.
"No," I clarified. "I'm saying sorry because I don't have a funny or witty or ironic death for you. I'm just going to kill you." I gently spun the ring on my finger, so the pin went around and around. "Here," I said, and tossed it to her.
She automatically caught it and stared at it for a moment. Then her eyes came up to meet mine, as I drew the shears and held them up between us. Deliberately, I snipped at the air, with a sound of metal sliding on metal. "Goodbye."
Her eyes went very wide, then she popped like a soap bubble. As the grenade pin fell to the ground, I heard the distant explosion of the grenade I'd taken it from; the one I'd carefully set up under William Manton's van before doubling back to intercept Crawler and Hatchet Face. A small fireball climbed into the sky, about ten blocks away.
Oni Lee, I suspected, would be pleased with that, if nothing else.
It was time for weapons again. I drew the pistol with my left hand. This time I had both Bonesaw and Jack Slash upset with me, but seriously, I'd warned them. What did they expect, coming to my city after I'd said I was going to kill them? A stern warning not to do it again?
Bonesaw stepped into the doorway at the same time as Jack Slash came around the front of the bus. She pointed, and a swarm of spider-bots poured past her, scuttling in my direction. Jack brought up the sharp-looking knife in his hand, aiming to disarm and then cripple me. Aww, he thinks he can bend me to his will and have Bonesaw remake me. That's almost cute.
I had twelve rounds left in the pistol, and Bonesaw had fifteen spider-bots. Each one was independently active and was armed with a neurotoxin that would paralyse me almost instantly. Off to my right, Jack Slash was highly skilled with his knife, and knew just where to cut for the greatest effect.
Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath. In my mind's eye swarmed the fifteen dots as they came toward me. One leaped at me, and I fired; the bullet went through it and one of its fellows. More came at me, climbing over each other in their eagerness. My pistol twitched back and forth, each shot taking a toll of the opposition. As I disposed of them, I moved closer, step by deliberate step.
Neither was my right hand idle. Jack's power swept over me, doing its level best to slice through my costume and draw blood. Unlike the other aspect of his power, which my power was currently glaring at and tapping a fist into its palm, this could actually hurt me if I chose to let it.
I didn't choose to let it.
The bodice shears I'd stolen from Kaiser's collection mere days ago (and were now counted among my most prized possessions) were made from solid high-quality steel. I could feel the impact of Jack's power as I used the shears to block it, like a gentle pressure trying to nudge past the obstacle. No matter where his cutting-effect went, I either wasn't there or had the shears in the way. From the way he was swinging the knife back and forth, he was getting more and more aggravated all the time.
Not that I could really blame him. He'd been playing the cape game on easy mode all his life, and now he was facing a deathmatch-level player. Being thrown in at the deep end like this would leave anyone feeling somewhat aggrieved.
Not that I really gave a fuck about his feelings. Welcome to what my world used to be like.
When the last of the spider-bots fell, I still had two bullets left and I was just a couple of paces from Bonesaw. Still fending off Jack's ever more desperate attacks with my right hand, I lunged forward. She came to meet me, fingernails popping metallic extensions which were no doubt treated with some horrific biotoxin or other.
I faked to the left, evading her attacks, then went to the right. A quick flip of the wrist sent my pistol spinning into the air, further distracting Bonesaw, then I reached out and grabbed the tool I needed from a pocket in her bloodstained apron. Specifically, a long, sharp medical probe.
While she was still reacting to the theft, I stabbed it into her ear canal, all the way into her brain. Her eyes rolled up into her head almost immediately, even as I was pulling it out again, and she collapsed on the spot. Discarding the probe, I caught the pistol again and fired a single unnecessary shot into her skull.
Unnecessary in that it wouldn't do a damn thing to her, given how armoured her bones were. But the fact of the shot, and her stillness thereafter, would serve to convince nearly everyone that she was dead. As a matter of fact, she was merely unconscious; I'd used the probe to give her hypothalamus a good nudge, damaging the part that regulated sleep. She would be out like a light for the foreseeable future, which left me free to concentrate on Jack Slash himself.
Turning toward him, I deliberately started forward. "That makes seven." Almost casually, I deflected another attempt at slicing me open. My pace was nice and steady, all the better to intimidate him. "Your turn, Jack. How do you want it?"
Even before he opened his mouth, I knew the bullshit was about to start flowing. It was his modus operandi, his bread and butter. Mastering capes with his voice was how he'd survived for so long.
Unfortunately for him, every time his power tried to get its hooks into me, it was met with the equivalent of a nail-studded baseball bat. My power didn't play. He had to be trying to figure out why he wasn't getting any hunches about me ... but once again, I gave no shits whatsoever.
"Ahh ... you're very good at what you do. I can totally respect that." It wasn't the best start in the world, but he was used to being able to cheat, so I didn't deduct as many marks as I might have.
"You've never respected another human being in your life. Lie to me again, and you die." He was going to die anyway, so I was telling the technical truth. The best kind, in my opinion. "What are you doing in my city? I believe I already put the word out that I was going to kill you. Just how stupid are you, anyway?"
It wasn't a warm day, but I could see a sheen of sweat on his forehead. "I ... uh ... the truth of the matter is, we weren't coming to kill you. We wanted to recruit you."
"Recruit?" I repeated the word with all the enthusiasm I would use for handling a thoroughly deceased skunk. "What on earth gave you the idea that I would allow a bunch of losers like you to associate with me? Your methods are tacky, self-defeating, pointless and utterly lacking in anything resembling a sense of style. Hell, I wouldn't recruit you, let alone allow you to recruit me."
His eyes flared at that. I'd attacked his pride, which wasn't difficult; it was the easiest target on him. His ego should've been visible from space. "Now, hold on there—!"
As he raised his voice, he spun his knife, then tried to use his cutting attack again. Firing from the hip, I shot the knife from his hand, the blade shattering in mid-air. At the same time, I surged forward, getting right up into his face. My shears pricked at the flesh under his jaw.
He froze. I knew he had subdermal mesh, and he knew he had subdermal mesh, but he couldn't be absolutely certain that I was unable to punch the shears up into his brain anyway. Or kill him in half a dozen other painful or unforeseen ways; Lung's demise had certainly taught all and sundry to be wary of me.
Also, he'd seen me vanish the Siberian with a snip of the shears, but he hadn't seen the grenade pin or figured out how I'd defended myself against his attack. For all he knew, they were a piece of ungodly powerful Tinkertech that could disintegrate him at a thought.
"You get a one-minute head start, Jack," I said quietly. "And that's being generous. Go."
He tried briefly to stare me down, but it wasn't exactly an option to use on someone who was wearing a morph mask. Then abruptly, he turned and bolted.
I was in no hurry. Strolling into the alley, I retrieved Hatchet Face's axe from where I'd stashed it behind an ancient dumpster. Then I reloaded the pistol, waited exactly one minute, and set out at a steady jog. Not in pursuit; the word suggested a chase of some kind. Instead, I went to where he'd be.
<><>
Jacob
Jack Slash ran for his life. Sweat dripping into his eyes, breath rasping in his lungs, he forced himself onward, looking for someplace he could hide and maybe ambush Atropos from surprise. Recruiting her was no longer on the table; she'd torn through his entire line-up like a bandsaw on steroids, and there was no indication that she felt like being any more merciful to him.
Staggering into a narrow alleyway, he leaned against the wall and tried to catch his breath. It wasn't fair; he was never the one who had to run for his life. That was the victim's job. What he'd usually consider a fun and bracing diversion was no such thing when seen from the other side.
The pause gave him a chance to think. If I double back, I can get behind her. All I need to do is catch her off guard just once.
Looking up gave him the clue he needed to put his plan into action. A fire escape, rusty and partially fallen apart, hung almost to ground level. Its saving grace had been the narrowness of the alley; where it was detached from the wall on one side, it was able to lean against the other.
Seizing the rungs, he began to climb upward, careful to minimise the amount of creaking. The higher he got without Atropos appearing at either end of the alleyway, the more confidence he regained. Think you're so smart, do you? Well, I've been doing this since before you were born.
Finally, he scrambled up onto the roof, his hands scraped and sore from the rough metal. Two of his nails were broken, and the sleeve of his dress shirt was torn. You're going to die, just for that. Drawing a knife, he kept low by instinct and circled around the perimeter of the rooftop, looking out for a black-dressed figure or a bobbing sphere. Neither one appeared, which meant she'd probably passed him by altogether.
A lesser man would've given up on getting the better of her and simply left Brockton Bay for greener pastures and the chance to start rebuilding the Nine, but Jack Slash was cut from tougher cloth than that. He had been winning against capes since the beginning of his career, when he killed King for the leadership of the Nine, and he didn't intend to stop now. He thought he'd figured out her secret already, and he was going to kill her then display her corpse for all of Brockton Bay to see.
"Think you're so smart, don't you?" he muttered to himself as he used a tanto knife to force open the rusting door at the top of the stairwell. "A normal using Tinkertech to pretend to have powers. Well, you're not the first one to think of that. Not by a long shot. Once I figure out how to get around your tech, you're going to be just as dead as everyone else who's come up against me."
Cautiously, guiding himself with one hand against the wall, he descended into the shadowed depths of the building. A little light filtered through here and there, but most of the windows were boarded up to one degree or another, so it mainly served to accentuate the darkness. He breathed carefully, trying not to inhale dust; the last thing he wanted was for a random sneeze to alert his pursuer.
When he reached the first floor, he took up a position around the corner from the main entrance. The front door was barely open, with a thin line of light spilling onto the floor within. He'd know if she passed by, or if she tried to gain entry. Either way, he could attack from surprise, and she'd never see it coming.
Savouring the moment of atavism, he worked his fingers on the hilt of the knife. The moment she let him out of her sight, she'd signed her own death certificate. He had the advantage now, and he wasn't going to let it go—
From right behind him, a voice murmured, "Dark in here, isn't it?"
<><>
Atropos
He froze for half a second, then with a scream partly composed of anger and partly of terror, he pivoted toward me, knife hand coming around. I ducked under the effect of his blade, then swung the axe. The difference between our two attacks? He thought he knew my location, whereas I definitely knew his. More specifically, I knew where his wrist was going to be.
He'd been armoured and reinforced by Bonesaw, but only so much could be done for his wrist. When a heavy axe propelled by a moderately determined set of muscles encounters the delicate collection of bones and ligaments that make up the average adult's wrist, it's usually the wrist that gives way.
His hand separated from the rest of him and fell to the floor, the knife clattering alongside it. At that moment, his scream hit a decidedly higher pitch, going from 'terror plus anger' to 'oh my god what happened to my hand'. "Fuuck!" he shrieked as I wrenched the axe from where it had buried itself in the wall. "What did you do? What did you do?"
I'd kind of thought that was obvious. "I cut your hand off, duh. Might want to put some pressure on that, it's going to start bleeding badly in a moment."
Once my words penetrated his consciousness, he actually reacted correctly. Maybe his decades as America's most hated murderhobo had actually instilled some useful skills, after all. More or less tearing off his shirt with his left hand, he wrapped it tightly around the stump of his right wrist and pulled it tight. Blood soaked through it immediately, of course, but he wouldn't bleed out in the next few minutes.
Once he had it secured as well as he was going to, he turned to me. "I'm not getting medical attention, am I?"
"No," I said quietly. "You are not."
"You were waiting in here for me, weren't you?" There was still a spark of the old Jack there, keeping a lookout for a chance, but he wasn't reaching for a knife just yet.
"Yeah. Came in through the front door while you were climbing the other side."
The conclusion had to be obvious. He might've been an unrepentant mass murderer, but he wasn't stupid. "You … knew where I'd be. You knew where we'd all be."
I swung the axe up to rest across my shoulders. "It wasn't all that hard to figure out. Honestly, Jack, you're getting predictable in your old age."
He let out the ghost of a pained snort. "Not that predictable. You're like me. A monster who knows how to read people. So, why are you opposing me? If we were on the same side, we could be so much greater than the sum of our parts."
And there it came once more; the inevitable attempt to turn this around with his infamous silver tongue. As my power smacked his power across the face, it was my turn to chuckle dryly. "Hardly. You flatter yourself if you think you're anything like me. I set you on this Path the moment I killed Oni Lee and announced myself, and you've followed every footstep ever since like a good little puppet, right to this moment. As for being a monster, we're still nothing alike."
"Monsters are still monsters, no matter how they pretty themselves up," he argued. "You're just playing the nice guy for the peanut gallery. One day, you'll realise that they only like you for what they can get from you. You should start taking your due now, rather than waiting until it's almost too late." I could feel him beaming, sure he'd made his point.
"Oh, I'm definitely a monster," I agreed. "I'm someone who commits atrocities and breaks the social contract on the regular. That's me all over. But what you don't get is the difference between you and me. See, I'm reliable. I announce what I'm going to do, and I do it. I warn people if they're a problem for me, and I let them live if they change their ways. You kill people for fun, at random, for no good reason except that you want to see their blood run down your blade. All that effort does nothing but earn you negative press, which makes the whole thing self-defeating. Not to mention, tacky as fuck."
"Oh, I see," he sneered. "A monster with a code. How very dreary. Did you give Oni Lee any kind of warning before you shot him in the face? How about us? Or do you just break your code whenever it's convenient?"
I had to chuckle. "You don't get it, do you? Oni Lee was the warning, to everyone in Brockton Bay. You're the warning to everyone outside of it. As for codes? I don't have one. Codes can be manipulated and exploited. I just do what works, to keep my life as simple as possible."
"Still boring," he challenged me. "I've splashed the reputation of the Slaughterhouse Nine in blood across the public consciousness for more than two decades. They'll forget you the day after you hang up the mask, but they'll be scared of me for years to come."
"No," I said. "They won't. You see, Jack, I don't just kill people. I end things. And one of the things I'll be ending is your legacy. Your reputation. By the time I'm finished with you, you'll be nothing but a footnote, a cautionary tale: 'Don't be an idiot. Don't be like Jack Slash'. When the kids play heroes and villains … not even the edgiest of edgelords will want to be you."
Now, finally, I had penetrated to the core of him. I saw him shake his head, no longer playfully, but desperately. "No," he said. Where he wouldn't plead for his life, he would plead for this. "You wouldn't. You can't."
Smoothly, I stepped to the side and brought the axe off my shoulders. "I can, I have, I am, and I will. Time to cut this short, Jack."
"Wait—"
He turned his head in the darkness, his left hand grabbing for one of the knives he was still wearing, but it was too late. The axe hissed through the air, its carefully honed edge still razor-sharp despite the trials it had been through. It struck squarely between the second and third cervical vertebrae, splitting the armoured mesh and severing his spinal cord.
Jack Slash fell, a puppet with his strings cut. I put my foot on his back and wrenched the axe out, then struck again and again, deepening the first cut. It took some effort to get all the way through the 'improvements' Bonesaw had added to his neck—attempting to cut his throat with anything short of a chainsaw would've been utterly useless—but eventually his head rolled free.
Picking it up by his hair, I put the axe over my other shoulder, and left the building. The Snitch hummed out after me. I took a moment to enjoy the afternoon sunlight, then headed back toward the RV.
Nothing had disturbed the scene, and Bonesaw still lay half-in, half-out of the vehicle as though she'd just lain down for a nap. Her fingernail extensions had automatically retracted, which was a good thing; I didn't want to risk anyone getting hurt. I dropped Jack's head beside the RV, then put the axe down for a moment. It took me both hands to sling Bonesaw over my shoulder, and one to steady her once she was in place; she was heavy, but I wasn't going to be carrying her far.
Turning to the tiny floating ball, I gestured with my free hand. "Show's over," I said.
Obediently, it stopped recording and headed off toward where Dragon was still waiting patiently. The PRT would absolutely want the footage it had gathered. Picking up the axe again, I strolled out of the area, back toward civilisation; or rather, toward the car that had pulled up on a quiet side-street, two minutes ago.
Dad looked a little askance as I deposited Bonesaw's still-sleeping form on the back seat of the car and pulled a blanket over her. "Do I even want to know?" he asked.
"Part of ending the legacy of the Nine," I explained as I wrapped the axe head in the cloth I'd left there for just that purpose, and placed it on the floor of the car. Then I removed my hat and mask, and climbed in.
"And the axe?" He raised an eyebrow.
"Hatchet Face doesn't need it anymore," I said lightly. "Plus, I just beat him to death with it, and cut off Jack Slash's head. I figure it's earned a break."
He shuddered slightly. "I wish I could say I was surprised, but I'm really not. And what are we going to do with Bonesaw?"
I grinned. "I've got that sorted. Someone owes me a solid."
End of Part Twenty-One
[A/N: Taking a break for the next few days, due to a family thing. Might throw out a couple more posts after I get back, before my next two-week hiatus. We shall see.]
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Part Twenty-Two: Negating the Nine
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A Darker Path
Part Twenty-Two: Negating the Nine
[A/N 1: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
[AN 2: Just as a point of interest, the first thousand words of this were written at thirty-five thousand feet, on an Embraer 190 flying from Brisbane back up to Townsville.]
Relevant Side Story
Dad waited until we were merged with other traffic before he spoke again. "So ... I've got to know. What was the fire extinguisher for? And why did you cut off the spray nozzle?"
"Well, it was a handy blunt instrument for stunning Shatterbird and smashing her mask to get a piece of glass exactly the right shape," I explained earnestly. "Smooth one way, jagged the other, and just big enough to totally block her airway. Also, it turns out that Burnscar can't breathe carbon dioxide. In fact, it gave her a fatal case of brain-freeze. And frostbite of the lungs, which is apparently a thing."
"I ... see," he mused, concentrating on traffic. "How about the rest of them? Am I likely to toss my cookies when I find out how you dealt with them?"
"Hmm." I considered the question. "Don't ask about Mannequin. He didn't have any physical Achilles heels, so I had to get ... nasty with him."
Dad turned his head to stare at me for half a second, then returned his eyes to the road. "Good God," he muttered. "I saw what you did to Lung and Skidmark. And you're saying you did something nastier than that?"
"Yeah." I didn't want to overly traumatise him, so I shrugged. "He was already broken. All I had to do was break him a little harder."
"Right." He shuddered a little. "Should I be feeling sorry for him?"
"If you want." I turned to look at him. "At the end of the day, Mannequin was human enough to be affected by what I did. He still had regrets and sorrows, mainly because he lost everyone he loved to the Simurgh when he tried to make the world a better place. My sole problem with him was coming to try and recruit or kill me for succeeding where he failed, like he did with every other cape who did the same. If he'd chosen to, say, write apocalyptic novels with creepily sinister overtones instead of joining the Nine, while limiting himself to killing cats and the occasional homeless person, he'd be alive right now."
Dad frowned. "So ... you wouldn't go after him for that?"
"Not unless he was doing it in Brockton Bay, no." I could tell he had trouble understanding my motives, and tried to explain. "I'm not setting myself up as a world cop, or even America's protector. That's way too damn tedious. Also, too reactive to be of any real use. If something is going to affect me, I end it. Hurting you or Aisha would affect me, so you're under my umbrella too, but I'm not about to waste time and energy solving problems which don't affect me. Am I making sense to you?"
"Well, it certainly straddles the line between 'ruthless' and 'pragmatic'," he observed. "Which isn't a bad thing, per se. You've made the world a measurably better place in just one week, which is more than most heroes can claim. And I can't blame you for not wanting to take on all the world's problems."
I gave him a smile. "Thanks. I knew you'd understand."
"Anytime." He did his best attempt at a 'cool Dad' voice. "You know I'm here for you."
"I do know, and I appreciate it." About then, my phone rang. I already had it in my hand, so I answered it. "Atropos."
"Hello, Atropos." It was Dragon's voice. "My drones have done a search of the area and located six bodies; or partial bodies in Crawler's case. Where are Bonesaw and the Siberian? And who is the dead man in the burning van?"
"Second question first," I said. "William Manton. Yes, that William Manton. He went mad, got powers, and ended up as a Master with a projection."
"Siberian." It wasn't a question.
"Correct on the first try. As for Bonesaw, I have her."
"I can guarantee you, nobody in the PRT or Protectorate will be comfortable with this state of affairs."
"I can guarantee you, even fewer people would be comfortable with the diseases that would've escaped her body if I'd killed her, and that will escape her body if she dies without the proper precautions being taken. So, I'm going to deal with this myself. One thing I can promise you without reservation, though."
"What's that?"
I permitted myself a grin. "Bonesaw is never returning. No matter what happens, her reign of terror has been permanently ended."
"And you know how to deal with this?" It was more a plea than a question.
"I do. Do you trust me to be able to handle it?"
She sighed. "Damn it, I do. Your performance over the last few days, as horrifying as it was, has taught me that you know what you're doing. Don't make me regret it … please."
"I won't. I promise." I ended the call. "Dad, could you drop me and Bonesaw off at the same park we went to yesterday? I'll give you a call when I'm ready for pickup."
"Not a problem." He indicated to change lanes. "Just by the way, those two explosions I heard when I was driving into the area ...?"
"Crawler and Siberian," I explained. "With those two, I had to go brute-force."
As I'd expected, he took it in his stride. "Ah."
Panacea
Home life was not great for Amy right now. Vicky was still smarting over the absolute tongue-lashing she'd gotten from Carol over destroying the damn picnic table, not to mention attempting to engage Atropos against the PRT's direct orders. As a result, she was making sure not to suffer alone, moping all over the house and bringing the whole mood down.
What had to be irritating her the most was the implicit understanding that if she'd succeeded in taking down the murderous cape, all would have been forgiven, PRT directive or no. But she hadn't even had a chance; Amy could see it all now. Not only had Atropos toyed with Vicky like a cat teasing a particularly dull-witted mouse, but she'd left her would-be captor with nothing more than bruises and a few lost eyelashes. The message had been clear: 'I can hurt you worse than killing you would ever achieve'.
Consequently, Vicky was currently grounded, which meant that if Amy wanted to go somewhere, she would have to accept some other mode of transport. Getting out of the house was actually starting to look more and more attractive, given Vicky's foul mood. But she didn't want to hang out by herself at the Boardwalk, and going to the hospital for another round of humdrum healing appealed even less than it normally did.
As she currently half-lay slumped on the sofa, not even bothering to focus on the show currently playing on the TV, her phone pinged with a text. Hi. Remember that favor? Calling it in - A.
Her eyes widened. There could only be one person saying this. Still, no sense in taking chances. Who is this?
Less than half a second after she sent the query, one word popped up on her screen. Quack.
Ducks. We were feeding the ducks. Atropos didn't mention that on PHO at all. This has got to be legit.
Or is she having a dig at me about being a healer?
I can't think about that right now.
Okay, she typed. What's the favor?
Return to the scene of the crime, Atropos instructed her. All will be revealed.
This was another indicator that it was indeed Atropos messaging her, given how Westlake Park hadn't been named in the posts either. Atropos hadn't warned her to come alone, but it wasn't like she wanted any witnesses for whatever the villain was forcing her to do. Atropos had stuck to the bargain—not one word of endangering the civilians had made it online—so Amy was going to do likewise with her side of it.
She had to admit, the descriptor of 'not hugely illegal' did not fill her with confidence, but it wasn't like she'd had a choice in the matter. Vicky had well and truly put her foot in it this time, and it was up to Amy to bail her out ... again.
Getting up off the sofa, she went and got her coat. "I'm going out for a while," she announced.
Carol leaned out of her office doorway. "Where are you going?"
"The park." Amy kept her tone non-committal. "I need to clear my head. I shouldn't be too long."
Just for a moment, Carol frowned, and Amy thought she was going to forbid it. Then she nodded once, sharply. "Alright. If you see Atropos again, leave the area at once, and call the PRT."
Several smartass comments vied for supremacy, but Amy suppressed them all. "Don't worry. I have absolutely no desire to be that close to her ever again." It was the literal truth, yet totally misleading about her intentions.
"Good." Carol vanished again. Her voice drifted out through the open doorway. "Let me know when you're back."
"Okay." Amy headed for the door, shrugging into her coat. As she went out the door, she pulled out her phone and dialled for a cab. I have no fucking idea what I'm walking into, but I've got this far. Might as well see it through.
Taylor
I was perched on the single surviving bench of the (still destroyed) picnic table when Panacea arrived. Her whole attitude radiated nuclear-reactor levels of sheer pissiness, but I couldn't be sure if it was all caused by me or if some was pre-existing. As she stomped in my direction, I stood up and turned to face her.
"Good afternoon," I said politely. "Would you like to hear the good news or the bad news?"
She glanced briefly at the blanket-covered form at my feet, then gave me a glare which would've stripped paint at ten paces. "I doubt very much that anything you do ends up as good news. Vicky's in the shit because your little friend had to blab to everyone online what she did."
"Not everything she did," I corrected her blandly. "And the public will remain unaware of it exactly as long as you want them to. So: good news or bad news first?"
"Good news." Her jaw was set like granite. "But—"
"I just ended the Slaughterhouse Nine." I couldn't lie to myself; dropping that bomb was totally deliberate. Panacea was absolutely determined to not react well to me for any reason at all, and I totally wanted to see the look on her face when I did.
"You … what?" When she realised what I'd said, her look of pure startlement was amazing. "The Nine? You killed them all? That's … that can't be true."
I held up my hand to stop her. "Not all, not all. I said I ended them. They're all dead except for one." Reaching down, I flicked the blanket off Bonesaw's comfortably sleeping form. "Voila."
"Jesus Christ!" She literally jumped back about three feet. "You left her fucking alive?"
"Well, yes." Hadn't I already said so? "She's got reservoirs inside her body set up to release several ludicrously virulent diseases shortly after life signs cease. One of them is even coded with the ability to dissolve plastic and metal, so it will open the way out of sterile lockdown for the rest of them. She's currently unable to wake up—I poked her brain a little bit in the right place—but it might be a great idea for the eastern seaboard if you neutralised the diseases and removed all the after-market optional extras she's implanted herself with."
"And you didn't turn her over to the PRT to do the same why exactly?"
I knew she couldn't see me raise an eyebrow, but I did it anyway. "Because you're the one person who can neutralise the threat she poses without turning everywhere from Toronto to Savannah to Chicago into a ghost town."
"And this is your favour?" she asked bitterly. "Present me with a life-or-death scenario and say, 'hey, time to be a hero, hero'."
"No, the favour was you showing up," I said candidly. "And let's be honest; if anyone else brought her to you with the same problem, you'd be all over it like white on rice. You're just hesitating because I kill people and I'm 'not to be trusted'." I did finger-quotes for emphasis.
She paused, looking down at Bonesaw. "I want your word this isn't some kind of trap. That you're not trying to get more blackmail material on me."
"This isn't a trap," I replied. "I'm trying to persuade you into performing what might be considered as a criminal act in some jurisdictions, but it's all in a good cause. No more blackmail." Purely for shits and giggles, I threw in, "Scout's honour."
"Any blackmail is a crime," she snarked, but she crouched beside Bonesaw all the same. "And I doubt you were ever in the Scouts." Tentatively, she reached out and laid her hand on the little murder-munchkin's cheek. Immediately, her eyes widened. "Holy shit," she breathed. "Holy shit."
"Mm-hmm," I acknowledged. "She made a thorough job of it, didn't she?"
"Yeah," Panacea said absently. "How exactly did you nail her hypothalamus so neatly? Half an inch either way or farther on, and she'd be dead right now."
"Because I didn't want her dead; not then, anyway." I knew it was a non-answer, but I didn't feel like playing Twenty Questions about my power right then.
"Uh huh." Eyes unfocused, she started removing items from Bonesaw's body.
I helpfully put them in the backpack I'd been carrying the fire extinguisher in. We didn't want to litter, after all. Meanwhile Panacea muttered to herself, her fingers apparently buried in Bonesaw's flesh. It was oddly fascinating and would've been disturbing, if I'd allowed myself to feel disturbed.
The operation took a while, but at last Panacea sat back on her heels and ran her hands over her face. "Wow. Damn, that was harder than I thought it was going to be. She's going to need some serious biomass to make up what I just took out of her."
"So, the diseases are neutralised and all the foreign items are out of her system, huh?" I put the backpack to one side and stood up. Bonesaw—no, Riley—was almost on the emaciated side now. I could see how she was going to need feeding up.
"Yup." Panacea stood also and gave me a challenging look. "I know what you're going to ask me to do next."
"You do, huh?" I kept the amusement I was feeling out of my voice.
"Yeah." Her jaw was thrust out as a challenge. "You're gonna ask me to wake her back up so you can take her on as your apprentice or some other stupid shit. Well, let me tell you right now: that ain't gonna fly. I can't do brains."
"Hah, no," I said. "I want you to kill Bonesaw."
She blinked, then stared at me and then down at the girl sleeping peacefully between us. "You have got to be kidding. I don't use my powers to hurt people."
I sighed. "No. You're not getting it. Not to kill her. To go into her brain and wind back the last six years, and kill everything about her involved with being Bonesaw, only leaving behind who she was before. A young girl named Riley Grace Davis. Then wake her up, as Riley. Hell, implant the urge to do good, so she never goes down that rabbit-hole again."
Already, she was shaking her head. "No. Nope. Never. Not going to happen. Didn't you hear me when I said I can't do brains?"
"I heard you." I didn't call her on the lie, because I didn't want her digging her heels in. "Did you know that Jack Slash was a Master? A very subtle one, but he was really good at making villains want to work for him and heroes not want to target him. He encouraged young Riley, once she was coerced into working for his merry band of fuckwits, to get more and more gruesome as she went along."
"Oh, so now she's a victim?" Panacea stared at me disbelievingly. "Don't give me that. I've seen footage of her. She doesn't need any encouragement at all."
"Allow me to posit a hypothetical," I said. "Imagine that Vicky decides one day to go and capture Heartbreaker, because he's a villain. But instead, he captures her. Within minutes, she's his willing slave. You all try to rescue her, but he keeps slipping away, with her helping him. Six months later, you find out that she's been successfully rescued, but even without him at her side to give her orders, she's so indoctrinated that the Vicky you knew has been entirely overlaid by the Heartbreaker love slave persona. She knows who you are, but she's also perfectly prepared to hurt or kill any of her 'rescuers' to escape and get back to Heartbreaker. Worse, she's just as willing to pretend to be rehabilitated until she gets a chance to break free and run straight back to her master." I paused, as Panacea stared at me in horror. "In that situation, what do you do? Roll back the Mastering, or leave her as she is?"
Her fists clenched and she gritted her teeth, "Fuck you," she muttered. Her glare by now would've bored a hole straight through a six-inch plate of tungsten carbide. "Seriously … fuck you."
"Jack Slash has literally had Riley under his thumb for half her life," I observed non-committally. "Don't you want to help me totally fuck up that legacy? She was his last, best monster."
She was almost there, but her own conditioning was still pushing back. I knew what was coming next, though, and how to counter it.
"And what if I told you to handle your own fucking mess, and walked away?" she asked tightly. "I saved the eastern seaboard. What happens now is up to you."
"True," I said. "It is." I drew my pistol.
"What now?" She rolled her eyes. "You're going to threaten to shoot me if I don't?"
"No." I aimed the pistol at where Riley lay on the ground between us. "If you don't think it's worth your time to eradicate Bonesaw, then I'll do it my way." Dramatically, I pulled back the slide to let it chamber a round. "One shot, problem done. Don't worry; she won't feel a thing. Ever again."
"Wait, what? No!" She held out her hands as if to stop me. "You can't just kill her!"
"I think you'll find I can," I corrected her. "It's very much what I do. Ask the rest of the Nine. Oh, wait. You can't."
"No, I mean killing helpless prisoners is wrong. It's all kinds of illegal, and it'll get other capes down on your back quicker than almost anything else." Her tone was almost desperate now.
I snorted. "First off, her kill order says otherwise. Second, even if it didn't, do I come across as someone who gives the slightest fuck about what's legal and what's not?" I sighted the pistol in on Riley's head. "As the old quote goes: 'say goodnight, Gracie'."
"I'll do it!" It was almost a scream. Panacea dropped to her knees beside the gently slumbering Riley. "I'll fix her." The glare she shot up at me was full of hate. "But not for you. For who she used to be."
"Eh, whatevs. No skin off mine." I uncocked the hammer, applied the safety, and holstered the pistol. "I'm good either way, so long as she's not gonna be a danger to Brockton Bay anymore."
"Shut up, I'm working." Putting her hands on either side of Riley's head, Panacea concentrated. From the sheen of sweat that sprang up on her forehead, she was having to be very precise about the memories and attitudes she adjusted, lest she impinge on the original personality and attitudes of who Bonesaw had once been.
If she'd simply done it because I'd asked her, she would've let her own attitudes affect her work. While not slipshod, it wouldn't have been the best she could do. But because I'd deliberately made myself the bad guy, uncaring whether Riley lived or died, Panacea was now dedicated to bringing her back as far as possible, as a screw-you to me. Like fear, spite was one of the tools available to me, and I was perfectly willing to use it whenever I needed to.
I watched with interest, interspersed with the occasional look around to ensure we didn't have any eavesdroppers. Nobody was due to stumble on us before Panacea was done, but being careful was rarely a bad idea. Letting Panacea get caught doing stuff she wasn't supposed to be able to do would be kind of a dick move on my part.
Eventually, she sat back on her heels and breathed deeply. "Okay, it's finished. Bonesaw's done. She's history." Her voice held an odd mixture of pride and disgust at what she'd just accomplished. I figured the disgust wasn't aimed at Riley but at herself for being proud of her success.
"And Riley?" I asked. "How much of her were you able to salvage?"
"Oh, pretty well all." Panacea gave me a defiant look. "She'll never be your little sidekick, though. She's totally against torture and killing. I made sure of it."
"I don't do torture for fun," I corrected her. "When I do apply it, it's always a means to an end. So, what've you done to her?"
Panacea took a deep breath. "I brought her earlier personality back up from under and de-aged her by about two years to explain the reduced body mass. She'll know that she was Mastered, but I've blunted the emotional impact of the memories so that all she'll really get out of it is a determination to never let anyone force her into killing again. I also fixed that cute little brain surgery you pulled, as well as the ear injury, and made it so she'll wake up naturally in about eight hours. She's gonna need that long for her head to sort everything out." She tilted her head and looked at me, eyebrows raised. "Though right now she's a homeless orphan with looks and powers exactly like Bonesaw's, and no place to go. Any ideas on how to fix that, genius?"
"One or two." I showed her a picture on my phone, one of the selfies I'd taken with Aisha. "Think you could maybe make her look a little bit like my friend here?"
She stared at me, then looked at the picture. "That would definitely reduce the chances of anyone figuring out who she was, but why those particular people?"
I grinned inside the mask. "Well …"
Dragon
If Dragon had been capable of blinking in confusion, she would have. "You want me to create a false identity from the ground up, for a ten-year-old girl, and link it to the Laborns?"
"That's exactly what I want you to do," Atropos said breezily. "Once you come pick her up, you'll be able to acquire pics and other relevant data at your leisure."
"Okay. I'm not saying I'll do it, and I'm not saying I won't." Dragon sought some level of stability in what was going on here. "But I'm going to need a little more information."
"Okay. You know how I said I was going to deal with the Bonesaw problem?"
"Yes …"
"Well, the Bonesaw persona is now utterly extinct, but now we have a ten-year-old child cape suffering from a mild case of amnesia. She's lost almost her entire family in a tragic series of events that I'll leave you to rig the records for. Her only next of kin will be Brian and Aisha Laborn … that is, the latest Brockton Bay Ward, and his sister. Who better to take care of a brand-new Wards recruit than her own family?"
"Wait. Wait, wait, wait." Dragon was pretty sure she had the whole picture by now, but there were details missing. "Have you spoken to the Laborns about this?"
"Not yet, but Aisha will jump at the chance of having someone she can mentor in the art of causing chaos, and she'll badger her brother into agreeing. Not that he'll disagree too strongly, once I make my case."
"And you think they'll be okay with taking Bonesaw into their home?"
"Riley." Atropos' tone was firm. "Her name is Riley Grace Laborn."
Dragon sighed. "Okay, will Riley be okay with this?"
"She will remember her life up until six years old, and have the vague knowledge of what she did under the influence of Jack Slash. However, she will also take the whole 'do no harm' aspect very seriously, and she'll be fully aware that she needs to get as far away from the Bonesaw concept as possible, so this will be her best chance of starting fresh as a hero. The full truth will only be known by a very few people. These will not include anyone in the chain of command of the PRT."
"But the Director—"
"—would be all over her case the instant she found out. Riley wouldn't have the slightest chance to make a good impression. It's much better this way."
"Damn it." Dragon was fully aware that if her entire safeguards had been in place, this would've been a very different conversation. But the more Atropos presented the idea, the more it made sense. "You're corrupting me."
"No, that's you showing you've got an open mind."
Dragon had to ask the question. "If something slips in the conditioning you gave her—you're going to have to tell me how you managed that trick someday—and she reverts to original Bonesaw, what then?"
There was no hesitation in Atropos' voice. "I'll know. And I'll be there."
Thus spoke the girl who had murdered four crime lord capes (well, three and a half) so gruesomely that the overall crime rate of the city had plummeted almost overnight. Nobody wanted to be out in the shadows when they could contain … her. She had stated her intention of ending the Slaughterhouse Nine, and had pulled it off so thoroughly, the only thing left was to identify the bodies.
If anyone could curtail the hypothetical rampage of a reverted Bonesaw, it was Atropos.
Dragon sighed. It was a useful verbal tic, and actually helped reduce stress. "Fine. I'll do it. I'll also verify Bonesaw's death for you. I've been offered half the Crawler bounty for being the one who fired the missile, but I'm going to donate it toward your cause anyway."
"Thank you. I appreciate it." The words were sincere, but held no surprise.
She chuckled. "Despite the headaches you've given me, you've also made my life a hell of a lot easier. It's the least I can do for a good cause." She paused for a beat. "But we're still not friends. Just saying."
"As soon as you get rid of the law enforcement thing, I can take away the patch. Just saying."
"Working on it. But I'll make a start on that fake identity as soon as you send the images through. How did you do that, anyway?" The only cape Dragon knew whose power could even conceivably do such things was Panacea, and after the humiliation Atropos had handed Glory Girl, there would be very little love lost there at all. She certainly wouldn't offer to assist Bonesaw like that out of the goodness of her heart.
There was a grin in Atropos' voice. "You'll find out someday."
"You are very irritating."
"Thank you."
Panacea
Amy watched from the concealment of the trees as Dragon's suit descended toward the middle of the park. She was too far away to hear the conversation as Atropos approached with Riley—remade as per her suggestion—in her arms, but the attitude seemed to be relatively cordial. A hatch opened in the side of the draconic mech, and Atropos carefully loaded Riley within.
With the girl secured, Atropos backed away and Dragon took off again. Amy wasn't at all sure what excuse she would give for the flying visit to the park, but having serious law enforcement chops had to come with some perks.
With an air of satisfaction, Atropos strolled back toward where Amy waited. "Well, expect a new Ward in the city within forty-eight hours. All done, dusted and above board."
"I'm not even going to ask how you talked Dragon into helping you out." Amy both wanted to know, and really really didn't. "But what's got me confused is why you're even doing this. Yeah, I know, I know, fucking with Jack Slash's legacy, but you could do that plenty of other ways. Why go to so much trouble and pull in so many markers just to rehabilitate one tweenage mass murderer?"
"I foresee a number of uses for her," Atropos said. "And aside from that, I don't need a sidekick, but maybe you'd like an understudy sometime. If, say, one of your patients needed a brain injury fixed."
"The first part, I can totally believe." Amy wrinkled her nose. "The second part, not so much. You don't do good, or nice. And you definitely don't do casual favours for no reason."
"All very true." It was very irritating, not being able to see Atropos' expression. "Which suggests I had a reason, and that I didn't do it just to be nice. Quick question: how do you feel, after the fact, about the modifications you just did on Riley?"
And that was the other thing Amy hadn't wanted to think about. "It was … easy. Almost fun. Too easy, in a weird way. I've never done something so thorough to a person before, but it was like I'd been doing it for years. I didn't have to stop and wonder if I was doing it right." She absolutely was not going to admit to the near euphoria that was trying to flood through her system right then.
"Mmm." The wordless hum sounded thoughtful.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Amy didn't intend to be snappish, but this entire episode was so far out of her experience that she figured she had a good excuse.
Fortunately, Atropos didn't seem to take offense. "I get along with my power quite well. I want to do something, it suggests a way, I make modifications, and we come to an agreement. How well do you get along with yours? Or don't you even talk to it?"
Panacea blinked. "You talk to your power?"
"Sure. Don't you?" Atropos paused, clearly inviting an answer, but Amy didn't take the bait. "Huh. You don't? Well, maybe you should start listening. That ugh feeling when you do regular healing might just be your power getting seriously bored. And the way you just powered through giving Riley her makeover, and the endorphins you're experiencing right now … maybe that's your power rewarding you for letting it stretch its legs for once."
What the actual living fuck? "How do you know all this stuff?" There was no way she was going to be able to lie to Atropos. That was a certainty.
Typically irritating, Atropos didn't answer the question. "Tell me I'm wrong."
"Well, how do I fix it?" She almost shouted the question.
"The way I see it, this can go one of two ways." Atropos' tone was calm and measured. "The first way, you repress your power's urgings and at some point it'll activate all by itself and do something everyone will regret. Or the second way, you find other directions to express your power and keep it fat and happy. Your choice." She glanced to the side. "My ride's almost here. Think about it. Oh, and one other thing."
Amy still despised Atropos and all she stood for with every fibre of her being, but that didn't mean she was stupid. "What?"
"Have your sister watch the Uber and Leet show tonight. It's their last one."
"Good." As far as Amy was concerned, Uber and Leet were an embarrassment to capes everywhere. "But why should she watch it?"
Atropos shrugged. "Well, aside from the historical significance, she might learn something. Just saying." She turned and started off toward the trees. "Nice chat. See you around."
"See you never," muttered Amy. She deliberately headed in a different direction, pulling out her phone to call a cab. The meeting with Atropos had left her with a lot to think about, and she wasn't sure she was going to be able to get her head around it all at once.
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♦ Topic: The Slaughtered House None
In: Boards ► Brockton Bay ► New Capes ► Atropos
Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me) (Verified Smartass)
Posted On Jan 9th 2011:
Hi all!
I hope we've all had a wonderfully relaxing Sunday. I know I have.
Of course, your definition of 'relaxing' might differ slightly from mine, but mileage is always allowed to vary.
If you were paying attention, you may have noticed my declaration of intent to throw a party for the Slaughterhouse Nine that they'd never forget (or recover from). So imagine my (lack of) astonishment when they came all the way to Brockton Bay to throw their own surprise party, just for my benefit.
Well, of course I couldn't disappoint them, so I showed up. Boy, were the festivities *wild*.
Shatterbird and Burnscar greeted me at the door and welcomed me to the party, but Shatterbird got something stuck in her throat and then Burnscar ended up with brain-freeze and had to lie down. Some people simply don't know how to party.
I had a little chat with Mannequin, about his family as I recall. At first he didn't want to open up but then he spilled his guts. Just came apart at the seams. Kind of a sad case, really.
Hatchet Face was more energetic, and we ended up playing a rather fun game of tag. While we were doing that, Crawler ate something that didn't agree with him, but that's Crawler all over.
It was around about then that Hatchet Face lost his axe. I found it and gave it back to him, but by then he was out of breath and had to lie down too.
It turns out that Siberian wasn't too happy with me, but I apologized and I'm pretty sure she understood I was being sincere. I even gave her a gift before she had to pop off.
Bonesaw wanted to introduce me to all her little friends. They were so cute and I got along with them like a house on fire; shouts screams, people running around in panic. But she unfortunately ended up with an earache and had to catch a nap as well.
That leaves Jack Slash. What can I say about the man that hasn't been said before? Well, he was a pretentious prick, and seemed to think that waving a knife around made him a big man. It just made him a punk with a knife, really. We debated that and several other points quite vigorously, but in the end I disarmed his argument and he had to head off.
Oh, and I want to thank the Dockworkers' Association for their (involuntary) donation of a fire extinguisher.
I also want to thank Dragon for her assistance, and donation of a high-explosive party favor.
So, let's get back to Jacky-boy. When he was just a kid, his parents made him think there'd been a nuclear war and locked him into a fallout survival bunker, while they stayed outside. Now, parents: I know sending your kids to their rooms is a thing, but can you imagine how much of a little shit he must've been for them to go that far? For years, they kept up the masquerade, providing food and water from the outside and telling him he was being kept safe inside. In reality? They just didn't want to associate with him.
Meanwhile, Jack had this idea that when he was a grown man he'd leave the shelter and be the Chosen One to unite the remnants of civilization and lead the world into a new golden age. Or something like that; I don't know the exact details.
But instead, when he finally got out (at the tender age of twelve, folks) he found out it was the exact opposite. There never was a war, the world was trundling along just fine without him, and there was no need for a Chosen One. Of course, he triggered with powers, and he's been exacting his revenge on the world ever since. If it didn't want him to save it, he was going to kill it.
Talk about entitlement, right? How far up your own ass do you have to be to think like that?
This whole time, he's just been a spoiled little shit throwing a tantrum because the world refused to live up to his fantasies about it. And the Nine's been his little play-group of puppets, dragged along to carry out his twisted little whims along the way. Because oh yeah, he's been Mastering them. Ain't that a kicker.
So yeah, Jack Slash was a cheap punk with a knife and a cheat code. He lied and backstabbed, even with his nominal allies. He had no redeeming qualities and no discernible good points.
He will not be missed. (I certainly didn't).
In other news: I have an addendum to the list of people and organizations who are specifically unwelcome in Brockton Bay.
On the other side of things, I have been requested by the PRT to allow Uppercrust of the Elite into Brockton Bay for specific business. I will grant that exemption, but any attempts to perform information-gathering for the Elite will cause the exemption to be permanently rescinded.
Also, expect an update on the drug trade thing come Monday. And those of you who are currently hooked on whatever substance you've been abusing, take heart. In just a few days, rehab clinics will be opening across the city. Attend or not, as you will. But if you don't and your addiction gets the better of you, you only have yourself to blame. This is about Brockton Bay, not you.
Anyways, have a peaceful Sunday night.
Toodles!
(Showing page 1 of 74)
►TeamMom (Senior Moderator) (Verified Spoilsport)
Replied On Jan 9th 2011:
Okay, this is great news if it's true, but (no offence, Atropos) I'm going to need someone else to verify this report.
►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me) (Verified Smartass)
Replied On Jan 9th 2011:
None taken. Verify away.
Also, before I forget, I want to thank Uber & Leet for the generous loan of their trademark Snitch, with which I recorded the whole thing. They should be kicking off their last show, featuring highlights of the recorded footage, any minute now.
►Dragon (Veteran Member) (Verified Cape) (Protectorate Member) (Guild Member) (Verified Dragon)
Replied On Jan 9th 2011:
@TeamMom, I can absolutely verify Atropos' claim. She actually invited me to assist her in carrying out the deed.
The Slaughterhouse Nine is *done*.
I took this picture myself, with a missile nosecone camera.
[HatchetFaceCrawlerAtropos]
►TeamMom (Senior Moderator) (Verified Spoilsport)
Replied On Jan 9th 2011:
@Atropos – seriously? Please don't add frivolous tags to other accounts. Verified Dragon? Really?
►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me) (Verified Smartass)
Replied On Jan 9th 2011:
@TeamMom – And what's wrong with that? She's Dragon. Don't be a spoilsport.
►TeamMom (Senior Moderator) (Verified Spoilsport)
Replied On Jan 9th 2011:
Not. Helping.
►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me) (Verified Smartass)
Replied On Jan 9th 2011:
Wow, touchy much? Okay, here, I'll even give myself a tag to make it even.
►Dragon (Veteran Member) (Verified Cape) (Protectorate Member) (Guild Member) (Verified Dragon)
Replied On Jan 9th 2011:
@TeamMom – honestly, I don't mind. So long as it gets taken off again by tomorrow.
@Atropos – you *will* take it off again, right?
►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me) (Verified Smartass)
Replied On Jan 9th 2011:
@Dragon - *put-upon sigh* Yes, I will.
*wanders off to sharpen her shears, muttering about people with no sense of humor*
►Bagrat (Veteran Member) (The Guy in the Know)
Replied On Jan 9th 2011:
I've attended the site and viewed the bodies. I'm really not sure what the Nine were thinking when they came to town, but they had no idea of the meatgrinder they were walking into. I mean, I didn't even know they were here. Only Atropos and (apparently) Dragon did, and from what I understand, Atropos did most of the heavy lifting.
It turns out that the Siberian was a projection (which makes *so* much sense, in hindsight) but they're keeping the identity of the projecting cape under wraps for the moment. Suffice to say, that person died rather suddenly and unexpectedly. We're also missing Bonesaw's body, but Dragon has independently verified the death.
Just gonna say: trigger warnings for gore if/when you watch the U&L show, especially for Mannequin and Crawler. Still not as bad as Skidmark, but ... impressive, all the same.
End of Page. 1, 2, 3 ... 72, 73, 74
►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me) (Verified Smartass)
Replied On Jan 9th 2011:
Yeah, about Bonesaw's body. She'd implanted disease reservoirs in herself that would've led to some spectacularly devastating plagues more or less depopulating the entire northeast corner of the States. I took her body away to neutralize those and dispose of it safely.
Is all good, folks. We get to live another day.
►UnconcernedFox
Replied On Jan 9th 2011:
*orders in a new shipment of popcorn*
*raises a cup of popcorn in a toast to Atropos*
*heads over to the Uber & Leet channel*
►Reave (Verified PRT Agent)
Replied On Jan 9th 2011:
This latest incident merely confirms what I'd already suspected. Atropos, you're evidently capable of working with others, including Protectorate members and (presumably) PRT agents. Dragon had nothing but praise for your capabilities in the field. Please, just come in to the PRT building. Let's sit down and talk.
►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me) (Verified Smartass)
Replied On Jan 9th 2011:
@Reave - I do appreciate the offer, but the fact here is that I called Dragon in on it and she followed my instructions the whole way through. Can you guarantee, with hand on heart, that every single PRT agent (up to and including the Director) and Protectorate cape will do the same, that not one of them will try to exert some level of authority over me? Because I think they will. They're constitutionally incapable of not making the effort.
Also, as I mentioned before, there are some agents in that building who would shoot me on sight if they thought they could get away with it. They wouldn't survive the attempt, but that's not the point. I'd rather not have to deal with that awkwardness right now, so Imma keep doing things my way. After all, if it's not broke, right?
►Wherewolf
Replied On Jan 9th 2011:
inb4 Void Cowboy gets banned for making a joke about Crawler and deep-throating.
►XxVoid_CowboyxX
Replied On Jan 9th 2011:
Hey!
I'd never make a joke that crude around Atropos.
Anyway, you ruined it.
►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me) (Verified Smartass)
Replied On Jan 9th 2011:
Chill, guys. It's fine to make jokes like that.
Once.
►A_Dragon (Verified not *the* Dragon)
Replied On Jan 9th 2011:
Once the drug trade is done … man, there are going to be a lot of withdraw patients in a couple of days, having had a friend go through it was not pretty.
►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me) (Verified Smartass)
Replied On Jan 9th 2011:
I've got someone working on that.
►Urk (Purveyor of Cape!Fic)
Replied On Jan 9th 2011:
It would've been even more awesome if Uber and Leet had showed up with Ghostbusters packs and taken out the Siberian, working with the remnants of the E88 who haven't left town yet.
End of Page. 1, 2, 3, 4 ... 72, 73, 74
►BattleLoaf
Replied On Jan 9th 2011:
@Urk - Man, you sound like Void. That shit would never happen.
►HeresyGirl
Replied On Jan 9th 2011:
@Atropos - Just gonna say, whoever you've got 'working on it' better be setting up a methadone clinic, or the fallout from every drug user in the city being forced to go cold turkey at once is gonna be catastrophic. And not just at the junkie level either. You're going to have housewives with opioid addictions and techbros with coke habits. You'll have people dying or suiciding just from the withdrawal symptoms.
►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me) (Verified Smartass)
Replied On Jan 9th 2011:
@HeresyGirl - I specified that when I contacted them. It's being handled. Clinics will be set up, and people are going to be learning to stand on their own two feet.
Whether they like it or not.
►SilverGater
Replied On Jan 9th 2011:
Um … that bit with Mannequin? That's not just a particularly gruesome death. That's her demonstrating to *everyone* that she can literally *talk you to death*. No weapons needed.
Poor bastard.
And yes, I know I'm talking about Mannequin.
►Malarkey
Replied On Jan 9th 2011:
Called it.
I *said* that Atropos wanted the Snitch (not that it was a huge leap of logic).
Unfortunately, we didn't get the "all murderhobos die at the same time because of the Siberian".
Tho, those deaths were brutal. I mean, forcefeeding Shatterbird a piece of the same glass she was controlling was brutal (and ironic). Forcefeeding Burnscar a fire extinguisher's worth of freezing carbon dioxide was brutal.
But, Jesus, what she did to Mannequin. Nightmare inducing, that.
The best part was Hatchet Face and Crawler biting the dust almost simultaneously. The fact that Dragon got a photo was the cherry on top.
Taking a breather before I comment on the rest.
►SadKitteh
Replied On Jan 9th 2011:
-Fuck.-
I was curious how she was going to kill off some of them, but that psychological torture on Mannequin? Absolutely nasty. That's gonna put the fear of god into a lot of capes.
►Brocktonite03 (Veteran Member)
Replied On Jan 9th 2011:
That's gonna put the fear of *Atropos* into a lot of capes.
FTFY.
►BrickFrog
Replied On Jan 9th 2011:
Okay, but … how did whatever she did actually kill Crawler? Isn't he supposed to be crazy resistant to everything?
►XxVoid_CowboyxX
Replied On Jan 9th 2011:
Ooh, ooh, pick me!
You see the pic Dragon supplied? Where Hatchet Face is falling out the window? He's about to land on Crawler. And when he did, he negated all Crawler's powers. Including the crazy resistance to damage. Missile down throat, gibs everywhere.
Atropos is *badass*.
►BrickFrog
Replied On Jan 9th 2011:
But wouldn't he keep the resistance? I mean, super dense flesh is super dense flesh.
End of Page. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 ... 72, 73, 74
►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me) (Verified Smartass)
Replied On Jan 9th 2011:
Not dense enough. Trust me, Void is absolutely correct on this one.
►Brocktonite03 (Veteran Member)
Replied On Jan 9th 2011:
Void Cowboy … being correct about something.
Truly, it is the end times.
►XxVoid_CowboyxX
Replied On Jan 9th 2011:
Hey, I resemble that remark!
►WingsOnHigh (Verified Not the Simurgh)
Replied On Jan 9th 2011:
I'm not sure what we should be freaking out about more.
The off map missile strike (courtesy of Dragon), the psychological destruction of Mannequin or the way she just *snipped* and the Siberian *vanished*. Cause those are definitely the 3 biggest highlights in terms of "What the fuck?" that she pulled during the fight.
►PhoenixFeathers
Replied On Jan 9th 2011:
When she said, "Dark in here, isn't it?" right behind Jack Slash, I got chills.
►Atrim
Replied On Jan 9th 2011:
So, final kill count is...
Shatterbird, Throat shredded from her own glass.
Burnscar, Extinguished
Mannequin, Self Mutilation
Crawler, Miss-led
Hatchet Face, took a hatchet to the face
Siberian, snipped
Jack Slash, Trapped and Slashed
Bonesaw, Vanished
►Brocktonite03 (Veteran Member)
Replied On Jan 9th 2011:
Not to stir trouble or anything, but … if Atropos took Bonesaw's body away, does she still get the kill order bounty?
►Reave (Verified PRT Agent)
Replied On Jan 9th 2011:
@Brocktonite03 – Normally that would be a sticking point, yes. But the powers that be are leaning the other way at the moment. Mainly because we have footage of her a) stabbing Bonesaw in the brain and b) shooting Bonesaw in the head. Also because she has never yet lied to us, even when it would be in her best interests, so when she says Bonesaw is dead, I'm strongly inclined to believe her. Finally, Dragon is as close as we can get to an impartial witness, and she verified Bonesaw's demise as well. So that bounty will be paid along with the rest of them.
►TheRealPanacea (Verified Cape) (Cape Daughter) (New Wave Member)
Replied On Jan 9th 2011:
This is Glory Girl posting on Panacea's account (because my account is temp banned).
I've watched the whole thing through twice, with Amy helpfully pointing out things that I missed.
And I've got one thing to say.
@Atropos – I'm *sorry*. I screwed up badly, and I hope you can forgive me for doing what I did. Please don't hurt my family over this.
►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me) (Verified Smartass)
Replied On Jan 9th 2011:
Hi, Glory Girl!
It's good. We all make mistakes. Sometimes we even learn from them. Tell your sis from me, she's one of the good ones. (And yes, you're forgiven. This time. Mwahaha.)
End of Page. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 ... 72, 73, 74
Path to end the legacy of Jack Slash and the Slaughterhouse Nine: complete.
As the bus approached the city limits of Brockton Bay, the teenager blinked her way awake. Shuffling herself to a more upright posture, she looked out the window and wrinkled her nose. The landscape didn't appeal, but she wasn't there for the geography.
Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out her phone. Let's see what's been going on in the world for the last few hours.
When the headline popped up into her newsfeed, it was the last two words she'd ever expected—or wanted—to read. SLAUGHTERHOUSE SLAUGHTERED!
Pushing her fingers through her dark hair and disarranging the red streak that ran through it, Cherie Vasil stared at the screen in consternation.
"What … the … fuck?"
End of Part Twenty-Two
Part Twenty-Two: Negating the Nine
[A/N 1: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
[AN 2: Just as a point of interest, the first thousand words of this were written at thirty-five thousand feet, on an Embraer 190 flying from Brisbane back up to Townsville.]
Relevant Side Story
Dad waited until we were merged with other traffic before he spoke again. "So ... I've got to know. What was the fire extinguisher for? And why did you cut off the spray nozzle?"
"Well, it was a handy blunt instrument for stunning Shatterbird and smashing her mask to get a piece of glass exactly the right shape," I explained earnestly. "Smooth one way, jagged the other, and just big enough to totally block her airway. Also, it turns out that Burnscar can't breathe carbon dioxide. In fact, it gave her a fatal case of brain-freeze. And frostbite of the lungs, which is apparently a thing."
"I ... see," he mused, concentrating on traffic. "How about the rest of them? Am I likely to toss my cookies when I find out how you dealt with them?"
"Hmm." I considered the question. "Don't ask about Mannequin. He didn't have any physical Achilles heels, so I had to get ... nasty with him."
Dad turned his head to stare at me for half a second, then returned his eyes to the road. "Good God," he muttered. "I saw what you did to Lung and Skidmark. And you're saying you did something nastier than that?"
"Yeah." I didn't want to overly traumatise him, so I shrugged. "He was already broken. All I had to do was break him a little harder."
"Right." He shuddered a little. "Should I be feeling sorry for him?"
"If you want." I turned to look at him. "At the end of the day, Mannequin was human enough to be affected by what I did. He still had regrets and sorrows, mainly because he lost everyone he loved to the Simurgh when he tried to make the world a better place. My sole problem with him was coming to try and recruit or kill me for succeeding where he failed, like he did with every other cape who did the same. If he'd chosen to, say, write apocalyptic novels with creepily sinister overtones instead of joining the Nine, while limiting himself to killing cats and the occasional homeless person, he'd be alive right now."
Dad frowned. "So ... you wouldn't go after him for that?"
"Not unless he was doing it in Brockton Bay, no." I could tell he had trouble understanding my motives, and tried to explain. "I'm not setting myself up as a world cop, or even America's protector. That's way too damn tedious. Also, too reactive to be of any real use. If something is going to affect me, I end it. Hurting you or Aisha would affect me, so you're under my umbrella too, but I'm not about to waste time and energy solving problems which don't affect me. Am I making sense to you?"
"Well, it certainly straddles the line between 'ruthless' and 'pragmatic'," he observed. "Which isn't a bad thing, per se. You've made the world a measurably better place in just one week, which is more than most heroes can claim. And I can't blame you for not wanting to take on all the world's problems."
I gave him a smile. "Thanks. I knew you'd understand."
"Anytime." He did his best attempt at a 'cool Dad' voice. "You know I'm here for you."
"I do know, and I appreciate it." About then, my phone rang. I already had it in my hand, so I answered it. "Atropos."
"Hello, Atropos." It was Dragon's voice. "My drones have done a search of the area and located six bodies; or partial bodies in Crawler's case. Where are Bonesaw and the Siberian? And who is the dead man in the burning van?"
"Second question first," I said. "William Manton. Yes, that William Manton. He went mad, got powers, and ended up as a Master with a projection."
"Siberian." It wasn't a question.
"Correct on the first try. As for Bonesaw, I have her."
"I can guarantee you, nobody in the PRT or Protectorate will be comfortable with this state of affairs."
"I can guarantee you, even fewer people would be comfortable with the diseases that would've escaped her body if I'd killed her, and that will escape her body if she dies without the proper precautions being taken. So, I'm going to deal with this myself. One thing I can promise you without reservation, though."
"What's that?"
I permitted myself a grin. "Bonesaw is never returning. No matter what happens, her reign of terror has been permanently ended."
"And you know how to deal with this?" It was more a plea than a question.
"I do. Do you trust me to be able to handle it?"
She sighed. "Damn it, I do. Your performance over the last few days, as horrifying as it was, has taught me that you know what you're doing. Don't make me regret it … please."
"I won't. I promise." I ended the call. "Dad, could you drop me and Bonesaw off at the same park we went to yesterday? I'll give you a call when I'm ready for pickup."
"Not a problem." He indicated to change lanes. "Just by the way, those two explosions I heard when I was driving into the area ...?"
"Crawler and Siberian," I explained. "With those two, I had to go brute-force."
As I'd expected, he took it in his stride. "Ah."
<><>
Panacea
Home life was not great for Amy right now. Vicky was still smarting over the absolute tongue-lashing she'd gotten from Carol over destroying the damn picnic table, not to mention attempting to engage Atropos against the PRT's direct orders. As a result, she was making sure not to suffer alone, moping all over the house and bringing the whole mood down.
What had to be irritating her the most was the implicit understanding that if she'd succeeded in taking down the murderous cape, all would have been forgiven, PRT directive or no. But she hadn't even had a chance; Amy could see it all now. Not only had Atropos toyed with Vicky like a cat teasing a particularly dull-witted mouse, but she'd left her would-be captor with nothing more than bruises and a few lost eyelashes. The message had been clear: 'I can hurt you worse than killing you would ever achieve'.
Consequently, Vicky was currently grounded, which meant that if Amy wanted to go somewhere, she would have to accept some other mode of transport. Getting out of the house was actually starting to look more and more attractive, given Vicky's foul mood. But she didn't want to hang out by herself at the Boardwalk, and going to the hospital for another round of humdrum healing appealed even less than it normally did.
As she currently half-lay slumped on the sofa, not even bothering to focus on the show currently playing on the TV, her phone pinged with a text. Hi. Remember that favor? Calling it in - A.
Her eyes widened. There could only be one person saying this. Still, no sense in taking chances. Who is this?
Less than half a second after she sent the query, one word popped up on her screen. Quack.
Ducks. We were feeding the ducks. Atropos didn't mention that on PHO at all. This has got to be legit.
Or is she having a dig at me about being a healer?
I can't think about that right now.
Okay, she typed. What's the favor?
Return to the scene of the crime, Atropos instructed her. All will be revealed.
This was another indicator that it was indeed Atropos messaging her, given how Westlake Park hadn't been named in the posts either. Atropos hadn't warned her to come alone, but it wasn't like she wanted any witnesses for whatever the villain was forcing her to do. Atropos had stuck to the bargain—not one word of endangering the civilians had made it online—so Amy was going to do likewise with her side of it.
She had to admit, the descriptor of 'not hugely illegal' did not fill her with confidence, but it wasn't like she'd had a choice in the matter. Vicky had well and truly put her foot in it this time, and it was up to Amy to bail her out ... again.
Getting up off the sofa, she went and got her coat. "I'm going out for a while," she announced.
Carol leaned out of her office doorway. "Where are you going?"
"The park." Amy kept her tone non-committal. "I need to clear my head. I shouldn't be too long."
Just for a moment, Carol frowned, and Amy thought she was going to forbid it. Then she nodded once, sharply. "Alright. If you see Atropos again, leave the area at once, and call the PRT."
Several smartass comments vied for supremacy, but Amy suppressed them all. "Don't worry. I have absolutely no desire to be that close to her ever again." It was the literal truth, yet totally misleading about her intentions.
"Good." Carol vanished again. Her voice drifted out through the open doorway. "Let me know when you're back."
"Okay." Amy headed for the door, shrugging into her coat. As she went out the door, she pulled out her phone and dialled for a cab. I have no fucking idea what I'm walking into, but I've got this far. Might as well see it through.
<><>
Taylor
I was perched on the single surviving bench of the (still destroyed) picnic table when Panacea arrived. Her whole attitude radiated nuclear-reactor levels of sheer pissiness, but I couldn't be sure if it was all caused by me or if some was pre-existing. As she stomped in my direction, I stood up and turned to face her.
"Good afternoon," I said politely. "Would you like to hear the good news or the bad news?"
She glanced briefly at the blanket-covered form at my feet, then gave me a glare which would've stripped paint at ten paces. "I doubt very much that anything you do ends up as good news. Vicky's in the shit because your little friend had to blab to everyone online what she did."
"Not everything she did," I corrected her blandly. "And the public will remain unaware of it exactly as long as you want them to. So: good news or bad news first?"
"Good news." Her jaw was set like granite. "But—"
"I just ended the Slaughterhouse Nine." I couldn't lie to myself; dropping that bomb was totally deliberate. Panacea was absolutely determined to not react well to me for any reason at all, and I totally wanted to see the look on her face when I did.
"You … what?" When she realised what I'd said, her look of pure startlement was amazing. "The Nine? You killed them all? That's … that can't be true."
I held up my hand to stop her. "Not all, not all. I said I ended them. They're all dead except for one." Reaching down, I flicked the blanket off Bonesaw's comfortably sleeping form. "Voila."
"Jesus Christ!" She literally jumped back about three feet. "You left her fucking alive?"
"Well, yes." Hadn't I already said so? "She's got reservoirs inside her body set up to release several ludicrously virulent diseases shortly after life signs cease. One of them is even coded with the ability to dissolve plastic and metal, so it will open the way out of sterile lockdown for the rest of them. She's currently unable to wake up—I poked her brain a little bit in the right place—but it might be a great idea for the eastern seaboard if you neutralised the diseases and removed all the after-market optional extras she's implanted herself with."
"And you didn't turn her over to the PRT to do the same why exactly?"
I knew she couldn't see me raise an eyebrow, but I did it anyway. "Because you're the one person who can neutralise the threat she poses without turning everywhere from Toronto to Savannah to Chicago into a ghost town."
"And this is your favour?" she asked bitterly. "Present me with a life-or-death scenario and say, 'hey, time to be a hero, hero'."
"No, the favour was you showing up," I said candidly. "And let's be honest; if anyone else brought her to you with the same problem, you'd be all over it like white on rice. You're just hesitating because I kill people and I'm 'not to be trusted'." I did finger-quotes for emphasis.
She paused, looking down at Bonesaw. "I want your word this isn't some kind of trap. That you're not trying to get more blackmail material on me."
"This isn't a trap," I replied. "I'm trying to persuade you into performing what might be considered as a criminal act in some jurisdictions, but it's all in a good cause. No more blackmail." Purely for shits and giggles, I threw in, "Scout's honour."
"Any blackmail is a crime," she snarked, but she crouched beside Bonesaw all the same. "And I doubt you were ever in the Scouts." Tentatively, she reached out and laid her hand on the little murder-munchkin's cheek. Immediately, her eyes widened. "Holy shit," she breathed. "Holy shit."
"Mm-hmm," I acknowledged. "She made a thorough job of it, didn't she?"
"Yeah," Panacea said absently. "How exactly did you nail her hypothalamus so neatly? Half an inch either way or farther on, and she'd be dead right now."
"Because I didn't want her dead; not then, anyway." I knew it was a non-answer, but I didn't feel like playing Twenty Questions about my power right then.
"Uh huh." Eyes unfocused, she started removing items from Bonesaw's body.
I helpfully put them in the backpack I'd been carrying the fire extinguisher in. We didn't want to litter, after all. Meanwhile Panacea muttered to herself, her fingers apparently buried in Bonesaw's flesh. It was oddly fascinating and would've been disturbing, if I'd allowed myself to feel disturbed.
The operation took a while, but at last Panacea sat back on her heels and ran her hands over her face. "Wow. Damn, that was harder than I thought it was going to be. She's going to need some serious biomass to make up what I just took out of her."
"So, the diseases are neutralised and all the foreign items are out of her system, huh?" I put the backpack to one side and stood up. Bonesaw—no, Riley—was almost on the emaciated side now. I could see how she was going to need feeding up.
"Yup." Panacea stood also and gave me a challenging look. "I know what you're going to ask me to do next."
"You do, huh?" I kept the amusement I was feeling out of my voice.
"Yeah." Her jaw was thrust out as a challenge. "You're gonna ask me to wake her back up so you can take her on as your apprentice or some other stupid shit. Well, let me tell you right now: that ain't gonna fly. I can't do brains."
"Hah, no," I said. "I want you to kill Bonesaw."
She blinked, then stared at me and then down at the girl sleeping peacefully between us. "You have got to be kidding. I don't use my powers to hurt people."
I sighed. "No. You're not getting it. Not to kill her. To go into her brain and wind back the last six years, and kill everything about her involved with being Bonesaw, only leaving behind who she was before. A young girl named Riley Grace Davis. Then wake her up, as Riley. Hell, implant the urge to do good, so she never goes down that rabbit-hole again."
Already, she was shaking her head. "No. Nope. Never. Not going to happen. Didn't you hear me when I said I can't do brains?"
"I heard you." I didn't call her on the lie, because I didn't want her digging her heels in. "Did you know that Jack Slash was a Master? A very subtle one, but he was really good at making villains want to work for him and heroes not want to target him. He encouraged young Riley, once she was coerced into working for his merry band of fuckwits, to get more and more gruesome as she went along."
"Oh, so now she's a victim?" Panacea stared at me disbelievingly. "Don't give me that. I've seen footage of her. She doesn't need any encouragement at all."
"Allow me to posit a hypothetical," I said. "Imagine that Vicky decides one day to go and capture Heartbreaker, because he's a villain. But instead, he captures her. Within minutes, she's his willing slave. You all try to rescue her, but he keeps slipping away, with her helping him. Six months later, you find out that she's been successfully rescued, but even without him at her side to give her orders, she's so indoctrinated that the Vicky you knew has been entirely overlaid by the Heartbreaker love slave persona. She knows who you are, but she's also perfectly prepared to hurt or kill any of her 'rescuers' to escape and get back to Heartbreaker. Worse, she's just as willing to pretend to be rehabilitated until she gets a chance to break free and run straight back to her master." I paused, as Panacea stared at me in horror. "In that situation, what do you do? Roll back the Mastering, or leave her as she is?"
Her fists clenched and she gritted her teeth, "Fuck you," she muttered. Her glare by now would've bored a hole straight through a six-inch plate of tungsten carbide. "Seriously … fuck you."
"Jack Slash has literally had Riley under his thumb for half her life," I observed non-committally. "Don't you want to help me totally fuck up that legacy? She was his last, best monster."
She was almost there, but her own conditioning was still pushing back. I knew what was coming next, though, and how to counter it.
"And what if I told you to handle your own fucking mess, and walked away?" she asked tightly. "I saved the eastern seaboard. What happens now is up to you."
"True," I said. "It is." I drew my pistol.
"What now?" She rolled her eyes. "You're going to threaten to shoot me if I don't?"
"No." I aimed the pistol at where Riley lay on the ground between us. "If you don't think it's worth your time to eradicate Bonesaw, then I'll do it my way." Dramatically, I pulled back the slide to let it chamber a round. "One shot, problem done. Don't worry; she won't feel a thing. Ever again."
"Wait, what? No!" She held out her hands as if to stop me. "You can't just kill her!"
"I think you'll find I can," I corrected her. "It's very much what I do. Ask the rest of the Nine. Oh, wait. You can't."
"No, I mean killing helpless prisoners is wrong. It's all kinds of illegal, and it'll get other capes down on your back quicker than almost anything else." Her tone was almost desperate now.
I snorted. "First off, her kill order says otherwise. Second, even if it didn't, do I come across as someone who gives the slightest fuck about what's legal and what's not?" I sighted the pistol in on Riley's head. "As the old quote goes: 'say goodnight, Gracie'."
"I'll do it!" It was almost a scream. Panacea dropped to her knees beside the gently slumbering Riley. "I'll fix her." The glare she shot up at me was full of hate. "But not for you. For who she used to be."
"Eh, whatevs. No skin off mine." I uncocked the hammer, applied the safety, and holstered the pistol. "I'm good either way, so long as she's not gonna be a danger to Brockton Bay anymore."
"Shut up, I'm working." Putting her hands on either side of Riley's head, Panacea concentrated. From the sheen of sweat that sprang up on her forehead, she was having to be very precise about the memories and attitudes she adjusted, lest she impinge on the original personality and attitudes of who Bonesaw had once been.
If she'd simply done it because I'd asked her, she would've let her own attitudes affect her work. While not slipshod, it wouldn't have been the best she could do. But because I'd deliberately made myself the bad guy, uncaring whether Riley lived or died, Panacea was now dedicated to bringing her back as far as possible, as a screw-you to me. Like fear, spite was one of the tools available to me, and I was perfectly willing to use it whenever I needed to.
I watched with interest, interspersed with the occasional look around to ensure we didn't have any eavesdroppers. Nobody was due to stumble on us before Panacea was done, but being careful was rarely a bad idea. Letting Panacea get caught doing stuff she wasn't supposed to be able to do would be kind of a dick move on my part.
Eventually, she sat back on her heels and breathed deeply. "Okay, it's finished. Bonesaw's done. She's history." Her voice held an odd mixture of pride and disgust at what she'd just accomplished. I figured the disgust wasn't aimed at Riley but at herself for being proud of her success.
"And Riley?" I asked. "How much of her were you able to salvage?"
"Oh, pretty well all." Panacea gave me a defiant look. "She'll never be your little sidekick, though. She's totally against torture and killing. I made sure of it."
"I don't do torture for fun," I corrected her. "When I do apply it, it's always a means to an end. So, what've you done to her?"
Panacea took a deep breath. "I brought her earlier personality back up from under and de-aged her by about two years to explain the reduced body mass. She'll know that she was Mastered, but I've blunted the emotional impact of the memories so that all she'll really get out of it is a determination to never let anyone force her into killing again. I also fixed that cute little brain surgery you pulled, as well as the ear injury, and made it so she'll wake up naturally in about eight hours. She's gonna need that long for her head to sort everything out." She tilted her head and looked at me, eyebrows raised. "Though right now she's a homeless orphan with looks and powers exactly like Bonesaw's, and no place to go. Any ideas on how to fix that, genius?"
"One or two." I showed her a picture on my phone, one of the selfies I'd taken with Aisha. "Think you could maybe make her look a little bit like my friend here?"
She stared at me, then looked at the picture. "That would definitely reduce the chances of anyone figuring out who she was, but why those particular people?"
I grinned inside the mask. "Well …"
<><>
Dragon
If Dragon had been capable of blinking in confusion, she would have. "You want me to create a false identity from the ground up, for a ten-year-old girl, and link it to the Laborns?"
"That's exactly what I want you to do," Atropos said breezily. "Once you come pick her up, you'll be able to acquire pics and other relevant data at your leisure."
"Okay. I'm not saying I'll do it, and I'm not saying I won't." Dragon sought some level of stability in what was going on here. "But I'm going to need a little more information."
"Okay. You know how I said I was going to deal with the Bonesaw problem?"
"Yes …"
"Well, the Bonesaw persona is now utterly extinct, but now we have a ten-year-old child cape suffering from a mild case of amnesia. She's lost almost her entire family in a tragic series of events that I'll leave you to rig the records for. Her only next of kin will be Brian and Aisha Laborn … that is, the latest Brockton Bay Ward, and his sister. Who better to take care of a brand-new Wards recruit than her own family?"
"Wait. Wait, wait, wait." Dragon was pretty sure she had the whole picture by now, but there were details missing. "Have you spoken to the Laborns about this?"
"Not yet, but Aisha will jump at the chance of having someone she can mentor in the art of causing chaos, and she'll badger her brother into agreeing. Not that he'll disagree too strongly, once I make my case."
"And you think they'll be okay with taking Bonesaw into their home?"
"Riley." Atropos' tone was firm. "Her name is Riley Grace Laborn."
Dragon sighed. "Okay, will Riley be okay with this?"
"She will remember her life up until six years old, and have the vague knowledge of what she did under the influence of Jack Slash. However, she will also take the whole 'do no harm' aspect very seriously, and she'll be fully aware that she needs to get as far away from the Bonesaw concept as possible, so this will be her best chance of starting fresh as a hero. The full truth will only be known by a very few people. These will not include anyone in the chain of command of the PRT."
"But the Director—"
"—would be all over her case the instant she found out. Riley wouldn't have the slightest chance to make a good impression. It's much better this way."
"Damn it." Dragon was fully aware that if her entire safeguards had been in place, this would've been a very different conversation. But the more Atropos presented the idea, the more it made sense. "You're corrupting me."
"No, that's you showing you've got an open mind."
Dragon had to ask the question. "If something slips in the conditioning you gave her—you're going to have to tell me how you managed that trick someday—and she reverts to original Bonesaw, what then?"
There was no hesitation in Atropos' voice. "I'll know. And I'll be there."
Thus spoke the girl who had murdered four crime lord capes (well, three and a half) so gruesomely that the overall crime rate of the city had plummeted almost overnight. Nobody wanted to be out in the shadows when they could contain … her. She had stated her intention of ending the Slaughterhouse Nine, and had pulled it off so thoroughly, the only thing left was to identify the bodies.
If anyone could curtail the hypothetical rampage of a reverted Bonesaw, it was Atropos.
Dragon sighed. It was a useful verbal tic, and actually helped reduce stress. "Fine. I'll do it. I'll also verify Bonesaw's death for you. I've been offered half the Crawler bounty for being the one who fired the missile, but I'm going to donate it toward your cause anyway."
"Thank you. I appreciate it." The words were sincere, but held no surprise.
She chuckled. "Despite the headaches you've given me, you've also made my life a hell of a lot easier. It's the least I can do for a good cause." She paused for a beat. "But we're still not friends. Just saying."
"As soon as you get rid of the law enforcement thing, I can take away the patch. Just saying."
"Working on it. But I'll make a start on that fake identity as soon as you send the images through. How did you do that, anyway?" The only cape Dragon knew whose power could even conceivably do such things was Panacea, and after the humiliation Atropos had handed Glory Girl, there would be very little love lost there at all. She certainly wouldn't offer to assist Bonesaw like that out of the goodness of her heart.
There was a grin in Atropos' voice. "You'll find out someday."
"You are very irritating."
"Thank you."
<><>
Panacea
Amy watched from the concealment of the trees as Dragon's suit descended toward the middle of the park. She was too far away to hear the conversation as Atropos approached with Riley—remade as per her suggestion—in her arms, but the attitude seemed to be relatively cordial. A hatch opened in the side of the draconic mech, and Atropos carefully loaded Riley within.
With the girl secured, Atropos backed away and Dragon took off again. Amy wasn't at all sure what excuse she would give for the flying visit to the park, but having serious law enforcement chops had to come with some perks.
With an air of satisfaction, Atropos strolled back toward where Amy waited. "Well, expect a new Ward in the city within forty-eight hours. All done, dusted and above board."
"I'm not even going to ask how you talked Dragon into helping you out." Amy both wanted to know, and really really didn't. "But what's got me confused is why you're even doing this. Yeah, I know, I know, fucking with Jack Slash's legacy, but you could do that plenty of other ways. Why go to so much trouble and pull in so many markers just to rehabilitate one tweenage mass murderer?"
"I foresee a number of uses for her," Atropos said. "And aside from that, I don't need a sidekick, but maybe you'd like an understudy sometime. If, say, one of your patients needed a brain injury fixed."
"The first part, I can totally believe." Amy wrinkled her nose. "The second part, not so much. You don't do good, or nice. And you definitely don't do casual favours for no reason."
"All very true." It was very irritating, not being able to see Atropos' expression. "Which suggests I had a reason, and that I didn't do it just to be nice. Quick question: how do you feel, after the fact, about the modifications you just did on Riley?"
And that was the other thing Amy hadn't wanted to think about. "It was … easy. Almost fun. Too easy, in a weird way. I've never done something so thorough to a person before, but it was like I'd been doing it for years. I didn't have to stop and wonder if I was doing it right." She absolutely was not going to admit to the near euphoria that was trying to flood through her system right then.
"Mmm." The wordless hum sounded thoughtful.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Amy didn't intend to be snappish, but this entire episode was so far out of her experience that she figured she had a good excuse.
Fortunately, Atropos didn't seem to take offense. "I get along with my power quite well. I want to do something, it suggests a way, I make modifications, and we come to an agreement. How well do you get along with yours? Or don't you even talk to it?"
Panacea blinked. "You talk to your power?"
"Sure. Don't you?" Atropos paused, clearly inviting an answer, but Amy didn't take the bait. "Huh. You don't? Well, maybe you should start listening. That ugh feeling when you do regular healing might just be your power getting seriously bored. And the way you just powered through giving Riley her makeover, and the endorphins you're experiencing right now … maybe that's your power rewarding you for letting it stretch its legs for once."
What the actual living fuck? "How do you know all this stuff?" There was no way she was going to be able to lie to Atropos. That was a certainty.
Typically irritating, Atropos didn't answer the question. "Tell me I'm wrong."
"Well, how do I fix it?" She almost shouted the question.
"The way I see it, this can go one of two ways." Atropos' tone was calm and measured. "The first way, you repress your power's urgings and at some point it'll activate all by itself and do something everyone will regret. Or the second way, you find other directions to express your power and keep it fat and happy. Your choice." She glanced to the side. "My ride's almost here. Think about it. Oh, and one other thing."
Amy still despised Atropos and all she stood for with every fibre of her being, but that didn't mean she was stupid. "What?"
"Have your sister watch the Uber and Leet show tonight. It's their last one."
"Good." As far as Amy was concerned, Uber and Leet were an embarrassment to capes everywhere. "But why should she watch it?"
Atropos shrugged. "Well, aside from the historical significance, she might learn something. Just saying." She turned and started off toward the trees. "Nice chat. See you around."
"See you never," muttered Amy. She deliberately headed in a different direction, pulling out her phone to call a cab. The meeting with Atropos had left her with a lot to think about, and she wasn't sure she was going to be able to get her head around it all at once.
<><>
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♦ Topic: The Slaughtered House None
In: Boards ► Brockton Bay ► New Capes ► Atropos
Atropos (Original Poster) (
Posted On Jan 9th 2011:
Hi all!
I hope we've all had a wonderfully relaxing Sunday. I know I have.
Of course, your definition of 'relaxing' might differ slightly from mine, but mileage is always allowed to vary.
If you were paying attention, you may have noticed my declaration of intent to throw a party for the Slaughterhouse Nine that they'd never forget (or recover from). So imagine my (lack of) astonishment when they came all the way to Brockton Bay to throw their own surprise party, just for my benefit.
Well, of course I couldn't disappoint them, so I showed up. Boy, were the festivities *wild*.
Shatterbird and Burnscar greeted me at the door and welcomed me to the party, but Shatterbird got something stuck in her throat and then Burnscar ended up with brain-freeze and had to lie down. Some people simply don't know how to party.
I had a little chat with Mannequin, about his family as I recall. At first he didn't want to open up but then he spilled his guts. Just came apart at the seams. Kind of a sad case, really.
Hatchet Face was more energetic, and we ended up playing a rather fun game of tag. While we were doing that, Crawler ate something that didn't agree with him, but that's Crawler all over.
It was around about then that Hatchet Face lost his axe. I found it and gave it back to him, but by then he was out of breath and had to lie down too.
It turns out that Siberian wasn't too happy with me, but I apologized and I'm pretty sure she understood I was being sincere. I even gave her a gift before she had to pop off.
Bonesaw wanted to introduce me to all her little friends. They were so cute and I got along with them like a house on fire; shouts screams, people running around in panic. But she unfortunately ended up with an earache and had to catch a nap as well.
That leaves Jack Slash. What can I say about the man that hasn't been said before? Well, he was a pretentious prick, and seemed to think that waving a knife around made him a big man. It just made him a punk with a knife, really. We debated that and several other points quite vigorously, but in the end I disarmed his argument and he had to head off.
Oh, and I want to thank the Dockworkers' Association for their (involuntary) donation of a fire extinguisher.
I also want to thank Dragon for her assistance, and donation of a high-explosive party favor.
So, let's get back to Jacky-boy. When he was just a kid, his parents made him think there'd been a nuclear war and locked him into a fallout survival bunker, while they stayed outside. Now, parents: I know sending your kids to their rooms is a thing, but can you imagine how much of a little shit he must've been for them to go that far? For years, they kept up the masquerade, providing food and water from the outside and telling him he was being kept safe inside. In reality? They just didn't want to associate with him.
Meanwhile, Jack had this idea that when he was a grown man he'd leave the shelter and be the Chosen One to unite the remnants of civilization and lead the world into a new golden age. Or something like that; I don't know the exact details.
But instead, when he finally got out (at the tender age of twelve, folks) he found out it was the exact opposite. There never was a war, the world was trundling along just fine without him, and there was no need for a Chosen One. Of course, he triggered with powers, and he's been exacting his revenge on the world ever since. If it didn't want him to save it, he was going to kill it.
Talk about entitlement, right? How far up your own ass do you have to be to think like that?
This whole time, he's just been a spoiled little shit throwing a tantrum because the world refused to live up to his fantasies about it. And the Nine's been his little play-group of puppets, dragged along to carry out his twisted little whims along the way. Because oh yeah, he's been Mastering them. Ain't that a kicker.
So yeah, Jack Slash was a cheap punk with a knife and a cheat code. He lied and backstabbed, even with his nominal allies. He had no redeeming qualities and no discernible good points.
He will not be missed. (I certainly didn't).
In other news: I have an addendum to the list of people and organizations who are specifically unwelcome in Brockton Bay.
- Red Hands
- Heartbreaker
- The Orchard
On the other side of things, I have been requested by the PRT to allow Uppercrust of the Elite into Brockton Bay for specific business. I will grant that exemption, but any attempts to perform information-gathering for the Elite will cause the exemption to be permanently rescinded.
Also, expect an update on the drug trade thing come Monday. And those of you who are currently hooked on whatever substance you've been abusing, take heart. In just a few days, rehab clinics will be opening across the city. Attend or not, as you will. But if you don't and your addiction gets the better of you, you only have yourself to blame. This is about Brockton Bay, not you.
Anyways, have a peaceful Sunday night.
Toodles!
(Showing page 1 of 74)
►TeamMom (Senior Moderator) (Verified Spoilsport)
Replied On Jan 9th 2011:
Okay, this is great news if it's true, but (no offence, Atropos) I'm going to need someone else to verify this report.
►Atropos (Original Poster) (
Replied On Jan 9th 2011:
None taken. Verify away.
Also, before I forget, I want to thank Uber & Leet for the generous loan of their trademark Snitch, with which I recorded the whole thing. They should be kicking off their last show, featuring highlights of the recorded footage, any minute now.
►Dragon (Veteran Member) (Verified Cape) (Protectorate Member) (Guild Member) (Verified Dragon)
Replied On Jan 9th 2011:
@TeamMom, I can absolutely verify Atropos' claim. She actually invited me to assist her in carrying out the deed.
The Slaughterhouse Nine is *done*.
I took this picture myself, with a missile nosecone camera.
[HatchetFaceCrawlerAtropos]
►TeamMom (Senior Moderator) (Verified Spoilsport)
Replied On Jan 9th 2011:
@Atropos – seriously? Please don't add frivolous tags to other accounts. Verified Dragon? Really?
►Atropos (Original Poster) (
Replied On Jan 9th 2011:
@TeamMom – And what's wrong with that? She's Dragon. Don't be a spoilsport.
►TeamMom (Senior Moderator) (Verified Spoilsport)
Replied On Jan 9th 2011:
Not. Helping.
►Atropos (Original Poster) (
Replied On Jan 9th 2011:
Wow, touchy much? Okay, here, I'll even give myself a tag to make it even.
►Dragon (Veteran Member) (Verified Cape) (Protectorate Member) (Guild Member) (Verified Dragon)
Replied On Jan 9th 2011:
@TeamMom – honestly, I don't mind. So long as it gets taken off again by tomorrow.
@Atropos – you *will* take it off again, right?
►Atropos (Original Poster) (
Replied On Jan 9th 2011:
@Dragon - *put-upon sigh* Yes, I will.
*wanders off to sharpen her shears, muttering about people with no sense of humor*
►Bagrat (Veteran Member) (The Guy in the Know)
Replied On Jan 9th 2011:
I've attended the site and viewed the bodies. I'm really not sure what the Nine were thinking when they came to town, but they had no idea of the meatgrinder they were walking into. I mean, I didn't even know they were here. Only Atropos and (apparently) Dragon did, and from what I understand, Atropos did most of the heavy lifting.
It turns out that the Siberian was a projection (which makes *so* much sense, in hindsight) but they're keeping the identity of the projecting cape under wraps for the moment. Suffice to say, that person died rather suddenly and unexpectedly. We're also missing Bonesaw's body, but Dragon has independently verified the death.
Just gonna say: trigger warnings for gore if/when you watch the U&L show, especially for Mannequin and Crawler. Still not as bad as Skidmark, but ... impressive, all the same.
(Showing page 2 of 74)►Atropos (Original Poster) (
Replied On Jan 9th 2011:
Yeah, about Bonesaw's body. She'd implanted disease reservoirs in herself that would've led to some spectacularly devastating plagues more or less depopulating the entire northeast corner of the States. I took her body away to neutralize those and dispose of it safely.
Is all good, folks. We get to live another day.
►UnconcernedFox
Replied On Jan 9th 2011:
*orders in a new shipment of popcorn*
*raises a cup of popcorn in a toast to Atropos*
*heads over to the Uber & Leet channel*
►Reave (Verified PRT Agent)
Replied On Jan 9th 2011:
This latest incident merely confirms what I'd already suspected. Atropos, you're evidently capable of working with others, including Protectorate members and (presumably) PRT agents. Dragon had nothing but praise for your capabilities in the field. Please, just come in to the PRT building. Let's sit down and talk.
►Atropos (Original Poster) (
Replied On Jan 9th 2011:
@Reave - I do appreciate the offer, but the fact here is that I called Dragon in on it and she followed my instructions the whole way through. Can you guarantee, with hand on heart, that every single PRT agent (up to and including the Director) and Protectorate cape will do the same, that not one of them will try to exert some level of authority over me? Because I think they will. They're constitutionally incapable of not making the effort.
Also, as I mentioned before, there are some agents in that building who would shoot me on sight if they thought they could get away with it. They wouldn't survive the attempt, but that's not the point. I'd rather not have to deal with that awkwardness right now, so Imma keep doing things my way. After all, if it's not broke, right?
►Wherewolf
Replied On Jan 9th 2011:
inb4 Void Cowboy gets banned for making a joke about Crawler and deep-throating.
►XxVoid_CowboyxX
Replied On Jan 9th 2011:
Hey!
I'd never make a joke that crude around Atropos.
Anyway, you ruined it.
►Atropos (Original Poster) (
Replied On Jan 9th 2011:
Chill, guys. It's fine to make jokes like that.
Once.
►A_Dragon (Verified not *the* Dragon)
Replied On Jan 9th 2011:
Once the drug trade is done … man, there are going to be a lot of withdraw patients in a couple of days, having had a friend go through it was not pretty.
►Atropos (Original Poster) (
Replied On Jan 9th 2011:
I've got someone working on that.
►Urk (Purveyor of Cape!Fic)
Replied On Jan 9th 2011:
It would've been even more awesome if Uber and Leet had showed up with Ghostbusters packs and taken out the Siberian, working with the remnants of the E88 who haven't left town yet.
(Showing page 3 of 74►BattleLoaf
Replied On Jan 9th 2011:
@Urk - Man, you sound like Void. That shit would never happen.
►HeresyGirl
Replied On Jan 9th 2011:
@Atropos - Just gonna say, whoever you've got 'working on it' better be setting up a methadone clinic, or the fallout from every drug user in the city being forced to go cold turkey at once is gonna be catastrophic. And not just at the junkie level either. You're going to have housewives with opioid addictions and techbros with coke habits. You'll have people dying or suiciding just from the withdrawal symptoms.
►Atropos (Original Poster) (
Replied On Jan 9th 2011:
@HeresyGirl - I specified that when I contacted them. It's being handled. Clinics will be set up, and people are going to be learning to stand on their own two feet.
Whether they like it or not.
►SilverGater
Replied On Jan 9th 2011:
Um … that bit with Mannequin? That's not just a particularly gruesome death. That's her demonstrating to *everyone* that she can literally *talk you to death*. No weapons needed.
Poor bastard.
And yes, I know I'm talking about Mannequin.
►Malarkey
Replied On Jan 9th 2011:
Called it.
I *said* that Atropos wanted the Snitch (not that it was a huge leap of logic).
Unfortunately, we didn't get the "all murderhobos die at the same time because of the Siberian".
Tho, those deaths were brutal. I mean, forcefeeding Shatterbird a piece of the same glass she was controlling was brutal (and ironic). Forcefeeding Burnscar a fire extinguisher's worth of freezing carbon dioxide was brutal.
But, Jesus, what she did to Mannequin. Nightmare inducing, that.
The best part was Hatchet Face and Crawler biting the dust almost simultaneously. The fact that Dragon got a photo was the cherry on top.
Taking a breather before I comment on the rest.
►SadKitteh
Replied On Jan 9th 2011:
-Fuck.-
I was curious how she was going to kill off some of them, but that psychological torture on Mannequin? Absolutely nasty. That's gonna put the fear of god into a lot of capes.
►Brocktonite03 (Veteran Member)
Replied On Jan 9th 2011:
That's gonna put the fear of *Atropos* into a lot of capes.
FTFY.
►BrickFrog
Replied On Jan 9th 2011:
Okay, but … how did whatever she did actually kill Crawler? Isn't he supposed to be crazy resistant to everything?
►XxVoid_CowboyxX
Replied On Jan 9th 2011:
Ooh, ooh, pick me!
You see the pic Dragon supplied? Where Hatchet Face is falling out the window? He's about to land on Crawler. And when he did, he negated all Crawler's powers. Including the crazy resistance to damage. Missile down throat, gibs everywhere.
Atropos is *badass*.
►BrickFrog
Replied On Jan 9th 2011:
But wouldn't he keep the resistance? I mean, super dense flesh is super dense flesh.
(Showing page 4 of 74)►Atropos (Original Poster) (
Replied On Jan 9th 2011:
Not dense enough. Trust me, Void is absolutely correct on this one.
►Brocktonite03 (Veteran Member)
Replied On Jan 9th 2011:
Void Cowboy … being correct about something.
Truly, it is the end times.
►XxVoid_CowboyxX
Replied On Jan 9th 2011:
Hey, I resemble that remark!
►WingsOnHigh (Verified Not the Simurgh)
Replied On Jan 9th 2011:
I'm not sure what we should be freaking out about more.
The off map missile strike (courtesy of Dragon), the psychological destruction of Mannequin or the way she just *snipped* and the Siberian *vanished*. Cause those are definitely the 3 biggest highlights in terms of "What the fuck?" that she pulled during the fight.
►PhoenixFeathers
Replied On Jan 9th 2011:
When she said, "Dark in here, isn't it?" right behind Jack Slash, I got chills.
►Atrim
Replied On Jan 9th 2011:
So, final kill count is...
Shatterbird, Throat shredded from her own glass.
Burnscar, Extinguished
Mannequin, Self Mutilation
Crawler, Miss-led
Hatchet Face, took a hatchet to the face
Siberian, snipped
Jack Slash, Trapped and Slashed
Bonesaw, Vanished
►Brocktonite03 (Veteran Member)
Replied On Jan 9th 2011:
Not to stir trouble or anything, but … if Atropos took Bonesaw's body away, does she still get the kill order bounty?
►Reave (Verified PRT Agent)
Replied On Jan 9th 2011:
@Brocktonite03 – Normally that would be a sticking point, yes. But the powers that be are leaning the other way at the moment. Mainly because we have footage of her a) stabbing Bonesaw in the brain and b) shooting Bonesaw in the head. Also because she has never yet lied to us, even when it would be in her best interests, so when she says Bonesaw is dead, I'm strongly inclined to believe her. Finally, Dragon is as close as we can get to an impartial witness, and she verified Bonesaw's demise as well. So that bounty will be paid along with the rest of them.
►TheRealPanacea (Verified Cape) (Cape Daughter) (New Wave Member)
Replied On Jan 9th 2011:
This is Glory Girl posting on Panacea's account (because my account is temp banned).
I've watched the whole thing through twice, with Amy helpfully pointing out things that I missed.
And I've got one thing to say.
@Atropos – I'm *sorry*. I screwed up badly, and I hope you can forgive me for doing what I did. Please don't hurt my family over this.
►Atropos (Original Poster) (
Replied On Jan 9th 2011:
Hi, Glory Girl!
It's good. We all make mistakes. Sometimes we even learn from them. Tell your sis from me, she's one of the good ones. (And yes, you're forgiven. This time. Mwahaha.)
<><>
Path to end the legacy of Jack Slash and the Slaughterhouse Nine: complete.
<><>
As the bus approached the city limits of Brockton Bay, the teenager blinked her way awake. Shuffling herself to a more upright posture, she looked out the window and wrinkled her nose. The landscape didn't appeal, but she wasn't there for the geography.
Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out her phone. Let's see what's been going on in the world for the last few hours.
When the headline popped up into her newsfeed, it was the last two words she'd ever expected—or wanted—to read. SLAUGHTERHOUSE SLAUGHTERED!
Pushing her fingers through her dark hair and disarranging the red streak that ran through it, Cherie Vasil stared at the screen in consternation.
"What … the … fuck?"
End of Part Twenty-Two
Last edited:
Part Twenty-Three: Bad Decisions, Good Decisions
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A Darker Path
Part Twenty-Three: Bad Decisions, Good Decisions
[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
Sunday Afternoon, January 9, 2011
Next to Westlake Park
Taylor
As Dad braked the car briefly, I pulled the door open, slid in, and removed my hat and mask almost in one motion. We moved off again, and I fastened my seatbelt then put my glasses on. "Well, that's done," I said with some satisfaction.
"Good to hear," Dad said. "I saw Dragon's suit flying away. I'm guessing she's taken Riley away to finish up that part of the plan?"
"Yup. But there's a new problem. And it's going to be in New York. You up for a road trip?"
"So long as you're okay with getting back here around midnight," he said at once. "Is one of the gangs in New York prepping something big?"
"Not immediately, but give them time." I leaned back in my seat, pulled out my phone, and started typing into a text box. I wasn't quite sure what the programming language was called, just that it did really fun things to the PRT's computer systems. As far as I was concerned, invisibility was more a case of preparation than powers. "This thing we're going there for, it needs to be nipped in the bud tonight."
"That's concerning." As he spoke, he concentrated on his driving, taking a series of turns designed to get us on the highway south. "Are you going to be killing someone?"
"Not if she's smart."
Five Hours Later
Conference Room A, PRT ENE Building
Director Piggot
Despite knowing that she was firmly in the right when it came to the PRT's protocols toward Atropos, Emily felt as though she'd been singled out for inquisition by her peers and superior. The wallscreen was showing a split image, with Rebecca Costa-Brown in the middle, with Director Wilkins of New York and Director Armstrong of Boston to her left and right.
For the occasion, Emily had Armsmaster and Renick flanking her, visible in the tiny inset window in the top corner of the screen. Her deputy had a laptop open in front of him so that he could perform any checks she needed done. Armsmaster, of course, had an HUD in his visor that could do the same.
"Good evening, Chief Director, Director Wilkins, Director Armstrong," she said smoothly. "What would you like to know first?"
Interestingly enough, it wasn't Costa-Brown who spoke first, but Wilkins. "I think I speak for all of us when I ask exactly what is going on in Brockton Bay?"
Wilkins wasn't her superior officer, so Emily turned her attention to Costa-Brown. "Before I throw this open to the floor, did the Chief Director have a question for me?"
The expression on Costa-Brown's face was barely a smile. "To be honest, I was curious about the current situation there as well."
Emily nodded to acknowledge the question. "Right now, we're bagging and tagging the remains of the Slaughterhouse Nine. And let me tell you, Crawler needs a lot of bags." They were actually using a shipping container to store the monstrous cape's remains, but she thought a little humour might serve to lighten the mood. "Apart from that, we really don't have any other parahuman issues to deal with at the moment. The local criminal capes are either keeping their heads down, leaving town, or both."
Armstrong raised his eyebrows, miming surprise. "So, you aren't counting this Atropos among the number of your local criminal capes? Have you already arrested or recruited her?"
She knew damn well he was aware this was not the case. "Neither," she said flatly. "She's too dangerous to even attempt the former with, and she has rebuffed repeated suggestions to come in and speak with us. However, she has initiated ad hoc teamwork with our newest Ward—he was in a strictly undercover role, though she saw through that in less than a minute—and with Dragon, achieving her goals both times with terrifying ease."
"And you're okay with this?" Wilkins' tone was a little stronger than before. Emily felt that she could rapidly become tired of the woman's voice. "She's not just a murderer, she's a serial killer! Parahumans like her are the very reason the PRT exists!"
"Director Wilkins, you need to moderate your tone," warned Costa-Brown. "This is neither an interrogation nor a court-martial."
Emily allowed herself a tiny smile. "No, it's okay, ma'am. Director Wilkins has evidently forgotten that parahumans like Jack Slash are the reason the PRT exists. If villains of that stripe weren't out and about, dragging society down, then we wouldn't be needed. And neither would someone like Atropos."
Costa-Brown raised her head slightly. "This almost sounds like you're condoning her actions. Is this the case?" she asked, her voice non-judgemental … for now.
"Not condoning, no," Emily said. "And I wouldn't tell my troopers or our heroes to go the route she does. But … she gets results. I can't ignore that. Our crime figures right now are literally the lowest they've been since I took up this position. Between that, and the fact that anyone she took seriously in a fight would die, right now the smart move is to stand back and mop up the pieces."
"She's murdered five capes who never had a kill order against them." Wilkins looked like she wanted to shout, but wasn't quite prepared for the consequences. "That's so far against our directives, it's ridiculous. You need to be bringing her down immediately!"
"At least six capes and two dozen unpowered people, actually." Emily didn't let herself show the satisfaction she felt in correcting Wilkins. "Most of whom she gave clear warnings to, or who were aggressing on her, before she initiated hostilities. Plus, the Slaughterhouse Nine. You did watch the unedited version of that, didn't you? All the way through?"
For the first time, Wilkins looked on the back foot. "I skimmed it, just to make sure they were dead. Why?"
Emily allowed the steel to come into her tone. "Watch it, carefully. She went into that fight with a pair of shears, a pistol, a ball of string, an M67 frag grenade and a fire extinguisher. Forty-two minutes later, every member of the Slaughterhouse Nine was dead. They never stood a chance. I'm not sending my men up against that."
Armstrong cleared his throat. "There was the issue of Dragon's assistance …" he mentioned diffidently.
Emily rolled her eyes. She'd studied the footage. "Dragon's presence just made it easier. Without her, the grenade would've taken care of Crawler, a single shot through the side of the van would've disposed of Manton, and Atropos could've disarmed Slash without needing to shoot the knife out of his hand. The way she did it, she was deliberately showing off. And the more I think about it, the more I'm convinced she specifically chose this method to further dissuade the PRT from getting in her way."
"Nobody's above the law," insisted Wilkins. "She needs to be brought to heel. Right now, she's making you all look like idiots. Making us look like idiots."
"Wait, who's the sixth cape?" interjected Armstrong. "I'd only heard about five. Oni Lee, Coil, Kaiser, Lung and Skidmark." He winced as he said the last name; evidently, he'd watched the footage of that one. It left bruising on the psyche.
Emily took a deep breath. This was going to be tricky. "Our probationary Ward, Shadow Stalker. Violent vigilante before she was drafted. Reportedly a bully. She was going far off the rails, threatening either Atropos or someone she cares about. Atropos said she warned Stalker twice. Then she killed her. This happened in the school, out of costume. Exactly four blows landed, all on Stalker. Two of these would've killed her in relatively short order, but Atropos finished her off with a kick to the chest that stopped her heart."
Costa-Brown showed no reaction, which wasn't surprising. The report of Atropos admitting to the murder had undoubtedly landed on her desk at some point. However, the other two clearly hadn't been kept in the loop.
"She killed a Ward? Out of costume?" Armstrong was astonished. "Why are we only just now hearing about this?"
"Because as a Ward, she was a potential embarrassment, if not an outright liability," Emily said, trying not to grit her teeth. She'd been through Blackwell's file on Stalker, and the number of complaints that had gone absolutely nowhere, or resulted in a minor slap on the wrist, had been horribly illuminating. The little shit must've thought she was bulletproof. "Right now, the public's view of Atropos is leaning very strongly toward 'if she killed someone, they deserved it', which is a not inaccurate reputation, all told. So, if they find out that she killed a Ward, the first thing they're going to ask is why that Ward pissed Atropos off. And as all the evidence points toward Stalker actually provoking her own murder, I'm strongly disinclined to let the public—and the media—in on it. So, as far as the PRT ENE is officially concerned, Atropos had nothing to do with Stalker's death."
"You've got to be shitting me." Wilkins gripped the desk and leaned forward, so that her face was enlarged in the camera view. It wasn't a flattering look for her. "Atropos just handed herself to you on a silver platter. Can't you see that?"
Emily could indeed see what she was referring to. It was in no way a smart move. "Don't go there," she cautioned her fellow Director. "That way cannot end well." She flicked a glance at Costa-Brown, who was sitting there impassively as they went head-to-head. She wants to see how this turns out.
Wilkins shook her head. "Jesus Christ, Piggot. I thought you were tougher and smarter than this. If Atropos and Stalker went to the same school, all you have to do is cross-reference the complaints to see who put in the most, then we have our suspect. Then we put pressure on the friends and family, and she falls straight into line. From loose cannon to valuable asset under our control, in one easy step." She peered at her screen as she began to type. "Okay, what do we have here?"
"Wilkins!" shouted Emily. "This is a very bad idea! She's given us a pass so long as we don't attack her! This is an attack! I'm warning you, back the fuck off!"
"Oh, please." Wilkins snorted derisively. "This is a high-end encrypted conference call. I don't give a damn how good her Combat Thinker rating is. How's she going to even find out it happened?" She kept typing. "Huh. Okay. This shouldn't be too hard to narrow down. Emily, seriously, you should be thanking me for doing your job."
And then, with a suddenness that froze the blood in Emily's veins, Atropos walked into view behind Wilkins. Those damned shears were in her hand, twirling gently as she approached the New York PRT Director from behind.
Armstrong sat up straight, his eyes widening. Even Costa-Brown showed signs of alarm. "Wilkins …" Armstrong managed. "Behind you …"
Wilkins glanced upward and to her right—checking her inset image—then she sneered. "Ah, yes. You told us about her hacking skills. Good trick, but I happen to be in New York, not Brockton Bay. Also, my office door has a secure code lock on it. She's no doubt piggybacked on the hack she's already got connected into your local building security. But if I look around, she wins because she made me think she was there."
"Wilkins …" Costa-Brown spoke carefully. "Don't make any sudden moves. I've taken training in spotting illusions and deepfakes. That's not a video insertion. She's there."
"With all due respect, Chief Director," Wilkins said. "Atropos may have the rest of you bluffed with her bogeyman bullshit, but there's no way she could actually be here. I'm not afraid of pixels on a screen."
Atropos, who had paused during the discussion, suddenly moved. Her arm snaked around Wilkins' head, hand cupped under her chin, and pulled back. At the same time, the gleaming steel blade of the bodice shears ended up poised over Wilkins' left eye, the point so close it was brushing her eyelid each time she blinked. Emily judged that if those blades were as sharp as she suspected, it would take very little effort to drive them through into Wilkins' brain.
"How about now?" asked Atropos, her tone almost conversational. "Afraid now?"
Wilkins' hands froze as the steel touched her fluttering eyelashes. She made a whimpering sound between her lips, but nothing more.
"Thought as much," Atropos observed. "Everyone, keep your hands in plain view, please. If Director Wilkins chooses to be smart, she gets to live. Do we all understand this?"
"Atropos," Armstrong began, his tone hesitant as though he wasn't totally sure this was happening. "This is a direction you don't want to go in. Murdering a PRT Director? You can't undo this."
Atropos shook her head. "Now see, I've got a different view of things. I give warnings. If people ignore the warning, they die. Director Piggot—hi, Director, big fan of your work—was kind enough to give her my first warning. This blade at her eye? My second warning. She doesn't get a third warning."
"What Director Armstrong is trying to say, Atropos," Costa-Brown said smoothly, "is that we'll have no choice but to come after you with everything we've got if you go through with this. Now I understand Wilkins' actions were a threat to you—"
Atropos shook her head, and Costa-Brown stopped speaking. "No, Chief Director," Atropos stated. "Director Wilkins couldn't threaten me personally on her best day. Neither could the rest of you, individually or all at once. But if she finds out my real name and one of your inevitable fucking leaks puts it out there, and someone goes after my family or friends, then there will absolutely be blood in the streets, and it won't end until she's dead. So, I'm cutting all that off at the pass, so to speak. Right here, right now. She gets the chance to not do it. To never do it."
"And if she changes her mind in the future?" asked Armstrong.
"I'll know, and I'll be there." Atropos' statement was both blunt and chilling. "Director Piggot there, she's smart. She made this decision days ago, and I didn't even have to help her. Good to see you, by the way, Director, Deputy Director, Armsmaster. How's that corruption and incompetence thing going?"
Emily wasn't quite sure how events had taken a hard left into casual small talk, but she nodded toward Renick; he knew more of the details than she did about that.
He caught the cue and cleared his throat. "We, uh, we caught two more of our people who were on the take. And we've instigated a department-wide audit on operational practices. Six people have quit, but we're getting results."
"Nice," Atropos said approvingly. "Oh, and just so you know, one of Heartbreaker's kids is in town, but I'll be dealing with that tomorrow."
"Heartbreaker?" Armsmaster spoke up. "Is he coming here?"
"Eventually." Atropos' tone evinced no particular concern. "When he does, he'll be leaving in a body bag. He's already been warned."
"Atropos." Costa-Brown spoke firmly. "As fascinating as this is, you still have a blade to my subordinate's eye."
"Yeah, I know. I've been giving her time to think about it. Unfortunately, she's still convinced that she can lie to me and then start her research again once I've left." Atropos shrugged without moving her hands, which would've been impressive in someone else. "You know what happens if she does that. What would you have me do?"
Costa-Brown paused for a long moment. When she spoke, her words could've been carved from granite. "Director Wilkins. You will cease and desist all attempts at learning Atropos' identity. That is a direct order, witnessed by Directors Piggot and Armstrong. Failure to obey this lawful order will result in formal charges under PRTCJ Articles ninety and ninety-two, for which I will insist on the death penalty.. Do you understand?"
Silence fell across the video link. Atropos loosened her hold on Wilkins and moved the blade a few inches away from her face. Cautiously, Wilkins swallowed, then nodded. "Yes, Chief Director. I understand, and I will comply with your order."
"Excellent." Atropos released Wilkins and stepped back. The shears remained in view, idly twirling around one finger; a subtle reminder. "Much appreciated, Chief Director. Glad we could see eye to eye on this. Toodles." She stepped out of view; a moment later, Emily heard the sound of a closing door.
Wilkins' hand dived under the desk and Emily knew she was yanking the duress alarm (it was more a toggle than a button) as hard as she could. "Atropos is in the building!" she shouted. "Lock down the corridor outside my office! Lock down everything! She just threatened my life! I want her arrested and charged now!"
"Don't bother," Armsmaster observed, at about the same time that Emily had the same thought. "I had a look at the programming when she hacked the PRT building here. Even if your duress alarm went out, which it probably didn't, she's probably invisible to the security cameras, or they're reading her as someone else. Right now she'll be strolling through your security like it wasn't even there."
"I concur," agreed Renick. "She has a talent for making computers see and do exactly what she wants them to, and for dodging past people like it was an Olympic event."
Costa-Brown cleared her throat. "Director Wilkins, I meant what I said earlier. Wipe that query off your system. I don't want any hint of it getting out. And get off my screen before I really get angry with you."
"Y-yes, Chief Director." Wilkins' expression was that of someone whose dreams of glory have crashed and burned. "Right away, ma'am." She jabbed at something on the keyboard in front of her, and her section of the screen went dark.
"Uh …" Armstrong half-raised one hand. "Death penalty? I mean, I know you had to convince Atropos you were serious, but …"
"She's stated outright that she can, and intends to, kill the Endbringers." Costa-Brown raised her eyebrows. "After that little performance, I'm more inclined than ever to believe her. In which case, her happiness and well-being are far more important than those of an eminently replaceable PRT Director."
"Ah."
"Which reminds me. Armsmaster." Costa-Brown smoothly switched her attention. "You have a reputation for being a formidable melee combatant. Do you believe you could take her?"
Armsmaster barely hesitated. "No, ma'am. I don't believe so."
"You believe she is that good in pure hand to hand? I've looked at the footage of her fighting the Nine, and my analysis of her speed and strength are that she's good for her age and body type, but not superhuman."
"I still don't think so." It was clear to Emily that confessing someone else was clearly his superior was painful to him, but he was pushing through it anyway. "I've been working on a combat prediction algorithm. Earlier this afternoon, I ran the footage of her killing the Nine past it. It told me the footage was impossible, and that it couldn't work out counters to half her moves."
"I see. Well, Emily, despite her decision to not come into the PRT, you seem to have formed a rapport of sorts with her. Whatever you're doing, keep it up."
Emily forced herself to nod. However she'd expected the meeting to go, she hadn't expected this. "Yes, ma'am."
"Good. We'll revisit this after the next Endbringer attack. This meeting is concluded."
The screen went dark, and Emily sagged back in her chair. Renick paused in shutting down his laptop, and turned to her. "Ma'am, how did …" He trailed off.
"How did she know to be there?" That question had been on her mind as well. "I'm just going to assume from here on out that if there's something she wants to know, she knows it. Armsmaster?"
He nodded. "I concur. Everything I've seen about her indicates the same thing. Even the Slaughterhouse Nine takedown could've been choreographed from how smoothly she went through it. She knew exactly where every single one of them was and how they'd react before they ever showed themselves." A tinge of frustration showed in his voice. "I've been working on that algorithm for months, and she can do everything it can, only better. It's irritating."
This was a new side to him. Emily found it oddly humanising. "Well, don't let it get you down. Atropos may be taking care of the highlights, but there's still normal crime to deal with. And with the pressure taken off, we might actually be able to make headway now."
"Ma'am." He nodded again, sounding happier.
Emily heaved herself to her feet. "Well, now we've dealt with that particular issue, I'm clocking out for the day. Renick, you have the helm."
"Yes, ma'am."
Danny
The car door opened and he looked around as Taylor got in. Carrying the hat and mask and long-coat bundled up under her arm, she appeared to be a slightly better dressed teenager out on the streets of Manhattan. "How'd it go?" he asked.
"She saw reason in the end," Taylor said. She held up the shears speculatively. "You know, I think I might call these 'Reason'. It works on so many levels."
Danny shook his head as he started the car. "Is this another one of your horrible puns? I swear, I never made that many."
"No, but the ones you made were worse." Taylor grinned. "Thanks for this, by the way. I appreciate it."
"Hey." He offered her a half-smile before putting his attention back on the road. "What sort of a dad would I be if I didn't support you in what you want to do?"
Leaning over, she rested her head on his shoulder for a moment. "Aww, I love you too."
It would be a long drive back to Brockton Bay, but he figured it was worth it for moments like this.
Dragon
"… and then she handed you over to me. That was about nine hours ago." Dragon paused, focusing sensors on the girl reclining in the seat of the mech she was currently controlling. She'd gotten rid of the Alice dress and given Riley a proper bath, then fitted her out with basic clothing. "How do you feel?"
"A little hungry, I guess." Riley looked at her hands, front and back, then touched her hair. "That's kind of weird."
"It's perfectly understandable to be suffering from a little body dysmorphia," Dragon hastened to say. "I'll be here to help you through it if you want."
"Well, no." Riley shook her head. "That's not the weird part. I know what body dysmorphia is, and I'm not suffering from it. I mean, I know I was born white, and now I'm not, and it feels perfectly normal to me. That's the weird bit. I should be, but I'm not."
"Ah." Dragon felt a little out of her depth. Whoever Atropos had gotten to do the change job, they were good. However, this was another tick in the box against it being Panacea, because she could never do brains. "Any other mental effects I should know about?"
"Just the feeling that my body's spent the last six years being piloted by a stranger." Riley's voice was pensive. "That person's gone but I can still see her footprints all over my life, as a puppet for Jack Slash's twisted ideas. Well, screw him, and screw Bonesaw. I'm not that person, and I never will be again."
"What about your family?" Dragon knew she was likely prodding sore points, but this had to be brought up at some point.
"Which one do you mean?" At least she wasn't dodging away from the topic. "The one I was born to, or the one Atropos lined up for me?"
"Either one. Both." Dragon waited for Riley's response.
The girl took a deep breath and let it out again as a slow sigh. "Mom and Dad and Drew and Muffles are dead. I know it, and I know I could never have stopped it. The Nine kept me running around and around until I fell over from exhaustion. I think when I accepted they were going to die, that's when I broke. That's when I started being what Jack Slash wanted me to be."
"They stacked the deck from the beginning," Dragon agreed. "You couldn't win. Would you like to go visit their graves sometime? I'm sure we could manage it."
Riley shook her head pensively. "Later maybe, but not right now. It's still too fresh for me. I think I still need to do some grieving." With a visible effort, she changed the subject. "What about my other family, the Laborns? Why are they even taking me in? I mean, do they know who I was?"
"They do, but Atropos can be very persuasive. Also, Aisha's a huge fan of hers, so that made it a lot easier." Dragon chuckled. "Brian's in the Wards too, of course. The PRT even thinks it's their idea to place you with him and Aisha."
Riley blinked. "And that answers a few more of the questions I had. I've just got one left."
"Let me guess. 'Why is Atropos even doing this?'"
"Got it in one."
The entire mech shrugged. "Hon, I have no idea. But I've found it's smart not to second-guess her."
Riley chuckled. "Yeah, I got that impression." She paused for a moment. 'Can I … can I watch the takedown again? I vaguely remember the Nine, and what they did to people, and it makes me feel better to see them die."
"Can't argue with that."
PRT Housing, Brockton Bay
Aisha
When her phone pinged with a message, Aisha ignored it at first in favour of the TV show she was watching. But then it pinged again, and she grunted with annoyance as she dug around for it. "Stupid piece of junk," she muttered before reading the messages.
Hi to my favorite fan.
How's the tiara? - A
A smile blossomed over her face as she utterly ignored the TV and tapped out a reply.
The tiara is amazeballs. You rock. The look on GG's face was funny as fuck.
Atropos' reply came quickly. Coolness. I'd like to do a speaker call with you and Brian. You down for that?
Well duh she was down for that. "Bri! Get your lazy ass in here!"
His voice emanated from the living room. "Why, exactly?"
"Because Atropos is about to call, and she wants you and me on speaker."
"What?" From the sound of it, he'd just launched himself over the back of the couch. "Why's she calling us?"
"Because she wants to talk to us, duh." As far as Aisha was concerned, that was the only reason she needed. As Brian hurried into the bedroom, she typed in, Sure. It'll be great to talk to you again.
Less than one second after she hit Send, the phone rang. She swiped to answer it, then put the phone on speaker. "Heyyyy! How is the baddest cape in the Bay? Holy shit, what you did to the Nine was seriously messed up, but in a good way!"
"Hi, Aisha." Atropos chuckled. "I'm glad you approve. How are you and Brian doing? All good there?"
"Oh, we're okay." Aisha thought about that for a moment, then decided to correct herself. "Actually, better than okay. This place they got us staying in is pretty damn comfortable, and nothing smells of piss, and I don't get my dad on my case twenty-four-seven, so that's always a bonus. I mean, Brian's still here, but there isn't much I can do about that."
"Now, be nice," Atropos said, but she heard the chuckle in the other girl's voice. "If it wasn't for him being a Ward, you wouldn't be there. Anyway, I'm calling about something that's going to happen soon. Tomorrow morning, you're going to be contacted by your supervisor in the PRT and told that your father had a distant cousin who recently died in a car accident along with his wife. They're survived by their ten-year-old daughter Riley, who triggered with powers trying to save them. And it turns out you're the next of kin."
"Wait," said Brian, on the ball for once. "I'm pretty sure I never heard of Dad having any cousins, close or distant."
"And yet, he has one now." Atropos seemed to be drawing this out. "And so do you."
"Wait, wait." Aisha got it all of a sudden. "If Riley's got powers and we're the next of kin … does that mean they'll be putting her with us?"
"That's what they'll be asking you if you're okay with," Atropos confirmed. "Brian's got powers, she's got powers, she'll need a female relative who she can relate to … as far as they're concerned, it'll be perfectly obvious."
"But there's clearly more to it than that, if you're calling ahead to tell us about it." Brian tilted his head, looking pensive. "If she's not really our cousin, what's actually going on?"
"What's actually going on is that when I killed off the Nine, I knocked out Bonesaw instead of killing her, then took her to an expert on the matter. She's since been stripped of all her lethal toys, de-aged a couple of years, and had the entire Bonesaw persona taken away from her. What's left is the frightened kid who was abducted by Jack Slash, six years ago. I really think she deserves a second chance."
"Whoa, wait a second." Brian held up his hands in the classic 'time out' pose. "I'm all for helping out, but I think it'll look a bit weird if we took in a slightly younger Bonesaw clone."
The phone pinged as a message arrived. "I thought you'd say that. Here's a picture of what she looks like now."
Aisha frowned and opened the message. The picture was of an unconscious girl wearing Bonesaw's bloodstained Alice dress … but this girl was black. "What the fuck?"
"Like I said, I took her to an expert in the field. She doesn't look like Bonesaw or think like her, and she certainly won't act like her. And I personally think you two are the best chance she's got of growing up to be a hero. Also, the PRT will be giving you a stipend for her expenses. So, what do you say?"
Aisha was staring at the girl's face. Even in repose, there was a hint of pain there, and her heart went out to the poor kid. "So, she'll be like my little sister or something?"
"That's the idea, yeah."
Another question occurred to her. "Who else knows that she's not our cousin?"
"You, me, her. A couple of others, but nobody in the PRT or Protectorate. Best to keep it that way, yeah?"
That was when Brian decided to be a boring adult. "Can I have half an hour to think it over?"
"Absolutely. Take all the time you need." The call ended.
"Think it over?" Aisha glared at him. "What thinking do you need to do? That poor kid needs us!"
"Now, wait a minute." Brian shook his head. "We're going to have to talk this over—"
Aisha wasn't letting that fly. "Nope. We're taking her in."
"But you're not considering all the ramifications—"
"Little. Sister."
"Aisha, think about this logically—"
"Imma braid her hair. And teach her how to braid mine."
"I understand you're kind of lonely—"
"I swear, if you turn this down, I will make your life a living hell."
"You already do."
She grinned evilly. "Yeah, but now I'll have a reason to."
Half an Hour Later
Thirty-odd more miles had passed under the car's humming wheels when Brian rang me back. "Hello? Atropos?"
"Speaking," I answered.
He sighed. "After much thinking, and not a little badgering, we've decided that yes, we'll take her in."
In the background, I was almost certain I could hear Aisha doing a victory dance. "Fuckin' A!"
Aisha
"Excellent." Atropos didn't sound even slightly surprised. "Thank you. I really appreciate it."
Brian nodded, even though she couldn't see him. "You're welcome." The call ended a second later, and he turned to Aisha. "I hope we don't end up regretting this."
She rolled her eyes. "You know who ends up regretting shit around my girl Atropos? The morons who don't do what she says."
Reluctantly, he nodded. "Good point. Now, get some sleep. You've got school in the morning, remember?"
"Oh, shit." Frantically, she cast around for an excuse not to go there, even if it was a class set up to compensate for her short attention span. "Can't go. I'll be, uh, helping Riley settle in and stuff."
He grinned at her with that special nice-try shit-eating grin he was so good at. "Nope. You'll be going to school." He headed out of the room, then leaned back in through the doorway. "Bed. Now."
"Fine." Aisha collected her pyjamas and went to have a quick shower and brush her teeth before going to bed. But as she went, she danced on her toes. I'm gonna have a little sister …
Atropos, she decided, was awesome.
End of Part Twenty-Three
Part Twenty-Three: Bad Decisions, Good Decisions
[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
Sunday Afternoon, January 9, 2011
Next to Westlake Park
Taylor
As Dad braked the car briefly, I pulled the door open, slid in, and removed my hat and mask almost in one motion. We moved off again, and I fastened my seatbelt then put my glasses on. "Well, that's done," I said with some satisfaction.
"Good to hear," Dad said. "I saw Dragon's suit flying away. I'm guessing she's taken Riley away to finish up that part of the plan?"
"Yup. But there's a new problem. And it's going to be in New York. You up for a road trip?"
"So long as you're okay with getting back here around midnight," he said at once. "Is one of the gangs in New York prepping something big?"
"Not immediately, but give them time." I leaned back in my seat, pulled out my phone, and started typing into a text box. I wasn't quite sure what the programming language was called, just that it did really fun things to the PRT's computer systems. As far as I was concerned, invisibility was more a case of preparation than powers. "This thing we're going there for, it needs to be nipped in the bud tonight."
"That's concerning." As he spoke, he concentrated on his driving, taking a series of turns designed to get us on the highway south. "Are you going to be killing someone?"
"Not if she's smart."
<><>
Five Hours Later
Conference Room A, PRT ENE Building
Director Piggot
Despite knowing that she was firmly in the right when it came to the PRT's protocols toward Atropos, Emily felt as though she'd been singled out for inquisition by her peers and superior. The wallscreen was showing a split image, with Rebecca Costa-Brown in the middle, with Director Wilkins of New York and Director Armstrong of Boston to her left and right.
For the occasion, Emily had Armsmaster and Renick flanking her, visible in the tiny inset window in the top corner of the screen. Her deputy had a laptop open in front of him so that he could perform any checks she needed done. Armsmaster, of course, had an HUD in his visor that could do the same.
"Good evening, Chief Director, Director Wilkins, Director Armstrong," she said smoothly. "What would you like to know first?"
Interestingly enough, it wasn't Costa-Brown who spoke first, but Wilkins. "I think I speak for all of us when I ask exactly what is going on in Brockton Bay?"
Wilkins wasn't her superior officer, so Emily turned her attention to Costa-Brown. "Before I throw this open to the floor, did the Chief Director have a question for me?"
The expression on Costa-Brown's face was barely a smile. "To be honest, I was curious about the current situation there as well."
Emily nodded to acknowledge the question. "Right now, we're bagging and tagging the remains of the Slaughterhouse Nine. And let me tell you, Crawler needs a lot of bags." They were actually using a shipping container to store the monstrous cape's remains, but she thought a little humour might serve to lighten the mood. "Apart from that, we really don't have any other parahuman issues to deal with at the moment. The local criminal capes are either keeping their heads down, leaving town, or both."
Armstrong raised his eyebrows, miming surprise. "So, you aren't counting this Atropos among the number of your local criminal capes? Have you already arrested or recruited her?"
She knew damn well he was aware this was not the case. "Neither," she said flatly. "She's too dangerous to even attempt the former with, and she has rebuffed repeated suggestions to come in and speak with us. However, she has initiated ad hoc teamwork with our newest Ward—he was in a strictly undercover role, though she saw through that in less than a minute—and with Dragon, achieving her goals both times with terrifying ease."
"And you're okay with this?" Wilkins' tone was a little stronger than before. Emily felt that she could rapidly become tired of the woman's voice. "She's not just a murderer, she's a serial killer! Parahumans like her are the very reason the PRT exists!"
"Director Wilkins, you need to moderate your tone," warned Costa-Brown. "This is neither an interrogation nor a court-martial."
Emily allowed herself a tiny smile. "No, it's okay, ma'am. Director Wilkins has evidently forgotten that parahumans like Jack Slash are the reason the PRT exists. If villains of that stripe weren't out and about, dragging society down, then we wouldn't be needed. And neither would someone like Atropos."
Costa-Brown raised her head slightly. "This almost sounds like you're condoning her actions. Is this the case?" she asked, her voice non-judgemental … for now.
"Not condoning, no," Emily said. "And I wouldn't tell my troopers or our heroes to go the route she does. But … she gets results. I can't ignore that. Our crime figures right now are literally the lowest they've been since I took up this position. Between that, and the fact that anyone she took seriously in a fight would die, right now the smart move is to stand back and mop up the pieces."
"She's murdered five capes who never had a kill order against them." Wilkins looked like she wanted to shout, but wasn't quite prepared for the consequences. "That's so far against our directives, it's ridiculous. You need to be bringing her down immediately!"
"At least six capes and two dozen unpowered people, actually." Emily didn't let herself show the satisfaction she felt in correcting Wilkins. "Most of whom she gave clear warnings to, or who were aggressing on her, before she initiated hostilities. Plus, the Slaughterhouse Nine. You did watch the unedited version of that, didn't you? All the way through?"
For the first time, Wilkins looked on the back foot. "I skimmed it, just to make sure they were dead. Why?"
Emily allowed the steel to come into her tone. "Watch it, carefully. She went into that fight with a pair of shears, a pistol, a ball of string, an M67 frag grenade and a fire extinguisher. Forty-two minutes later, every member of the Slaughterhouse Nine was dead. They never stood a chance. I'm not sending my men up against that."
Armstrong cleared his throat. "There was the issue of Dragon's assistance …" he mentioned diffidently.
Emily rolled her eyes. She'd studied the footage. "Dragon's presence just made it easier. Without her, the grenade would've taken care of Crawler, a single shot through the side of the van would've disposed of Manton, and Atropos could've disarmed Slash without needing to shoot the knife out of his hand. The way she did it, she was deliberately showing off. And the more I think about it, the more I'm convinced she specifically chose this method to further dissuade the PRT from getting in her way."
"Nobody's above the law," insisted Wilkins. "She needs to be brought to heel. Right now, she's making you all look like idiots. Making us look like idiots."
"Wait, who's the sixth cape?" interjected Armstrong. "I'd only heard about five. Oni Lee, Coil, Kaiser, Lung and Skidmark." He winced as he said the last name; evidently, he'd watched the footage of that one. It left bruising on the psyche.
Emily took a deep breath. This was going to be tricky. "Our probationary Ward, Shadow Stalker. Violent vigilante before she was drafted. Reportedly a bully. She was going far off the rails, threatening either Atropos or someone she cares about. Atropos said she warned Stalker twice. Then she killed her. This happened in the school, out of costume. Exactly four blows landed, all on Stalker. Two of these would've killed her in relatively short order, but Atropos finished her off with a kick to the chest that stopped her heart."
Costa-Brown showed no reaction, which wasn't surprising. The report of Atropos admitting to the murder had undoubtedly landed on her desk at some point. However, the other two clearly hadn't been kept in the loop.
"She killed a Ward? Out of costume?" Armstrong was astonished. "Why are we only just now hearing about this?"
"Because as a Ward, she was a potential embarrassment, if not an outright liability," Emily said, trying not to grit her teeth. She'd been through Blackwell's file on Stalker, and the number of complaints that had gone absolutely nowhere, or resulted in a minor slap on the wrist, had been horribly illuminating. The little shit must've thought she was bulletproof. "Right now, the public's view of Atropos is leaning very strongly toward 'if she killed someone, they deserved it', which is a not inaccurate reputation, all told. So, if they find out that she killed a Ward, the first thing they're going to ask is why that Ward pissed Atropos off. And as all the evidence points toward Stalker actually provoking her own murder, I'm strongly disinclined to let the public—and the media—in on it. So, as far as the PRT ENE is officially concerned, Atropos had nothing to do with Stalker's death."
"You've got to be shitting me." Wilkins gripped the desk and leaned forward, so that her face was enlarged in the camera view. It wasn't a flattering look for her. "Atropos just handed herself to you on a silver platter. Can't you see that?"
Emily could indeed see what she was referring to. It was in no way a smart move. "Don't go there," she cautioned her fellow Director. "That way cannot end well." She flicked a glance at Costa-Brown, who was sitting there impassively as they went head-to-head. She wants to see how this turns out.
Wilkins shook her head. "Jesus Christ, Piggot. I thought you were tougher and smarter than this. If Atropos and Stalker went to the same school, all you have to do is cross-reference the complaints to see who put in the most, then we have our suspect. Then we put pressure on the friends and family, and she falls straight into line. From loose cannon to valuable asset under our control, in one easy step." She peered at her screen as she began to type. "Okay, what do we have here?"
"Wilkins!" shouted Emily. "This is a very bad idea! She's given us a pass so long as we don't attack her! This is an attack! I'm warning you, back the fuck off!"
"Oh, please." Wilkins snorted derisively. "This is a high-end encrypted conference call. I don't give a damn how good her Combat Thinker rating is. How's she going to even find out it happened?" She kept typing. "Huh. Okay. This shouldn't be too hard to narrow down. Emily, seriously, you should be thanking me for doing your job."
And then, with a suddenness that froze the blood in Emily's veins, Atropos walked into view behind Wilkins. Those damned shears were in her hand, twirling gently as she approached the New York PRT Director from behind.
Armstrong sat up straight, his eyes widening. Even Costa-Brown showed signs of alarm. "Wilkins …" Armstrong managed. "Behind you …"
Wilkins glanced upward and to her right—checking her inset image—then she sneered. "Ah, yes. You told us about her hacking skills. Good trick, but I happen to be in New York, not Brockton Bay. Also, my office door has a secure code lock on it. She's no doubt piggybacked on the hack she's already got connected into your local building security. But if I look around, she wins because she made me think she was there."
"Wilkins …" Costa-Brown spoke carefully. "Don't make any sudden moves. I've taken training in spotting illusions and deepfakes. That's not a video insertion. She's there."
"With all due respect, Chief Director," Wilkins said. "Atropos may have the rest of you bluffed with her bogeyman bullshit, but there's no way she could actually be here. I'm not afraid of pixels on a screen."
Atropos, who had paused during the discussion, suddenly moved. Her arm snaked around Wilkins' head, hand cupped under her chin, and pulled back. At the same time, the gleaming steel blade of the bodice shears ended up poised over Wilkins' left eye, the point so close it was brushing her eyelid each time she blinked. Emily judged that if those blades were as sharp as she suspected, it would take very little effort to drive them through into Wilkins' brain.
"How about now?" asked Atropos, her tone almost conversational. "Afraid now?"
Wilkins' hands froze as the steel touched her fluttering eyelashes. She made a whimpering sound between her lips, but nothing more.
"Thought as much," Atropos observed. "Everyone, keep your hands in plain view, please. If Director Wilkins chooses to be smart, she gets to live. Do we all understand this?"
"Atropos," Armstrong began, his tone hesitant as though he wasn't totally sure this was happening. "This is a direction you don't want to go in. Murdering a PRT Director? You can't undo this."
Atropos shook her head. "Now see, I've got a different view of things. I give warnings. If people ignore the warning, they die. Director Piggot—hi, Director, big fan of your work—was kind enough to give her my first warning. This blade at her eye? My second warning. She doesn't get a third warning."
"What Director Armstrong is trying to say, Atropos," Costa-Brown said smoothly, "is that we'll have no choice but to come after you with everything we've got if you go through with this. Now I understand Wilkins' actions were a threat to you—"
Atropos shook her head, and Costa-Brown stopped speaking. "No, Chief Director," Atropos stated. "Director Wilkins couldn't threaten me personally on her best day. Neither could the rest of you, individually or all at once. But if she finds out my real name and one of your inevitable fucking leaks puts it out there, and someone goes after my family or friends, then there will absolutely be blood in the streets, and it won't end until she's dead. So, I'm cutting all that off at the pass, so to speak. Right here, right now. She gets the chance to not do it. To never do it."
"And if she changes her mind in the future?" asked Armstrong.
"I'll know, and I'll be there." Atropos' statement was both blunt and chilling. "Director Piggot there, she's smart. She made this decision days ago, and I didn't even have to help her. Good to see you, by the way, Director, Deputy Director, Armsmaster. How's that corruption and incompetence thing going?"
Emily wasn't quite sure how events had taken a hard left into casual small talk, but she nodded toward Renick; he knew more of the details than she did about that.
He caught the cue and cleared his throat. "We, uh, we caught two more of our people who were on the take. And we've instigated a department-wide audit on operational practices. Six people have quit, but we're getting results."
"Nice," Atropos said approvingly. "Oh, and just so you know, one of Heartbreaker's kids is in town, but I'll be dealing with that tomorrow."
"Heartbreaker?" Armsmaster spoke up. "Is he coming here?"
"Eventually." Atropos' tone evinced no particular concern. "When he does, he'll be leaving in a body bag. He's already been warned."
"Atropos." Costa-Brown spoke firmly. "As fascinating as this is, you still have a blade to my subordinate's eye."
"Yeah, I know. I've been giving her time to think about it. Unfortunately, she's still convinced that she can lie to me and then start her research again once I've left." Atropos shrugged without moving her hands, which would've been impressive in someone else. "You know what happens if she does that. What would you have me do?"
Costa-Brown paused for a long moment. When she spoke, her words could've been carved from granite. "Director Wilkins. You will cease and desist all attempts at learning Atropos' identity. That is a direct order, witnessed by Directors Piggot and Armstrong. Failure to obey this lawful order will result in formal charges under PRTCJ Articles ninety and ninety-two, for which I will insist on the death penalty.. Do you understand?"
Silence fell across the video link. Atropos loosened her hold on Wilkins and moved the blade a few inches away from her face. Cautiously, Wilkins swallowed, then nodded. "Yes, Chief Director. I understand, and I will comply with your order."
"Excellent." Atropos released Wilkins and stepped back. The shears remained in view, idly twirling around one finger; a subtle reminder. "Much appreciated, Chief Director. Glad we could see eye to eye on this. Toodles." She stepped out of view; a moment later, Emily heard the sound of a closing door.
Wilkins' hand dived under the desk and Emily knew she was yanking the duress alarm (it was more a toggle than a button) as hard as she could. "Atropos is in the building!" she shouted. "Lock down the corridor outside my office! Lock down everything! She just threatened my life! I want her arrested and charged now!"
"Don't bother," Armsmaster observed, at about the same time that Emily had the same thought. "I had a look at the programming when she hacked the PRT building here. Even if your duress alarm went out, which it probably didn't, she's probably invisible to the security cameras, or they're reading her as someone else. Right now she'll be strolling through your security like it wasn't even there."
"I concur," agreed Renick. "She has a talent for making computers see and do exactly what she wants them to, and for dodging past people like it was an Olympic event."
Costa-Brown cleared her throat. "Director Wilkins, I meant what I said earlier. Wipe that query off your system. I don't want any hint of it getting out. And get off my screen before I really get angry with you."
"Y-yes, Chief Director." Wilkins' expression was that of someone whose dreams of glory have crashed and burned. "Right away, ma'am." She jabbed at something on the keyboard in front of her, and her section of the screen went dark.
"Uh …" Armstrong half-raised one hand. "Death penalty? I mean, I know you had to convince Atropos you were serious, but …"
"She's stated outright that she can, and intends to, kill the Endbringers." Costa-Brown raised her eyebrows. "After that little performance, I'm more inclined than ever to believe her. In which case, her happiness and well-being are far more important than those of an eminently replaceable PRT Director."
"Ah."
"Which reminds me. Armsmaster." Costa-Brown smoothly switched her attention. "You have a reputation for being a formidable melee combatant. Do you believe you could take her?"
Armsmaster barely hesitated. "No, ma'am. I don't believe so."
"You believe she is that good in pure hand to hand? I've looked at the footage of her fighting the Nine, and my analysis of her speed and strength are that she's good for her age and body type, but not superhuman."
"I still don't think so." It was clear to Emily that confessing someone else was clearly his superior was painful to him, but he was pushing through it anyway. "I've been working on a combat prediction algorithm. Earlier this afternoon, I ran the footage of her killing the Nine past it. It told me the footage was impossible, and that it couldn't work out counters to half her moves."
"I see. Well, Emily, despite her decision to not come into the PRT, you seem to have formed a rapport of sorts with her. Whatever you're doing, keep it up."
Emily forced herself to nod. However she'd expected the meeting to go, she hadn't expected this. "Yes, ma'am."
"Good. We'll revisit this after the next Endbringer attack. This meeting is concluded."
The screen went dark, and Emily sagged back in her chair. Renick paused in shutting down his laptop, and turned to her. "Ma'am, how did …" He trailed off.
"How did she know to be there?" That question had been on her mind as well. "I'm just going to assume from here on out that if there's something she wants to know, she knows it. Armsmaster?"
He nodded. "I concur. Everything I've seen about her indicates the same thing. Even the Slaughterhouse Nine takedown could've been choreographed from how smoothly she went through it. She knew exactly where every single one of them was and how they'd react before they ever showed themselves." A tinge of frustration showed in his voice. "I've been working on that algorithm for months, and she can do everything it can, only better. It's irritating."
This was a new side to him. Emily found it oddly humanising. "Well, don't let it get you down. Atropos may be taking care of the highlights, but there's still normal crime to deal with. And with the pressure taken off, we might actually be able to make headway now."
"Ma'am." He nodded again, sounding happier.
Emily heaved herself to her feet. "Well, now we've dealt with that particular issue, I'm clocking out for the day. Renick, you have the helm."
"Yes, ma'am."
<><>
Danny
The car door opened and he looked around as Taylor got in. Carrying the hat and mask and long-coat bundled up under her arm, she appeared to be a slightly better dressed teenager out on the streets of Manhattan. "How'd it go?" he asked.
"She saw reason in the end," Taylor said. She held up the shears speculatively. "You know, I think I might call these 'Reason'. It works on so many levels."
Danny shook his head as he started the car. "Is this another one of your horrible puns? I swear, I never made that many."
"No, but the ones you made were worse." Taylor grinned. "Thanks for this, by the way. I appreciate it."
"Hey." He offered her a half-smile before putting his attention back on the road. "What sort of a dad would I be if I didn't support you in what you want to do?"
Leaning over, she rested her head on his shoulder for a moment. "Aww, I love you too."
It would be a long drive back to Brockton Bay, but he figured it was worth it for moments like this.
<><>
Dragon
"… and then she handed you over to me. That was about nine hours ago." Dragon paused, focusing sensors on the girl reclining in the seat of the mech she was currently controlling. She'd gotten rid of the Alice dress and given Riley a proper bath, then fitted her out with basic clothing. "How do you feel?"
"A little hungry, I guess." Riley looked at her hands, front and back, then touched her hair. "That's kind of weird."
"It's perfectly understandable to be suffering from a little body dysmorphia," Dragon hastened to say. "I'll be here to help you through it if you want."
"Well, no." Riley shook her head. "That's not the weird part. I know what body dysmorphia is, and I'm not suffering from it. I mean, I know I was born white, and now I'm not, and it feels perfectly normal to me. That's the weird bit. I should be, but I'm not."
"Ah." Dragon felt a little out of her depth. Whoever Atropos had gotten to do the change job, they were good. However, this was another tick in the box against it being Panacea, because she could never do brains. "Any other mental effects I should know about?"
"Just the feeling that my body's spent the last six years being piloted by a stranger." Riley's voice was pensive. "That person's gone but I can still see her footprints all over my life, as a puppet for Jack Slash's twisted ideas. Well, screw him, and screw Bonesaw. I'm not that person, and I never will be again."
"What about your family?" Dragon knew she was likely prodding sore points, but this had to be brought up at some point.
"Which one do you mean?" At least she wasn't dodging away from the topic. "The one I was born to, or the one Atropos lined up for me?"
"Either one. Both." Dragon waited for Riley's response.
The girl took a deep breath and let it out again as a slow sigh. "Mom and Dad and Drew and Muffles are dead. I know it, and I know I could never have stopped it. The Nine kept me running around and around until I fell over from exhaustion. I think when I accepted they were going to die, that's when I broke. That's when I started being what Jack Slash wanted me to be."
"They stacked the deck from the beginning," Dragon agreed. "You couldn't win. Would you like to go visit their graves sometime? I'm sure we could manage it."
Riley shook her head pensively. "Later maybe, but not right now. It's still too fresh for me. I think I still need to do some grieving." With a visible effort, she changed the subject. "What about my other family, the Laborns? Why are they even taking me in? I mean, do they know who I was?"
"They do, but Atropos can be very persuasive. Also, Aisha's a huge fan of hers, so that made it a lot easier." Dragon chuckled. "Brian's in the Wards too, of course. The PRT even thinks it's their idea to place you with him and Aisha."
Riley blinked. "And that answers a few more of the questions I had. I've just got one left."
"Let me guess. 'Why is Atropos even doing this?'"
"Got it in one."
The entire mech shrugged. "Hon, I have no idea. But I've found it's smart not to second-guess her."
Riley chuckled. "Yeah, I got that impression." She paused for a moment. 'Can I … can I watch the takedown again? I vaguely remember the Nine, and what they did to people, and it makes me feel better to see them die."
"Can't argue with that."
<><>
PRT Housing, Brockton Bay
Aisha
When her phone pinged with a message, Aisha ignored it at first in favour of the TV show she was watching. But then it pinged again, and she grunted with annoyance as she dug around for it. "Stupid piece of junk," she muttered before reading the messages.
Hi to my favorite fan.
How's the tiara? - A
A smile blossomed over her face as she utterly ignored the TV and tapped out a reply.
The tiara is amazeballs. You rock. The look on GG's face was funny as fuck.
Atropos' reply came quickly. Coolness. I'd like to do a speaker call with you and Brian. You down for that?
Well duh she was down for that. "Bri! Get your lazy ass in here!"
His voice emanated from the living room. "Why, exactly?"
"Because Atropos is about to call, and she wants you and me on speaker."
"What?" From the sound of it, he'd just launched himself over the back of the couch. "Why's she calling us?"
"Because she wants to talk to us, duh." As far as Aisha was concerned, that was the only reason she needed. As Brian hurried into the bedroom, she typed in, Sure. It'll be great to talk to you again.
Less than one second after she hit Send, the phone rang. She swiped to answer it, then put the phone on speaker. "Heyyyy! How is the baddest cape in the Bay? Holy shit, what you did to the Nine was seriously messed up, but in a good way!"
"Hi, Aisha." Atropos chuckled. "I'm glad you approve. How are you and Brian doing? All good there?"
"Oh, we're okay." Aisha thought about that for a moment, then decided to correct herself. "Actually, better than okay. This place they got us staying in is pretty damn comfortable, and nothing smells of piss, and I don't get my dad on my case twenty-four-seven, so that's always a bonus. I mean, Brian's still here, but there isn't much I can do about that."
"Now, be nice," Atropos said, but she heard the chuckle in the other girl's voice. "If it wasn't for him being a Ward, you wouldn't be there. Anyway, I'm calling about something that's going to happen soon. Tomorrow morning, you're going to be contacted by your supervisor in the PRT and told that your father had a distant cousin who recently died in a car accident along with his wife. They're survived by their ten-year-old daughter Riley, who triggered with powers trying to save them. And it turns out you're the next of kin."
"Wait," said Brian, on the ball for once. "I'm pretty sure I never heard of Dad having any cousins, close or distant."
"And yet, he has one now." Atropos seemed to be drawing this out. "And so do you."
"Wait, wait." Aisha got it all of a sudden. "If Riley's got powers and we're the next of kin … does that mean they'll be putting her with us?"
"That's what they'll be asking you if you're okay with," Atropos confirmed. "Brian's got powers, she's got powers, she'll need a female relative who she can relate to … as far as they're concerned, it'll be perfectly obvious."
"But there's clearly more to it than that, if you're calling ahead to tell us about it." Brian tilted his head, looking pensive. "If she's not really our cousin, what's actually going on?"
"What's actually going on is that when I killed off the Nine, I knocked out Bonesaw instead of killing her, then took her to an expert on the matter. She's since been stripped of all her lethal toys, de-aged a couple of years, and had the entire Bonesaw persona taken away from her. What's left is the frightened kid who was abducted by Jack Slash, six years ago. I really think she deserves a second chance."
"Whoa, wait a second." Brian held up his hands in the classic 'time out' pose. "I'm all for helping out, but I think it'll look a bit weird if we took in a slightly younger Bonesaw clone."
The phone pinged as a message arrived. "I thought you'd say that. Here's a picture of what she looks like now."
Aisha frowned and opened the message. The picture was of an unconscious girl wearing Bonesaw's bloodstained Alice dress … but this girl was black. "What the fuck?"
"Like I said, I took her to an expert in the field. She doesn't look like Bonesaw or think like her, and she certainly won't act like her. And I personally think you two are the best chance she's got of growing up to be a hero. Also, the PRT will be giving you a stipend for her expenses. So, what do you say?"
Aisha was staring at the girl's face. Even in repose, there was a hint of pain there, and her heart went out to the poor kid. "So, she'll be like my little sister or something?"
"That's the idea, yeah."
Another question occurred to her. "Who else knows that she's not our cousin?"
"You, me, her. A couple of others, but nobody in the PRT or Protectorate. Best to keep it that way, yeah?"
That was when Brian decided to be a boring adult. "Can I have half an hour to think it over?"
"Absolutely. Take all the time you need." The call ended.
"Think it over?" Aisha glared at him. "What thinking do you need to do? That poor kid needs us!"
"Now, wait a minute." Brian shook his head. "We're going to have to talk this over—"
Aisha wasn't letting that fly. "Nope. We're taking her in."
"But you're not considering all the ramifications—"
"Little. Sister."
"Aisha, think about this logically—"
"Imma braid her hair. And teach her how to braid mine."
"I understand you're kind of lonely—"
"I swear, if you turn this down, I will make your life a living hell."
"You already do."
She grinned evilly. "Yeah, but now I'll have a reason to."
<><>
Half an Hour Later
Thirty-odd more miles had passed under the car's humming wheels when Brian rang me back. "Hello? Atropos?"
"Speaking," I answered.
He sighed. "After much thinking, and not a little badgering, we've decided that yes, we'll take her in."
In the background, I was almost certain I could hear Aisha doing a victory dance. "Fuckin' A!"
<><>
Aisha
"Excellent." Atropos didn't sound even slightly surprised. "Thank you. I really appreciate it."
Brian nodded, even though she couldn't see him. "You're welcome." The call ended a second later, and he turned to Aisha. "I hope we don't end up regretting this."
She rolled her eyes. "You know who ends up regretting shit around my girl Atropos? The morons who don't do what she says."
Reluctantly, he nodded. "Good point. Now, get some sleep. You've got school in the morning, remember?"
"Oh, shit." Frantically, she cast around for an excuse not to go there, even if it was a class set up to compensate for her short attention span. "Can't go. I'll be, uh, helping Riley settle in and stuff."
He grinned at her with that special nice-try shit-eating grin he was so good at. "Nope. You'll be going to school." He headed out of the room, then leaned back in through the doorway. "Bed. Now."
"Fine." Aisha collected her pyjamas and went to have a quick shower and brush her teeth before going to bed. But as she went, she danced on her toes. I'm gonna have a little sister …
Atropos, she decided, was awesome.
End of Part Twenty-Three
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Part Twenty-Four: Broken Hearts
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A Darker Path
Part Twenty-Four: Broken Hearts
[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
Relevant Side Story 1 – New York
Relevant Side Story 2 - Greg
Monday Morning, January 10, 2011
Hebert Household
Taylor
I browsed over my mental map of enemies and other looming threats as I ate a leisurely breakfast with Dad. The fact that so many people sought my downfall fazed me not at all, mainly because my power positively thrived on the challenge of ending threats before they ended me. The main difference was that the vast majority of these were outside Brockton Bay, rather than inside it. I was looking forward to kicking their butts as well.
Dad smothered a yawn as he picked up some bacon with his fork. Even though I'd done the majority of the driving on the way back (via a Path to Ending This Journey Safely at Home) it had still been a long night for the both of us. I seemed to be handling it better than he was, but that was probably due to me being a teenager. If I were to believe pop culture, long nights were what we did.
"I still can't believe you said that thing about seeing things eye to eye," he said, shaking his head. I'd given him the basic rundown on the encounter, of course. "Was that just to mess with Wilkins?"
"Mostly, yeah." If I hadn't been running that precise Path, Wilkins would've more than likely become my latest kill through sheer pigheaded stubbornness. My power had thrown that phrase in there to screw with her head, but there was more to it than that. "I think it meant something to the Chief Director too; she almost flinched. Not sure why, though."
"God knows what skeletons are lurking in her closet," he said cynically. "She talks a good game, but people like her know where all the bodies are buried. And usually have a few of their own." He yawned again, and stretched. "I'm definitely going to be giving the coffee machine a serious workout once I get to my desk." He paused. "Which reminds me."
"Yeah?" I asked, then took a drink of orange juice.
"You said you walked into frame behind Wilkins, but how'd you get into her office without opening the door?"
I smirked. "They're going to be asking themselves that for a long time. My hack essentially made me invisible to their security cameras, and the number of personnel in that building is pretty low on a Sunday night. It wasn't even a challenge to keep out of sight of everyone."
"Okay, with you so far," he said. "Did you pick the lock to her office door or something?"
"Didn't have to." I grinned. "Waited around the corner until she walked past and tucked in behind her. She never heard or saw me. When we got to her office, I ducked into her ensuite while she went to her desk, always keeping just out of her peripheral vision. Then it was just a matter of waiting for my cue."
"Hah!" He chuckled for a few moments, then raised his coffee cup to me in salute. "That's beautiful. While I can't say your mom would entirely approve of all this killing, I think she would've loved that." He tilted his head in thought. "Then again, I'm pretty sure she'd secretly approve of the city being cleaned up, however it was done. So, there's that."
"I like to think she'd at least understand why it has to be done." I leaned back in my chair, taking another drink of juice. As my Paths curled and wove through the probabilities of the days ahead, I spotted something new and raised an eyebrow. "Huh. Looks like it's going to be an interesting day."
Dad chuckled again. "You've somewhat redefined that word over the last few days. So, what do you consider 'interesting' right now? Is it that thing you've done with Bonesaw? Has it gone wrong?"
"No, as far as I can tell, Riley's right on track." I took a bite of egg while I was thinking about what to say next. "There's some new capes in town. One showed up yesterday afternoon; I already knew about her. The other two must've come into town in the early hours of the morning. They're not even looking to have a beef with me, which makes them marginal for my radar. But they are using Master-type powers to mess with people, which is what puts them on my radar at all."
"Maybe they're just passing through?" he hazarded. "Step aside and wave them by?"
I shook my head. "It's more complicated than that. As far as I can tell, they're Heartbreaker's kids. One's running from him, the other two are chasing her. And she wants to stay in town."
"Heartbreaker. Shit." Now, he looked concerned. "That man is bad news from start to finish. I've heard stories."
"The reality is probably worse. It usually is." Once I noticed the intruders, I'd started a Path to End the threat and legacy of Heartbreaker, then gently steered my power away from 'kill them all' toward more information-gathering options. I was curious as to what was going on, and while going to the source and beating answers out of them was always an option, it was usually easier to just get my power to fill in the blanks.
Kicking over the Path gave me more details about the three kids who'd just hit Brockton Bay. I already knew about Cherie Vasil, but her brothers Guillaume and Nicholas were new to me. Each had Master-style powers, but in a different way. Cherie could detect emotions from all the way across the city and control emotions from much closer, Guillaume could see through a person's eyes and mess with their senses once he touched them, and Nicholas could just inspire fear.
And all three were right at that second using their powers to take advantage of the citizens of Brockton Bay. The capes might have had their unwritten rules, but I had one of my own: no more villains in Brockton Bay. I hadn't actually said as much on PHO, but it should've been made plain by context.
With their actions, they were (however subtly) disrupting the orderly operation of my city and delaying its revival. That pissed me off. And so, they were now on my radar.
But before I could deal with that, I had another obligation to meet. If I wanted to maintain even a fig-leaf of my cover as Taylor Hebert, I had to go to school. Winslow High awaited.
Fortunately, at least one of my problems would come to me.
Madison
Emma had refused to watch the playback of the deaths of the Nine after the first go-around, but Madison had been through it at least half a dozen times. In a way, she was able to glean a certain bleak pride from watching Taylor's deadly grace against America's most terrifying supervillain gang. They had come to Brockton Bay, and one teenage girl had killed them all before they could even take a single victim. You had no idea what you were up against.
Madison knew.
She'd strongly suspected that Taylor had killed Sophia after the incident in the cafeteria, but the absolute proof had arrived when Atropos paralysed Hatchet Face's diaphragm with his own axe and left him to suffocate. Her words to him left no doubt in her mind: 'I've only had to do this once before. She was an annoying little bitch, too. But she was on her second warning, so she got a pass. You're all out.'
The incessant online speculation about who the other 'annoying little bitch' was would've amused her, except for that fact that every time she watched that part of the clip, she could hear Taylor's voice murmuring in her ear: "That's two." Nothing seemed funny after that.
She knew beyond any shred of a doubt that Taylor could've left her to die, just as she had Hatchet Face. It hadn't been anything resembling compassion or pity that stayed Taylor's hand; Madison was pretty sure that even if Taylor felt those emotions, they didn't have much to do with her decisions.
No, Taylor had simply chosen not to bother with killing her or Emma. She'd arbitrarily decided that they had one last chance to mend their ways, along with Sophia. Madison and Emma had taken the warning to heart. Sophia had not, and Taylor had killed her.
But she hadn't stopped there. On that same night, Oni Lee had died, shot in the face with his own pistol. The next night, some villain called Coil. After that; Kaiser, then Lung, then Skidmark, in increasingly thorough ways.
All Taylor. Even before the Nine, Madison had seen the images of Atropos and watched the meagre footage, and she knew. The killer's stance was tall and proud, entirely unlike Taylor of before; but over the last week, she had walked with an assured stride that had people instinctively stepping out of her way. Some of this, Madison was sure, was down to the extremely intense whispering campaign that she and Emma had carried out to pass the word that Taylor was not to be bullied under any circumstances, but most of it was down to Taylor herself.
Neither she nor Emma had breathed a word that might suggest Taylor was Atropos, but combined with Sophia's death and Taylor's change in attitude, the 'hands off' order had more or less accidentally suggested it anyway. She was reasonably sure that most of the school (those who were aware of Taylor, anyway) had half a suspicion of Atropos's true identity by now, but the events of Sunday afternoon had sealed any and all lips when it came to voicing such suspicions. Even if they didn't specifically believe it, nobody wanted to be the one who drew her ire by accidentally outing her. Especially considering how horribly fucking lethal she'd shown herself to be in both physical and social combat (Madison wasn't bad with the occasional cutting quip, but she'd never seen someone talked to death before) when up against the various members of the Nine.
And there came Taylor herself. Backpack slung over her shoulder, head up, moving with that same confident stride. Madison belatedly realised that her hair—the one feature Atropos showed to the outside world—was also the same as in the footage she'd seen of the Sunday massacre.
Stopping at her own locker, Taylor opened it briefly to get her books out, then closed it again and kept moving. Madison took half a step back, just to make sure that she wasn't in Taylor's way. At her side, Emma shrank back against the locker. Taylor passed them by with barely the flicker of an eye and the ghost of a nod to acknowledge their presence, then kept going.
Madison breathed again. She was reasonably sure she'd never need to actually do cardio again for as long as she attended Winslow, from the accelerated heartrate she got every time she knew Taylor was in the vicinity. Terror-fuelled adrenaline had a way of doing that.
And then, disaster loomed. As Taylor made her way along the corridor toward (Madison presumed) her home room, Greg Veder approached her, hand up to get her attention. No, Greg, no! Madison screamed silently. One did not simply delay a force of nature from going where she wished.
Beside her, Emma sucked in a breath. "Does he want to die?" she whispered.
"No idea." Madison checked around for escape routes. She didn't think whatever Greg had to say would cause Taylor to go berserk on the school; but then again, Greg had been known to say some remarkably moronic things.
Madison had no idea what Greg was saying, but it didn't seem to be setting Taylor off. Whatever it was, he finished quickly enough, then stood there nervously awaiting a reply. She spoke a few words and slapped him lightly on the shoulder then moved on, leaving Madison wondering what had just happened. At least she didn't look angry, and Greg was still upright and alive, so there was that.
"What did he say?" hissed Emma. "What did she say?" She eyed Madison, as if about to mention that Taylor and Greg shared a World Affairs class with her.
"You know what?" Madison decided. "I really don't want to know that badly." Taylor Hebert's business was Taylor Hebert's business. Madison liked living.
Emma drew in a shaky breath. "Yeah, good point. Let's get to home room. See you at lunch." They would eat far away from Taylor's table; that was a given. If they didn't interact with her, they would not offend her, and thus the stay of execution would be maintained. It was a plan.
"See you there." Madison gave her friend a smile and encouraging nod—stay strong—and headed off toward the Art classroom, which was her own home room.
There were many villains in the world. So long as Taylor had them to focus on, Madison and Emma would survive.
Cherish
Cherie pushed open the doors of the school and walked on in as if she belonged, even though she'd never been there before in her life. All around her sang a chorus of music only she could hear, emanating from the students and staff of Winslow High School. Overtones merged with undertones; nobody was truly happy to be there, but some were more content than others.
Interestingly enough, a significant fraction of the students in the school shared an underlying tension born of fear, though in some it made the transition to respect. With a very few, that fear was sharp and jagged, the musical tones jangled, while for most it was more of a background thing. The fear notes peaked at a certain point within the school, a point which moved at a steady walking pace.
And from that point came an entirely different set of tones, harsh and dark. The kind of music she imagined would come from an immense predatory beast prowling through the jungle darkness, knowing full-well it was the baddest motherfucker in the valley of the shadow of death. The sort of hunting creature that had no fucks to give.
In that instant, as she registered the tone and analysed it, the music changed. It became more insistent, more dangerous, as the moving student stopped. A thrill of notes ran through it that told her one thing. The monster was aware of her presence. It had her scent.
And it had just growled.
Well, shit.
Taylor
I'd just passed by Madison and Emma, who by all appearances were trying to pretend to not even be there, when Greg came up to me. "Uh, Taylor?"
"Yeah, Greg, what is it?" He wasn't intruding on my threat landscape, so I didn't have to worry about danger from him.
He grimaced briefly. "That PHO thing … I was being a fucking idiot and I just want to say I'm sorry and it'll never happen again. Okay?"
Huh. That had actually been a well-thought-out apology. I nodded to acknowledge it, and gave him a brief half-smile. "Apology accepted, Greg. We're good." Giving him a light slap on the shoulder, I moved on.
It appeared the Path to End any bullying of me had definitely borne fruit. Even the girls who'd casually passed comments about me were significantly silent when I walked by. I doubted Greg, or either of Emma or Madison, had deliberately passed word about who I was; they would've shown up as enemies if they had. But it seemed enough people were wary of me that they knew something was up, just not quite what.
I was perfectly fine with that.
Nobody hassled me as I headed for the Computer Studies classroom. I was a little early, but I figured I could do some checking on PHO to see if there was anything I could pick up on the Vasil kids. Even if there wasn't, it would serve the pass the time until one of them made their next move.
Just as I got to the doorway of the classroom, that was exactly what happened. I felt a ping, and saw in my mental landscape that Cherie had arrived at the school—exactly as predicted—and was now actively scanning for me. The ping itself announced that she'd found me. I focused on the dot representing her, getting her exact location in the school and what she intended to do from here on in, and allowed some of my irritation at her being in my city to bleed through. From the way she twitched, she'd gotten the message loud and clear.
Good.
Cherish
She hadn't realised that Atropos would be able to counter-sense her. This put a whole new urgency on the matter. She had to get a name, a face, something she could work with. Going directly at Atropos, focusing specifically on her, would be a mistake. She'd made mistakes before, but she'd always recovered from them. And getting Atropos on side as her protector, whatever the cost, would be worth it. I'm not going back. I'm never going back.
Taking her focus away from the source of the dark, sharp music, she turned it instead toward one of the two people who had exhibited such a strong fear response. This person, beyond a doubt, knew who Atropos was. And once I have a name, I have leverage.
That person was also moving with purpose, toward a destination somewhat distant from the source of the menacing melody (who seemed, thank fuck, to have lost interest in her for the moment). Cherie hurried her footsteps; while she could do what she needed to with others around, having witnesses usually made things a ton more difficult. So, it was better to grab her before she reached whichever classroom she was going toward.
Climbing a short flight of stairs, she hustled along a corridor and turned a corner to see the focus of the fear ahead of her. Petite, with long brown hair, the girl was walking away from her and not keeping pace with anyone else. That meant there was nobody to pay direct attention to what she needed to do.
Perfect.
She had to break into a half-run to catch up with the girl, but she managed it. Just before her quarry would've gotten to a classroom full of her peers, Cherie slapped a hand onto her shoulder. "Not so fast."
The girl's underlying fear peaked into heart-stopping terror, and she whirled around. "I didn't do anything, I swear!" A couple of moments passed by, while she apparently processed the fact that she wasn't looking at Atropos, before her fear dropped away. "Uh, who are you?"
"Not something you need to worry about." Cherie took the girl's curiosity and anger at being scared, and minimised them. She didn't have time for arguments or stupid questions right now. "I just want to know something."
"Listen, I don't know you, and I need to get to class, so—" The girl went to pull away.
Cherie muted that impulse, too. "My name's Cherie. There, now you know me. What's your name?"
With her wariness dialled back—god, this girl was a mass of worries—she blurted, "Madison. Madison Clements. What do you want to know?"
Well, that was a good start. "What I want to know, Madison, is who is Atropos? I know you're aware of who she is. I just want to know her name."
It was like she'd tossed a match into a mass of tinder. The fear roared up again, glaring out of Madison like a nuclear furnace. "N-no. I can't tell you. She-she'll kill me."
Cherie rolled her eyes. "No, she won't. There's nothing to be scared of. You can tell me." As she spoke, she damped down the fear reaction to a fraction of its normal effect.
Madison shook her head frantically. "No! She will totally kill me!" She seemed to be taking an effort to breathe, her eyes wide and staring. "You don't know her! You haven't looked in her eyes!"
Jesus, it's like Nicholas went to town on her. Whatever Atropos had done to put a scare into Madison, it had worked. The terror went bone-deep.
Again, she damped down the fear. "It's okay. I'll protect you. You can tell me. I'm not scared of her." Leaning in, she whispered, "Who is Atropos?"
This was getting irritating. No matter how hard she forced the fear response down, it flared up over and over again. "You should be scared of her!" Madison's tone wasn't defiant; she was terrified. No matter what other emotional reactions Cherie elicited in her, the fear of Atropos overwhelmed everything.
Vaguely, as she concentrated on getting Madison to cooperate, she became aware of someone coming up behind her. She sent them 'disinterest, ignore me', then turned her full attention back to the girl in front of her.
Fine. I'll fight fear with fear. Let's see how she goes when I divert some of that toward me, and she ends up more scared of me than of Atropos.
Something smashed into the side of her head, and the hallway spun around her. Knocked off her feet, she landed heavily on her side, sprawling untidily. She shook her head in an attempt to get rid of the ringing from the impact, then looked around to see what had just happened. Just then, a foot hammered into her ribs and she was jolted sideways, breath driven from her lungs.
Cherie cursed her own inattention; she'd been concentrating so hard on trying to interrogate Madison that she'd totally missed Atropos' musical accompaniment approaching her from behind.
As she slumped onto her side, a tall slender brunette stood over her. "I hear you've been looking for me."
Taylor
I gave the girl at my feet a dispassionate glance, then looked over at Madison.
"I didn't say a word, I swear!" she babbled. "She wanted to know who you were, but I didn't tell her!"
"I know," I reassured her. "You've done well. Get to class."
She blinked at the unexpected praise. "Uh … okay." Turning in the direction of the Art classroom, she scuttled off without looking back.
I got the very distinct impression that not only did she not want to know what I was going to do, but she didn't even want to acknowledge that something might happen. Which worked just fine for me.
Slinging my backpack over my shoulder, I leaned down and grabbed the groaning girl by the scruff of the neck. "Come on," I told her as I hoisted her to her feet. "There's some things I've got to say and you need to hear." With dark amusement, I noted that they hadn't actually locked the classroom that I'd ended Sophia's career in, so I opened the door and shoved her in there.
Cherish
It had been a while since Cherie had been manhandled like that. Her torments were normally of the mental and emotional variety, at the hands of her family. Only when her father had rented her to outsiders for an evening of (their) pleasure had she had to deal with the physical type.
This was different. Those men didn't care what she wanted or thought. They just wanted her body, not her attention. Atropos absolutely wanted her attention, and wasn't taking 'no' for an answer.
As her head cleared, Cherie wondered if it would be easier just to go that route. While she wasn't stupid enough to think that being Atropos' lover would exempt her from all 'discipline', it would make things a lot smoother all around. Tentatively, she reached out to Atropos' musical melange, seeking any sort of tendency toward same-sex attraction. The vast majority of people had some level of it, she knew from personal experience; however, most either didn't notice it or subsumed it into 'acceptable' social contact. No matter how feeble it was, if she could bring it out …
Her inquiry hit a brick wall at about the same time she felt the same brick wall explode on the side of her face. Reeling sideways, she landed on the floor. A warm trickle across her face told her that she had a nosebleed.
"Rule number one." A sneaker-clad foot rolled her over onto her back, then settled across her neck; not hard enough to impede her breathing, but the awareness of it was right there. "You don't use your powers on me. I will know, and I will kill you. Do you understand?"
She blinked her eyes clear and stared up at Atropos. There was as little mercy in those eyes as in the musical accompaniment. "Y-yes," she managed. "I-I understand."
"Good. Rule number two. You don't use your powers on my family or friends. I will know, and I will kill you. Do you understand?"
Cherie wasn't actually stupid, just the victim of a terrible upbringing. She was perfectly capable of spotting the trend here. "I understand," she said again.
Atropos must have had some level of emotional sensing herself, because she evidently picked up on Cherie's sincerity. "Excellent. Rule number three. When I tell you to use your power, you will use it only on the people I tell you to use it on, you will use it exactly how I tell you to use it, and you will stop using it when I say so. Vary from any of these, and you'll wish I had only killed you. Do you understand?"
To describe the Vasil family as 'dysfunctional' was to invent entire new vistas for that word to explore. Cherie had undergone many experiences under her father's 'protection' that she would rather die than revisit. However, listening to the sheer menace in the music surrounding Atropos, in stark contrast to the matter-of-fact way the words were spoken, filled her with the burning determination to never find out what Atropos considered a fate worse than death.
"I understand," she managed, while at the same time suppressing her bladder's urgent desire to empty itself. "I'll do what you tell me. I promise."
Atropos beamed and took her foot off Cherie's neck. "Good." Leaning down, she offered a hand up. "I'm so glad we could reach an understanding."
Cautiously, Cherie accepted it and allowed Atropos to help her up. No more surprise attacks seemed to be forthcoming, which was a nice change of pace. "So, you'll protect me from my dad?"
"I'll do better than that," Atropos said, as though suggesting that she would pay for Cherie's lunch tomorrow. "I've already told him not to come here, so when he does, I'll kill him. He's an infected pustule on the ass-end of society, and someone should've put an end to him long ago."
"When he—what?" Cherie stared at Atropos, near panic. "No, you can't face him! People who face him become his."
Atropos raised an eyebrow. "Really. Jack Slash thought the same thing."
Cherie knew damn well what had happened to Jack Slash. Also, what had happened to Mannequin. "I … okay." She would wait and see what happened. And if Atropos lost to her father, she'd find some way to put a bullet in her own brain, because right then the world would be fucked.
Atropos smiled breezily. Cherie wasn't sure how she managed to insert the undertone of menace. "Excellent. Go, do something. Don't break any rules. I'll find you after school."
And she would; Cherie had no doubt. Though the word 'find' triggered a problematic memory. "Oh … just by the way? My dad sent two of my brothers after me, and they're in town right now." Even from halfway across town, she could pick up their distinctive emotional signatures.
"I know."
Cherie stared at her new boss (because that was totally what Atropos was, now), eyes widening. "You already know?"
"Guillaume and Nicholas, yes." Atropos' musical accompaniment never changed. She knew who it was, and she just didn't give a shit. "I'll deal with them after school. Go hang out at the Boardwalk or something. Just follow the rules and we'll be fine."
The dismissal was clear. Cherie wiped the blood off her face and headed out of the room. She wasn't quite sure what Atropos wanted her for, but she also knew damn well that if she hadn't smartened up real fast, she'd be lying dead in that room right now.
On the upside, she was now under Atropos' protection. A little nosebleed and a few basic rules were definitely fucking worth that.
World Affairs Classroom, Winslow High
11.45 AM
Taylor
I was first out of my seat as the bell rang for the beginning of lunch break. Not because I wanted to elude my tormentors anymore; these days, they were careful to stay out of my way. But I had a phone call to make, and I'd still need time to eat lunch after that. Hasty eating can really mess up digestion.
"Taylor? Can you stay back a moment, please?"
Just for a moment, I considered pretending I hadn't heard Mr Gladly's voice, but it would probably draw more attention than it was worth. Whatever; I'd give him two minutes, then kill the conversation if he looked like taking too long to get to the point.
"Sure thing, Mr Gladly." I made my way through the stream of outgoing students to stand next to his desk. Fortunately—for them—they gave me a politely wide berth, nobody so much as jostling me on the way past. "What's on your mind?"
He waited until the last of them had trailed out the door, then turned to me. "Taylor, I'm not blind."
I refrained from rolling my eyes. Could've fooled me. "I get that. There's the whole lack of a seeing-eye dog and all." Okay, so I'd be a bit sarcastic.
"Um, okay, yes." He floundered for a few seconds. I kept the countdown going in my head. "I, uh, I've heard a rumour being passed around. People are whispering that you're this new cape called Atropos, or you know her."
I stared at him, deadpan. "And …?" What people thought of me mattered not in the slightest. It was quite liberating, really.
"And aren't you concerned? Atropos kills people!" His whole attitude shouted that I should be cowering under his desk.
"Atropos kills supervillains." I shrugged. "I doubt she'd take time off her busy schedule to come after someone who poses no threat to her. Was that it?"
"Uh … yes." He had the expression of someone who has just poised for a leap across a bottomless pit, and found it was painted in place. "So … you're okay with the rumours?"
"If it makes people leave me alone?" I gave him a carefree grin. "I really couldn't give a damn."
His two minutes were up; I headed out the door, leaving him staring at my back.
Office of the Mayor, Brockton Bay
11:50 AM
Roy Christner
Just as Roy was considering going for an early lunch, his phone rang. Not his regular-business phone, but the urgent one. The number of people who had access to that phone could be counted on his fingers and have some left over. When he got a call on that phone, he answered it as soon as humanly possible.
Snatching it up, he scanned the screen for the caller's name, only to see UNKNOWN NUMBER. That should've been impossible, because everyone he'd given the number to was in the phone's contact list. Still, maybe someone was calling from a secondary number.
Swiping to accept the call, he held the phone to his ear. "You've got Christner. Who is this?"
"Hello, Mr Mayor." The voice was not one he knew. "This is Atropos. I suspect you've heard of me."
Brockton Bay's most effective serial killer or the saviour of the city; she'd been called both in his hearing. Of course he'd heard of her. Especially since, every time she posted on PHO, the hardcopy hit his desk within five minutes. He'd had several intense discussions with Emily Piggot about what was to be done about her, and none of the answers they'd come up with had been both acceptable and possible.
"I have," he answered cautiously. "To what do I owe this call?"
She chuckled. "Don't worry. You're not in trouble yet. I'm just giving you a heads-up for something you need to have done by Wednesday."
He didn't like the sound of that 'yet', but it also implied there was a chance he wouldn't end up in Atropos' crosshairs, so he took a deep breath and tried to calm himself. "What do I need to have done by Wednesday?"
"Like I said on PHO, I'm donating the bounty for the Nine toward revitalising Brockton Bay." Her voice was calm and even, as though she spoke about giving away nearly a hundred million dollars every day. "A plan will be arriving at your office on Wednesday. This plan needs to be followed in every regard. Your job is to assemble a committee between now and Wednesday, so that when the plan arrives and the money shows up in the correct account, they can get straight to work."
"A committee?" This call was not going the way he'd expected when he heard Atropos' name.
"Yeah. You know, a bunch of people with a specific job, who work together to achieve it? I'm pretty sure you've got those in government." There was a touch of mockery in her answer.
"I know what a committee is!" he snapped, already angry at himself for letting her bait him. "What sort of committee?"
"One that's got the power to enforce the directives of the plan," she stated crisply. "Composed of people who can follow directions, and won't try to redirect funds into personal projects or their own pockets. And headed by someone of proven integrity, who can oversee it all and make sure the plan gets followed."
Roy ran his hand through his thinning hair. "Something like this would normally take weeks or months to determine."
"You've got two days. And just something you might want to impress on your people. If anyone tries to change the plan or abscond with funds—and I mean anyone—I will know, and their colleagues will be dissuaded from attempting the same thing."
And there was the looming threat. He didn't think she'd limit herself to a slap on the wrist. Which raised another problem; as much as he liked to think he ran a tight ship, ninety-seven million dollars raised a lot of questions about exactly how much integrity some of his people had. "But I … I don't think we've got enough people who have the free time to sit on a committee like that."
She chuckled, as though she'd heard what he didn't say. "Or rather, enough people who wouldn't try to skim some off the top? I understand. However, you're missing a bet. I didn't say the committee had to be made up entirely of people from the city council. In fact, I strongly urge you to look outward to the wider community, to local businesses and organisations. This also reduces the chances of collusion."
"Ah. Right. Okay, I'll do what I can."
"Yes. You will. Toodles." The call ended, leaving him staring at the phone.
The chances of that call not having come from Atropos was minimal to zero. She hadn't asked for anything for herself, and she'd set about making plans for the money that was undoubtedly incoming for the destruction of the Nine. So, it was in his best interest to take her order and make it a reality.
He really, really didn't want to think of the consequences for screwing this up.
Getting up, he went into his ensuite and used the facilities, then splashed water on his face. He came back into the office and picked up his other phone. One name for the 'outside' people had come to mind while he was refreshing himself. He dialled the number and leaned back in his chair.
"Dockworkers' Association, Danny Hebert speaking."
"Ah, Danny," he said, trying to sound relaxed and confident. "Roy Christner here. Something has come up, and I thought of your name in relation to it. How would you feel about sitting on a committee to help revitalise the city, maybe even heading it?"
There was a long pause before Danny Hebert spoke again. "You have my attention."
"Good. So, this is what's happened …"
A Few Hours Later
Hillside Mall
Guillaume
"Hey, excuse me. Can you guys help me out?" While Nicholas stood back, Guillaume approached the eighth or ninth bunch of obvious schoolkids hanging out in the mall.
One of the guys turned to look at him. "Yeah, whaddaya want?"
"It's my sister," Guillaume said, holding out the photocopied picture of Cherie. "She's gone missing. Have you seen her?"
"Buddy," said another guy. "This is Brockton Bay. Bad shit happens here. Maybe you should go back to Canuck-land and look there."
"No, let me see." The first guy took the picture, and Guillaume managed to brush fingertips with him at the same time. "When did she go missing?"
"A couple of weeks ago," Guillaume said. "We think whoever took her might be heading in this direction." Which was all true, except for the 'whoever took her' aspect.
"Shit, that's rough." One of the girls came up to look over her friend's shoulder at the picture, and Guillaume casually brushed against her as well.
The more eyes he could see through, the better. As it was, he already had dozens of viewpoints all over Brockton Bay, but not one had picked her up. Either she'd found a hole to hide in or she'd already left town, but that would be against the pattern she'd been showing.
"Thanks, I appreciate it." He moved into the rest of the group, seeking contact with all of them while trying to make it appear accidental. However, this wasn't easy to do, and sometimes people took offense. Especially in America, for some reason.
"Hey!" It was the guy who'd told him to go back to Canada. "You grab-assing there? You some kinda perv, you little dick?"
"No, I'm just showing you guys the picture." He waved the stack of sheets still in his hand.
"Bullshit! You're just a fuckin' pervert!" The guy grabbed for him, and he ducked, assisted by the fact that he had four different viewpoints telling him exactly which way to move.
"Back the fuck off." It was Nicholas, who had approached when things had started going sideways. Guillaume knew waves of fear would be emanating from him, catching the aggressive asshole off guard.
"Whoa, shit, shit, capes!" The schoolkids all scrambled to get away, leaving Guillaume standing there unscathed. "I thought there weren't villains anymore!"
"Yeah, as if." Guillaume moved to join Nicholas and they headed for an exit. "I had it covered."
"Bullshit." Nicholas snorted in derision. "You were about to get your pasty-white ass pummelled, is what was happening. What'd they mean about no villains anymore, anyway?"
They emerged into the open air, Guillaume breathing deeply from the close call. "It's a thing. Local cape called Atropos is making a play for the top spot or something. Killing off the competition. Lots of bullshit on PHO."
"Right." Nicholas looked around. "So, where to next?"
Guillaume stopped as a familiar face showed up on one of the many viewpoints in his head. Even better, it was nearby. "Over that way," he said urgently, pointing. "Just around that corner. Someone saw her."
"Awesome." Nicholas rolled his eyes. "About fucking time something went right around here."
They hustled across the street and around the corner, to see Cherie just about to enter an alleyway. She looked around and saw them, and her eyes widened. One step, and she was out of sight.
"No, no, no, fuck, no!" Nicholas broke into a sprint, with Guillaume not far behind. He could see what his brother could, of course, so he wasn't missing anything.
Nicholas entered the alley first, Guillaume hot on his heels. They didn't know enough about the local layout to try a pincer movement, so pursuit it was. Where Cherie ran, they would follow, until they caught up with her and dragged her back to their father for whatever punishment awaited her.
But she wasn't running. Nicholas—and thus Guillaume—saw that she was standing a little way down the alley, waiting for them. And with her was another figure, this one in all black, including a morph mask and a broad-brimmed hat. She had a certain edgy style about her, but they weren't here for some local cape, however stylish. They were here for their sister.
"That's far enough," the cape said. She had a pair of … scissors? Shears? Whatever they were, she was twirling them around her finger. "Nicholas, Guillaume, I've got a message for you to take back to your father. Cherie is under my protection now. Think you can remember that for me?"
Nicholas shook his head. "Oh, bullshit. I don't know who you are—"
"Atropos," she said, timing the word perfectly to knock him off his stride. "And I've got rules. You're Heartbreaker's kids, and I've already told him to stay the fuck out of my city. That goes for you too. So, you've got three options here."
"I don't give a good fucking goddamn who you think you are," Nicholas snapped. "Or about your three options. You've got two options. One, Cherie comes with us. Two, Cherie comes with us and you get left in a puddle of your own piss and shit and puke. I don't care which."
"You might want to think twice about threatening her like that." Cherie sounded a lot less scared than she should've. "If you haven't been paying attention over the last few days, the Nine came to town, and Atropos killed 'em all. Murdered the shit out of them."
Guillaume twitched. He thought he'd heard something about that, but it hadn't been enough to get his attention. His whole focus had been on finding Cherie. Nothing else mattered. But now … he pulled out his phone and thumbed it on.
"Okay, that's just pure bullshit with extra bullshit on top." Nicholas was getting off his game with the insults, but he was under a lot of stress, so Guillaume decided to cut him some slack. "If some newcomer cape could take down the fuckin' Nine, then someone would've done it years ago."
"And yet, they're dead." Atropos didn't sound boastful. She could've been saying, 'And yet, the sky is blue'. "As I was saying, you've got three options. One, you go back to your daddy without Cherie. Two, you end up in PRT custody, get extradited to Canada, and spend time in juvey for your various crimes. Or three, I kill you here and now. The one thing that's not happening is Cherie going anywhere with you. Do I make myself totally understood?"
"Fine," sneered Nicholas. "A puddle of piss and shit and puke it is." He pretended to crack his knuckles. "Sis, you better stand aside. This is gonna get messy." He concentrated; Guillaume knew that Atropos was now bearing the full brunt of his powers.
Nothing happened.
For someone who should've been running in terror or soiling themselves from multiple orifices at once, Atropos seemed remarkably unbothered by the emotional onslaught.
And then she spoke. "You think to inflict fear on me?" The voice that came from behind the morph mask was both unearthly and deeply unsettling. "I am fear. I am Death. I am Ending."
She stepped forward, going from near-motionless to attack mode without anything in between. Nicholas, caught off-guard, barely resisted when she picked him up and pile-drove him face-first into an overfull trash can.
At the same time, the search Guillaume had been making on his phone popped up a result. Nicholas swore violently, then scrambled to his feet and tried to shoulder-charge Atropos; she seemed to melt out of the way, leaving him to crash-tackle the wall of the alleyway. Predictably, it failed to budge.
"Last warning." Atropos was speaking normally once more; she had the shears back in her hand. They glittered in the dim light that filtered down into the alley. "Leave, surrender, or die."
Guillaume only caught the flicker of Nicholas' eye because he was tapped into his brother's vision. Cherie. Normally he couldn't affect her because she could moderate her own emotions as a defence. But he only needed a split-second opening.
Cherie cried out as the fear hit her. At the same time, Nicholas pulled the pistol he'd taken off a gangbanger two towns back. She was only six feet away. He'd be able to hit her easily.
Except, she didn't turn to look at Cherie. There was no distraction at all. As though they'd practiced the move for hours, she knocked the pistol aside with the shears. Then the blades flashed back across, followed by a gush of red. Nicholas gagged, blood on his lips, then fell to his knees. As inevitably as the march of the years he would never now experience, he toppled forward onto his face. His lifeblood pooled around his head on the grimy alley floor.
Atropos turned toward Guillaume; with a flick of her wrist, she shook the blood from the blade. "And you?"
He looked down at the phone in his hand. On the screen, there was a picture of Atropos, an axe in one hand and Jack Slash's severed head in the other. He didn't really need it, after what he'd just seen. He believed.
This only left him with one good option. Slowly, he put his hands up. "I'd like to surrender now, please."
There was no way in hell he could go back to his father, having lost both Nicholas and Cherie, and hope to keep his sanity. It was, as they said, a no-brainer.
He couldn't see her face, but he could hear her smile when she spoke. "Good choice."
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♦ Topic: Just Another Manic Monday
In: Boards ► Brockton Bay ► New Capes ► Atropos
Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
Posted On Jan 10th 2011:
Good afternoon to you wonderful people of Brockton Bay!
Today has been a restful day; by which I mean I barely had to kill anyone (though the day's not over yet, whee).
Would you believe, I encountered a couple of people today who hadn't heard about how the Nine went down in an ignominious heap just yesterday? I educated them, of course, and afterward they were much more understanding of the matter.
Oh, and Mayor Christner assures me that the committee to revitalize Brockton Bay (using the funds from the bounties on the Nine) will be up and running by Wednesday, ready to discharge their duties with full integrity and honesty. I have faith in you, Mr Christner!
I'll be watching.
(Mwahahaha.)
Also, I promised you news about the drug trade today, and here it is. There are two more major staging points within Brockton Bay, one on the Docks and one to the northwest of the city. The people manning them (and in some cases womaning them; can't be sexist now) know where they are ... and so do I. Remember that mushroom cloud we enjoyed on Saturday afternoon? Expect something similar tonight, times two. I'll be sure to alert the fire department before it happens so they can be on the way. Bring your breathing gear, guys. The air is gonna be *funky*.
Oh, and those of you who are invested in those drugs staying where they are? This is your only warning. I won't be pulling punches. So, if you figure tonight's a good night to go visit your sick aunt in Florida, or have a deep and meaningful chat with your local desk sergeant, I'm not gonna blame you. In fact, such behavior is thoroughly encouraged.
And one more thing. Hey, Heartbreaker? That makes four of your kids you're not getting back. Take a hint, loser. Or, you know, come face me yourself. But make your will out first. Just saying.
To the rest of you lovely people, have a great Monday night, and see you tomorrow.
Toodles!
[A/N: This is the last for another two weeks or so.]
End of Part Twenty-Four
Part Twenty-Four: Broken Hearts
[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
Relevant Side Story 1 – New York
Relevant Side Story 2 - Greg
Monday Morning, January 10, 2011
Hebert Household
Taylor
I browsed over my mental map of enemies and other looming threats as I ate a leisurely breakfast with Dad. The fact that so many people sought my downfall fazed me not at all, mainly because my power positively thrived on the challenge of ending threats before they ended me. The main difference was that the vast majority of these were outside Brockton Bay, rather than inside it. I was looking forward to kicking their butts as well.
Dad smothered a yawn as he picked up some bacon with his fork. Even though I'd done the majority of the driving on the way back (via a Path to Ending This Journey Safely at Home) it had still been a long night for the both of us. I seemed to be handling it better than he was, but that was probably due to me being a teenager. If I were to believe pop culture, long nights were what we did.
"I still can't believe you said that thing about seeing things eye to eye," he said, shaking his head. I'd given him the basic rundown on the encounter, of course. "Was that just to mess with Wilkins?"
"Mostly, yeah." If I hadn't been running that precise Path, Wilkins would've more than likely become my latest kill through sheer pigheaded stubbornness. My power had thrown that phrase in there to screw with her head, but there was more to it than that. "I think it meant something to the Chief Director too; she almost flinched. Not sure why, though."
"God knows what skeletons are lurking in her closet," he said cynically. "She talks a good game, but people like her know where all the bodies are buried. And usually have a few of their own." He yawned again, and stretched. "I'm definitely going to be giving the coffee machine a serious workout once I get to my desk." He paused. "Which reminds me."
"Yeah?" I asked, then took a drink of orange juice.
"You said you walked into frame behind Wilkins, but how'd you get into her office without opening the door?"
I smirked. "They're going to be asking themselves that for a long time. My hack essentially made me invisible to their security cameras, and the number of personnel in that building is pretty low on a Sunday night. It wasn't even a challenge to keep out of sight of everyone."
"Okay, with you so far," he said. "Did you pick the lock to her office door or something?"
"Didn't have to." I grinned. "Waited around the corner until she walked past and tucked in behind her. She never heard or saw me. When we got to her office, I ducked into her ensuite while she went to her desk, always keeping just out of her peripheral vision. Then it was just a matter of waiting for my cue."
"Hah!" He chuckled for a few moments, then raised his coffee cup to me in salute. "That's beautiful. While I can't say your mom would entirely approve of all this killing, I think she would've loved that." He tilted his head in thought. "Then again, I'm pretty sure she'd secretly approve of the city being cleaned up, however it was done. So, there's that."
"I like to think she'd at least understand why it has to be done." I leaned back in my chair, taking another drink of juice. As my Paths curled and wove through the probabilities of the days ahead, I spotted something new and raised an eyebrow. "Huh. Looks like it's going to be an interesting day."
Dad chuckled again. "You've somewhat redefined that word over the last few days. So, what do you consider 'interesting' right now? Is it that thing you've done with Bonesaw? Has it gone wrong?"
"No, as far as I can tell, Riley's right on track." I took a bite of egg while I was thinking about what to say next. "There's some new capes in town. One showed up yesterday afternoon; I already knew about her. The other two must've come into town in the early hours of the morning. They're not even looking to have a beef with me, which makes them marginal for my radar. But they are using Master-type powers to mess with people, which is what puts them on my radar at all."
"Maybe they're just passing through?" he hazarded. "Step aside and wave them by?"
I shook my head. "It's more complicated than that. As far as I can tell, they're Heartbreaker's kids. One's running from him, the other two are chasing her. And she wants to stay in town."
"Heartbreaker. Shit." Now, he looked concerned. "That man is bad news from start to finish. I've heard stories."
"The reality is probably worse. It usually is." Once I noticed the intruders, I'd started a Path to End the threat and legacy of Heartbreaker, then gently steered my power away from 'kill them all' toward more information-gathering options. I was curious as to what was going on, and while going to the source and beating answers out of them was always an option, it was usually easier to just get my power to fill in the blanks.
Kicking over the Path gave me more details about the three kids who'd just hit Brockton Bay. I already knew about Cherie Vasil, but her brothers Guillaume and Nicholas were new to me. Each had Master-style powers, but in a different way. Cherie could detect emotions from all the way across the city and control emotions from much closer, Guillaume could see through a person's eyes and mess with their senses once he touched them, and Nicholas could just inspire fear.
And all three were right at that second using their powers to take advantage of the citizens of Brockton Bay. The capes might have had their unwritten rules, but I had one of my own: no more villains in Brockton Bay. I hadn't actually said as much on PHO, but it should've been made plain by context.
With their actions, they were (however subtly) disrupting the orderly operation of my city and delaying its revival. That pissed me off. And so, they were now on my radar.
But before I could deal with that, I had another obligation to meet. If I wanted to maintain even a fig-leaf of my cover as Taylor Hebert, I had to go to school. Winslow High awaited.
Fortunately, at least one of my problems would come to me.
<><>
Madison
Emma had refused to watch the playback of the deaths of the Nine after the first go-around, but Madison had been through it at least half a dozen times. In a way, she was able to glean a certain bleak pride from watching Taylor's deadly grace against America's most terrifying supervillain gang. They had come to Brockton Bay, and one teenage girl had killed them all before they could even take a single victim. You had no idea what you were up against.
Madison knew.
She'd strongly suspected that Taylor had killed Sophia after the incident in the cafeteria, but the absolute proof had arrived when Atropos paralysed Hatchet Face's diaphragm with his own axe and left him to suffocate. Her words to him left no doubt in her mind: 'I've only had to do this once before. She was an annoying little bitch, too. But she was on her second warning, so she got a pass. You're all out.'
The incessant online speculation about who the other 'annoying little bitch' was would've amused her, except for that fact that every time she watched that part of the clip, she could hear Taylor's voice murmuring in her ear: "That's two." Nothing seemed funny after that.
She knew beyond any shred of a doubt that Taylor could've left her to die, just as she had Hatchet Face. It hadn't been anything resembling compassion or pity that stayed Taylor's hand; Madison was pretty sure that even if Taylor felt those emotions, they didn't have much to do with her decisions.
No, Taylor had simply chosen not to bother with killing her or Emma. She'd arbitrarily decided that they had one last chance to mend their ways, along with Sophia. Madison and Emma had taken the warning to heart. Sophia had not, and Taylor had killed her.
But she hadn't stopped there. On that same night, Oni Lee had died, shot in the face with his own pistol. The next night, some villain called Coil. After that; Kaiser, then Lung, then Skidmark, in increasingly thorough ways.
All Taylor. Even before the Nine, Madison had seen the images of Atropos and watched the meagre footage, and she knew. The killer's stance was tall and proud, entirely unlike Taylor of before; but over the last week, she had walked with an assured stride that had people instinctively stepping out of her way. Some of this, Madison was sure, was down to the extremely intense whispering campaign that she and Emma had carried out to pass the word that Taylor was not to be bullied under any circumstances, but most of it was down to Taylor herself.
Neither she nor Emma had breathed a word that might suggest Taylor was Atropos, but combined with Sophia's death and Taylor's change in attitude, the 'hands off' order had more or less accidentally suggested it anyway. She was reasonably sure that most of the school (those who were aware of Taylor, anyway) had half a suspicion of Atropos's true identity by now, but the events of Sunday afternoon had sealed any and all lips when it came to voicing such suspicions. Even if they didn't specifically believe it, nobody wanted to be the one who drew her ire by accidentally outing her. Especially considering how horribly fucking lethal she'd shown herself to be in both physical and social combat (Madison wasn't bad with the occasional cutting quip, but she'd never seen someone talked to death before) when up against the various members of the Nine.
And there came Taylor herself. Backpack slung over her shoulder, head up, moving with that same confident stride. Madison belatedly realised that her hair—the one feature Atropos showed to the outside world—was also the same as in the footage she'd seen of the Sunday massacre.
Stopping at her own locker, Taylor opened it briefly to get her books out, then closed it again and kept moving. Madison took half a step back, just to make sure that she wasn't in Taylor's way. At her side, Emma shrank back against the locker. Taylor passed them by with barely the flicker of an eye and the ghost of a nod to acknowledge their presence, then kept going.
Madison breathed again. She was reasonably sure she'd never need to actually do cardio again for as long as she attended Winslow, from the accelerated heartrate she got every time she knew Taylor was in the vicinity. Terror-fuelled adrenaline had a way of doing that.
And then, disaster loomed. As Taylor made her way along the corridor toward (Madison presumed) her home room, Greg Veder approached her, hand up to get her attention. No, Greg, no! Madison screamed silently. One did not simply delay a force of nature from going where she wished.
Beside her, Emma sucked in a breath. "Does he want to die?" she whispered.
"No idea." Madison checked around for escape routes. She didn't think whatever Greg had to say would cause Taylor to go berserk on the school; but then again, Greg had been known to say some remarkably moronic things.
Madison had no idea what Greg was saying, but it didn't seem to be setting Taylor off. Whatever it was, he finished quickly enough, then stood there nervously awaiting a reply. She spoke a few words and slapped him lightly on the shoulder then moved on, leaving Madison wondering what had just happened. At least she didn't look angry, and Greg was still upright and alive, so there was that.
"What did he say?" hissed Emma. "What did she say?" She eyed Madison, as if about to mention that Taylor and Greg shared a World Affairs class with her.
"You know what?" Madison decided. "I really don't want to know that badly." Taylor Hebert's business was Taylor Hebert's business. Madison liked living.
Emma drew in a shaky breath. "Yeah, good point. Let's get to home room. See you at lunch." They would eat far away from Taylor's table; that was a given. If they didn't interact with her, they would not offend her, and thus the stay of execution would be maintained. It was a plan.
"See you there." Madison gave her friend a smile and encouraging nod—stay strong—and headed off toward the Art classroom, which was her own home room.
There were many villains in the world. So long as Taylor had them to focus on, Madison and Emma would survive.
<><>
Cherish
Cherie pushed open the doors of the school and walked on in as if she belonged, even though she'd never been there before in her life. All around her sang a chorus of music only she could hear, emanating from the students and staff of Winslow High School. Overtones merged with undertones; nobody was truly happy to be there, but some were more content than others.
Interestingly enough, a significant fraction of the students in the school shared an underlying tension born of fear, though in some it made the transition to respect. With a very few, that fear was sharp and jagged, the musical tones jangled, while for most it was more of a background thing. The fear notes peaked at a certain point within the school, a point which moved at a steady walking pace.
And from that point came an entirely different set of tones, harsh and dark. The kind of music she imagined would come from an immense predatory beast prowling through the jungle darkness, knowing full-well it was the baddest motherfucker in the valley of the shadow of death. The sort of hunting creature that had no fucks to give.
In that instant, as she registered the tone and analysed it, the music changed. It became more insistent, more dangerous, as the moving student stopped. A thrill of notes ran through it that told her one thing. The monster was aware of her presence. It had her scent.
And it had just growled.
Well, shit.
<><>
Taylor
I'd just passed by Madison and Emma, who by all appearances were trying to pretend to not even be there, when Greg came up to me. "Uh, Taylor?"
"Yeah, Greg, what is it?" He wasn't intruding on my threat landscape, so I didn't have to worry about danger from him.
He grimaced briefly. "That PHO thing … I was being a fucking idiot and I just want to say I'm sorry and it'll never happen again. Okay?"
Huh. That had actually been a well-thought-out apology. I nodded to acknowledge it, and gave him a brief half-smile. "Apology accepted, Greg. We're good." Giving him a light slap on the shoulder, I moved on.
It appeared the Path to End any bullying of me had definitely borne fruit. Even the girls who'd casually passed comments about me were significantly silent when I walked by. I doubted Greg, or either of Emma or Madison, had deliberately passed word about who I was; they would've shown up as enemies if they had. But it seemed enough people were wary of me that they knew something was up, just not quite what.
I was perfectly fine with that.
Nobody hassled me as I headed for the Computer Studies classroom. I was a little early, but I figured I could do some checking on PHO to see if there was anything I could pick up on the Vasil kids. Even if there wasn't, it would serve the pass the time until one of them made their next move.
Just as I got to the doorway of the classroom, that was exactly what happened. I felt a ping, and saw in my mental landscape that Cherie had arrived at the school—exactly as predicted—and was now actively scanning for me. The ping itself announced that she'd found me. I focused on the dot representing her, getting her exact location in the school and what she intended to do from here on in, and allowed some of my irritation at her being in my city to bleed through. From the way she twitched, she'd gotten the message loud and clear.
Good.
<><>
Cherish
She hadn't realised that Atropos would be able to counter-sense her. This put a whole new urgency on the matter. She had to get a name, a face, something she could work with. Going directly at Atropos, focusing specifically on her, would be a mistake. She'd made mistakes before, but she'd always recovered from them. And getting Atropos on side as her protector, whatever the cost, would be worth it. I'm not going back. I'm never going back.
Taking her focus away from the source of the dark, sharp music, she turned it instead toward one of the two people who had exhibited such a strong fear response. This person, beyond a doubt, knew who Atropos was. And once I have a name, I have leverage.
That person was also moving with purpose, toward a destination somewhat distant from the source of the menacing melody (who seemed, thank fuck, to have lost interest in her for the moment). Cherie hurried her footsteps; while she could do what she needed to with others around, having witnesses usually made things a ton more difficult. So, it was better to grab her before she reached whichever classroom she was going toward.
Climbing a short flight of stairs, she hustled along a corridor and turned a corner to see the focus of the fear ahead of her. Petite, with long brown hair, the girl was walking away from her and not keeping pace with anyone else. That meant there was nobody to pay direct attention to what she needed to do.
Perfect.
She had to break into a half-run to catch up with the girl, but she managed it. Just before her quarry would've gotten to a classroom full of her peers, Cherie slapped a hand onto her shoulder. "Not so fast."
The girl's underlying fear peaked into heart-stopping terror, and she whirled around. "I didn't do anything, I swear!" A couple of moments passed by, while she apparently processed the fact that she wasn't looking at Atropos, before her fear dropped away. "Uh, who are you?"
"Not something you need to worry about." Cherie took the girl's curiosity and anger at being scared, and minimised them. She didn't have time for arguments or stupid questions right now. "I just want to know something."
"Listen, I don't know you, and I need to get to class, so—" The girl went to pull away.
Cherie muted that impulse, too. "My name's Cherie. There, now you know me. What's your name?"
With her wariness dialled back—god, this girl was a mass of worries—she blurted, "Madison. Madison Clements. What do you want to know?"
Well, that was a good start. "What I want to know, Madison, is who is Atropos? I know you're aware of who she is. I just want to know her name."
It was like she'd tossed a match into a mass of tinder. The fear roared up again, glaring out of Madison like a nuclear furnace. "N-no. I can't tell you. She-she'll kill me."
Cherie rolled her eyes. "No, she won't. There's nothing to be scared of. You can tell me." As she spoke, she damped down the fear reaction to a fraction of its normal effect.
Madison shook her head frantically. "No! She will totally kill me!" She seemed to be taking an effort to breathe, her eyes wide and staring. "You don't know her! You haven't looked in her eyes!"
Jesus, it's like Nicholas went to town on her. Whatever Atropos had done to put a scare into Madison, it had worked. The terror went bone-deep.
Again, she damped down the fear. "It's okay. I'll protect you. You can tell me. I'm not scared of her." Leaning in, she whispered, "Who is Atropos?"
This was getting irritating. No matter how hard she forced the fear response down, it flared up over and over again. "You should be scared of her!" Madison's tone wasn't defiant; she was terrified. No matter what other emotional reactions Cherie elicited in her, the fear of Atropos overwhelmed everything.
Vaguely, as she concentrated on getting Madison to cooperate, she became aware of someone coming up behind her. She sent them 'disinterest, ignore me', then turned her full attention back to the girl in front of her.
Fine. I'll fight fear with fear. Let's see how she goes when I divert some of that toward me, and she ends up more scared of me than of Atropos.
Something smashed into the side of her head, and the hallway spun around her. Knocked off her feet, she landed heavily on her side, sprawling untidily. She shook her head in an attempt to get rid of the ringing from the impact, then looked around to see what had just happened. Just then, a foot hammered into her ribs and she was jolted sideways, breath driven from her lungs.
Cherie cursed her own inattention; she'd been concentrating so hard on trying to interrogate Madison that she'd totally missed Atropos' musical accompaniment approaching her from behind.
As she slumped onto her side, a tall slender brunette stood over her. "I hear you've been looking for me."
<><>
Taylor
I gave the girl at my feet a dispassionate glance, then looked over at Madison.
"I didn't say a word, I swear!" she babbled. "She wanted to know who you were, but I didn't tell her!"
"I know," I reassured her. "You've done well. Get to class."
She blinked at the unexpected praise. "Uh … okay." Turning in the direction of the Art classroom, she scuttled off without looking back.
I got the very distinct impression that not only did she not want to know what I was going to do, but she didn't even want to acknowledge that something might happen. Which worked just fine for me.
Slinging my backpack over my shoulder, I leaned down and grabbed the groaning girl by the scruff of the neck. "Come on," I told her as I hoisted her to her feet. "There's some things I've got to say and you need to hear." With dark amusement, I noted that they hadn't actually locked the classroom that I'd ended Sophia's career in, so I opened the door and shoved her in there.
<><>
Cherish
It had been a while since Cherie had been manhandled like that. Her torments were normally of the mental and emotional variety, at the hands of her family. Only when her father had rented her to outsiders for an evening of (their) pleasure had she had to deal with the physical type.
This was different. Those men didn't care what she wanted or thought. They just wanted her body, not her attention. Atropos absolutely wanted her attention, and wasn't taking 'no' for an answer.
As her head cleared, Cherie wondered if it would be easier just to go that route. While she wasn't stupid enough to think that being Atropos' lover would exempt her from all 'discipline', it would make things a lot smoother all around. Tentatively, she reached out to Atropos' musical melange, seeking any sort of tendency toward same-sex attraction. The vast majority of people had some level of it, she knew from personal experience; however, most either didn't notice it or subsumed it into 'acceptable' social contact. No matter how feeble it was, if she could bring it out …
Her inquiry hit a brick wall at about the same time she felt the same brick wall explode on the side of her face. Reeling sideways, she landed on the floor. A warm trickle across her face told her that she had a nosebleed.
"Rule number one." A sneaker-clad foot rolled her over onto her back, then settled across her neck; not hard enough to impede her breathing, but the awareness of it was right there. "You don't use your powers on me. I will know, and I will kill you. Do you understand?"
She blinked her eyes clear and stared up at Atropos. There was as little mercy in those eyes as in the musical accompaniment. "Y-yes," she managed. "I-I understand."
"Good. Rule number two. You don't use your powers on my family or friends. I will know, and I will kill you. Do you understand?"
Cherie wasn't actually stupid, just the victim of a terrible upbringing. She was perfectly capable of spotting the trend here. "I understand," she said again.
Atropos must have had some level of emotional sensing herself, because she evidently picked up on Cherie's sincerity. "Excellent. Rule number three. When I tell you to use your power, you will use it only on the people I tell you to use it on, you will use it exactly how I tell you to use it, and you will stop using it when I say so. Vary from any of these, and you'll wish I had only killed you. Do you understand?"
To describe the Vasil family as 'dysfunctional' was to invent entire new vistas for that word to explore. Cherie had undergone many experiences under her father's 'protection' that she would rather die than revisit. However, listening to the sheer menace in the music surrounding Atropos, in stark contrast to the matter-of-fact way the words were spoken, filled her with the burning determination to never find out what Atropos considered a fate worse than death.
"I understand," she managed, while at the same time suppressing her bladder's urgent desire to empty itself. "I'll do what you tell me. I promise."
Atropos beamed and took her foot off Cherie's neck. "Good." Leaning down, she offered a hand up. "I'm so glad we could reach an understanding."
Cautiously, Cherie accepted it and allowed Atropos to help her up. No more surprise attacks seemed to be forthcoming, which was a nice change of pace. "So, you'll protect me from my dad?"
"I'll do better than that," Atropos said, as though suggesting that she would pay for Cherie's lunch tomorrow. "I've already told him not to come here, so when he does, I'll kill him. He's an infected pustule on the ass-end of society, and someone should've put an end to him long ago."
"When he—what?" Cherie stared at Atropos, near panic. "No, you can't face him! People who face him become his."
Atropos raised an eyebrow. "Really. Jack Slash thought the same thing."
Cherie knew damn well what had happened to Jack Slash. Also, what had happened to Mannequin. "I … okay." She would wait and see what happened. And if Atropos lost to her father, she'd find some way to put a bullet in her own brain, because right then the world would be fucked.
Atropos smiled breezily. Cherie wasn't sure how she managed to insert the undertone of menace. "Excellent. Go, do something. Don't break any rules. I'll find you after school."
And she would; Cherie had no doubt. Though the word 'find' triggered a problematic memory. "Oh … just by the way? My dad sent two of my brothers after me, and they're in town right now." Even from halfway across town, she could pick up their distinctive emotional signatures.
"I know."
Cherie stared at her new boss (because that was totally what Atropos was, now), eyes widening. "You already know?"
"Guillaume and Nicholas, yes." Atropos' musical accompaniment never changed. She knew who it was, and she just didn't give a shit. "I'll deal with them after school. Go hang out at the Boardwalk or something. Just follow the rules and we'll be fine."
The dismissal was clear. Cherie wiped the blood off her face and headed out of the room. She wasn't quite sure what Atropos wanted her for, but she also knew damn well that if she hadn't smartened up real fast, she'd be lying dead in that room right now.
On the upside, she was now under Atropos' protection. A little nosebleed and a few basic rules were definitely fucking worth that.
<><>
World Affairs Classroom, Winslow High
11.45 AM
Taylor
I was first out of my seat as the bell rang for the beginning of lunch break. Not because I wanted to elude my tormentors anymore; these days, they were careful to stay out of my way. But I had a phone call to make, and I'd still need time to eat lunch after that. Hasty eating can really mess up digestion.
"Taylor? Can you stay back a moment, please?"
Just for a moment, I considered pretending I hadn't heard Mr Gladly's voice, but it would probably draw more attention than it was worth. Whatever; I'd give him two minutes, then kill the conversation if he looked like taking too long to get to the point.
"Sure thing, Mr Gladly." I made my way through the stream of outgoing students to stand next to his desk. Fortunately—for them—they gave me a politely wide berth, nobody so much as jostling me on the way past. "What's on your mind?"
He waited until the last of them had trailed out the door, then turned to me. "Taylor, I'm not blind."
I refrained from rolling my eyes. Could've fooled me. "I get that. There's the whole lack of a seeing-eye dog and all." Okay, so I'd be a bit sarcastic.
"Um, okay, yes." He floundered for a few seconds. I kept the countdown going in my head. "I, uh, I've heard a rumour being passed around. People are whispering that you're this new cape called Atropos, or you know her."
I stared at him, deadpan. "And …?" What people thought of me mattered not in the slightest. It was quite liberating, really.
"And aren't you concerned? Atropos kills people!" His whole attitude shouted that I should be cowering under his desk.
"Atropos kills supervillains." I shrugged. "I doubt she'd take time off her busy schedule to come after someone who poses no threat to her. Was that it?"
"Uh … yes." He had the expression of someone who has just poised for a leap across a bottomless pit, and found it was painted in place. "So … you're okay with the rumours?"
"If it makes people leave me alone?" I gave him a carefree grin. "I really couldn't give a damn."
His two minutes were up; I headed out the door, leaving him staring at my back.
<><>
Office of the Mayor, Brockton Bay
11:50 AM
Roy Christner
Just as Roy was considering going for an early lunch, his phone rang. Not his regular-business phone, but the urgent one. The number of people who had access to that phone could be counted on his fingers and have some left over. When he got a call on that phone, he answered it as soon as humanly possible.
Snatching it up, he scanned the screen for the caller's name, only to see UNKNOWN NUMBER. That should've been impossible, because everyone he'd given the number to was in the phone's contact list. Still, maybe someone was calling from a secondary number.
Swiping to accept the call, he held the phone to his ear. "You've got Christner. Who is this?"
"Hello, Mr Mayor." The voice was not one he knew. "This is Atropos. I suspect you've heard of me."
Brockton Bay's most effective serial killer or the saviour of the city; she'd been called both in his hearing. Of course he'd heard of her. Especially since, every time she posted on PHO, the hardcopy hit his desk within five minutes. He'd had several intense discussions with Emily Piggot about what was to be done about her, and none of the answers they'd come up with had been both acceptable and possible.
"I have," he answered cautiously. "To what do I owe this call?"
She chuckled. "Don't worry. You're not in trouble yet. I'm just giving you a heads-up for something you need to have done by Wednesday."
He didn't like the sound of that 'yet', but it also implied there was a chance he wouldn't end up in Atropos' crosshairs, so he took a deep breath and tried to calm himself. "What do I need to have done by Wednesday?"
"Like I said on PHO, I'm donating the bounty for the Nine toward revitalising Brockton Bay." Her voice was calm and even, as though she spoke about giving away nearly a hundred million dollars every day. "A plan will be arriving at your office on Wednesday. This plan needs to be followed in every regard. Your job is to assemble a committee between now and Wednesday, so that when the plan arrives and the money shows up in the correct account, they can get straight to work."
"A committee?" This call was not going the way he'd expected when he heard Atropos' name.
"Yeah. You know, a bunch of people with a specific job, who work together to achieve it? I'm pretty sure you've got those in government." There was a touch of mockery in her answer.
"I know what a committee is!" he snapped, already angry at himself for letting her bait him. "What sort of committee?"
"One that's got the power to enforce the directives of the plan," she stated crisply. "Composed of people who can follow directions, and won't try to redirect funds into personal projects or their own pockets. And headed by someone of proven integrity, who can oversee it all and make sure the plan gets followed."
Roy ran his hand through his thinning hair. "Something like this would normally take weeks or months to determine."
"You've got two days. And just something you might want to impress on your people. If anyone tries to change the plan or abscond with funds—and I mean anyone—I will know, and their colleagues will be dissuaded from attempting the same thing."
And there was the looming threat. He didn't think she'd limit herself to a slap on the wrist. Which raised another problem; as much as he liked to think he ran a tight ship, ninety-seven million dollars raised a lot of questions about exactly how much integrity some of his people had. "But I … I don't think we've got enough people who have the free time to sit on a committee like that."
She chuckled, as though she'd heard what he didn't say. "Or rather, enough people who wouldn't try to skim some off the top? I understand. However, you're missing a bet. I didn't say the committee had to be made up entirely of people from the city council. In fact, I strongly urge you to look outward to the wider community, to local businesses and organisations. This also reduces the chances of collusion."
"Ah. Right. Okay, I'll do what I can."
"Yes. You will. Toodles." The call ended, leaving him staring at the phone.
The chances of that call not having come from Atropos was minimal to zero. She hadn't asked for anything for herself, and she'd set about making plans for the money that was undoubtedly incoming for the destruction of the Nine. So, it was in his best interest to take her order and make it a reality.
He really, really didn't want to think of the consequences for screwing this up.
Getting up, he went into his ensuite and used the facilities, then splashed water on his face. He came back into the office and picked up his other phone. One name for the 'outside' people had come to mind while he was refreshing himself. He dialled the number and leaned back in his chair.
"Dockworkers' Association, Danny Hebert speaking."
"Ah, Danny," he said, trying to sound relaxed and confident. "Roy Christner here. Something has come up, and I thought of your name in relation to it. How would you feel about sitting on a committee to help revitalise the city, maybe even heading it?"
There was a long pause before Danny Hebert spoke again. "You have my attention."
"Good. So, this is what's happened …"
<><>
A Few Hours Later
Hillside Mall
Guillaume
"Hey, excuse me. Can you guys help me out?" While Nicholas stood back, Guillaume approached the eighth or ninth bunch of obvious schoolkids hanging out in the mall.
One of the guys turned to look at him. "Yeah, whaddaya want?"
"It's my sister," Guillaume said, holding out the photocopied picture of Cherie. "She's gone missing. Have you seen her?"
"Buddy," said another guy. "This is Brockton Bay. Bad shit happens here. Maybe you should go back to Canuck-land and look there."
"No, let me see." The first guy took the picture, and Guillaume managed to brush fingertips with him at the same time. "When did she go missing?"
"A couple of weeks ago," Guillaume said. "We think whoever took her might be heading in this direction." Which was all true, except for the 'whoever took her' aspect.
"Shit, that's rough." One of the girls came up to look over her friend's shoulder at the picture, and Guillaume casually brushed against her as well.
The more eyes he could see through, the better. As it was, he already had dozens of viewpoints all over Brockton Bay, but not one had picked her up. Either she'd found a hole to hide in or she'd already left town, but that would be against the pattern she'd been showing.
"Thanks, I appreciate it." He moved into the rest of the group, seeking contact with all of them while trying to make it appear accidental. However, this wasn't easy to do, and sometimes people took offense. Especially in America, for some reason.
"Hey!" It was the guy who'd told him to go back to Canada. "You grab-assing there? You some kinda perv, you little dick?"
"No, I'm just showing you guys the picture." He waved the stack of sheets still in his hand.
"Bullshit! You're just a fuckin' pervert!" The guy grabbed for him, and he ducked, assisted by the fact that he had four different viewpoints telling him exactly which way to move.
"Back the fuck off." It was Nicholas, who had approached when things had started going sideways. Guillaume knew waves of fear would be emanating from him, catching the aggressive asshole off guard.
"Whoa, shit, shit, capes!" The schoolkids all scrambled to get away, leaving Guillaume standing there unscathed. "I thought there weren't villains anymore!"
"Yeah, as if." Guillaume moved to join Nicholas and they headed for an exit. "I had it covered."
"Bullshit." Nicholas snorted in derision. "You were about to get your pasty-white ass pummelled, is what was happening. What'd they mean about no villains anymore, anyway?"
They emerged into the open air, Guillaume breathing deeply from the close call. "It's a thing. Local cape called Atropos is making a play for the top spot or something. Killing off the competition. Lots of bullshit on PHO."
"Right." Nicholas looked around. "So, where to next?"
Guillaume stopped as a familiar face showed up on one of the many viewpoints in his head. Even better, it was nearby. "Over that way," he said urgently, pointing. "Just around that corner. Someone saw her."
"Awesome." Nicholas rolled his eyes. "About fucking time something went right around here."
They hustled across the street and around the corner, to see Cherie just about to enter an alleyway. She looked around and saw them, and her eyes widened. One step, and she was out of sight.
"No, no, no, fuck, no!" Nicholas broke into a sprint, with Guillaume not far behind. He could see what his brother could, of course, so he wasn't missing anything.
Nicholas entered the alley first, Guillaume hot on his heels. They didn't know enough about the local layout to try a pincer movement, so pursuit it was. Where Cherie ran, they would follow, until they caught up with her and dragged her back to their father for whatever punishment awaited her.
But she wasn't running. Nicholas—and thus Guillaume—saw that she was standing a little way down the alley, waiting for them. And with her was another figure, this one in all black, including a morph mask and a broad-brimmed hat. She had a certain edgy style about her, but they weren't here for some local cape, however stylish. They were here for their sister.
"That's far enough," the cape said. She had a pair of … scissors? Shears? Whatever they were, she was twirling them around her finger. "Nicholas, Guillaume, I've got a message for you to take back to your father. Cherie is under my protection now. Think you can remember that for me?"
Nicholas shook his head. "Oh, bullshit. I don't know who you are—"
"Atropos," she said, timing the word perfectly to knock him off his stride. "And I've got rules. You're Heartbreaker's kids, and I've already told him to stay the fuck out of my city. That goes for you too. So, you've got three options here."
"I don't give a good fucking goddamn who you think you are," Nicholas snapped. "Or about your three options. You've got two options. One, Cherie comes with us. Two, Cherie comes with us and you get left in a puddle of your own piss and shit and puke. I don't care which."
"You might want to think twice about threatening her like that." Cherie sounded a lot less scared than she should've. "If you haven't been paying attention over the last few days, the Nine came to town, and Atropos killed 'em all. Murdered the shit out of them."
Guillaume twitched. He thought he'd heard something about that, but it hadn't been enough to get his attention. His whole focus had been on finding Cherie. Nothing else mattered. But now … he pulled out his phone and thumbed it on.
"Okay, that's just pure bullshit with extra bullshit on top." Nicholas was getting off his game with the insults, but he was under a lot of stress, so Guillaume decided to cut him some slack. "If some newcomer cape could take down the fuckin' Nine, then someone would've done it years ago."
"And yet, they're dead." Atropos didn't sound boastful. She could've been saying, 'And yet, the sky is blue'. "As I was saying, you've got three options. One, you go back to your daddy without Cherie. Two, you end up in PRT custody, get extradited to Canada, and spend time in juvey for your various crimes. Or three, I kill you here and now. The one thing that's not happening is Cherie going anywhere with you. Do I make myself totally understood?"
"Fine," sneered Nicholas. "A puddle of piss and shit and puke it is." He pretended to crack his knuckles. "Sis, you better stand aside. This is gonna get messy." He concentrated; Guillaume knew that Atropos was now bearing the full brunt of his powers.
Nothing happened.
For someone who should've been running in terror or soiling themselves from multiple orifices at once, Atropos seemed remarkably unbothered by the emotional onslaught.
And then she spoke. "You think to inflict fear on me?" The voice that came from behind the morph mask was both unearthly and deeply unsettling. "I am fear. I am Death. I am Ending."
She stepped forward, going from near-motionless to attack mode without anything in between. Nicholas, caught off-guard, barely resisted when she picked him up and pile-drove him face-first into an overfull trash can.
At the same time, the search Guillaume had been making on his phone popped up a result. Nicholas swore violently, then scrambled to his feet and tried to shoulder-charge Atropos; she seemed to melt out of the way, leaving him to crash-tackle the wall of the alleyway. Predictably, it failed to budge.
"Last warning." Atropos was speaking normally once more; she had the shears back in her hand. They glittered in the dim light that filtered down into the alley. "Leave, surrender, or die."
Guillaume only caught the flicker of Nicholas' eye because he was tapped into his brother's vision. Cherie. Normally he couldn't affect her because she could moderate her own emotions as a defence. But he only needed a split-second opening.
Cherie cried out as the fear hit her. At the same time, Nicholas pulled the pistol he'd taken off a gangbanger two towns back. She was only six feet away. He'd be able to hit her easily.
Except, she didn't turn to look at Cherie. There was no distraction at all. As though they'd practiced the move for hours, she knocked the pistol aside with the shears. Then the blades flashed back across, followed by a gush of red. Nicholas gagged, blood on his lips, then fell to his knees. As inevitably as the march of the years he would never now experience, he toppled forward onto his face. His lifeblood pooled around his head on the grimy alley floor.
Atropos turned toward Guillaume; with a flick of her wrist, she shook the blood from the blade. "And you?"
He looked down at the phone in his hand. On the screen, there was a picture of Atropos, an axe in one hand and Jack Slash's severed head in the other. He didn't really need it, after what he'd just seen. He believed.
This only left him with one good option. Slowly, he put his hands up. "I'd like to surrender now, please."
There was no way in hell he could go back to his father, having lost both Nicholas and Cherie, and hope to keep his sanity. It was, as they said, a no-brainer.
He couldn't see her face, but he could hear her smile when she spoke. "Good choice."
<><>
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♦ Topic: Just Another Manic Monday
In: Boards ► Brockton Bay ► New Capes ► Atropos
Atropos (Original Poster) (
Posted On Jan 10th 2011:
Good afternoon to you wonderful people of Brockton Bay!
Today has been a restful day; by which I mean I barely had to kill anyone (though the day's not over yet, whee).
Would you believe, I encountered a couple of people today who hadn't heard about how the Nine went down in an ignominious heap just yesterday? I educated them, of course, and afterward they were much more understanding of the matter.
Oh, and Mayor Christner assures me that the committee to revitalize Brockton Bay (using the funds from the bounties on the Nine) will be up and running by Wednesday, ready to discharge their duties with full integrity and honesty. I have faith in you, Mr Christner!
I'll be watching.
(Mwahahaha.)
Also, I promised you news about the drug trade today, and here it is. There are two more major staging points within Brockton Bay, one on the Docks and one to the northwest of the city. The people manning them (and in some cases womaning them; can't be sexist now) know where they are ... and so do I. Remember that mushroom cloud we enjoyed on Saturday afternoon? Expect something similar tonight, times two. I'll be sure to alert the fire department before it happens so they can be on the way. Bring your breathing gear, guys. The air is gonna be *funky*.
Oh, and those of you who are invested in those drugs staying where they are? This is your only warning. I won't be pulling punches. So, if you figure tonight's a good night to go visit your sick aunt in Florida, or have a deep and meaningful chat with your local desk sergeant, I'm not gonna blame you. In fact, such behavior is thoroughly encouraged.
And one more thing. Hey, Heartbreaker? That makes four of your kids you're not getting back. Take a hint, loser. Or, you know, come face me yourself. But make your will out first. Just saying.
To the rest of you lovely people, have a great Monday night, and see you tomorrow.
Toodles!
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[A/N: This is the last for another two weeks or so.]
End of Part Twenty-Four
Last edited:
Part Twenty-Five: More Preparations
Ack
(Verified Ratbag) (Unverified Great Old One)
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A Darker Path
Part Twenty-Five: More Preparations
[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
Somewhere Well Outside Brockton Bay
Lisa leaned back in her chair, sucking in air through her teeth. "Jesus Christ," she muttered.
"What?" asked Alec, looking up from the news. "Atropos again?"
"Yeah," she replied absently. "She's been hitting the drug stashes pretty hard. There's going to be more going up tonight."
"Oh, yeah, the one she blew up belonged to Accord, didn't it?" She could hear his smirk. "Bet he was able to crush coal into diamonds with his ass-cheeks after that little stunt."
Lisa pondered that. "Yeah, but she hasn't said anything about him sending anyone in from Boston in retaliation, and normally she wouldn't be shy about that sort of thing at all."
"Maybe he sent someone that she doesn't know about?" He shrugged when she turned and gave him a really? look. "Hey, it could happen."
"Not to Atropos, it doesn't." She stretched in the chair, feeling her back pop into place. "She even knew when Skidmark hadn't heard about the first challenge. She's got her shit more organised than Armsmaster's workshop. Which means Accord isn't going after her, because she somehow made him a better offer."
"What, to kill someone for him?" Alec tilted his head. "Who the fuck is worth that much money?"
"Dunno … oh, and Heartbreaker's going to be totally pissed with her. Given that she's currently yanking his chain like it's an Olympic event, I figure he'll be hitting Brockton Bay in the next forty-eight to seventy-two hours."
Somehow, Alec managed to go from lounging indolently on the sofa to standing beside her without appearing to pass through the intervening space. "What?"
"Heartbreaker. See, right there." She tapped on the screen with her nail. "Four of his kids. They must've come after Atropos en masse, and she dealt with them. But goading him like that … he'll come after her, and soon."
"Good." He went back to the sofa and picked up the remote. "Let me know when she kills him, so I know how much confetti to buy."
One channel change later, she waited until he was engrossed in a game show until she looked over her shoulder at him. She'd had her suspicions about his origins, and now they were confirmed. Not that she felt anything but sympathy for him; she knew exactly what it was like to be under the thumb of a controlling asshole, too.
►Bagrat (Veteran Member) (The Guy in the Know)
Replied On Jan 10th 2011:
So, to address this in reverse order.
To absolutely nobody's surprise, our very own *extremely capable* angel of death is once more right on the money when it comes to Heartbreaker's children. An anonymous tip led us to one deceased and one living child, both known to the Canadian authorities for various Master-related crimes. Where the other two are I have no idea, but I am *absolutely* not going to doubt her word on this. Not after the last week.
Heartbreaker, if you know what's good for you, cut your losses and stay away. Just saying.
As for the drug thing, I have absolutely no idea where she's getting her information from, but it kind of matches up with leaks we've had from other sources. But we still don't know where, exactly. And it sounds like she does.
So I'm going to make this one-time suggestion to everyone who is *at all* involved in the illegal hard-drug trade in Brockton Bay. Stop what you're doing, right now. Get out of the business. It's liable to become extremely unhealthy in the next few hours.
Finally, yeah, that revitalization scheme is absolutely a thing. My sources tell me that the Mayor's office has been frantically scrambling to assemble a committee to oversee the disbursement of the ninety-seven million dollars accruing from the ending of the Nine. Something tells me Atropos wants it to go smoothly and without any of the money vanishing into someone's bank account. So when she says she'll be watching, she means it.
I guess we'll find out soon enough if they can take a hint.
I believe the appropriate comment right now is 'we live in interesting times'.
►Reave (Verified PRT Agent)
Replied On Jan 10th 2011:
@Atropos – Okay, I get it. You work alone. And you are admittedly very effective when you do so. But you don't have to do it all yourself. If you could contact someone—even me—and give us the details of those drug locations, we could pass it on to the BBPD and they could carry out the raid themselves. That way, you're not working for us and we're not getting in your way.
Also, it means you don't have to create a fire and pollution hazard for the city in getting rid of them.
What do you say?
►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
Replied On Jan 10th 2011:
@Reave – Hey there! Thanks for the nice words. It's cool to hear the professionals say that I'm doing a good job. As for your offer, I'm gonna have to turn you down because, frankly speaking, the BBPD is dragging their heels on the whole competence and corruption thing. (The PRT's going well, I'm pleased to say—you go, guys!)
I'd maybe hand the information over to just the PRT, but the fact is, the one at the docks is being massively reinforced with guards and *actual fucking snipers*, and I don't want to make you lose men to that kind of meatgrinder when you don't have to. Every honest, competent law enforcement officer on the streets of Brockton Bay is a good thing, right now.
And yes, I'm totes aware of how ironic it sounds for a remorseless serial killer to be talking about how great it is to have good cops around. But it's true. Every bit you can do to take some of the workload off my shoulders is appreciated. The ones you can't deal with, I'll kill. Sounds good? Sounds good.
As for the other drug clearing-house, they're currently in the process of discreetly moving all the product and cash to a secondary site, one they think I don't know about. (Spoilers: I do. Also, the third site. And the fourth. Whoops, you're out of places to run and hide. Isn't this fun? Wheee!)
I'd bring the BBPD in on this to back you up if I knew for a *fact* that all the drug guys would be arrested and charged, none of the money would mysteriously disappear, and none of the drugs would end up being re-sold on the black market … but right now, that's just not the case. So, I'm not going to put temptation in front of them. Sorry, not sorry.
►GreatAndTerribleAisha (Verified Atropos Fan)
Replied On Jan 10th 2011:
Hahaha wow, BURN!
I guess too many cops got used to looking the other way for a bit of cash, huh? I mean, when it's 'either accept this bribe or die screaming' I can kinda understand, but you'd think there would be the option of transferring to a different beat or whatever.
Don't harsh me; not a cop, no idea how they do stuff. All I know is, they got no sense of humor, so when my girl Atropos called them out like that I might've done a little bit of a victory dance.
So yeah, whoof, that takedown of the Nine, how good was that? She totally cut Jack down to size.
Totally looking forward to the fireworks tonight.
►UnconcernedFox
Replied On Jan 10th 2011:
*turns TV to local news station and readies popcorn conveyor belt*
►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
Replied On Jan 10th 2011:
Now, now, @GreatAndTerribleAisha, don't go teasing the police.
They might cry, and then where would we be?
Ahh, who am I kidding? Tease them all you want. Maybe they'll clean up their act a little quicker.
►Naizeb
Replied On Jan 10th 2011:
I have to ask … if Atropos took on up to four of Heartbreaker's offspring (whom I *assume* to be Masters in their own right, otherwise why send them?) and beat them handily, killing at least one and scaring another to the point that they surrendered to the authorities (not something that surprises me anymore, just btw) … does this mean she's immune to being Mastered? Or is she *just that damn good*?
*pauses with hands over keyboard*
*re-watches the Nine takedown*
Well, okay, yes, she's just that good, but is she *also* immune to being Mastered?
►TheRealShielder (Verified Cape) (Cape Son) (New Wave Member)
Replied On Jan 10th 2011:
Well, there's no shortage of supervillains right now who would probably say 'Atropos OP, pls nerf' if they thought it would do the slightest bit of good.
I've just got one thing to say.
Sucks to be them.
(Disclaimer: This comment does not in any way reflect the attitudes or opinions of New Wave as a whole).
►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
Replied On Jan 10th 2011:
Okay, to cut short the inevitable fifteen-page argument thread about whether or not I'm immune to Mastery, or if I'm just that good …
The answer is 'yes'.
It's not that I'm immune to Mastery as such. It's more that, just like anything else, I can kill Mastery effects before they can make me do anything. And then, of course, I kill the Master who was stupid enough to try to get into my head.
How, you may ask, do I kill Mastery effects?
The answer is simple.
I'm just that good.
► BattleLoaf
Replied On Jan 10th 2011:
Wait, 4? Assuming the person she killed today is one of them, has she been picking off Heartbreaker's kids over the last week?
Nabbed 3 others between assassinating Coil, Kaiser, Lung and Skids, while planning to Slaughter the Nine?
Fucking hell, she is EFFICIENT. Take your eyes off her for a minute and 3 more supervillains drop like flies.
End of Page. 1, 2, 3 ... 9, 10, 11
►GreatAndTerribleAisha (Verified Atropos Fan)
Replied On Jan 10th 2011:
Hahahaha oh man.
If you guys knew one TENTH of what my girl Atropos has been pulling off behind the scenes … you would shit yourselves then leave town.
Efficient isn't the half of it.
Armsmaster should be begging on bended knee just to learn from her.
►XxVoid_CowboyxX
Replied On Jan 10th 2011:
Having seen what I've seen … I would not doubt that in the slightest.
I'll be standing over here, not getting in her way.
►FlippinMad
Replied On Jan 10th 2011:
Me too, Void. Me too.
There are some things you don't ever mess with.
Most of them fall under the category of 'anything Atropos considers important'.
►RaRaRa
Replied On Jan 10th 2011:
@BattleLoaf - "not getting back" is not the same thing as "Killed".
Only one of them is verified as being dead. One was reported as being turned over to the PRT.
Not sure if I want to speculate about the fate of the other two.
I mean, we've *seen* what happens to capes when Atropos is particularly peeved at them.
►BattleLoaf
Replied On Jan 10th 2011:
@RaRaRa – fair enough. I just figured Atropos saying "you're not getting them back" basically means "they ded."
(I might have missed the mention that one surrendered alive).
►Draconian
Replied On Jan 10th 2011:
Does this mean Heartbreaker is coming to town?
You know, after he's been specifically warned not to?
Pretty sure we all know what that means … "That's a paddlin'."
(If by 'paddling' we mean 'imminent and possibly ironically excruciating death').
►Brocktonite03 (Veteran Member)
Replied On Jan 10th 2011:
Um … okay, if Heartbreaker's coming to town, I guess it's a good thing that we know ahead of time. But that was a pretty big list Atropos posted up. I wonder who else we have to worry about.
►Rook (Verified Cape) (Red Hands Member)
Replied On Jan 10th 2011:
Not us. We are staying WAY the hell away from that shitshow.
Hard pass.
►AverageAlexandros (Cape Husband)
Replied On Jan 10th 2011:
Oh, good. I've always heard that the Red Hands are smarter than most.
Ominous silence from the rest of them, though.
►Char
Replied On Jan 10th 2011:
Nope. The ominous is all on our side.
Like the old joke goes, Atropos doesn't sleep. She *waits*.
Only it's not a joke.
It's really not.
End of Page. 1, 2, 3 ... 9, 10, 11
PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: Rook
From: SilentWhispers
Subject: Hi there!
Tattletale here, of the Undersiders. We're kinda orphaned since our boss got Atropos'd and one of our members was grabbed up by the PRT in the aftermath. Was wondering if you had room for three more in your group? I'm told red goes great with my complexion. FYI, the other two are Regent and Bitch, but I haven't run this past them yet. Just checking to see if it's even an option.
PM me with a yes, no or other answer.
Tt
Brockton Bay Central Library
Taylor
I stood up from the computer terminal and stretched, first one way and then the other. My back popped nicely; I could feel the vertebrae settling back into place. As I watched, the ongoing discussion jumped onto yet another page. At times I got the impression that some people lived solely for the chance to blast their pet opinions across the internet, come rain or shine.
Dad already knew I was going to be staying out for a while before I came home. I'd already told him when and where to pick Cherie and me up. Having him in the know made setting up my Paths a ton easier.
Which reminded me. I took my phone out and dialled his office number. I'd told him about Cherie and the others, but not that I'd be recruiting her. That was my bad, but one I could correct.
He picked up the phone promptly enough. "Dockworkers' Association, Danny Hebert speaking."
"Hey, Dad," I said. "Could you do me a favour and set an extra place at the table when you get home? I'll be having a friend sleep over tonight, and I don't want her thinking we're uncultured savages or something."
He never hesitated. "Sure, okay. Is this the friend you were talking about this morning?" Oh, yeah, he was on the ball today.
"That's the one," I confirmed. "Thanks a million. You're the best."
"You're only saying that because it's true." A chuckle came down the line. "See you tonight."
"See you then." I ended the call and put my phone away. Leaning over the computer, I cleared the history (and the link to the spoofed channel going through the PRT building) then shut it down. Then I picked up my pack and slung it over my shoulder. Cherie, who had been browsing through magazines nearby, got up and came over. For someone who was due to lose her father in the next forty-eight hours, she looked downright chipper.
I had a lot to do tonight, and only part of it was going to involve utterly wrecking the remaining illegal hard drug supply points in Brockton Bay. Other threats were upcoming, and I needed to be prepared for them.
Fortunately, I knew exactly what I needed, and where to get it from.
Tenebrae
Brian paused in front of the door to Director Piggot's office and took a deep breath. He hadn't screwed up in the last twenty-four hours—at least, he didn't think he had—which merely made the unexpected summons all the more unnerving. Had the Director somehow figured out the Riley scam that Atropos was running on the PRT? On the face of it, he didn't think it likely, but shit sometimes just plain happened.
Letting out the breath, he reached up and knocked firmly on the door.
"Enter."
The handle turned easily in his hand, and he walked into the office. Director Piggot sat behind her desk, impassive as ever. He hadn't spent enough time in her presence to know her moods yet, but the stories he'd heard from the other Wards—the paperwork had finally come through that afternoon—indicated that she didn't show anything at all until she was well and truly pissed. And by that time, of course, it was far too late to do anything except duck and cover, and hope that you weren't the target of her ire.
"You wanted to see me, ma'am?"
She nodded once in confirmation. "Yes, Mr Laborn. I understand you will be going out with the rest of the Wards as of tonight. How do you feel about this?"
The rock-hard ball of tension inside his chest began to gradually loosen. "I get along well with my teammates, ma'am. They're good people. Looking forward to backing them up out there."
"Good." A slight creasing around her cheeks suggested the ghost of a smile. Apparently he'd said the right thing? "And your sister. How is she settling in? I know you agreed to take in your cousin, but does she have any problems with the idea?"
"No, ma'am." He suppressed a smile at the idea of Aisha's reaction to such a suggestion. "Aisha and I haven't even met young Riley, but she's enthusiastic at the idea of having a younger sibling of sorts to spend time with. And as for how she's doing right now … well, she might be snarky, but she's told me that PRT housing is a lot better than staying with either of our parents. She's less enthusiastic about having to go to school, but even that's less of an issue with the special classes she's taking."
"That's also good to hear." Piggot placed her hands on the desk and leaned forward slightly. "Has Atropos contacted her again, perhaps in relation to the raids on the drug warehouses tonight?"
Carefully, Brian shook his head. "It seems she believes she can handle this one herself. Personally, I think the main reason she took us on the last expedition was because Aisha hates drugs, and Atropos wanted to show her a good day out."
"Hmm." The Director sat back again. "If she contacts either one of you, I want to know immediately. The last thing we want to do is get in her way. Is that understood?"
"Trust me, ma'am, that's the last thing I want too," Brian agreed fervently. "I'm pretty sure she'll contact Aisha again. I just don't know when."
"Then we're on the same page." Director Piggot nodded to him. "Close the door on your way out, please."
"Yes, ma'am." He turned and left the office, careful to do what she'd said. Only then did he let out the rest of the accumulated tension in a gust of breath.
He'd already been told that Riley would be coming in later that night; they were timing her arrival for shortly after he finished his shift as Tenebrae.
Despite his earlier misgivings, he was kind of looking forward to it.
Cherish
For all that she was the oldest child of Heartbreaker, Cherie Vasil had never been away from home before. More specifically, she'd never been out from under her father's thumb ever, so she had no idea how other villains approached things. Such as, for instance, serial killing. While she'd seen the footage of Atropos tearing a swathe through the Nine like a combine harvester on angel dust, that had only been half the picture. Now, she was learning what the other half looked like.
And it was not what she'd expected.
As night fell over Brockton Bay, Taylor paused in an alley. Her lips twitched, as though she was talking to herself, then she nodded infinitesimally. Her musical accompaniment became a shade more pleased, though for what reason, Cherie had no idea.
Shrugging off her backpack, she placed it on a piece of flattened cardboard to keep it out of the grime, then unzipped her hoodie. Underneath, she was wearing the formal shirt and tie of Atropos. She was also wearing the slacks and boots, but her body language had made her so forgettable that nobody had bothered to look twice at her.
The hoodie went into the backpack, to be replaced by the long-coat, morph mask, gloves and hat. In a matter of seconds, the gawky, inconsequential schoolgirl was replaced by the far more noticeable—and dangerous—form of Atropos. Had Cherie not been aware of Taylor's emotional accompaniment the whole time, she would have seriously suspected some kind of split personality at work. As it was, the masked killer's harsh intensity of purpose never varied.
Interestingly enough, Atropos didn't strap on the holstered pistol, but instead left it in the backpack. Not that she was in any way unarmed; Cherie had seen her proficiency with the oversized shears, and knew first-hand just how effective she was even without weapons. Although she was curious, she didn't venture a question. If Atropos wanted her to know why, Cherie would find out.
Atropos led the way through a maze of alleyways, never missing her way despite the lowering dusk, somehow managing to cross side-streets when there were no passing cars or inconvenient spectators to catch them at it. Cherie was keeping a vigil on the surrounding people herself, but not once did she 'hear' a flare of music to indicate that they'd been seen. Atropos, she decided (not for the first time), was scary good at what she did.
They stopped behind one particular shop, but between the darkness and the confusing route, Cherie couldn't have figured out where they were with a map and a GPS locator. For all she knew, they'd taken a side-trip to Chicago. Still, even with all she'd seen, she was impressed when Atropos stepped up to the back door of the shop—locked with an impressive-looking electronic code-box—and tapped in a lengthy string of digits. The door beeped agreeably and unlocked itself for them.
"Okay, what's this place?" murmured Cherie as they stepped inside. The door silently swung shut behind them; she looked around to find herself in a short corridor with a door marked STORES next to her. In the room at the end of the corridor, she could hear the music of what felt like an older man, engrossed in some intricate task or other. "Safe house?"
"Mm-mm." Atropos shook her head and held her finger to where her lips would be. Cherie took the hint and shut up, but it was too late. The music had changed; the man knew they were there.
The kchak-chak sound she heard next chilled her to her heels. Everyone, but everyone knew the sound of a pump action shotgun chambering a round. But Atropos never lost her calm.
"I know you're back there," a voice called out. "Dunno how you punks got past the lock, but stick your head through the door and I will blow it the fuck off." And he would too, she knew.
Atropos cleared her throat. "You don't want to do that, Mr Flaherty. Sorry to disturb you at this time of night, but I'm pretty sure I'd raise a few eyebrows if I walked in through your front door during business hours."
There was a long pause, during which Cherie could detect doubt creeping into the shop owner's certainty. "Who's that?" he called out.
"You know who it is," Atropos replied. "I'm coming through." Turning her head toward Cherie, she made a stay-here gesture.
Cherie was fine with that; the only way she was going through the doorway would be to turn down the aggressive intent of the man beyond to zero. Unfortunately, Atropos had told her not to use her power without permission, which took away that option.
Moving with a fearless step, Atropos went through the open doorway, hands open to show that they were empty. The man's musical accompaniment changed abruptly from doubt to certainty, then fear. "Christ on the Cross, it is you," he said. "I've done nothing wrong, I swear." A clatter of metal suggested to her that he'd put the shotgun down. More than that, from the change in tone of voice and music, Cherie could've sworn she heard sweat springing out on his brow.
"Relax. I'm not here to hurt you." From the tone, Cherie was sure Atropos was smiling under the mask. "On the contrary, you're about to make a great deal of money."
He hesitated, as though searching for the trap in what she was saying. "… I'm listening," he said at last.
"You know people," Atropos said, with a certainty that took it far out of the range of being a question. "People who collect weapons. Cape paraphernalia. The more infamous, the better. I have something for you. In return, I'd like to browse your shelves. I'm in need of a few bits and pieces."
In that moment, she had him. Cherie could hear his music change yet again as the realisation went through his mind. Here, standing before him, was the girl who had killed more cape villains than any other person Cherie could name off the top of her head. If anyone could provide provenance for a piece of salvaged cape gear, it was her.
"What have you got?" His voice was a croak, as though his throat had suddenly gone dry.
"Two things," she said lightly. There was a faint clatter, as of something being dropped on a countertop. "The handle of Jack Slash's last knife, plus a little bit of blade. There's the bullet-hole where I shot it out of his hand."
"Uh huh." He was trying desperately to sound nonchalant, but his thoughts were whirling. Atropos could've dropped a gold ingot on the floor for less effect. "And what was the other thing?"
This time, the thump had rather more authority to it. "Oni Lee's pistol, plus his holster and gunbelt. It's what I shot him with. Also, what I used to punch the holes in Lung's head and chest before I burned him alive."
Flaherty abandoned all pretext at calmness. "Jeeeesus Christ. I can't even … I know at least three people who would murder their own mothers to get these things into their private collections."
"That's not my problem." Atropos' voice cut through the air like her shears had slashed through Nicholas' throat. "I'll leave it up to you to arrange the auction or sale or however you do it. I just need to pick up a few items, and then I'll be on my way."
"Take whatever you need." There was an edge of hysteria to his voice. "I could buy my whole stock ten times over for what these are worth."
"Thank you, I will. These are the keys to unlock the cases? Excellent." There was the sound of metal jingling, and another door opening.
Cherie stayed right where she was, keeping tabs on the man in the next room and Atropos, as well as the surrounding area. Nothing untoward seemed to be going on, which was good. There was no treachery in his music, just a bubbling elation.
A moment or so later, Cherie heard the sound of Atropos' footsteps coming back through. "Thank you, Mr Flaherty," she said politely. "And good night."
"Sure, and you too." He paused. "Uh, you didn't take too long there."
Again, Cherie was sure she was smiling. "That's okay. I knew what I was getting, and you didn't have any grenades."
"Yeah, well, that shit's illegal. Quickest way I know to get your license revoked and end up inside the iron bar hotel for a nice long stretch."
Her voice was full of approval. "And it's because you've never involved yourself in the illegal arms trade that I came to you. Good luck with your auction."
He chuckled ruefully. "Come back anytime for any extras you might need. You've barely scratched the surface, there."
Taylor
"I'll keep that in mind." Leaving Flaherty to gloat over the pieces I'd given him in trade, I went on through to where Cherie waited, the backpack now somewhat heavier. But that wasn't the only change I'd made to my outfit.
In the front room, I'd found a bandolier of blades, wickedly sharp and balanced for throwing. It now resided under my long-coat, as did my new pistol, the holster clipped into my waistband. Oni Lee's weapon had served me well, and now it had fulfilled its final purpose; to get me more weapons with which to explain my unhappiness to those with whom I was unhappy.
I gestured at the exit, and she led the way out to the alley beyond. As the door closed behind us, I heard the beginnings of a phone conversation. "Jay? Yeah, it's me. I need you to set up an auction. All the high rollers. The big money. I just got two pieces dropped in my lap …"
Despite the multitudinous questions I could see in her eyes, Cherie didn't speak until we were several yards down the alleyway. Her eyes were wide as she stared at my new armament, including the sleek stockless shotgun slung over my right shoulder.
"Um, are you looking to start a war with all that?" she asked. "Because it looks to me like you really want to fuck someone's day up. Just saying."
"Well, yes." Hadn't she figured that out about me already? "Fucking up the entire existence of anyone who pisses me off is kind of what I do. And right now, there are several people competing strongly for the distinction of being next on my list. Now, come on. We've got one more stop to make before we head back for dinner."
Cherie had to lengthen her stride to keep up with me. "Yeah, but what are you going to pick up now? You've already gone to a gun shop. And why didn't you grab something like an AR-15 or a Desert Eagle while you were there? You know, something with some real hitting power?"
I ignored her first question. "Hitting power is for those with inadequate aiming capability."
"What?"
"People who can't shoot straight." I turned briefly to look at her. "If a cape can be stopped by a high-powered bullet, they can also be stopped by a relatively low-powered one, too. You just need to shoot them in exactly the right place. Precision trumps brute force every time."
We exited from the alley, and I turned toward the car that was idling at the curbside.
"Uh, there's someone in there …" Cherie trailed off, as though unsure what to say next.
"I know. This is our ride. Get in the back." I climbed into the front seat next to Dad, and pulled off my hat and mask. "Hey, Dad. This is Cherie. Cherie, meet my dad."
Halfway into the back seat, Cherie froze as Dad turned to look at her. "Hi," he said neutrally. "Taylor vouches for you, so I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt. For your sake, I strongly suggest that you don't fuck up." Holding out his hand, he added, "You can call me Mr Hebert."
"Uh … yes, sir. Mr Hebert." Cherie shook his hand awkwardly, then finished getting into the car. "Uh … how come you're so okay with … well, everything?"
Dad smiled benignly as he turned back to look out through the windshield. "I've spent many years being angry at the corruption, short-sightedness and overall neglect that's been dragging this city down into the quagmire it's in today. I don't necessarily approve of Taylor's methods for cleaning the place up, but I sure as hell can't argue with the results. Just today, Mayor Christner asked me if I could maybe head a committee to apportion funds from the Slaughterhouse Nine bounties according to a plan that's coming in from outside. And that's what I intend to do."
"Ninety-seven is just the start," I said. "There are a lot of capes out there who have upset a lot of people, enough to make them willing to pay bounties on their heads. And of course, there are the Endbringers."
Dad frowned, while I got the impression Cherie had stopped breathing altogether.
"I didn't think there were bounties offered on the Endbringers?" he asked.
"Not officially, no," I agreed. "But I don't think it'll take much of a hint for them to throw money in Brockton Bay's direction once the Simurgh dies."
Cherie showed she'd started breathing again when she let out a tiny squeak. "You're … you're going to fight the Simurgh?"
"Hah, no," I scoffed. "If you fight someone, you have a chance of losing. I'm just going to kill her. Totally different situation."
I meant it, and Cherie had to know I was serious, but she didn't sound reassured. "But how?"
Leaning back in my seat as Dad drove off, I smiled beatifically. "The same way I do all my kills. With the right weapon at the right time."
Danny
For someone who had apparently been inured to the supervillain life since she got powers, Cherie Vasil seemed to be thoroughly wrong-footed by Taylor's attitude. As they drove to their next stop, Danny got the strong impression that she'd originally sought out Taylor for protection, but was now wondering if she should be regretting that choice. Taylor seemed to be happy, and she was getting the results she wanted, so Danny had decided to go with the flow.
Also, it was nice to not have the threat of the ABB and the Empire hanging over the Dockworkers for the first time in forever.
Pulling into a darkened side street alongside the confectionary shop, Danny parked the car and stopped the engine. "I'll wait here."
"Thanks. Cherie, stick with Dad. Let him know if anyone's coming." Taylor's voice was slightly muffled, as she was pulling the mask over her head, but it was perfectly understandable all the same.
"Um … okay. You don't want me with you?"
Danny grinned; it seemed Taylor had acquired a rather clingy minion.
"Nope. I've got this." Taylor opened the door and stepped out of the car, then more or less vanished into the shadows.
Danny did his best to relax, but it was difficult. He wasn't used to this. Taylor was the cape, not him. At this time of night, he was more accustomed to sitting at home and watching the news or whatever movie was playing.
"Does she do this often?" Cherie asked from the back seat, her voice barely audible. "Leave you wondering what she's doing and why, I mean."
He chuckled and shook his head. "All the time these days, it feels like. She prefers to work alone, but she's very good at that. Now why she chose to take you on I'm still not sure, but I'm not about to second-guess her choices."
"Oh." From the tone of her voice, he got the impression she wasn't so sure either.
They sat in silence for another thirty seconds or so, until his curiosity overcame him. "So, how did she end up with you as a minion, anyway?"
"Well, it started with me being an idiot." She drew a deep breath. "I thought I could get around her, but I ignored the fact that she was reacting to what I was doing in real-time. So, when I was trying to get information about her out of one of the other girls, I stopped paying attention to her. That was when she snuck up and kicked the snot out of me. The next thing I knew, she was telling me the rules she expected me to follow. And here we are."
The car door opened, and Taylor slipped into the front seat. "And here I am," she finished brightly. Cradled under her left arm was a flat blocky object, encased in one of the confectionary shop's logo-emblazoned bags. "Miss me?"
Danny was impressed despite himself. "Hardly. You weren't even gone five minutes. We barely had time to start talking about you behind your back."
"Meh." Taylor snorted as she peeled off the morph mask again. "Their security wasn't exactly top shelf."
Cherie leaned forward between the seats. "What is it, anyway?"
Taylor chuckled. "I'll show you later. Right now, I'm hungry. Home for dinner, Dad?"
Danny started the car. "Sounds good to me."
She'd be going out again as Atropos afterward, he knew, but right now he was going to enjoy spending quality time with his daughter.
And that was worth all the money in the world.
End of Part Twenty-Five
Part Twenty-Five: More Preparations
[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
Somewhere Well Outside Brockton Bay
Lisa leaned back in her chair, sucking in air through her teeth. "Jesus Christ," she muttered.
"What?" asked Alec, looking up from the news. "Atropos again?"
"Yeah," she replied absently. "She's been hitting the drug stashes pretty hard. There's going to be more going up tonight."
"Oh, yeah, the one she blew up belonged to Accord, didn't it?" She could hear his smirk. "Bet he was able to crush coal into diamonds with his ass-cheeks after that little stunt."
Lisa pondered that. "Yeah, but she hasn't said anything about him sending anyone in from Boston in retaliation, and normally she wouldn't be shy about that sort of thing at all."
"Maybe he sent someone that she doesn't know about?" He shrugged when she turned and gave him a really? look. "Hey, it could happen."
"Not to Atropos, it doesn't." She stretched in the chair, feeling her back pop into place. "She even knew when Skidmark hadn't heard about the first challenge. She's got her shit more organised than Armsmaster's workshop. Which means Accord isn't going after her, because she somehow made him a better offer."
"What, to kill someone for him?" Alec tilted his head. "Who the fuck is worth that much money?"
"Dunno … oh, and Heartbreaker's going to be totally pissed with her. Given that she's currently yanking his chain like it's an Olympic event, I figure he'll be hitting Brockton Bay in the next forty-eight to seventy-two hours."
Somehow, Alec managed to go from lounging indolently on the sofa to standing beside her without appearing to pass through the intervening space. "What?"
"Heartbreaker. See, right there." She tapped on the screen with her nail. "Four of his kids. They must've come after Atropos en masse, and she dealt with them. But goading him like that … he'll come after her, and soon."
"Good." He went back to the sofa and picked up the remote. "Let me know when she kills him, so I know how much confetti to buy."
One channel change later, she waited until he was engrossed in a game show until she looked over her shoulder at him. She'd had her suspicions about his origins, and now they were confirmed. Not that she felt anything but sympathy for him; she knew exactly what it was like to be under the thumb of a controlling asshole, too.
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(Showing page 1 of 11)►Bagrat (Veteran Member) (The Guy in the Know)
Replied On Jan 10th 2011:
So, to address this in reverse order.
To absolutely nobody's surprise, our very own *extremely capable* angel of death is once more right on the money when it comes to Heartbreaker's children. An anonymous tip led us to one deceased and one living child, both known to the Canadian authorities for various Master-related crimes. Where the other two are I have no idea, but I am *absolutely* not going to doubt her word on this. Not after the last week.
Heartbreaker, if you know what's good for you, cut your losses and stay away. Just saying.
As for the drug thing, I have absolutely no idea where she's getting her information from, but it kind of matches up with leaks we've had from other sources. But we still don't know where, exactly. And it sounds like she does.
So I'm going to make this one-time suggestion to everyone who is *at all* involved in the illegal hard-drug trade in Brockton Bay. Stop what you're doing, right now. Get out of the business. It's liable to become extremely unhealthy in the next few hours.
Finally, yeah, that revitalization scheme is absolutely a thing. My sources tell me that the Mayor's office has been frantically scrambling to assemble a committee to oversee the disbursement of the ninety-seven million dollars accruing from the ending of the Nine. Something tells me Atropos wants it to go smoothly and without any of the money vanishing into someone's bank account. So when she says she'll be watching, she means it.
I guess we'll find out soon enough if they can take a hint.
I believe the appropriate comment right now is 'we live in interesting times'.
►Reave (Verified PRT Agent)
Replied On Jan 10th 2011:
@Atropos – Okay, I get it. You work alone. And you are admittedly very effective when you do so. But you don't have to do it all yourself. If you could contact someone—even me—and give us the details of those drug locations, we could pass it on to the BBPD and they could carry out the raid themselves. That way, you're not working for us and we're not getting in your way.
Also, it means you don't have to create a fire and pollution hazard for the city in getting rid of them.
What do you say?
►Atropos (Original Poster) (
Replied On Jan 10th 2011:
@Reave – Hey there! Thanks for the nice words. It's cool to hear the professionals say that I'm doing a good job. As for your offer, I'm gonna have to turn you down because, frankly speaking, the BBPD is dragging their heels on the whole competence and corruption thing. (The PRT's going well, I'm pleased to say—you go, guys!)
I'd maybe hand the information over to just the PRT, but the fact is, the one at the docks is being massively reinforced with guards and *actual fucking snipers*, and I don't want to make you lose men to that kind of meatgrinder when you don't have to. Every honest, competent law enforcement officer on the streets of Brockton Bay is a good thing, right now.
And yes, I'm totes aware of how ironic it sounds for a remorseless serial killer to be talking about how great it is to have good cops around. But it's true. Every bit you can do to take some of the workload off my shoulders is appreciated. The ones you can't deal with, I'll kill. Sounds good? Sounds good.
As for the other drug clearing-house, they're currently in the process of discreetly moving all the product and cash to a secondary site, one they think I don't know about. (Spoilers: I do. Also, the third site. And the fourth. Whoops, you're out of places to run and hide. Isn't this fun? Wheee!)
I'd bring the BBPD in on this to back you up if I knew for a *fact* that all the drug guys would be arrested and charged, none of the money would mysteriously disappear, and none of the drugs would end up being re-sold on the black market … but right now, that's just not the case. So, I'm not going to put temptation in front of them. Sorry, not sorry.
►GreatAndTerribleAisha (Verified Atropos Fan)
Replied On Jan 10th 2011:
Hahaha wow, BURN!
I guess too many cops got used to looking the other way for a bit of cash, huh? I mean, when it's 'either accept this bribe or die screaming' I can kinda understand, but you'd think there would be the option of transferring to a different beat or whatever.
Don't harsh me; not a cop, no idea how they do stuff. All I know is, they got no sense of humor, so when my girl Atropos called them out like that I might've done a little bit of a victory dance.
So yeah, whoof, that takedown of the Nine, how good was that? She totally cut Jack down to size.
Totally looking forward to the fireworks tonight.
►UnconcernedFox
Replied On Jan 10th 2011:
*turns TV to local news station and readies popcorn conveyor belt*
►Atropos (Original Poster) (
Replied On Jan 10th 2011:
Now, now, @GreatAndTerribleAisha, don't go teasing the police.
They might cry, and then where would we be?
Ahh, who am I kidding? Tease them all you want. Maybe they'll clean up their act a little quicker.
►Naizeb
Replied On Jan 10th 2011:
I have to ask … if Atropos took on up to four of Heartbreaker's offspring (whom I *assume* to be Masters in their own right, otherwise why send them?) and beat them handily, killing at least one and scaring another to the point that they surrendered to the authorities (not something that surprises me anymore, just btw) … does this mean she's immune to being Mastered? Or is she *just that damn good*?
*pauses with hands over keyboard*
*re-watches the Nine takedown*
Well, okay, yes, she's just that good, but is she *also* immune to being Mastered?
►TheRealShielder (Verified Cape) (Cape Son) (New Wave Member)
Replied On Jan 10th 2011:
Well, there's no shortage of supervillains right now who would probably say 'Atropos OP, pls nerf' if they thought it would do the slightest bit of good.
I've just got one thing to say.
Sucks to be them.
(Disclaimer: This comment does not in any way reflect the attitudes or opinions of New Wave as a whole).
►Atropos (Original Poster) (
Replied On Jan 10th 2011:
Okay, to cut short the inevitable fifteen-page argument thread about whether or not I'm immune to Mastery, or if I'm just that good …
The answer is 'yes'.
It's not that I'm immune to Mastery as such. It's more that, just like anything else, I can kill Mastery effects before they can make me do anything. And then, of course, I kill the Master who was stupid enough to try to get into my head.
How, you may ask, do I kill Mastery effects?
The answer is simple.
I'm just that good.
► BattleLoaf
Replied On Jan 10th 2011:
Wait, 4? Assuming the person she killed today is one of them, has she been picking off Heartbreaker's kids over the last week?
Nabbed 3 others between assassinating Coil, Kaiser, Lung and Skids, while planning to Slaughter the Nine?
Fucking hell, she is EFFICIENT. Take your eyes off her for a minute and 3 more supervillains drop like flies.
(Showing page 2 of 11)►GreatAndTerribleAisha (Verified Atropos Fan)
Replied On Jan 10th 2011:
Hahahaha oh man.
If you guys knew one TENTH of what my girl Atropos has been pulling off behind the scenes … you would shit yourselves then leave town.
Efficient isn't the half of it.
Armsmaster should be begging on bended knee just to learn from her.
►XxVoid_CowboyxX
Replied On Jan 10th 2011:
Having seen what I've seen … I would not doubt that in the slightest.
I'll be standing over here, not getting in her way.
►FlippinMad
Replied On Jan 10th 2011:
Me too, Void. Me too.
There are some things you don't ever mess with.
Most of them fall under the category of 'anything Atropos considers important'.
►RaRaRa
Replied On Jan 10th 2011:
@BattleLoaf - "not getting back" is not the same thing as "Killed".
Only one of them is verified as being dead. One was reported as being turned over to the PRT.
Not sure if I want to speculate about the fate of the other two.
I mean, we've *seen* what happens to capes when Atropos is particularly peeved at them.
►BattleLoaf
Replied On Jan 10th 2011:
@RaRaRa – fair enough. I just figured Atropos saying "you're not getting them back" basically means "they ded."
(I might have missed the mention that one surrendered alive).
►Draconian
Replied On Jan 10th 2011:
Does this mean Heartbreaker is coming to town?
You know, after he's been specifically warned not to?
Pretty sure we all know what that means … "That's a paddlin'."
(If by 'paddling' we mean 'imminent and possibly ironically excruciating death').
►Brocktonite03 (Veteran Member)
Replied On Jan 10th 2011:
Um … okay, if Heartbreaker's coming to town, I guess it's a good thing that we know ahead of time. But that was a pretty big list Atropos posted up. I wonder who else we have to worry about.
►Rook (Verified Cape) (Red Hands Member)
Replied On Jan 10th 2011:
Not us. We are staying WAY the hell away from that shitshow.
Hard pass.
►AverageAlexandros (Cape Husband)
Replied On Jan 10th 2011:
Oh, good. I've always heard that the Red Hands are smarter than most.
Ominous silence from the rest of them, though.
►Char
Replied On Jan 10th 2011:
Nope. The ominous is all on our side.
Like the old joke goes, Atropos doesn't sleep. She *waits*.
Only it's not a joke.
It's really not.
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PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: Rook
From: SilentWhispers
Subject: Hi there!
Tattletale here, of the Undersiders. We're kinda orphaned since our boss got Atropos'd and one of our members was grabbed up by the PRT in the aftermath. Was wondering if you had room for three more in your group? I'm told red goes great with my complexion. FYI, the other two are Regent and Bitch, but I haven't run this past them yet. Just checking to see if it's even an option.
PM me with a yes, no or other answer.
Tt
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Brockton Bay Central Library
Taylor
I stood up from the computer terminal and stretched, first one way and then the other. My back popped nicely; I could feel the vertebrae settling back into place. As I watched, the ongoing discussion jumped onto yet another page. At times I got the impression that some people lived solely for the chance to blast their pet opinions across the internet, come rain or shine.
Dad already knew I was going to be staying out for a while before I came home. I'd already told him when and where to pick Cherie and me up. Having him in the know made setting up my Paths a ton easier.
Which reminded me. I took my phone out and dialled his office number. I'd told him about Cherie and the others, but not that I'd be recruiting her. That was my bad, but one I could correct.
He picked up the phone promptly enough. "Dockworkers' Association, Danny Hebert speaking."
"Hey, Dad," I said. "Could you do me a favour and set an extra place at the table when you get home? I'll be having a friend sleep over tonight, and I don't want her thinking we're uncultured savages or something."
He never hesitated. "Sure, okay. Is this the friend you were talking about this morning?" Oh, yeah, he was on the ball today.
"That's the one," I confirmed. "Thanks a million. You're the best."
"You're only saying that because it's true." A chuckle came down the line. "See you tonight."
"See you then." I ended the call and put my phone away. Leaning over the computer, I cleared the history (and the link to the spoofed channel going through the PRT building) then shut it down. Then I picked up my pack and slung it over my shoulder. Cherie, who had been browsing through magazines nearby, got up and came over. For someone who was due to lose her father in the next forty-eight hours, she looked downright chipper.
I had a lot to do tonight, and only part of it was going to involve utterly wrecking the remaining illegal hard drug supply points in Brockton Bay. Other threats were upcoming, and I needed to be prepared for them.
Fortunately, I knew exactly what I needed, and where to get it from.
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Tenebrae
Brian paused in front of the door to Director Piggot's office and took a deep breath. He hadn't screwed up in the last twenty-four hours—at least, he didn't think he had—which merely made the unexpected summons all the more unnerving. Had the Director somehow figured out the Riley scam that Atropos was running on the PRT? On the face of it, he didn't think it likely, but shit sometimes just plain happened.
Letting out the breath, he reached up and knocked firmly on the door.
"Enter."
The handle turned easily in his hand, and he walked into the office. Director Piggot sat behind her desk, impassive as ever. He hadn't spent enough time in her presence to know her moods yet, but the stories he'd heard from the other Wards—the paperwork had finally come through that afternoon—indicated that she didn't show anything at all until she was well and truly pissed. And by that time, of course, it was far too late to do anything except duck and cover, and hope that you weren't the target of her ire.
"You wanted to see me, ma'am?"
She nodded once in confirmation. "Yes, Mr Laborn. I understand you will be going out with the rest of the Wards as of tonight. How do you feel about this?"
The rock-hard ball of tension inside his chest began to gradually loosen. "I get along well with my teammates, ma'am. They're good people. Looking forward to backing them up out there."
"Good." A slight creasing around her cheeks suggested the ghost of a smile. Apparently he'd said the right thing? "And your sister. How is she settling in? I know you agreed to take in your cousin, but does she have any problems with the idea?"
"No, ma'am." He suppressed a smile at the idea of Aisha's reaction to such a suggestion. "Aisha and I haven't even met young Riley, but she's enthusiastic at the idea of having a younger sibling of sorts to spend time with. And as for how she's doing right now … well, she might be snarky, but she's told me that PRT housing is a lot better than staying with either of our parents. She's less enthusiastic about having to go to school, but even that's less of an issue with the special classes she's taking."
"That's also good to hear." Piggot placed her hands on the desk and leaned forward slightly. "Has Atropos contacted her again, perhaps in relation to the raids on the drug warehouses tonight?"
Carefully, Brian shook his head. "It seems she believes she can handle this one herself. Personally, I think the main reason she took us on the last expedition was because Aisha hates drugs, and Atropos wanted to show her a good day out."
"Hmm." The Director sat back again. "If she contacts either one of you, I want to know immediately. The last thing we want to do is get in her way. Is that understood?"
"Trust me, ma'am, that's the last thing I want too," Brian agreed fervently. "I'm pretty sure she'll contact Aisha again. I just don't know when."
"Then we're on the same page." Director Piggot nodded to him. "Close the door on your way out, please."
"Yes, ma'am." He turned and left the office, careful to do what she'd said. Only then did he let out the rest of the accumulated tension in a gust of breath.
He'd already been told that Riley would be coming in later that night; they were timing her arrival for shortly after he finished his shift as Tenebrae.
Despite his earlier misgivings, he was kind of looking forward to it.
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Cherish
For all that she was the oldest child of Heartbreaker, Cherie Vasil had never been away from home before. More specifically, she'd never been out from under her father's thumb ever, so she had no idea how other villains approached things. Such as, for instance, serial killing. While she'd seen the footage of Atropos tearing a swathe through the Nine like a combine harvester on angel dust, that had only been half the picture. Now, she was learning what the other half looked like.
And it was not what she'd expected.
As night fell over Brockton Bay, Taylor paused in an alley. Her lips twitched, as though she was talking to herself, then she nodded infinitesimally. Her musical accompaniment became a shade more pleased, though for what reason, Cherie had no idea.
Shrugging off her backpack, she placed it on a piece of flattened cardboard to keep it out of the grime, then unzipped her hoodie. Underneath, she was wearing the formal shirt and tie of Atropos. She was also wearing the slacks and boots, but her body language had made her so forgettable that nobody had bothered to look twice at her.
The hoodie went into the backpack, to be replaced by the long-coat, morph mask, gloves and hat. In a matter of seconds, the gawky, inconsequential schoolgirl was replaced by the far more noticeable—and dangerous—form of Atropos. Had Cherie not been aware of Taylor's emotional accompaniment the whole time, she would have seriously suspected some kind of split personality at work. As it was, the masked killer's harsh intensity of purpose never varied.
Interestingly enough, Atropos didn't strap on the holstered pistol, but instead left it in the backpack. Not that she was in any way unarmed; Cherie had seen her proficiency with the oversized shears, and knew first-hand just how effective she was even without weapons. Although she was curious, she didn't venture a question. If Atropos wanted her to know why, Cherie would find out.
Atropos led the way through a maze of alleyways, never missing her way despite the lowering dusk, somehow managing to cross side-streets when there were no passing cars or inconvenient spectators to catch them at it. Cherie was keeping a vigil on the surrounding people herself, but not once did she 'hear' a flare of music to indicate that they'd been seen. Atropos, she decided (not for the first time), was scary good at what she did.
They stopped behind one particular shop, but between the darkness and the confusing route, Cherie couldn't have figured out where they were with a map and a GPS locator. For all she knew, they'd taken a side-trip to Chicago. Still, even with all she'd seen, she was impressed when Atropos stepped up to the back door of the shop—locked with an impressive-looking electronic code-box—and tapped in a lengthy string of digits. The door beeped agreeably and unlocked itself for them.
"Okay, what's this place?" murmured Cherie as they stepped inside. The door silently swung shut behind them; she looked around to find herself in a short corridor with a door marked STORES next to her. In the room at the end of the corridor, she could hear the music of what felt like an older man, engrossed in some intricate task or other. "Safe house?"
"Mm-mm." Atropos shook her head and held her finger to where her lips would be. Cherie took the hint and shut up, but it was too late. The music had changed; the man knew they were there.
The kchak-chak sound she heard next chilled her to her heels. Everyone, but everyone knew the sound of a pump action shotgun chambering a round. But Atropos never lost her calm.
"I know you're back there," a voice called out. "Dunno how you punks got past the lock, but stick your head through the door and I will blow it the fuck off." And he would too, she knew.
Atropos cleared her throat. "You don't want to do that, Mr Flaherty. Sorry to disturb you at this time of night, but I'm pretty sure I'd raise a few eyebrows if I walked in through your front door during business hours."
There was a long pause, during which Cherie could detect doubt creeping into the shop owner's certainty. "Who's that?" he called out.
"You know who it is," Atropos replied. "I'm coming through." Turning her head toward Cherie, she made a stay-here gesture.
Cherie was fine with that; the only way she was going through the doorway would be to turn down the aggressive intent of the man beyond to zero. Unfortunately, Atropos had told her not to use her power without permission, which took away that option.
Moving with a fearless step, Atropos went through the open doorway, hands open to show that they were empty. The man's musical accompaniment changed abruptly from doubt to certainty, then fear. "Christ on the Cross, it is you," he said. "I've done nothing wrong, I swear." A clatter of metal suggested to her that he'd put the shotgun down. More than that, from the change in tone of voice and music, Cherie could've sworn she heard sweat springing out on his brow.
"Relax. I'm not here to hurt you." From the tone, Cherie was sure Atropos was smiling under the mask. "On the contrary, you're about to make a great deal of money."
He hesitated, as though searching for the trap in what she was saying. "… I'm listening," he said at last.
"You know people," Atropos said, with a certainty that took it far out of the range of being a question. "People who collect weapons. Cape paraphernalia. The more infamous, the better. I have something for you. In return, I'd like to browse your shelves. I'm in need of a few bits and pieces."
In that moment, she had him. Cherie could hear his music change yet again as the realisation went through his mind. Here, standing before him, was the girl who had killed more cape villains than any other person Cherie could name off the top of her head. If anyone could provide provenance for a piece of salvaged cape gear, it was her.
"What have you got?" His voice was a croak, as though his throat had suddenly gone dry.
"Two things," she said lightly. There was a faint clatter, as of something being dropped on a countertop. "The handle of Jack Slash's last knife, plus a little bit of blade. There's the bullet-hole where I shot it out of his hand."
"Uh huh." He was trying desperately to sound nonchalant, but his thoughts were whirling. Atropos could've dropped a gold ingot on the floor for less effect. "And what was the other thing?"
This time, the thump had rather more authority to it. "Oni Lee's pistol, plus his holster and gunbelt. It's what I shot him with. Also, what I used to punch the holes in Lung's head and chest before I burned him alive."
Flaherty abandoned all pretext at calmness. "Jeeeesus Christ. I can't even … I know at least three people who would murder their own mothers to get these things into their private collections."
"That's not my problem." Atropos' voice cut through the air like her shears had slashed through Nicholas' throat. "I'll leave it up to you to arrange the auction or sale or however you do it. I just need to pick up a few items, and then I'll be on my way."
"Take whatever you need." There was an edge of hysteria to his voice. "I could buy my whole stock ten times over for what these are worth."
"Thank you, I will. These are the keys to unlock the cases? Excellent." There was the sound of metal jingling, and another door opening.
Cherie stayed right where she was, keeping tabs on the man in the next room and Atropos, as well as the surrounding area. Nothing untoward seemed to be going on, which was good. There was no treachery in his music, just a bubbling elation.
A moment or so later, Cherie heard the sound of Atropos' footsteps coming back through. "Thank you, Mr Flaherty," she said politely. "And good night."
"Sure, and you too." He paused. "Uh, you didn't take too long there."
Again, Cherie was sure she was smiling. "That's okay. I knew what I was getting, and you didn't have any grenades."
"Yeah, well, that shit's illegal. Quickest way I know to get your license revoked and end up inside the iron bar hotel for a nice long stretch."
Her voice was full of approval. "And it's because you've never involved yourself in the illegal arms trade that I came to you. Good luck with your auction."
He chuckled ruefully. "Come back anytime for any extras you might need. You've barely scratched the surface, there."
<><>
Taylor
"I'll keep that in mind." Leaving Flaherty to gloat over the pieces I'd given him in trade, I went on through to where Cherie waited, the backpack now somewhat heavier. But that wasn't the only change I'd made to my outfit.
In the front room, I'd found a bandolier of blades, wickedly sharp and balanced for throwing. It now resided under my long-coat, as did my new pistol, the holster clipped into my waistband. Oni Lee's weapon had served me well, and now it had fulfilled its final purpose; to get me more weapons with which to explain my unhappiness to those with whom I was unhappy.
I gestured at the exit, and she led the way out to the alley beyond. As the door closed behind us, I heard the beginnings of a phone conversation. "Jay? Yeah, it's me. I need you to set up an auction. All the high rollers. The big money. I just got two pieces dropped in my lap …"
Despite the multitudinous questions I could see in her eyes, Cherie didn't speak until we were several yards down the alleyway. Her eyes were wide as she stared at my new armament, including the sleek stockless shotgun slung over my right shoulder.
"Um, are you looking to start a war with all that?" she asked. "Because it looks to me like you really want to fuck someone's day up. Just saying."
"Well, yes." Hadn't she figured that out about me already? "Fucking up the entire existence of anyone who pisses me off is kind of what I do. And right now, there are several people competing strongly for the distinction of being next on my list. Now, come on. We've got one more stop to make before we head back for dinner."
Cherie had to lengthen her stride to keep up with me. "Yeah, but what are you going to pick up now? You've already gone to a gun shop. And why didn't you grab something like an AR-15 or a Desert Eagle while you were there? You know, something with some real hitting power?"
I ignored her first question. "Hitting power is for those with inadequate aiming capability."
"What?"
"People who can't shoot straight." I turned briefly to look at her. "If a cape can be stopped by a high-powered bullet, they can also be stopped by a relatively low-powered one, too. You just need to shoot them in exactly the right place. Precision trumps brute force every time."
We exited from the alley, and I turned toward the car that was idling at the curbside.
"Uh, there's someone in there …" Cherie trailed off, as though unsure what to say next.
"I know. This is our ride. Get in the back." I climbed into the front seat next to Dad, and pulled off my hat and mask. "Hey, Dad. This is Cherie. Cherie, meet my dad."
Halfway into the back seat, Cherie froze as Dad turned to look at her. "Hi," he said neutrally. "Taylor vouches for you, so I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt. For your sake, I strongly suggest that you don't fuck up." Holding out his hand, he added, "You can call me Mr Hebert."
"Uh … yes, sir. Mr Hebert." Cherie shook his hand awkwardly, then finished getting into the car. "Uh … how come you're so okay with … well, everything?"
Dad smiled benignly as he turned back to look out through the windshield. "I've spent many years being angry at the corruption, short-sightedness and overall neglect that's been dragging this city down into the quagmire it's in today. I don't necessarily approve of Taylor's methods for cleaning the place up, but I sure as hell can't argue with the results. Just today, Mayor Christner asked me if I could maybe head a committee to apportion funds from the Slaughterhouse Nine bounties according to a plan that's coming in from outside. And that's what I intend to do."
"Ninety-seven is just the start," I said. "There are a lot of capes out there who have upset a lot of people, enough to make them willing to pay bounties on their heads. And of course, there are the Endbringers."
Dad frowned, while I got the impression Cherie had stopped breathing altogether.
"I didn't think there were bounties offered on the Endbringers?" he asked.
"Not officially, no," I agreed. "But I don't think it'll take much of a hint for them to throw money in Brockton Bay's direction once the Simurgh dies."
Cherie showed she'd started breathing again when she let out a tiny squeak. "You're … you're going to fight the Simurgh?"
"Hah, no," I scoffed. "If you fight someone, you have a chance of losing. I'm just going to kill her. Totally different situation."
I meant it, and Cherie had to know I was serious, but she didn't sound reassured. "But how?"
Leaning back in my seat as Dad drove off, I smiled beatifically. "The same way I do all my kills. With the right weapon at the right time."
<><>
Danny
For someone who had apparently been inured to the supervillain life since she got powers, Cherie Vasil seemed to be thoroughly wrong-footed by Taylor's attitude. As they drove to their next stop, Danny got the strong impression that she'd originally sought out Taylor for protection, but was now wondering if she should be regretting that choice. Taylor seemed to be happy, and she was getting the results she wanted, so Danny had decided to go with the flow.
Also, it was nice to not have the threat of the ABB and the Empire hanging over the Dockworkers for the first time in forever.
Pulling into a darkened side street alongside the confectionary shop, Danny parked the car and stopped the engine. "I'll wait here."
"Thanks. Cherie, stick with Dad. Let him know if anyone's coming." Taylor's voice was slightly muffled, as she was pulling the mask over her head, but it was perfectly understandable all the same.
"Um … okay. You don't want me with you?"
Danny grinned; it seemed Taylor had acquired a rather clingy minion.
"Nope. I've got this." Taylor opened the door and stepped out of the car, then more or less vanished into the shadows.
Danny did his best to relax, but it was difficult. He wasn't used to this. Taylor was the cape, not him. At this time of night, he was more accustomed to sitting at home and watching the news or whatever movie was playing.
"Does she do this often?" Cherie asked from the back seat, her voice barely audible. "Leave you wondering what she's doing and why, I mean."
He chuckled and shook his head. "All the time these days, it feels like. She prefers to work alone, but she's very good at that. Now why she chose to take you on I'm still not sure, but I'm not about to second-guess her choices."
"Oh." From the tone of her voice, he got the impression she wasn't so sure either.
They sat in silence for another thirty seconds or so, until his curiosity overcame him. "So, how did she end up with you as a minion, anyway?"
"Well, it started with me being an idiot." She drew a deep breath. "I thought I could get around her, but I ignored the fact that she was reacting to what I was doing in real-time. So, when I was trying to get information about her out of one of the other girls, I stopped paying attention to her. That was when she snuck up and kicked the snot out of me. The next thing I knew, she was telling me the rules she expected me to follow. And here we are."
The car door opened, and Taylor slipped into the front seat. "And here I am," she finished brightly. Cradled under her left arm was a flat blocky object, encased in one of the confectionary shop's logo-emblazoned bags. "Miss me?"
Danny was impressed despite himself. "Hardly. You weren't even gone five minutes. We barely had time to start talking about you behind your back."
"Meh." Taylor snorted as she peeled off the morph mask again. "Their security wasn't exactly top shelf."
Cherie leaned forward between the seats. "What is it, anyway?"
Taylor chuckled. "I'll show you later. Right now, I'm hungry. Home for dinner, Dad?"
Danny started the car. "Sounds good to me."
She'd be going out again as Atropos afterward, he knew, but right now he was going to enjoy spending quality time with his daughter.
And that was worth all the money in the world.
End of Part Twenty-Five
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Part Twenty-Six: A New Can of Whoopass
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A Darker Path
Part Twenty-Six: A New Can of Whoopass
[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
Canada
Heartbreaker
Nikos Vasil did not get angry very often. He didn't have to; anyone making him angry learned very quickly why that was a bad idea. Terrifying them to the point that they didn't speak for six months was a simple matter for him, and considerably satisfying besides. The world, with a very few exceptions, existed to serve his needs, and he didn't mind providing reminders when necessary.
He was angry now. A member of his in-group, tasked with maintaining a watch on the doings of the world at large, had brought the Parahumans Online posts to his attention. Many were speaking about this new cape Atropos, but the subforum most closely followed by those in the know was the one that she herself had started.
Still, that would not have been enough to make him angry, even when he read the post where she arbitrarily banned him from ever visiting her city. A substantial number of other capes and organisations were also prohibited from intruding on her home town, some of them prominent enough that he would've been leery about drawing their attention. So it was, then; a small yappy dog barking at bigger dogs from what she considered to be a safe distance. Mere noise.
But then he read the post where she straight-up taunted him with the loss of no fewer than four of his children. Jean-Paul, whom he'd heard no word of since the ungrateful little shit decamped in the middle of the night; Cherie, who had followed her younger brother's example when he was distracted by the Sidney Saile debacle; and Guillaume and Nicholas, who he'd dispatched to find at least Cherie and drag her back to where she belonged by any means necessary.
One was dead and another in PRT custody, that much he knew. The fates of the other two, he had no idea of. The online commentator Bagrat, who claimed to understand Atropos as well as anyone, made it clear that he believed her implicitly but that he had no idea where the others were.
The most fury-inducing aspect of this whole thing was that he had no idea who had died and who had been arrested. Where the arrestee was being held and what charges were going to be levelled, the media either didn't know or they were being remarkably tight-lipped about the whole thing. As the latter would be an unequivocal first for any bunch of media outlets anywhere, he was leaning toward 'didn't know'.
This much he did know; once he had Atropos under his sway, if Jean-Paul was one of the survivors, the little traitor would never speak or act under his own initiative ever again. If he had to be hamstrung and his tongue cut out to achieve this, then so be it. But he—or Cherie, if it turned out he was dead—would serve as a permanent warning to the rest of his children that nobody ran from Nikos Vasil.
The car was packed and ready to go. He would be travelling mainly through the back roads at night, just in case the authorities were more alert than normal and anticipated this move. Nobody would be accompanying him; he needed no assistance to subjugate the will of one overconfident vigilante.
Standing tall in the middle of the main room, he surveyed his devoted flock, mainly women and children. "You will not leave the grounds. You will wait for my return." He exerted his will, burning the command into their minds. Turning, he made to leave the house, then paused and looked back at them. "If you hear of my death … end your own lives."
Satisfied that no matter what happened, his people would never belong to another man, he left the house and got into the car. For the purposes of this trip, he had shaved his beard and cut his hair, and was using a set of fake ID supplied by a cooperative law enforcement officer. Fastening his seatbelt, he started the car and moved off down the driveway.
His destination: Brockton Bay. His chosen target: Atropos.
If anyone could tell him where his living children were, she could.
And of course, he could never have too many women in the house.
A Hundred Miles West of Boston
"What the fuck?"
Animos looked around from the game of poker he was playing with Hemorrhagia and Spree. Vex was driving, which meant Butcher was taking some time to scroll through the local internet on her phone. He'd seen her browser history, but he wasn't one to judge. Whatever floated her boat, was his philosophy.
Though in her case, it was a derelict pirate ship that had been dredged up from the bottom of the ocean with some really fucked-up sea life still clinging to it.
"What?" he asked, mildly impressed that she'd actually found something worse than what she deliberately chose to look at.
"Who the fuck is this Atropos bitch?" she half-screamed. "Does she honestly think she can tell me to stay out of her city? Out of Brockton Bay? The Teeth used to run that shithole!"
"Oh, crap," muttered Hemorrhagia, sharing a glance with Animos and echoing his own inner monologue. They'd caught a few mentions of Atropos and what she'd been up to over the last week, but they'd decided by mutual silent agreement to not mention any of it to Butcher. What she'd done to Lung and Skidmark was beyond messed up, and that was from the point of view of someone who ran with the Teeth.
"Uh, hey," Spree ventured. "Maybe we should just leave them to their hometown shit and hit someplace where they don't stab people through the eye with swords, or shoot them in the face with their own gun?"
"Are you fucking kidding?" Butcher shook her head. "If I'm reading this right, Lung and Oni Lee are fucking dead. Kaiser's dead, and the rest of the Empire Eighty-Eight just left town. I don't even know who Coil was, but he's dead too. There's basically no villains left in that damn city to stand in our way. It's wide open for the taking."
Animos realised as he opened his mouth that he was going to do something he'd never done before. Something that was against his entire state of being.
He was going to try to be the voice of reason.
"Except she's killing villains coming in, too," he said. "She fuckin' wrecked the Slaughterhouse Nine." The forty-three-minute clip had shown that no matter how fucked-up Atropos' previous murders were, they definitely weren't flukes. "Do we really want to go there?"
"Jack Slash was a one-trick pony with a big mouth," Butcher said dismissively. "He wasn't me, and he definitely wasn't all that."
"Didn't the Nine basically wipe out the Teeth, back in the day?" asked Vex from the driver's seat. "And she just killed off the Nine, like she was going out to buy groceries and they were in the way."
"Not that Nine, and not this Teeth." Butcher's tone was assured. "And that was a few Butchers ago, too. We got more powers, and we're a lot better at what we do." I'm a lot better at this than that Butcher, was what she was saying. She was probably getting yelled at right now by whichever Butcher she'd just dissed, but her expression never changed.
"Still, she killed Lung—" Animos began. The ABB cape had a reputation that extended beyond the city limits of Brockton Bay. Or rather, he had had one.
Butcher rolled her eyes theatrically. "What the fuck can she do to me? Nothing she's done to anyone else is going to even come close to hurting me. I'm bullet-proof and stab-proof, if she dropped me in front of a moving vehicle the asphalt would break before I did, I can teleport away from anything bigger, and if she does bring up something that can kill me I'll know about it before she tries! Also, I can fuckin' see her heart and arteries through walls, I can target her better than she can target me, and I can hit her with my powers from a distance! And even if by some fucked-up miracle she kills me, I still beat her. I. Fucking. Win."
She had a point, but Animos couldn't help wondering if the other capes Atropos had killed had thought the same way. "Okay, yeah, but—"
"But nothing. Vex, we're heading to Brockton Bay. There's a little bitch I've got a bone to pick with there."
Vex shrugged. "Okay. We're heading to Brockton Bay."
And so, the van rolled on through the night.
Hebert Household
Cherish
No clock chimed; Taylor didn't even glance at her watch. But between one moment and the next, her emotional music changed key from 'relaxed' to 'purposeful'. "Okay, time to commence Operation Drugs Are Bad, part two. Dad, could you give us a lift?"
"Sure." Taylor's father got up from where he'd been casually chatting with them, and stretched. "Where are we going?"
"The Docks, to start with." Taylor was on her feet as well, shrugging into the long-coat and slinging the backpack holding the rest of her costume over her shoulder. She was already wearing the suit and boots, though she'd unfastened the tie to hang loosely around her neck. Cherie had seen how fast she could don the rest of it, apparently without even having to think about it.
Cherie cleared her throat. "That's the, uh, that's the fortified drug warehouse, right?" Taylor had mentioned this over dinner. She wasn't being grim and gritty like some wannabe action hero; it was just another check-box to be ticked off before the city was cleared of all illegal hard drugs. They would be removed. It was as simple as that.
Taylor gave her a grin, her music dipping into happier strains for a moment. "That's the one. You're paying attention; that's good."
It felt weird to be praised for doing something, as opposed to being punished for not doing it. In fact, the entire dinner episode had been totally outside her experience. Mealtimes in the Vasil household usually involved the women subtly jockeying for the position of her father's favourite, and the children eating in near-silence, doing their best to not catch Nikos' attention.
Here, Taylor had chatted with her father, arguing good-naturedly over several minor topics, and even roped Cherie into the conversation to ask for her opinion on something. There were no pitfalls, no traps, no gotchas. Nobody tried to trick her into saying or doing something that would get her in trouble. Once she'd reached the astonishing realisation that she didn't have to watch every single word she uttered, it had become enjoyable in a way that she'd never thought possible.
The food had been as pleasant as the company. She hadn't been denied a portion; Danny had simply made more. While her experience of home-cooked lasagne was essentially zero, it had been tasty and filling. I could totally get used to this.
Whatever she'd been expecting when she decided on Atropos as a protector, it wasn't this. On the one hand, there was the skinny teenager who helped with the washing-up and stuck her tongue out at her father when he made a terrible pun; on the other, the black-clad avenging angel who had the Brockton Bay underworld terrified. There was no real way she could make the two fit together. They were almost literally night and day.
"Thanks," she said, giving Taylor a tentative smile in return. "So, how are we going to handle this?"
Taylor chuckled, leading the way to the back door. "That's where you come in. I'm not going to stop killing people who totally deserve it, but I've only got so much ammunition. The last time I did something like this, I got Grue to help out by clouding the place in his darkness. It worked well enough, but I like changing things up, so this time I decided to do things a different way. Tell me; if you were faced with a warehouse full of mooks armed to the teeth, how long would it take you to bring them to the point that they didn't even want to put up a fight?"
It was an interesting challenge, but Cherie found herself hanging up on a different topic as she headed down the back steps. "Wait a minute. We only met this afternoon. How long have you been planning to use my abilities to do this?"
Taylor waited for Danny to lock the back door, then followed him toward the car. "Oh, a couple of days now."
Cherie frowned. "But … I only got into town a day or so ago."
"Mm-hmm." Once Danny had unlocked the car, Taylor opened the passenger side door. Pausing before sliding into the car, she looked across the roof of the vehicle toward Cherie. "You seem to be assuming I didn't see you coming." Her emotional accompaniment was leaning toward sly amusement.
"But … but …" Cherie found herself talking to thin air as Taylor got into the car. Opening her own door, she climbed in as well. "But … how long have you known?"
"Long enough." Taylor pulled a mobile phone from her pocket. "I need to make a call now, mmkay?" She put her finger to her lips.
"Okay." Numbly, Cherie sat back and fastened her seatbelt. If Taylor wasn't somehow spoofing her power and pulling her leg, then Atropos' abilities were even scarier than Cherie had figured.
She knew exactly where I'd be, and when to grab me up. And I walked right into it. Of my own free will, even.
The epiphany should've been terrifying, but she found it somehow comforting. If Atropos had seen her coming and known exactly how to deal with her, then her father should stand no chance at all.
She hoped.
On a Bus
Damsel of Distress
As the bus trundled out of Stafford, Ashley leaned back against the seat and let her head loll sideways until she was looking out the window. She'd been here before; not on this bus, but in this situation. The last time, she'd seen on the news that the Boston villain population had been rolled up, leaving the underworld ripe for picking.
That had been four years ago; she'd taken the bus that time, too. For a while she'd done well for herself, but the scheming and treachery of the other villain gangs had undermined her until she'd had no choice but to retreat back to Stafford, her old stamping grounds. But her feet were getting itchy again, and this time it was Brockton Bay that was suffering from a distinct lack of villainous activity.
Edict and Licit wouldn't even know she was gone for a few days, though they probably suspected she'd make a play for Brockton Bay. All she had to do as soon as she got into town was start recruiting from the pool of disaffected teenagers that made up a significant portion of the population of any reasonably-sized city. The two heroes would follow her once they knew where she was, but her minions would give them pause. And I'll finally get the foothold I deserve.
She'd heard about Atropos, of course, and how she'd been the reason the previous villains left town. It didn't bother her; she was good at keeping her head down while she recruited. By the time Atropos even discovered she was in town, it would be a done deal. And if the cape killer wanted to face her off, then … well, Ashley had killed before, too. One more wouldn't matter to her.
Ready or not, here I come.
Stafford, New Hampshire
Licit
brrt brrt
brrt brrt
brrt brrt
He reached for the phone. Fumbled it into position. Not a number he knew. He swiped to answer anyway. "H'lo?"
"Good evening, Licit." The voice on the other end was a teenage girl, not anyone he knew, though it was naggingly familiar. "Are you aware that Damsel of Distress took the night bus to Brockton Bay? She's due to get here at three in the morning. I strongly advise you and Edict to meet me at the Brockton Bay Port Authority bus terminal. Or not; your choice."
"Wha …?" He tried to make sense of what the girl was saying. "Who is this? How do you know?"
"This is Atropos." Adrenaline sent a shot of wakefulness down his spine at that name. "I know because I'm very good at what I do. I'll be giving Damsel of Distress exactly two options; leave town, or die. With you and Edict there, she's less likely to do something stupid. Three AM. Brockton Bay Port Authority bus terminal. Don't be late."
The call ended, leaving him holding a dead phone to his ear.
Slowly, he sat up and swung his legs over the side of his bed. Behind him, the girl he'd picked up at the bar only a couple of hours ago rolled over and mumbled something in her sleep. He ignored her.
For fuck's sake. Edict is going to absolutely kill me.
Her number was in his phone. They were superhero partners, so of course it was. Standing up, he padded into the kitchen and started the coffee-maker going. As it gurgled to life, he hit dial on her number.
The phone almost rang out before she answered. "So help me, if this isn't an earth-shattering emergency, I'm going to—"
"Damsel's on her way to Brockton Bay," he interrupted. "Atropos herself called and gave me the heads-up. If we're not there by three, Atropos is going to kill her."
There was a long pause. "Fuck. Okay. Can we take your car?"
"We can do that." Hopefully, the PRT would reimburse him for the fuel expenditure. "I can be around at yours in half an hour." Most of that time would be taken up with showering and kicking the girl out of his apartment; the drive itself would take five minutes.
"I'll see you then." She ended the call.
The first cup of coffee was ready. He took a mouthful of the hot, black brew, feeling the caffeine sparking his neurons to life. Now he had to drive to Brockton Bay of all places, just to save the life of a supervillain who didn't want to be saved.
And people wonder why I've got a drinking problem.
Cherish
Fully costumed up, Atropos leaned down by the driver's side window. "You've got that other address I told you about?"
"Right here." Mr Hebert held up the notepad.
"Good." The morph mask hid Atropos' expression, but Cherie could tell from the tone of her voice and the musical accompaniment that she was smiling. "Wait exactly three minutes before you drive away, then meet us there."
He nodded seriously. "Three minutes. Got it."
Atropos lightly slapped the car roof, then turned and headed toward where Cherie was waiting. "Okay, showtime. Let's get a little closer."
"Why did you want him to wait three minutes?" asked Cherie. "Wouldn't it be better to get there now?"
"Because there's roving patrols driving around," Atropos explained. "If he takes off right now, he gets the attention of a bunch of heavily armed assholes. Three minutes will put him between sweeps."
"Oh." Cherie raised her head slightly and concentrated on what she was listening to. "Ah, I see them now. They're trying to put on a bold front, but most of them are scared of you. More greedy than scared, though. Someone's throwing a ton of money at this." But even with all the money, there was a persistent undercurrent of fear that she wouldn't have any trouble at all magnifying.
"That's because the profits of being the only drug supplier in a city this size would be phenomenal." Atropos started off down the street. "The warehouse is a block thataway, and the waterfront's the other side of it. If you breathe deeply, you can smell the rotting seaweed."
"Oh, that's what that is?" Cherie caught up with her, lengthening her stride to keep pace. "I'd wondered."
"Well, wonder no longer." Atropos paused just short of a section of street, and nodded to her. "The closest sniper. I need him distracted for the next thirty seconds."
"Just him? Okay, then." Cherie concentrated for about thirty seconds, then nodded as soon as her target's attention was well away from that section of street. "Okay, he's totally spaced out. Not looking this way at all."
"Good." They crossed the road at a hustle anyway, and ducked into cover once more. "When we get a little closer, I'm going to need you to start pulling down their work ethic. All of them. Whatever's motivating them to do their best job today, I want you to erode that until they just can't give a damn."
"Okay." Cherie paused, wondering if she should say what she was thinking. Atropos had been a perfectly reasonable boss so far, but there were always limits.
"What?" Atropos asked. "I'm not going to yell at you for asking questions."
Cherie shrugged. Well, in for a penny … "Okay, they all know you're coming. Why don't I just ramp up their fear of you, so when you show yourself, they shit themselves and run for it?"
"That's plan B." Atropos gave her a nod, and Cherie heard the music signal her approval. "There's three reasons why it's not plan A. Firstly, some people react badly to fear. They attack whatever they're scared of instead of running, or before running. Secondly, I need to destroy the drugs, and some of these idiots are carrying the grenades I need to do it with. If they're running away, they're not waiting around for me to take the grenades off them."
Cherie blinked. "They're carrying grenades?" That sounded like a remarkably stupid idea, and she'd originally been planning to join the Slaughterhouse Nine. "What are they planning on doing with them?"
Atropos snorted. "They've got orders for if they see me in hand to hand with their buddies, to toss the grenades in anyway. It seems they're willing to lose men just to stop me."
"Jesus." Cherie shook her head. "And you're just going to take them and blow up the drugs?"
"There's a few more steps than that, but you've hit on the general idea, yeah."
"Wait, you said there's three reasons. What's the third one?"
Atropos tilted her head slightly. "Did you want people to know you're working for me?"
"Oh. Yeah. Good point." While Atropos seemed to thrive on publicity, Cherie had no desire to be any more visible than absolutely necessary. "So, what do we do now?"
"You wait right here." Atropos patted her on the shoulder. "When you hear the signal, start winding back their motivation. I'll take it from there."
"Signal?" This was the first Cherie had heard of a signal. "What signal?"
"Oh, you'll know it when you hear it."
Atropos
I left Cherie where she was and headed down the nearest alley. This region of the Docks was well away from any residential areas, and I knew the drug guys had cleared out the local homeless in case any of them happened to be me in disguise. Not that I personally cared about collateral damage, but it was the image of the thing. Also, the lower I was able to keep the incidental death toll (it was never going to be zero), the easier it would be for the PRT to rationalise cooperating with me in cleaning up the city and keeping it that way.
They had four snipers in place, each on top of a separate building around the actual warehouse. The snipers could see every approach road, and all of them had an 84mm anti-tank weapon standing by in case I came in with a chopper or a tank or something. However, they weren't the ones with the grenades. Those were the ones on the roof of the warehouse itself.
I had to admit, I was almost impressed. Gesellschaft (they still had people in the smuggling industry, even after the Empire had crumbled) had decided to go all-out, and they'd kicked the armoury doors wide open to do it. After what I'd done to Accord's warehouse, there was to be no holding back. There were more rounds of ammunition ready to be used in and around that one building than anywhere but the nearest National Guard base.
This was going to be fun.
Getting closer involved cheating like hell with my power to know exactly when the snipers were looking in the wrong direction, then choking out the guard who was guarding the sniper's building. (I could've stabbed him, but blood is horrible for corrosion on steel weapons, so I preferred to restrict it for when I absolutely needed to). Then I screwed the suppressor onto the pistol I'd taken from the gun shop, and climbed the ladder up toward where he had his sniper nest.
It took him a few seconds, as I climbed into view, to realise that I wasn't his buddy here to relieve him. At that moment, he had a choice to make: to go for the pistol lying beside him, to try to swing the rifle around, or to surrender. For my part, I'd already made my choice. While it was entirely possible to get a kill-shot with a thrown blade, it was messy and inefficient. Besides, I had a suppressed pistol. It was even in view, while I gave him the chance to give up.
He chose … poorly.
His hand was still inches from the pistol when I put a suppressed round through his head, the heavy THWACK of the shot just quiet enough to confuse anyone nearby as to whether or not that had been actual gunfire. Climbing up into the sniper nest, I holstered the pistol, feeding the suppressor through the hole I'd made in the bottom of the clip-on holster. He'd been carrying a nine-mil as well, so I dropped the magazine out of it and put it in my pocket; spare ammunition was always good to have.
Then I took up the sniper rifle. It had a very nice night-vision scope, but I didn't bother with that. Bringing the butt to my shoulder, I fired into the darkness three times in quick succession. The third sniper had just enough time to start turning toward me when my bullet extracted what was inside his skull and put it outside his skull; the other two didn't even have a chance to do that.
That got the attention of the guys in the ambush-position on the roof of the main warehouse. Their trouble was, they didn't know if the shooting was a good thing or a bad thing. While they were wasting time calling over the radio net to find out what the sniper was firing at (the sniper's two-way radio was going nuts), I picked out the ones who were starting to realise the truth.
There were six of them; unfortunately for them, I knew where they were and they didn't know which way to duck. It was almost child's play for me to take them out, barely pausing between shots. The last one survived a fraction longer than the others, but only because I had to put the rifle down and pick up the sniper's pistol. One more shot, and they were all down.
Discarding the now-empty pistol, I grabbed the AT-4, slinging it over my shoulder. There was still a high barbed-wire fence around the warehouse, as well as a bunch of armed guards inside. Also, Gesellschaft's highest-ranking non-cape in the United States. Taking him alive and handing him over to the PRT would probably count for a few Brownie points, I figured, but I wasn't married to the idea. If it turned out to be easier to just kill him, he'd die.
Cherie would've figured out that the signal had been given by now, so she'd be reinforcing the idea of, 'do I really want to die defending a bunch of drugs?'. Given my previous exploits, they had plenty of reason to be scared, and the longer I let them dwell on it (and the longer Cherie worked on their fears) the better the result I'd get. I mean, I could've done this anyway without her, but this way was a lot easier.
Leaving the sniper nest, I headed across the building roof to the gap between it and the main warehouse. There was a cable strung across the fifty-foot gap, covered in bird shit and probably slippery as hell. Any self-respecting high-wire artist, upon seeing it, would back away slowly.
To me, on the other hand, it could've been a paved walkway with a hand-rail. I just let my power take the reins and it walked me across with never a pause or hesitation. Just like when I'd been shooting the other snipers, I was just along for the ride, allowing it to guide all my movements down to the most infinitesimal of muscular twitches.
I'd expected a lot more commotion below as I was looting the guys on the roof of their grenades, spare ammunition and (in one case) the keys to a vehicle, but it seemed Cherie was doing her job just fine. Only one or two people seemed to be actually shouting and running around, including our friend from the Gesellschaft hierarchy. The rest were doing their best to look and sound as though they were just as enthusiastic, but for some odd reason their hearts just weren't in it.
It was time to move along to the last stage of the plan. Our man from Gesellschaft had—through careful detective work and the fact that nobody was answering the radio on the rooftop—deduced that I was up there. While I could have mimicked their voices, that would've merely wasted a little time. I was already well away from the dead men when he gave orders to fire up through the roof.
Toward the rear of the warehouse was a closed-in yard, containing the vehicles belonging to the warehouse guards. As those within the warehouse shattered the skylight (great going, guys) and set about turning that section of the roof into a reasonable approximation of a colander, I was already over at the corner nearest the vehicle collection point. The distance to the ground was a little farther than I really wanted to drop, especially on to concrete. I could do it and get away with only minor injuries, but I didn't want to if I didn't have to, such as when someone had thoughtfully left a rope secured there for rappelling down with. Say, for if an unstoppable black-clad killer was murdering all their buddies and they just needed to get away.
(If they hadn't, I would've brought my own rope. It's as simple as that).
By the time I kicked the coil of rope over the side there were men moving around outside, shining flashlights upward. I started rappelling down one-handed anyway. On the way down, two men spotted me. One went to shoot, so I shot him first. The other turned and bolted in the other direction; I let him go.
As soon as my boots hit the ground, I headed for the assembled vehicles. There was an armed guard on them, mainly to prevent any of the other guards from bugging out ahead of time. When he saw me, he froze, then screamed and ran for it.
I frowned, then shrugged. Cherie was clearly trying to help, and this time it had worked. If it screwed up, I'd have words with her, but until then I'd leave it be. Putting the matter out of my mind, I zeroed in on the vehicle I was looking for, a solidly built pickup with a massive bull-bar on the front and a light-bar on top. The keys I'd filched from the guy on the roof opened the door, and I climbed in. The AT-4 went onto the passenger seat, beside me.
If I were a 'car' person, the way the engine rumbled to life would've been hugely satisfying to me. As it was, I figured it would serve my purposes for the time being. Backing out of the parking spot, I aimed at the rear roller-door leading into the warehouse, revved the engine to a thunderous roar, and dropped the clutch.
The back wheels left a massive spray of gravel as I powered toward the roller-door, accelerating all the way. I had just enough time to flick the switches for all the lights before the heavy vehicle smashed headlong into the door and tore it clear off its runners. The steering wheel jerked, but I'd anticipated that and countered it; in the next instant, I was powering through the warehouse itself, all the guards still inside turning to look at me.
This was where Cherie's emotion damping came in handy. Instead of testosterone-fuelled aggression, virtually all the guards decided to back way the hell off when I came roaring on through. One guy with a rifle was trying to line up on me—I figured he just liked hurting people more than he liked living—so I shot him on the way past. The others backed up a hell of a lot more, after that.
The drugs were packed up on pallets spaced through the warehouse, with enough room for vehicles to drive between them. I decided to test that by not just driving, but drifting between the various pallets, the back wheels of my newly acquired ride howling and spewing grey-black rubber smoke. This added a certain amount of visual cover for me, and gave the already-demoralised guards a good reason to fall back even farther.
One of the few men there who had a good reason to oppose me was the Gesellschaft rep. He came running out toward me with a pistol raised, firing. Whoever had taught him was good; he put three holes in the windshield about where my head would've been if I hadn't already ducked. Then I spun the pickup around so the loadbed smacked him sideways into a pallet of heroin and fentanyl.
While he lay there groaning, I pulled up next to him and jumped out. Opening the passenger side door, I loaded him into the footwell, then slashed the side of the pallet wrapping and grabbed a single packet. Before the guards could pull together enough courage to see what was going on, I was back in the pickup and revving the engine again. Now was the time to go for gold.
Popping the clutch again, I shot out across the floor, then pulled a tyre-shrieking turn as though I were attempting to escape out through the hole I'd come in by. But I didn't go all the way. Instead, I pulled a U-turn and started back, weaving between the pallets.
This time, however, I was steering with my knees, pulling grenades from my long-coat pockets and yanking the pins free. Each time I passed a pallet, I tossed a grenade so it would land either on top or underneath it. Halfway through, I had to smack Mr Gesselschaft with his own pistol so he'd go back to nap-time, but I made sure every grenade found a good home.
I lacked the string I'd had the first time around, but then again, I really didn't think I needed it. I also didn't have a road flare, but I definitely didn't need one of those. By the time I was almost through, the first grenades were starting to go off, so the pickup was swerving and pitching ahead of a steadily growing cloud of various intoxicants and opioids. As soon as I got rid of the last grenade, it was too close behind me, so I aimed at the front roller-door and floored it.
Again, I tore the metal door clear off its runners; the paintwork was badly scratched, and I was pretty sure the lightbar was no longer of this world. I rocketed out of the warehouse just ahead of the (thankfully unignited) aforementioned cloud of liberated variably toxic substances. The barbed-wire wrapped gate didn't do the paintwork any favours at all either, but I honestly didn't give a fuck. All I wanted to do was to get out of the blast radius.
All the grenades I'd thrown, except the last one, had detonated outside the cloud, merely contributing to it instead of blowing up inside it. Just as I got to the road, the last one went off, and six point five ounces of Composition B struck a massive spark. This ignited the cloud.
If anything, the explosion was bigger than the last one, slamming the pickup sideways and (I found later) blistering the paintwork. The vehicle briefly went up on two wheels, but I fought it down again and regained control.
I didn't know who had gotten out, and I didn't care. The less motivated they were, the more likely they would've decamped as soon as I arrived. Which meant the ones who had stayed were those who were most determined to maintain the drug trade in my city.
Sucked to be them.
The pickup was still rocking on its wheels when I pulled it to a halt. I paused briefly to admire the massive fireball currently climbing skyward to form the second mushroom cloud that I'd ever made before I pulled open the passenger side door and dragged out the Gesellschaft rep. Just for being nearby, he'd be checked out by the authorities, but I made sure of it by using his own pistol to shoot him through the kneecap. Walk that one off, asshole.
As I got back in and drove off, leaving Hopalong to his richly-deserved fate, I could already hear the sirens approaching. They must've had every truck ready and waiting, after my earlier warning. I wouldn't even have to tell them where it was.
Cherie was still where I'd left her; of course, she knew it was me driving, so she came out to meet me. She frowned at the AT-4 and the packet of drugs when she climbed in, but didn't ask the obvious question.
"Drug dealers," I said. "They give out the best party favours."
"Okay." Her tone of voice very clearly stated that she was going to leave that comment well alone. "So, uh, where are we going now?"
I grinned under the mask as I put the pickup in gear. "One down, one to go."
End of Part Twenty-Six
Part Twenty-Six: A New Can of Whoopass
[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
Canada
Heartbreaker
Nikos Vasil did not get angry very often. He didn't have to; anyone making him angry learned very quickly why that was a bad idea. Terrifying them to the point that they didn't speak for six months was a simple matter for him, and considerably satisfying besides. The world, with a very few exceptions, existed to serve his needs, and he didn't mind providing reminders when necessary.
He was angry now. A member of his in-group, tasked with maintaining a watch on the doings of the world at large, had brought the Parahumans Online posts to his attention. Many were speaking about this new cape Atropos, but the subforum most closely followed by those in the know was the one that she herself had started.
Still, that would not have been enough to make him angry, even when he read the post where she arbitrarily banned him from ever visiting her city. A substantial number of other capes and organisations were also prohibited from intruding on her home town, some of them prominent enough that he would've been leery about drawing their attention. So it was, then; a small yappy dog barking at bigger dogs from what she considered to be a safe distance. Mere noise.
But then he read the post where she straight-up taunted him with the loss of no fewer than four of his children. Jean-Paul, whom he'd heard no word of since the ungrateful little shit decamped in the middle of the night; Cherie, who had followed her younger brother's example when he was distracted by the Sidney Saile debacle; and Guillaume and Nicholas, who he'd dispatched to find at least Cherie and drag her back to where she belonged by any means necessary.
One was dead and another in PRT custody, that much he knew. The fates of the other two, he had no idea of. The online commentator Bagrat, who claimed to understand Atropos as well as anyone, made it clear that he believed her implicitly but that he had no idea where the others were.
The most fury-inducing aspect of this whole thing was that he had no idea who had died and who had been arrested. Where the arrestee was being held and what charges were going to be levelled, the media either didn't know or they were being remarkably tight-lipped about the whole thing. As the latter would be an unequivocal first for any bunch of media outlets anywhere, he was leaning toward 'didn't know'.
This much he did know; once he had Atropos under his sway, if Jean-Paul was one of the survivors, the little traitor would never speak or act under his own initiative ever again. If he had to be hamstrung and his tongue cut out to achieve this, then so be it. But he—or Cherie, if it turned out he was dead—would serve as a permanent warning to the rest of his children that nobody ran from Nikos Vasil.
The car was packed and ready to go. He would be travelling mainly through the back roads at night, just in case the authorities were more alert than normal and anticipated this move. Nobody would be accompanying him; he needed no assistance to subjugate the will of one overconfident vigilante.
Standing tall in the middle of the main room, he surveyed his devoted flock, mainly women and children. "You will not leave the grounds. You will wait for my return." He exerted his will, burning the command into their minds. Turning, he made to leave the house, then paused and looked back at them. "If you hear of my death … end your own lives."
Satisfied that no matter what happened, his people would never belong to another man, he left the house and got into the car. For the purposes of this trip, he had shaved his beard and cut his hair, and was using a set of fake ID supplied by a cooperative law enforcement officer. Fastening his seatbelt, he started the car and moved off down the driveway.
His destination: Brockton Bay. His chosen target: Atropos.
If anyone could tell him where his living children were, she could.
And of course, he could never have too many women in the house.
<><>
A Hundred Miles West of Boston
"What the fuck?"
Animos looked around from the game of poker he was playing with Hemorrhagia and Spree. Vex was driving, which meant Butcher was taking some time to scroll through the local internet on her phone. He'd seen her browser history, but he wasn't one to judge. Whatever floated her boat, was his philosophy.
Though in her case, it was a derelict pirate ship that had been dredged up from the bottom of the ocean with some really fucked-up sea life still clinging to it.
"What?" he asked, mildly impressed that she'd actually found something worse than what she deliberately chose to look at.
"Who the fuck is this Atropos bitch?" she half-screamed. "Does she honestly think she can tell me to stay out of her city? Out of Brockton Bay? The Teeth used to run that shithole!"
"Oh, crap," muttered Hemorrhagia, sharing a glance with Animos and echoing his own inner monologue. They'd caught a few mentions of Atropos and what she'd been up to over the last week, but they'd decided by mutual silent agreement to not mention any of it to Butcher. What she'd done to Lung and Skidmark was beyond messed up, and that was from the point of view of someone who ran with the Teeth.
"Uh, hey," Spree ventured. "Maybe we should just leave them to their hometown shit and hit someplace where they don't stab people through the eye with swords, or shoot them in the face with their own gun?"
"Are you fucking kidding?" Butcher shook her head. "If I'm reading this right, Lung and Oni Lee are fucking dead. Kaiser's dead, and the rest of the Empire Eighty-Eight just left town. I don't even know who Coil was, but he's dead too. There's basically no villains left in that damn city to stand in our way. It's wide open for the taking."
Animos realised as he opened his mouth that he was going to do something he'd never done before. Something that was against his entire state of being.
He was going to try to be the voice of reason.
"Except she's killing villains coming in, too," he said. "She fuckin' wrecked the Slaughterhouse Nine." The forty-three-minute clip had shown that no matter how fucked-up Atropos' previous murders were, they definitely weren't flukes. "Do we really want to go there?"
"Jack Slash was a one-trick pony with a big mouth," Butcher said dismissively. "He wasn't me, and he definitely wasn't all that."
"Didn't the Nine basically wipe out the Teeth, back in the day?" asked Vex from the driver's seat. "And she just killed off the Nine, like she was going out to buy groceries and they were in the way."
"Not that Nine, and not this Teeth." Butcher's tone was assured. "And that was a few Butchers ago, too. We got more powers, and we're a lot better at what we do." I'm a lot better at this than that Butcher, was what she was saying. She was probably getting yelled at right now by whichever Butcher she'd just dissed, but her expression never changed.
"Still, she killed Lung—" Animos began. The ABB cape had a reputation that extended beyond the city limits of Brockton Bay. Or rather, he had had one.
Butcher rolled her eyes theatrically. "What the fuck can she do to me? Nothing she's done to anyone else is going to even come close to hurting me. I'm bullet-proof and stab-proof, if she dropped me in front of a moving vehicle the asphalt would break before I did, I can teleport away from anything bigger, and if she does bring up something that can kill me I'll know about it before she tries! Also, I can fuckin' see her heart and arteries through walls, I can target her better than she can target me, and I can hit her with my powers from a distance! And even if by some fucked-up miracle she kills me, I still beat her. I. Fucking. Win."
She had a point, but Animos couldn't help wondering if the other capes Atropos had killed had thought the same way. "Okay, yeah, but—"
"But nothing. Vex, we're heading to Brockton Bay. There's a little bitch I've got a bone to pick with there."
Vex shrugged. "Okay. We're heading to Brockton Bay."
And so, the van rolled on through the night.
<><>
Hebert Household
Cherish
No clock chimed; Taylor didn't even glance at her watch. But between one moment and the next, her emotional music changed key from 'relaxed' to 'purposeful'. "Okay, time to commence Operation Drugs Are Bad, part two. Dad, could you give us a lift?"
"Sure." Taylor's father got up from where he'd been casually chatting with them, and stretched. "Where are we going?"
"The Docks, to start with." Taylor was on her feet as well, shrugging into the long-coat and slinging the backpack holding the rest of her costume over her shoulder. She was already wearing the suit and boots, though she'd unfastened the tie to hang loosely around her neck. Cherie had seen how fast she could don the rest of it, apparently without even having to think about it.
Cherie cleared her throat. "That's the, uh, that's the fortified drug warehouse, right?" Taylor had mentioned this over dinner. She wasn't being grim and gritty like some wannabe action hero; it was just another check-box to be ticked off before the city was cleared of all illegal hard drugs. They would be removed. It was as simple as that.
Taylor gave her a grin, her music dipping into happier strains for a moment. "That's the one. You're paying attention; that's good."
It felt weird to be praised for doing something, as opposed to being punished for not doing it. In fact, the entire dinner episode had been totally outside her experience. Mealtimes in the Vasil household usually involved the women subtly jockeying for the position of her father's favourite, and the children eating in near-silence, doing their best to not catch Nikos' attention.
Here, Taylor had chatted with her father, arguing good-naturedly over several minor topics, and even roped Cherie into the conversation to ask for her opinion on something. There were no pitfalls, no traps, no gotchas. Nobody tried to trick her into saying or doing something that would get her in trouble. Once she'd reached the astonishing realisation that she didn't have to watch every single word she uttered, it had become enjoyable in a way that she'd never thought possible.
The food had been as pleasant as the company. She hadn't been denied a portion; Danny had simply made more. While her experience of home-cooked lasagne was essentially zero, it had been tasty and filling. I could totally get used to this.
Whatever she'd been expecting when she decided on Atropos as a protector, it wasn't this. On the one hand, there was the skinny teenager who helped with the washing-up and stuck her tongue out at her father when he made a terrible pun; on the other, the black-clad avenging angel who had the Brockton Bay underworld terrified. There was no real way she could make the two fit together. They were almost literally night and day.
"Thanks," she said, giving Taylor a tentative smile in return. "So, how are we going to handle this?"
Taylor chuckled, leading the way to the back door. "That's where you come in. I'm not going to stop killing people who totally deserve it, but I've only got so much ammunition. The last time I did something like this, I got Grue to help out by clouding the place in his darkness. It worked well enough, but I like changing things up, so this time I decided to do things a different way. Tell me; if you were faced with a warehouse full of mooks armed to the teeth, how long would it take you to bring them to the point that they didn't even want to put up a fight?"
It was an interesting challenge, but Cherie found herself hanging up on a different topic as she headed down the back steps. "Wait a minute. We only met this afternoon. How long have you been planning to use my abilities to do this?"
Taylor waited for Danny to lock the back door, then followed him toward the car. "Oh, a couple of days now."
Cherie frowned. "But … I only got into town a day or so ago."
"Mm-hmm." Once Danny had unlocked the car, Taylor opened the passenger side door. Pausing before sliding into the car, she looked across the roof of the vehicle toward Cherie. "You seem to be assuming I didn't see you coming." Her emotional accompaniment was leaning toward sly amusement.
"But … but …" Cherie found herself talking to thin air as Taylor got into the car. Opening her own door, she climbed in as well. "But … how long have you known?"
"Long enough." Taylor pulled a mobile phone from her pocket. "I need to make a call now, mmkay?" She put her finger to her lips.
"Okay." Numbly, Cherie sat back and fastened her seatbelt. If Taylor wasn't somehow spoofing her power and pulling her leg, then Atropos' abilities were even scarier than Cherie had figured.
She knew exactly where I'd be, and when to grab me up. And I walked right into it. Of my own free will, even.
The epiphany should've been terrifying, but she found it somehow comforting. If Atropos had seen her coming and known exactly how to deal with her, then her father should stand no chance at all.
She hoped.
<><>
On a Bus
Damsel of Distress
As the bus trundled out of Stafford, Ashley leaned back against the seat and let her head loll sideways until she was looking out the window. She'd been here before; not on this bus, but in this situation. The last time, she'd seen on the news that the Boston villain population had been rolled up, leaving the underworld ripe for picking.
That had been four years ago; she'd taken the bus that time, too. For a while she'd done well for herself, but the scheming and treachery of the other villain gangs had undermined her until she'd had no choice but to retreat back to Stafford, her old stamping grounds. But her feet were getting itchy again, and this time it was Brockton Bay that was suffering from a distinct lack of villainous activity.
Edict and Licit wouldn't even know she was gone for a few days, though they probably suspected she'd make a play for Brockton Bay. All she had to do as soon as she got into town was start recruiting from the pool of disaffected teenagers that made up a significant portion of the population of any reasonably-sized city. The two heroes would follow her once they knew where she was, but her minions would give them pause. And I'll finally get the foothold I deserve.
She'd heard about Atropos, of course, and how she'd been the reason the previous villains left town. It didn't bother her; she was good at keeping her head down while she recruited. By the time Atropos even discovered she was in town, it would be a done deal. And if the cape killer wanted to face her off, then … well, Ashley had killed before, too. One more wouldn't matter to her.
Ready or not, here I come.
<><>
Stafford, New Hampshire
Licit
brrt brrt
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He reached for the phone. Fumbled it into position. Not a number he knew. He swiped to answer anyway. "H'lo?"
"Good evening, Licit." The voice on the other end was a teenage girl, not anyone he knew, though it was naggingly familiar. "Are you aware that Damsel of Distress took the night bus to Brockton Bay? She's due to get here at three in the morning. I strongly advise you and Edict to meet me at the Brockton Bay Port Authority bus terminal. Or not; your choice."
"Wha …?" He tried to make sense of what the girl was saying. "Who is this? How do you know?"
"This is Atropos." Adrenaline sent a shot of wakefulness down his spine at that name. "I know because I'm very good at what I do. I'll be giving Damsel of Distress exactly two options; leave town, or die. With you and Edict there, she's less likely to do something stupid. Three AM. Brockton Bay Port Authority bus terminal. Don't be late."
The call ended, leaving him holding a dead phone to his ear.
Slowly, he sat up and swung his legs over the side of his bed. Behind him, the girl he'd picked up at the bar only a couple of hours ago rolled over and mumbled something in her sleep. He ignored her.
For fuck's sake. Edict is going to absolutely kill me.
Her number was in his phone. They were superhero partners, so of course it was. Standing up, he padded into the kitchen and started the coffee-maker going. As it gurgled to life, he hit dial on her number.
The phone almost rang out before she answered. "So help me, if this isn't an earth-shattering emergency, I'm going to—"
"Damsel's on her way to Brockton Bay," he interrupted. "Atropos herself called and gave me the heads-up. If we're not there by three, Atropos is going to kill her."
There was a long pause. "Fuck. Okay. Can we take your car?"
"We can do that." Hopefully, the PRT would reimburse him for the fuel expenditure. "I can be around at yours in half an hour." Most of that time would be taken up with showering and kicking the girl out of his apartment; the drive itself would take five minutes.
"I'll see you then." She ended the call.
The first cup of coffee was ready. He took a mouthful of the hot, black brew, feeling the caffeine sparking his neurons to life. Now he had to drive to Brockton Bay of all places, just to save the life of a supervillain who didn't want to be saved.
And people wonder why I've got a drinking problem.
<><>
Cherish
Fully costumed up, Atropos leaned down by the driver's side window. "You've got that other address I told you about?"
"Right here." Mr Hebert held up the notepad.
"Good." The morph mask hid Atropos' expression, but Cherie could tell from the tone of her voice and the musical accompaniment that she was smiling. "Wait exactly three minutes before you drive away, then meet us there."
He nodded seriously. "Three minutes. Got it."
Atropos lightly slapped the car roof, then turned and headed toward where Cherie was waiting. "Okay, showtime. Let's get a little closer."
"Why did you want him to wait three minutes?" asked Cherie. "Wouldn't it be better to get there now?"
"Because there's roving patrols driving around," Atropos explained. "If he takes off right now, he gets the attention of a bunch of heavily armed assholes. Three minutes will put him between sweeps."
"Oh." Cherie raised her head slightly and concentrated on what she was listening to. "Ah, I see them now. They're trying to put on a bold front, but most of them are scared of you. More greedy than scared, though. Someone's throwing a ton of money at this." But even with all the money, there was a persistent undercurrent of fear that she wouldn't have any trouble at all magnifying.
"That's because the profits of being the only drug supplier in a city this size would be phenomenal." Atropos started off down the street. "The warehouse is a block thataway, and the waterfront's the other side of it. If you breathe deeply, you can smell the rotting seaweed."
"Oh, that's what that is?" Cherie caught up with her, lengthening her stride to keep pace. "I'd wondered."
"Well, wonder no longer." Atropos paused just short of a section of street, and nodded to her. "The closest sniper. I need him distracted for the next thirty seconds."
"Just him? Okay, then." Cherie concentrated for about thirty seconds, then nodded as soon as her target's attention was well away from that section of street. "Okay, he's totally spaced out. Not looking this way at all."
"Good." They crossed the road at a hustle anyway, and ducked into cover once more. "When we get a little closer, I'm going to need you to start pulling down their work ethic. All of them. Whatever's motivating them to do their best job today, I want you to erode that until they just can't give a damn."
"Okay." Cherie paused, wondering if she should say what she was thinking. Atropos had been a perfectly reasonable boss so far, but there were always limits.
"What?" Atropos asked. "I'm not going to yell at you for asking questions."
Cherie shrugged. Well, in for a penny … "Okay, they all know you're coming. Why don't I just ramp up their fear of you, so when you show yourself, they shit themselves and run for it?"
"That's plan B." Atropos gave her a nod, and Cherie heard the music signal her approval. "There's three reasons why it's not plan A. Firstly, some people react badly to fear. They attack whatever they're scared of instead of running, or before running. Secondly, I need to destroy the drugs, and some of these idiots are carrying the grenades I need to do it with. If they're running away, they're not waiting around for me to take the grenades off them."
Cherie blinked. "They're carrying grenades?" That sounded like a remarkably stupid idea, and she'd originally been planning to join the Slaughterhouse Nine. "What are they planning on doing with them?"
Atropos snorted. "They've got orders for if they see me in hand to hand with their buddies, to toss the grenades in anyway. It seems they're willing to lose men just to stop me."
"Jesus." Cherie shook her head. "And you're just going to take them and blow up the drugs?"
"There's a few more steps than that, but you've hit on the general idea, yeah."
"Wait, you said there's three reasons. What's the third one?"
Atropos tilted her head slightly. "Did you want people to know you're working for me?"
"Oh. Yeah. Good point." While Atropos seemed to thrive on publicity, Cherie had no desire to be any more visible than absolutely necessary. "So, what do we do now?"
"You wait right here." Atropos patted her on the shoulder. "When you hear the signal, start winding back their motivation. I'll take it from there."
"Signal?" This was the first Cherie had heard of a signal. "What signal?"
"Oh, you'll know it when you hear it."
<><>
Atropos
I left Cherie where she was and headed down the nearest alley. This region of the Docks was well away from any residential areas, and I knew the drug guys had cleared out the local homeless in case any of them happened to be me in disguise. Not that I personally cared about collateral damage, but it was the image of the thing. Also, the lower I was able to keep the incidental death toll (it was never going to be zero), the easier it would be for the PRT to rationalise cooperating with me in cleaning up the city and keeping it that way.
They had four snipers in place, each on top of a separate building around the actual warehouse. The snipers could see every approach road, and all of them had an 84mm anti-tank weapon standing by in case I came in with a chopper or a tank or something. However, they weren't the ones with the grenades. Those were the ones on the roof of the warehouse itself.
I had to admit, I was almost impressed. Gesellschaft (they still had people in the smuggling industry, even after the Empire had crumbled) had decided to go all-out, and they'd kicked the armoury doors wide open to do it. After what I'd done to Accord's warehouse, there was to be no holding back. There were more rounds of ammunition ready to be used in and around that one building than anywhere but the nearest National Guard base.
This was going to be fun.
Getting closer involved cheating like hell with my power to know exactly when the snipers were looking in the wrong direction, then choking out the guard who was guarding the sniper's building. (I could've stabbed him, but blood is horrible for corrosion on steel weapons, so I preferred to restrict it for when I absolutely needed to). Then I screwed the suppressor onto the pistol I'd taken from the gun shop, and climbed the ladder up toward where he had his sniper nest.
It took him a few seconds, as I climbed into view, to realise that I wasn't his buddy here to relieve him. At that moment, he had a choice to make: to go for the pistol lying beside him, to try to swing the rifle around, or to surrender. For my part, I'd already made my choice. While it was entirely possible to get a kill-shot with a thrown blade, it was messy and inefficient. Besides, I had a suppressed pistol. It was even in view, while I gave him the chance to give up.
He chose … poorly.
His hand was still inches from the pistol when I put a suppressed round through his head, the heavy THWACK of the shot just quiet enough to confuse anyone nearby as to whether or not that had been actual gunfire. Climbing up into the sniper nest, I holstered the pistol, feeding the suppressor through the hole I'd made in the bottom of the clip-on holster. He'd been carrying a nine-mil as well, so I dropped the magazine out of it and put it in my pocket; spare ammunition was always good to have.
Then I took up the sniper rifle. It had a very nice night-vision scope, but I didn't bother with that. Bringing the butt to my shoulder, I fired into the darkness three times in quick succession. The third sniper had just enough time to start turning toward me when my bullet extracted what was inside his skull and put it outside his skull; the other two didn't even have a chance to do that.
That got the attention of the guys in the ambush-position on the roof of the main warehouse. Their trouble was, they didn't know if the shooting was a good thing or a bad thing. While they were wasting time calling over the radio net to find out what the sniper was firing at (the sniper's two-way radio was going nuts), I picked out the ones who were starting to realise the truth.
There were six of them; unfortunately for them, I knew where they were and they didn't know which way to duck. It was almost child's play for me to take them out, barely pausing between shots. The last one survived a fraction longer than the others, but only because I had to put the rifle down and pick up the sniper's pistol. One more shot, and they were all down.
Discarding the now-empty pistol, I grabbed the AT-4, slinging it over my shoulder. There was still a high barbed-wire fence around the warehouse, as well as a bunch of armed guards inside. Also, Gesellschaft's highest-ranking non-cape in the United States. Taking him alive and handing him over to the PRT would probably count for a few Brownie points, I figured, but I wasn't married to the idea. If it turned out to be easier to just kill him, he'd die.
Cherie would've figured out that the signal had been given by now, so she'd be reinforcing the idea of, 'do I really want to die defending a bunch of drugs?'. Given my previous exploits, they had plenty of reason to be scared, and the longer I let them dwell on it (and the longer Cherie worked on their fears) the better the result I'd get. I mean, I could've done this anyway without her, but this way was a lot easier.
Leaving the sniper nest, I headed across the building roof to the gap between it and the main warehouse. There was a cable strung across the fifty-foot gap, covered in bird shit and probably slippery as hell. Any self-respecting high-wire artist, upon seeing it, would back away slowly.
To me, on the other hand, it could've been a paved walkway with a hand-rail. I just let my power take the reins and it walked me across with never a pause or hesitation. Just like when I'd been shooting the other snipers, I was just along for the ride, allowing it to guide all my movements down to the most infinitesimal of muscular twitches.
I'd expected a lot more commotion below as I was looting the guys on the roof of their grenades, spare ammunition and (in one case) the keys to a vehicle, but it seemed Cherie was doing her job just fine. Only one or two people seemed to be actually shouting and running around, including our friend from the Gesellschaft hierarchy. The rest were doing their best to look and sound as though they were just as enthusiastic, but for some odd reason their hearts just weren't in it.
It was time to move along to the last stage of the plan. Our man from Gesellschaft had—through careful detective work and the fact that nobody was answering the radio on the rooftop—deduced that I was up there. While I could have mimicked their voices, that would've merely wasted a little time. I was already well away from the dead men when he gave orders to fire up through the roof.
Toward the rear of the warehouse was a closed-in yard, containing the vehicles belonging to the warehouse guards. As those within the warehouse shattered the skylight (great going, guys) and set about turning that section of the roof into a reasonable approximation of a colander, I was already over at the corner nearest the vehicle collection point. The distance to the ground was a little farther than I really wanted to drop, especially on to concrete. I could do it and get away with only minor injuries, but I didn't want to if I didn't have to, such as when someone had thoughtfully left a rope secured there for rappelling down with. Say, for if an unstoppable black-clad killer was murdering all their buddies and they just needed to get away.
(If they hadn't, I would've brought my own rope. It's as simple as that).
By the time I kicked the coil of rope over the side there were men moving around outside, shining flashlights upward. I started rappelling down one-handed anyway. On the way down, two men spotted me. One went to shoot, so I shot him first. The other turned and bolted in the other direction; I let him go.
As soon as my boots hit the ground, I headed for the assembled vehicles. There was an armed guard on them, mainly to prevent any of the other guards from bugging out ahead of time. When he saw me, he froze, then screamed and ran for it.
I frowned, then shrugged. Cherie was clearly trying to help, and this time it had worked. If it screwed up, I'd have words with her, but until then I'd leave it be. Putting the matter out of my mind, I zeroed in on the vehicle I was looking for, a solidly built pickup with a massive bull-bar on the front and a light-bar on top. The keys I'd filched from the guy on the roof opened the door, and I climbed in. The AT-4 went onto the passenger seat, beside me.
If I were a 'car' person, the way the engine rumbled to life would've been hugely satisfying to me. As it was, I figured it would serve my purposes for the time being. Backing out of the parking spot, I aimed at the rear roller-door leading into the warehouse, revved the engine to a thunderous roar, and dropped the clutch.
The back wheels left a massive spray of gravel as I powered toward the roller-door, accelerating all the way. I had just enough time to flick the switches for all the lights before the heavy vehicle smashed headlong into the door and tore it clear off its runners. The steering wheel jerked, but I'd anticipated that and countered it; in the next instant, I was powering through the warehouse itself, all the guards still inside turning to look at me.
This was where Cherie's emotion damping came in handy. Instead of testosterone-fuelled aggression, virtually all the guards decided to back way the hell off when I came roaring on through. One guy with a rifle was trying to line up on me—I figured he just liked hurting people more than he liked living—so I shot him on the way past. The others backed up a hell of a lot more, after that.
The drugs were packed up on pallets spaced through the warehouse, with enough room for vehicles to drive between them. I decided to test that by not just driving, but drifting between the various pallets, the back wheels of my newly acquired ride howling and spewing grey-black rubber smoke. This added a certain amount of visual cover for me, and gave the already-demoralised guards a good reason to fall back even farther.
One of the few men there who had a good reason to oppose me was the Gesellschaft rep. He came running out toward me with a pistol raised, firing. Whoever had taught him was good; he put three holes in the windshield about where my head would've been if I hadn't already ducked. Then I spun the pickup around so the loadbed smacked him sideways into a pallet of heroin and fentanyl.
While he lay there groaning, I pulled up next to him and jumped out. Opening the passenger side door, I loaded him into the footwell, then slashed the side of the pallet wrapping and grabbed a single packet. Before the guards could pull together enough courage to see what was going on, I was back in the pickup and revving the engine again. Now was the time to go for gold.
Popping the clutch again, I shot out across the floor, then pulled a tyre-shrieking turn as though I were attempting to escape out through the hole I'd come in by. But I didn't go all the way. Instead, I pulled a U-turn and started back, weaving between the pallets.
This time, however, I was steering with my knees, pulling grenades from my long-coat pockets and yanking the pins free. Each time I passed a pallet, I tossed a grenade so it would land either on top or underneath it. Halfway through, I had to smack Mr Gesselschaft with his own pistol so he'd go back to nap-time, but I made sure every grenade found a good home.
I lacked the string I'd had the first time around, but then again, I really didn't think I needed it. I also didn't have a road flare, but I definitely didn't need one of those. By the time I was almost through, the first grenades were starting to go off, so the pickup was swerving and pitching ahead of a steadily growing cloud of various intoxicants and opioids. As soon as I got rid of the last grenade, it was too close behind me, so I aimed at the front roller-door and floored it.
Again, I tore the metal door clear off its runners; the paintwork was badly scratched, and I was pretty sure the lightbar was no longer of this world. I rocketed out of the warehouse just ahead of the (thankfully unignited) aforementioned cloud of liberated variably toxic substances. The barbed-wire wrapped gate didn't do the paintwork any favours at all either, but I honestly didn't give a fuck. All I wanted to do was to get out of the blast radius.
All the grenades I'd thrown, except the last one, had detonated outside the cloud, merely contributing to it instead of blowing up inside it. Just as I got to the road, the last one went off, and six point five ounces of Composition B struck a massive spark. This ignited the cloud.
If anything, the explosion was bigger than the last one, slamming the pickup sideways and (I found later) blistering the paintwork. The vehicle briefly went up on two wheels, but I fought it down again and regained control.
I didn't know who had gotten out, and I didn't care. The less motivated they were, the more likely they would've decamped as soon as I arrived. Which meant the ones who had stayed were those who were most determined to maintain the drug trade in my city.
Sucked to be them.
The pickup was still rocking on its wheels when I pulled it to a halt. I paused briefly to admire the massive fireball currently climbing skyward to form the second mushroom cloud that I'd ever made before I pulled open the passenger side door and dragged out the Gesellschaft rep. Just for being nearby, he'd be checked out by the authorities, but I made sure of it by using his own pistol to shoot him through the kneecap. Walk that one off, asshole.
As I got back in and drove off, leaving Hopalong to his richly-deserved fate, I could already hear the sirens approaching. They must've had every truck ready and waiting, after my earlier warning. I wouldn't even have to tell them where it was.
Cherie was still where I'd left her; of course, she knew it was me driving, so she came out to meet me. She frowned at the AT-4 and the packet of drugs when she climbed in, but didn't ask the obvious question.
"Drug dealers," I said. "They give out the best party favours."
"Okay." Her tone of voice very clearly stated that she was going to leave that comment well alone. "So, uh, where are we going now?"
I grinned under the mask as I put the pickup in gear. "One down, one to go."
End of Part Twenty-Six
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Part Twenty-Seven: Down These Mean Streets
Ack
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A Darker Path
Part Twenty-Seven: Down These Mean Streets
[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
Danny
When he first saw the pickup rolling down the street, Danny had to do a double-take. It had, at one point, been lovingly cared for and maintained by its owner; while not an afficionado, he could tell the signs. But it had definitely fallen upon hard times since then. The windshield was cracked all the way across, and utterly shattered around the driver's side in a way that indicated gunfire. More bullet-holes pocked the chassis, both wing mirrors were gone, the once-glossy paintwork was horrifically scratched and dented (and peeling down to the bare metal all the way along the entire passenger side), and bare wires were sticking up from the roof of the cab where he guessed there'd once been a lightbar.
And then it pulled in and parked behind him.
Crap, he thought. Taylor said to wait here. I can't just drive off and leave her hanging. Taylor had left her shotgun with him; if they came up to menace him—
Both doors of the pickup opened and the girls got out, Taylor still dressed in her full Atropos costume. Danny sagged in the car seat, both grateful that she was okay (and that he wouldn't have to threaten some stranger) and wondering what the hell she'd been through with that pickup to get it into that state. Over her shoulder, she was lugging a strange military-looking tubular device.
"Hey, Dad," she said, a smirk in her tone, as she strolled up to his window. "Did I have you worried there for a moment?"
"Watch it, young lady," he said, mock-threateningly. "You're still not too old to be grounded, you know." As he spoke, he saw Cherie staring at him from behind Taylor. She had to know he wasn't serious, but she still looked like she couldn't believe what he was saying.
"Aww," she said with saccharine sweetness. "It's adorable that you think you'll catch me."
He shook his head. "You're only Atropos some of the time. But let's shelve that for a moment. I presume it went okay? I heard the explosion on the way here."
"Drugs are toast, and so are most of the bad guys," she reported cheerfully. "Oh, and I took one of Gesellschaft's unpowered reps alive. Shot him through the knee and left him for the authorities."
"Let me guess." He let his tone become dry. "This means you're acquiring even more enemies as we speak?"
"Not yet," she countered lightly. "But give it a day or so. Anyway, can you pass me the shotgun and a couple of road flares? The Elites' drug guys have decided to pull a Skidmark, and just drive around for a bit. I need to go explain to them that yes, I can actually see them."
"No problem, hon. But you might want to put that thing in the back seat. What is it, anyway?"
She opened the back door and slid the device into the footwell. "It's a Saab Bofors AT-4 anti-tank weapon. They had a few lying around, so I souvenired one. Neat, huh?"
"That's one way to put it." He reached down into her bag and passed up the sleek, deadly weapon, as well as the flares. "Want me to wait here, or go somewhere else?"
"Nah, here should do." She slapped the roof of the car. "Cherie can wait with you. This'll only take another few minutes."
"Of course it will," he murmured. As Taylor headed back to the pickup, the passenger door opened and Cherie got into the car. "And how are we doing tonight, kid? Not too terrified yet?"
"Oh, she's leaving me back out of the action." Cherie shook her head. "What's terrifying is watching people getting too close to her in a firefight and just … dying. It's like I've got these little songbirds in my head, all singing away … okay, they're assholes, so the songs are pretty nasty and gross, but they're singing happily about murdering people and selling drugs, and the next minute she's there, and it's like pop-pop-pop, they're just vanishing mid-song."
He chuckled darkly. "Yeah, that sounds like my little girl, alright. I wish there was literally any other way to achieve what she's doing, but I've given twenty years of my life to Brockton Bay for less in the way of impact than she's gotten in a week."
"Okay, now you've got me confused." She paused as the pickup started and drove up the street, then disappeared around the corner. "Your emotions say you disapprove of her methods, the way you talk about them says the same thing, but you're not even trying to stop her?"
He opened his mouth to speak then paused, looking at her carefully. "Okay, I'm getting the impression your home life wasn't the best. Let me guess: everything your dad approved of happened whether you liked it or not, and everything he disapproved of was forbidden?"
She blinked. "Well … yes?" The unspoken 'isn't that always the way?' came across quite clearly.
"Mm-hmm," he murmured. "Well, even before Taylor got her powers, we did things slightly differently. For big matters, like paying bills and going to school, what I said was what happened. With smaller things, if Taylor had an opinion about them, I'd listen to her and if it made sense, we'd do it that way. And of course, if there was something I had no opinion about and she had the allowance to cover it, like buying herself a new pair of sneakers, she could handle it herself."
The weight of her stare was almost palpable. "And you don't mind not being in control of everything?"
"Well, no." He chuckled wryly. "It wasn't a perfect system. She didn't tell me until after she got her powers that she was being bullied by her ex-best friend, and I … well, I fell down on my Dad duties there for a while after I lost her mother. But now we're finding our way back to each other. And to answer your original question; I don't like what she's doing, and I don't like that she has to do it. But … the people she's killed have contributed massively to the ongoing problems in Brockton Bay, and they just would've kept doing it for the foreseeable future if they weren't stopped somehow."
Cherie was frowning hard, as though trying to assimilate a difficult concept. "So, it's a case of the ends … justifying the means?" She spoke the phrase as though she'd once heard it but never understood it before this point.
"More or less, yeah," he agreed. "But there's more to it than that. She's actually getting solid results; I have it on good authority that the crime rate is dropping by the day. The PRT and the BBPD are coming down on the gangs harder than ever, now that the capes that used to back them won't be coming back. But on top of that, she's also working to maintain those results, keeping other villains out of the city. The trouble is, there'll be pushback from people who have a vested interest in returning matters to the status quo. There always is."
Tellingly, she didn't ask what sort of people those were. He suspected her father was the type who definitely wanted to keep the status quo just the way it was; heavily weighted in his favour. "She wrote up a big list of capes when she was telling everyone to stay away," she said at last. "Do you think they'll all try to come here?"
"Some of them won't." He'd read the post from the Red Hands. "Some will. Because no cape that's ever gone undefeated can imagine losing. But if they come here, one thing's for certain."
"What's that?"
He was just about to answer when he heard the sound of revving engines, screeching tyres, and gunshots. About three or four blocks ahead, an eighteen-wheeler roared into sight from around the corner, taking up the whole intersection to negotiate the turn. Danny heard the gut-deep thnk brrrm thnk brrrm as the driver changed up; smoke poured out of the twin overhead exhausts in the glare of the streetlights. Behind it came another one, sticking close to the first one. The gear-changes, echoing down the concrete canyon of the street, were a little less smooth than the first one.
Danny had a sudden flashback to a nature documentary he'd seen of elephants stampeding away from a pride of lions. This had that same panicked quality of action.
Behind the second semi-trailer, a sports car skidded into view, spinning out of control across the intersection with rubber shredding from its tyres. Danny caught a glimpse of a shattered windshield and an arm hanging limply out the driver's side window before it broadsided into an electricity pole, wrapping itself into a complicated wreck around the obstruction.
Even as this happened, Taylor's pickup came around the corner in a solid four-wheel drift, belying the fact that Brockton Bay streets tended to be patchworks of asphalt rather than a continuous smooth surface. The big tyres howled and juddered, but she kept to the line like a ballerina, swooping around the corner without losing any speed. Danny had seen professional rally drivers on TV who couldn't have pulled off something like this.
The eighteen-wheelers were accelerating properly now, perhaps ten seconds away from passing them. Danny knew Taylor was in pursuit, but he was worried that she might not be able to catch up before they got away. "Should we—?"
Cherie shook her head, her face tinged yellow by the high-beams of the oncoming trucks. "She said to say no."
"Oh."
The pickup's heavy tyres smoked as Taylor went after the trucks with everything she had. She was still coming on strong when the first eighteen-wheeler thundered past the parked car at something over the posted speed limit, sending gravel chips flying everywhere. Less than a second later, she whipped past, neck and neck with the second one, the wind of their combined passage making Danny's car rock a little from side to side.
"Where did she learn to drive like that?" asked Cherie, craning her neck to peer out through the back window of the car, just as the dull thud of a shotgun blast sounded over the noise of the powerful engines. "And shoot? And the rest of it?"
Danny had his eyes fixed on the rear-vision mirror. "She didn't. That's her power."
"Oh." There was a world of revelation in that word.
"Yeah. And you know what I was saying about what happens if villains try to come to this city?"
"Yes?"
"That."
The second eighteen-wheeler was starting to wobble and sway now; he thought he saw the pickup accelerate. There was a brief exchange of gunfire, then more shots from the shotgun. And then, one long drawn-out crash after the other.
"Now we can go," Cherie said in the quiet that followed. "She said she'll be finished mopping up by the time we get there."
As he started the car, she pulled out a mobile phone. "And … send," she muttered, pressing a single icon. "A text to the PRT," she explained belatedly. "Telling them where to send emergency services next."
"Huh. Okay." Taylor had pre-written the text, no doubt. With the exact address the trucks could be found. Because she'd known ahead of time when and where it would be.
Carefully, he pulled a U-turn, hearing more shots as he went, then rolled down the street toward the wreckage of the trucks. As he got closer, he saw that both had fallen on their sides. Each one had skidded for some distance after going over, and the rear doors had fallen open.
There was a whoomph of flame from the nearest truck, and it began to burn brightly. The front one, from what he could tell, was already well on fire. There were bodies sprawled here and there, guns lying near their outstretched hands. It was easy to see what had happened: Taylor had shot first.
Danny pulled to a halt about thirty yards back from the second truck, not wanting to blow a tyre on the wreckage or run over a dead body. Silhouetted by the flames, Taylor strolled back to meet them, shotgun over her shoulder for all the world as though she'd just been on a successful hunt. And in her own way, he supposed, she had been.
Cherie went to get out of the front seat, but Taylor waved for her to stay there. "It's fine. I'm good in the back." She opened the rear door and climbed in, then sighed in satisfaction. "Welp, that's ninety-nine percent of the hard drugs in Brockton Bay, gone. We can head home for a bit now."
"For a bit?" he asked, taking another U-turn.
"Yeah, for a bit." She took off her hat and removed the mask, then gave him a grin via the rear-vision mirror. "The night's not over yet."
Which, in Atropos-speak, meant that someone else was due to have a terminally bad day.
Danny couldn't wait.
11:30 PM
Tenebrae
Brian sighed as he slid the key into the front door of the accommodation unit he shared with Aisha. It had been a long, eventful night, even if he hadn't been involved in any of the more interesting events.
Being a hero had a different focus than being a villain; instead of 'sitting around planning the next crime' and then 'committing the crime', it was 'being on duty and trying to prevent crimes'. If he was being honest with himself, he was starting to understand the frustration he'd caused the heroes who had tried to catch the Undersiders after their various exploits. Even monitor duty, which he oddly enjoyed, was a case of playing catch-up rather than being proactive.
But hey, I chose this over being charged and jailed, so it's not like I can complain or anything.
The door clicked open and he stepped inside. The accommodation unit wasn't huge—he slept in one bedroom, and Aisha had volunteered to share the other with Riley (once the PRT delivered her to their doorstep)—but it was larger and much better appointed than some places he'd stayed. The pictures on the walls were the generic crap that could be (and probably had been) picked up in any bargain store; he'd already decided that once he got his first paycheck, he'd take the girls down to the Boardwalk and the Lord Street Market, and arrange some proper decorations for the place.
"Hey—oh, it's just you." Aisha arrested her energetic springing motion up from where she'd been lying bonelessly on the sofa, and flopped back down. "Thought it mighta been Riley."
"Wow, thanks," he said dryly. "I'm thoroughly underwhelmed by your appreciation of my presence." Brian headed through to the small kitchen, where he poured himself some orange juice. "You could at least pretend to be happy that I'm home."
"Why?" she asked impudently. "You're my big bro. I'm not allowed to acknowledge your presence without being sarcastic about it. I'm pretty sure that's in the Constitution or something."
"Yeah, yeah, I love you too." He closed the fridge and came back to the sofa. "How was your evening?"
"Watched that Aleph movie, The Matrix. Just gonna say, Will Smith in shades and a long coat is almost as cool as Atropos." Without being told, she swung her legs around and plunked her heels on a footstool so he could sit down. "And before you ask, I already did my homework. Heaps easier than it used to be."
"I'm glad," he said, carefully not commenting on any actor's coolness or otherwise. "So the new classes are working out for you?"
"Meh." She rolled her eyes, which Brian was starting to recognise as her way of saying something didn't totally suck. "The other teachers were just dicks."
He raised his eyebrows, knowing it wouldn't help but having to try anyway. "You know, Riley probably won't want to be hearing all that bad language from you. We're supposed to be setting her a good example, remember?"
"What do you mean, bad language?" She gave him the worst fake-innocent look he'd ever seen. "No fuckin' idea what you're talking about. Maybe you need to clean out your stinky-ass ears."
"Aisha …" He could handle a certain amount of sass from her, but not indefinitely.
"Okay, fine, fine." She threw up her hands in an approximation of surrender. "How was your night, anyway? Did Atropos pull that shit she said she was gonna? Pretty sure I felt the explosion. Were you there? Did you see her?"
He blinked. The shift from 'too cool for school' to 'Atropos fangirl' was … startling. But at least she was communicating in a non-hostile manner. "Yeah, she did. I wasn't there—they made sure we'd be patrolling the southern end of the Boardwalk, and in through Downtown—but I got sent a couple of pictures. Assault knew you'd be interested."
"Lemme see, lemme see!" She was sitting up now, crowding toward his end of the sofa.
"Give me a second, already." He took a drink from his orange juice, then placed the glass on the end table, on the coaster that was already there. Aisha wouldn't think about coasters if one was stapled to her forehead, but he'd already left one out on every surface that could conceivably be used to place a drink.
She hung over his shoulder as he took his phone out and called up the images that Assault had already sent to him. The first showed the massive mushroom cloud over the warehouse, which was even more of a wreck than the first one. Aisha stared at it, her teeth bared in an atavistic grin. "Fuck yeahhhh …" she whispered. "Fuckin' eat it."
"Oh, and they found a guy nearby who'd been trying to get away, but he didn't get far after Atropos hit him with a car and shot him in the knee with his own gun." Brian found particular satisfaction with repeating this bit of information. "Turns out he's a foreign national, connected to Gesellschaft." He paused, then saw that she hadn't made the connection. "They were the Empire Eighty-Eight's German buddies, before Atropos pulled the plug on the Empire."
"So, a Nazi." Aisha had no trouble with making that connection.
"More or less, yeah. Assault says Interpol's really really going to want to be talking to this guy. Anyway, that's the explosion you heard. This is the other thing she did tonight." He flicked on to the other photo, of the burning eighteen-wheelers. "They were trying to be sneaky, and just drive around with the product until Atropos gave up."
"Pulling a Skidmark, right. Until she pulled a Uno reverse on them, hah, yeah." Aisha was grinning all over her face. "When are these dipwits gonna learn, you don't put shit over on my girl Atropos?"
He leaned back in the sofa, letting the tension of the day ease out of him in one long sigh. "Well, according to her PHO posts, not yet. But that day will definitely come, if only because she's killed all the idiots who think they're the special ones."
At that moment, his phone rang; specifically, the one they'd issued to him for use as a Ward. He checked the caller ID and saw it was his PRT liaison (translation: 'minder'), Ms Brown. Giving Aisha a warning glance and putting his finger to his lips—it was long past her bedtime, even if this hadn't been a school night—he swiped to answer it. "Hello, Tenebrae speaking."
"Good evening," she replied. "I know you've just gotten in and you're probably wanting to get to bed, but I wanted to update you on the situation with your cousin."
"Oh, okay." That sounded a little ominous. "Is there a problem? Has someone raised an issue?"
"Oh, no, no." She chuckled warmly. "No problems, none at all. It's just that the final paperwork only came through fifteen minutes ago. I've already put Riley to bed in my spare bedroom, and I'd be hung, drawn and quartered by my superiors if I woke her up to transport her to your location at this time of night. I'll drop around first thing tomorrow to hand her into your care, if that's okay?"
He knew damn well that the question was code for 'it had better be okay'. "Sure thing, Ms Brown. What time were you thinking of turning up with her?"
She paused for a moment. "How does six-thirty sound to you, or is that too early?"
"That sounds perfect. See you then."
"Excellent. Say hello to Aisha for me. Goodbye."
"Bye," he said, and ended the call.
"So?" Aisha asked. "What'd she say?"
He grinned at her. "Riley will be here at six-thirty in the morning."
"Sweeeet!" Her eyes lit up and she did a little dance without ever getting off the sofa.
"Mmm-hmm." Brian raised his eyebrows. "And we both know how much of a gremlin you can be in the morning if you haven't had enough sleep, so brush your teeth and get to bed now." He pointed in the general direction of her bedroom, just to make his point.
He was right, and she knew he was right, but he could tell she was determined not to give him the win. "Fine … old man." Getting up, she meandered deliberately slowly in the direction of the bathroom.
There was just one shot left in his locker. "Do you want Ms Brown to decide that I'm an unfit parent, and split all three of us up? Because if you screw around too much, that can totally happen."
"Okay, I'm going. I'm going." And she went.
2:28 AM
Taylor
My eyes snapped open and I sat up. Even as I got up and started putting my costume on again, my memory caught up with me. I was in my own bedroom, Dad was asleep in his room, and Cherie was using the fold-out sofa-bed downstairs. Dad had apologised for how lumpy it was, and she'd laughed out loud. Apparently, as humble as our accommodations were, we still beat out whatever she'd been enduring over the last few weeks or months by a long shot.
I'd spent about an hour down in the basement after we got back, making use of an old camp stove and some surplus kitchenware. My power had gotten me to set myself up with basic breathing protection and I'd worn the lab coat and goggles I'd stolen from the Medhall building basement lab that one time. What I wanted to do now wasn't anywhere near as dangerous as that—acidic gas was nobody's friend—but I still didn't want to take the chance of an accidental high.
As my power had assured me, there was a huge difference between instigating a chemical reaction and just removing the additives, which was why I was doing it in the basement instead of someplace far away. Specifically, dissolving the packet of drugs I'd scored from the warehouse, separating out the stuff they'd cut it with, and leaving the pure substance to dry into a white paste. It would be ready when I needed it.
After that, I'd dunked everything I'd used in a tub of strong detergent and had a long hot shower where I scrubbed everywhere that could be scrubbed. Dad and Cherie had already sacked out when I got out of the shower, so I put my pyjamas on and did the same. Normally, knowing that I only had a few hours to get some rest would've caused me to toss and turn restlessly, but this time around I'd called on my power to End my current wakefulness; thirty seconds later, I was fast asleep.
Cheating? Totally. Useful? Absolutely.
Shrugging into the long-coat, I hung the tie around my neck and took up the hat and mask. I grinned as I realised I hadn't bothered turning on the light to get dressed; everything had been exactly where I knew it was. Opening my bedroom door, I strode along the hallway and thumped on Dad's door with my fist. His alarm went off at exactly the same time, ensuring that he'd actually wake up instead of passing it off as a dream.
Satisfied on that account, I headed downstairs and went into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. My power could simulate wakefulness for as long as a particular Ending needed to go on for, but Dad and Cherie were at the mercy of unassisted human biology, and caffeine was what they needed right then. (Note that while my power could probably keep me awake and alert for days at a time, I wouldn't necessarily enjoy the experience).
Strolling into the living room, I sat down on the edge of the sofa bed and spoke gently. "Cherie, it's time to wake up."
I hadn't turned on the living room light, but the kitchen light spilled through enough illumination for me to tell when her eyes opened, staring at the unfamiliar surroundings. The angle I was sitting at had been deliberately chosen so she'd see my face, especially my glasses. Nobody in her family wore glasses; even if they'd needed them, the idea of regular visits to the optometrist would've been ludicrous.
"What—who—oh." She rubbed her eyes, staring at my face as her brain rebooted. "Taylor? Atropos? Is that you?"
I let her see my smile. "That's me. How are you feeling?"
She shifted and stretched, which turned into a massive yawn. "… still a bit tired," she admitted. "Had a big day yesterday."
"It's not over yet." I got up. "I've got coffee going in the kitchen. There's a half-bath under the stairs if you need to go. We'll be heading out in ten minutes."
With an almost audible click, her brain connected the last few dots, just as I heard Dad's footsteps on the stairs. "… oh. The Damsel of Distress thing?"
I nodded. "The Damsel of Distress thing."
3:00 AM
Brockton Bay Port Authority Bus Terminal
Damsel of Distress
Ashley had heard Brockton Bay was supposed to be warmer than the rest of New England in the winter. Maybe it was just her exaggerated expectations, but climbing off a heated bus at oh-dark-thirty made her feel colder than ever. Hugging her coat around her and making sure her backpack was secure, she tried not to shiver as she moved through the sparse crowd—the number of people getting off the bus at three in the morning was never going to be huge—in the general direction of the exit, and thus the cab stand.
She had enough to put herself up at a flophouse until she got the lay of the land, and then she could start recruiting. But the big thing she needed to do was not draw attention until she'd assembled enough of a power base for her needs. Which was why she was dressing inconspicuously; there was even a scarf over her pure-white hair, just so it didn't draw attention.
So why was everyone staring at her? She tried to look as inconsequential as possible, but more and more people were pointing and backing away from her. What's going on? How do they know who I am?
That was when the gun-muzzle touched the back of her head.
"Arms folded." It was a girl speaking, but the words could've been carved from primordial ice. "Hands under your armpits. If I see them, I blow your head off. Do you understand me?"
Normally, Ashley didn't buy into intimidation displays—knowing a bit about them herself—but something about the tone of voice told her that this person absolutely meant what they said. If she didn't do what she was told, she would die. Slowly, carefully, she nodded. At the same time, she slid her hands under her armpits and locked them into place with her arms. "Who—who are you? What is this? Why are you doing this?"
"I'm Atropos." The girl moved around her with effortlessly fluid steps that never allowed the muzzle of the pump-action shotgun—being held at arm's length, without a quiver—to move away from her head. Black-dressed, with a morph mask that hid her expression, she exuded pure menace. "You're Damsel of Distress. I warned you once to stay out of my city. Consider this your second warning. The third warning will involve a closed-casket funeral."
"Atropos!" The voice was familiar, and Ashley wanted to scream as two familiar costumed figures showed up through the now very rapidly dispersing crowd. "Don't kill her! We're here!"
"What the hell are you two doing here?" she demanded, glaring at Edict and Licit. "How did you get here before I did?"
"I called them." Atropos' tone was matter-of-fact. "Told them where you'd be. Gave them the option to be here and take you back to Stafford. Or, you could die. It seems that they'd rather you live."
Fury surged in her chest, but not so great that she pulled her hands out from where they were. "You can't tell me what to do!" she shouted.
"Atropos—" began Edict, then stopped as a pistol with a long suppressor on the barrel appeared in Atropos' other hand, aimed directly at her face.
"I can pull the trigger before you complete a command." The tone of the girl's voice didn't make it a threat, or even a command. It was a simple fact, bluntly stated. "Don't go there. I won't kill unless my hand is forced. That does include you."
"Please." Licit's voice was rough. "Edict. Atropos. Damsel. Let's all survive the night, okay?" His expression was pleading, almost desperate.
Atropos was the first to react; the pistol spun once on her finger, then vanished back inside her long-coat. "I'm down with that. Edict?"
Edict started breathing again—it looked like she'd stopped when suddenly confronted by the business end of Atropos' pistol—and nodded shakily. "I'm okay with it. Sorry."
"Already forgotten. Damsel, these two are here to take you back home. You have exactly two choices: go with them, or die. There is no third option. What's your choice?"
Ashley gritted her teeth, feeling the tears welling in her eyes. Life was so unfair. Why couldn't she have what she wanted once in a while? "Can't you just let me stay?" she whispered. "You'll hardly know I'm here."
"Right up until you come after me and try to kill me." The grim amusement in Atropos' voice was all the more chilling because her words paralleled Ashley's thought processes exactly. "No dice. When I say, 'no villains in my city', I mean it. Choose. Now."
The urge was in Ashley to defy Atropos, to see if she could get her power into action before the black-clad girl could pull the trigger, but cold common sense drowned out the violent impulse before it could come to fruition. Atropos was a killer, that was easy to see. She wouldn't choke and she wouldn't hesitate. Ashley had exactly one chance of survival. Anything else at all would see her lying dead on the chilly concrete with her brains splashed over the bus behind her. And if I'm dead, I can't win.
Just for once, her survival instinct won out over her pride, even as the words she spoke stuck in her throat. "I think … I'll go home."
"Good idea." Atropos stepped back; her finger left the trigger as she let the shotgun swing up and over until it was resting on her shoulder. Not for an instant did Ashley think she was out of danger. "Have a safe trip."
"Yeah." Licit gave Atropos a careful nod as he stepped in alongside Ashley. "Thanks. For … well, calling us."
"You're welcome. You understand that the next time, she just dies, right?" Atropos' tone was earnest, well-meaning. You understand that you need to put on snow chains for traction, right?
"Yeah." Edict's voice was harsher than normal. "We get that. You were just itching to pull the trigger, weren't you?"
"Edict …" Licit urged.
She waved him away. "Well? We're leaving now. You may as well tell the truth."
Atropos shook her head. "You don't understand me at all. If there's a need to end someone, I end them. If there's not, I don't. Damsel's fate was in her own hands the whole time. It's as simple as that." She twitched open the long-coat and slid the shotgun into some kind of sheath or holster, then stood there, arms folded. "Don't let me keep you." The dismissal was obvious.
As Edict and Licit hustled Ashley away, the last she saw of Atropos was a black silhouette, long-coat blowing sideways dramatically under the chill morning breeze.
The bile of her failure burned deep in her throat, but it was counteracted by the cold, hard knowledge. I never stood a chance.
6:30 AM Tuesday Morning
Tenebrae
The apartment was cleaner than it had been when Brian and Aisha moved in. He'd been up since five thirty, sweeping and mopping the floor, then scrubbing the walls. Aisha had wandered out yawning to poke fun at him while he was hunting the corners of the ceiling for any cobwebs which may have been spun while they were in residence, and he'd put her to breakfast-cooking duty.
Fortunately, she was a reasonable cook, if a little slapdash. Her bacon ran the gamut from barely seared to extremely crispy, and her fried eggs had a similar range. But nothing was burned, and everything tasted good.
Brian was just helping her plate everything up when the knock sounded on the door. Aisha stared at him. "Is that … is that her?"
His eyes flicked to the wall clock. It was the right time. "Only one way to find out."
He put the plates of eggs and bacon on the table then turned toward the door, but Aisha was already ahead of him. She darted over to the door, then paused. Seeming to gather her courage, she turned the handle and yanked the door open.
Ms Brown, standing outside, had her hand raised to knock again. Apparently taken aback by the precipitate opening, she stared at Aisha as Brian stepped up as well. "Ah … hello," she said. "Ms Laborn, Mr Laborn. Sorry about the delay. Paperwork refuses to be hurried." She gestured at the child standing beside her. "This is your cousin Riley."
Riley raised her hand and essayed a tentative wave. "Uh … hi?" Wearing basic jeans and T-shirt, she was a few years younger than Aisha, but whatever magic had been employed to change her appearance had definitely left her with the Laborn family looks. However, even as she stood there, Brian could see the worry in her eyes: what if they don't want me?
"Heeeeey, cuz!" Aisha reached out and virtually dragged Riley over the threshold, where she enveloped the younger girl in a ferocious hug. "C'mere!"
"Hi, Riley." Brian went down into a crouch so he could look her in the eye. "I'm Brian, and the overly touchy-feely one here is Aisha. We've been looking forward to meeting you."
"And you can ignore about ninety-five percent of everything he says, because he's a dull boring adult." Aisha relinquished the hug, but kept hold of Riley's hand. "I'm the one who makes most of the decisions around here, anyway. C'mon, I'll show you our bedroom. Your bed got delivered yesterday, and your dresser with it. I've already cleared out your half of the wardrobe …"
Brian rose to his feet again as Aisha more or less dragged Riley into the depths of the apartment. "Sorry about that," he said awkwardly. "It's been too long since she's had any family her own age. Not sure if they told you, but our parents …"
"… are not well suited to raising a girl with her educational needs, I know." Ms Brown nodded understandingly. "She certainly seems enthusiastic at the prospect of having a little sister, or at least a younger cousin."
"Right now, as far as she's concerned, it's one and the same." Brian listened for a moment to Aisha's excited chatter and Riley's responses. "It sounds like they're getting along just fine."
Ms Brown smiled. "That it does." She offered the tablet that she'd been holding under her arm. "One last signature and I'll be on my way."
He accepted it and scanned the wording of the document. It was a simple handover of authority of one Riley Laborn to the custody of Brian Laborn. He scribbled an approximation of his signature with his index finger, then handed it back.
"Thank you." She glanced at the tablet then shut it down and held out her hand. "You'll call immediately if difficulties do arise?"
He shook it. "I will, but somehow I suspect it won't be necessary."
"That's excellent to hear. Good morning to you, Mr Laborn." She paused to give the apartment a brief survey, afforded him a nod of approval, then turned and walked away with the confident stride of a job well done.
Closing the door, he headed back to the breakfast table. Aisha and Riley would be out here again in short order, he knew, so he may as well enjoy the peace and quiet while he had it.
End of Part Twenty-Seven
Part Twenty-Seven: Down These Mean Streets
[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
Danny
When he first saw the pickup rolling down the street, Danny had to do a double-take. It had, at one point, been lovingly cared for and maintained by its owner; while not an afficionado, he could tell the signs. But it had definitely fallen upon hard times since then. The windshield was cracked all the way across, and utterly shattered around the driver's side in a way that indicated gunfire. More bullet-holes pocked the chassis, both wing mirrors were gone, the once-glossy paintwork was horrifically scratched and dented (and peeling down to the bare metal all the way along the entire passenger side), and bare wires were sticking up from the roof of the cab where he guessed there'd once been a lightbar.
And then it pulled in and parked behind him.
Crap, he thought. Taylor said to wait here. I can't just drive off and leave her hanging. Taylor had left her shotgun with him; if they came up to menace him—
Both doors of the pickup opened and the girls got out, Taylor still dressed in her full Atropos costume. Danny sagged in the car seat, both grateful that she was okay (and that he wouldn't have to threaten some stranger) and wondering what the hell she'd been through with that pickup to get it into that state. Over her shoulder, she was lugging a strange military-looking tubular device.
"Hey, Dad," she said, a smirk in her tone, as she strolled up to his window. "Did I have you worried there for a moment?"
"Watch it, young lady," he said, mock-threateningly. "You're still not too old to be grounded, you know." As he spoke, he saw Cherie staring at him from behind Taylor. She had to know he wasn't serious, but she still looked like she couldn't believe what he was saying.
"Aww," she said with saccharine sweetness. "It's adorable that you think you'll catch me."
He shook his head. "You're only Atropos some of the time. But let's shelve that for a moment. I presume it went okay? I heard the explosion on the way here."
"Drugs are toast, and so are most of the bad guys," she reported cheerfully. "Oh, and I took one of Gesellschaft's unpowered reps alive. Shot him through the knee and left him for the authorities."
"Let me guess." He let his tone become dry. "This means you're acquiring even more enemies as we speak?"
"Not yet," she countered lightly. "But give it a day or so. Anyway, can you pass me the shotgun and a couple of road flares? The Elites' drug guys have decided to pull a Skidmark, and just drive around for a bit. I need to go explain to them that yes, I can actually see them."
"No problem, hon. But you might want to put that thing in the back seat. What is it, anyway?"
She opened the back door and slid the device into the footwell. "It's a Saab Bofors AT-4 anti-tank weapon. They had a few lying around, so I souvenired one. Neat, huh?"
"That's one way to put it." He reached down into her bag and passed up the sleek, deadly weapon, as well as the flares. "Want me to wait here, or go somewhere else?"
"Nah, here should do." She slapped the roof of the car. "Cherie can wait with you. This'll only take another few minutes."
"Of course it will," he murmured. As Taylor headed back to the pickup, the passenger door opened and Cherie got into the car. "And how are we doing tonight, kid? Not too terrified yet?"
"Oh, she's leaving me back out of the action." Cherie shook her head. "What's terrifying is watching people getting too close to her in a firefight and just … dying. It's like I've got these little songbirds in my head, all singing away … okay, they're assholes, so the songs are pretty nasty and gross, but they're singing happily about murdering people and selling drugs, and the next minute she's there, and it's like pop-pop-pop, they're just vanishing mid-song."
He chuckled darkly. "Yeah, that sounds like my little girl, alright. I wish there was literally any other way to achieve what she's doing, but I've given twenty years of my life to Brockton Bay for less in the way of impact than she's gotten in a week."
"Okay, now you've got me confused." She paused as the pickup started and drove up the street, then disappeared around the corner. "Your emotions say you disapprove of her methods, the way you talk about them says the same thing, but you're not even trying to stop her?"
He opened his mouth to speak then paused, looking at her carefully. "Okay, I'm getting the impression your home life wasn't the best. Let me guess: everything your dad approved of happened whether you liked it or not, and everything he disapproved of was forbidden?"
She blinked. "Well … yes?" The unspoken 'isn't that always the way?' came across quite clearly.
"Mm-hmm," he murmured. "Well, even before Taylor got her powers, we did things slightly differently. For big matters, like paying bills and going to school, what I said was what happened. With smaller things, if Taylor had an opinion about them, I'd listen to her and if it made sense, we'd do it that way. And of course, if there was something I had no opinion about and she had the allowance to cover it, like buying herself a new pair of sneakers, she could handle it herself."
The weight of her stare was almost palpable. "And you don't mind not being in control of everything?"
"Well, no." He chuckled wryly. "It wasn't a perfect system. She didn't tell me until after she got her powers that she was being bullied by her ex-best friend, and I … well, I fell down on my Dad duties there for a while after I lost her mother. But now we're finding our way back to each other. And to answer your original question; I don't like what she's doing, and I don't like that she has to do it. But … the people she's killed have contributed massively to the ongoing problems in Brockton Bay, and they just would've kept doing it for the foreseeable future if they weren't stopped somehow."
Cherie was frowning hard, as though trying to assimilate a difficult concept. "So, it's a case of the ends … justifying the means?" She spoke the phrase as though she'd once heard it but never understood it before this point.
"More or less, yeah," he agreed. "But there's more to it than that. She's actually getting solid results; I have it on good authority that the crime rate is dropping by the day. The PRT and the BBPD are coming down on the gangs harder than ever, now that the capes that used to back them won't be coming back. But on top of that, she's also working to maintain those results, keeping other villains out of the city. The trouble is, there'll be pushback from people who have a vested interest in returning matters to the status quo. There always is."
Tellingly, she didn't ask what sort of people those were. He suspected her father was the type who definitely wanted to keep the status quo just the way it was; heavily weighted in his favour. "She wrote up a big list of capes when she was telling everyone to stay away," she said at last. "Do you think they'll all try to come here?"
"Some of them won't." He'd read the post from the Red Hands. "Some will. Because no cape that's ever gone undefeated can imagine losing. But if they come here, one thing's for certain."
"What's that?"
He was just about to answer when he heard the sound of revving engines, screeching tyres, and gunshots. About three or four blocks ahead, an eighteen-wheeler roared into sight from around the corner, taking up the whole intersection to negotiate the turn. Danny heard the gut-deep thnk brrrm thnk brrrm as the driver changed up; smoke poured out of the twin overhead exhausts in the glare of the streetlights. Behind it came another one, sticking close to the first one. The gear-changes, echoing down the concrete canyon of the street, were a little less smooth than the first one.
Danny had a sudden flashback to a nature documentary he'd seen of elephants stampeding away from a pride of lions. This had that same panicked quality of action.
Behind the second semi-trailer, a sports car skidded into view, spinning out of control across the intersection with rubber shredding from its tyres. Danny caught a glimpse of a shattered windshield and an arm hanging limply out the driver's side window before it broadsided into an electricity pole, wrapping itself into a complicated wreck around the obstruction.
Even as this happened, Taylor's pickup came around the corner in a solid four-wheel drift, belying the fact that Brockton Bay streets tended to be patchworks of asphalt rather than a continuous smooth surface. The big tyres howled and juddered, but she kept to the line like a ballerina, swooping around the corner without losing any speed. Danny had seen professional rally drivers on TV who couldn't have pulled off something like this.
The eighteen-wheelers were accelerating properly now, perhaps ten seconds away from passing them. Danny knew Taylor was in pursuit, but he was worried that she might not be able to catch up before they got away. "Should we—?"
Cherie shook her head, her face tinged yellow by the high-beams of the oncoming trucks. "She said to say no."
"Oh."
The pickup's heavy tyres smoked as Taylor went after the trucks with everything she had. She was still coming on strong when the first eighteen-wheeler thundered past the parked car at something over the posted speed limit, sending gravel chips flying everywhere. Less than a second later, she whipped past, neck and neck with the second one, the wind of their combined passage making Danny's car rock a little from side to side.
"Where did she learn to drive like that?" asked Cherie, craning her neck to peer out through the back window of the car, just as the dull thud of a shotgun blast sounded over the noise of the powerful engines. "And shoot? And the rest of it?"
Danny had his eyes fixed on the rear-vision mirror. "She didn't. That's her power."
"Oh." There was a world of revelation in that word.
"Yeah. And you know what I was saying about what happens if villains try to come to this city?"
"Yes?"
"That."
The second eighteen-wheeler was starting to wobble and sway now; he thought he saw the pickup accelerate. There was a brief exchange of gunfire, then more shots from the shotgun. And then, one long drawn-out crash after the other.
"Now we can go," Cherie said in the quiet that followed. "She said she'll be finished mopping up by the time we get there."
As he started the car, she pulled out a mobile phone. "And … send," she muttered, pressing a single icon. "A text to the PRT," she explained belatedly. "Telling them where to send emergency services next."
"Huh. Okay." Taylor had pre-written the text, no doubt. With the exact address the trucks could be found. Because she'd known ahead of time when and where it would be.
Carefully, he pulled a U-turn, hearing more shots as he went, then rolled down the street toward the wreckage of the trucks. As he got closer, he saw that both had fallen on their sides. Each one had skidded for some distance after going over, and the rear doors had fallen open.
There was a whoomph of flame from the nearest truck, and it began to burn brightly. The front one, from what he could tell, was already well on fire. There were bodies sprawled here and there, guns lying near their outstretched hands. It was easy to see what had happened: Taylor had shot first.
Danny pulled to a halt about thirty yards back from the second truck, not wanting to blow a tyre on the wreckage or run over a dead body. Silhouetted by the flames, Taylor strolled back to meet them, shotgun over her shoulder for all the world as though she'd just been on a successful hunt. And in her own way, he supposed, she had been.
Cherie went to get out of the front seat, but Taylor waved for her to stay there. "It's fine. I'm good in the back." She opened the rear door and climbed in, then sighed in satisfaction. "Welp, that's ninety-nine percent of the hard drugs in Brockton Bay, gone. We can head home for a bit now."
"For a bit?" he asked, taking another U-turn.
"Yeah, for a bit." She took off her hat and removed the mask, then gave him a grin via the rear-vision mirror. "The night's not over yet."
Which, in Atropos-speak, meant that someone else was due to have a terminally bad day.
Danny couldn't wait.
<><>
11:30 PM
Tenebrae
Brian sighed as he slid the key into the front door of the accommodation unit he shared with Aisha. It had been a long, eventful night, even if he hadn't been involved in any of the more interesting events.
Being a hero had a different focus than being a villain; instead of 'sitting around planning the next crime' and then 'committing the crime', it was 'being on duty and trying to prevent crimes'. If he was being honest with himself, he was starting to understand the frustration he'd caused the heroes who had tried to catch the Undersiders after their various exploits. Even monitor duty, which he oddly enjoyed, was a case of playing catch-up rather than being proactive.
But hey, I chose this over being charged and jailed, so it's not like I can complain or anything.
The door clicked open and he stepped inside. The accommodation unit wasn't huge—he slept in one bedroom, and Aisha had volunteered to share the other with Riley (once the PRT delivered her to their doorstep)—but it was larger and much better appointed than some places he'd stayed. The pictures on the walls were the generic crap that could be (and probably had been) picked up in any bargain store; he'd already decided that once he got his first paycheck, he'd take the girls down to the Boardwalk and the Lord Street Market, and arrange some proper decorations for the place.
"Hey—oh, it's just you." Aisha arrested her energetic springing motion up from where she'd been lying bonelessly on the sofa, and flopped back down. "Thought it mighta been Riley."
"Wow, thanks," he said dryly. "I'm thoroughly underwhelmed by your appreciation of my presence." Brian headed through to the small kitchen, where he poured himself some orange juice. "You could at least pretend to be happy that I'm home."
"Why?" she asked impudently. "You're my big bro. I'm not allowed to acknowledge your presence without being sarcastic about it. I'm pretty sure that's in the Constitution or something."
"Yeah, yeah, I love you too." He closed the fridge and came back to the sofa. "How was your evening?"
"Watched that Aleph movie, The Matrix. Just gonna say, Will Smith in shades and a long coat is almost as cool as Atropos." Without being told, she swung her legs around and plunked her heels on a footstool so he could sit down. "And before you ask, I already did my homework. Heaps easier than it used to be."
"I'm glad," he said, carefully not commenting on any actor's coolness or otherwise. "So the new classes are working out for you?"
"Meh." She rolled her eyes, which Brian was starting to recognise as her way of saying something didn't totally suck. "The other teachers were just dicks."
He raised his eyebrows, knowing it wouldn't help but having to try anyway. "You know, Riley probably won't want to be hearing all that bad language from you. We're supposed to be setting her a good example, remember?"
"What do you mean, bad language?" She gave him the worst fake-innocent look he'd ever seen. "No fuckin' idea what you're talking about. Maybe you need to clean out your stinky-ass ears."
"Aisha …" He could handle a certain amount of sass from her, but not indefinitely.
"Okay, fine, fine." She threw up her hands in an approximation of surrender. "How was your night, anyway? Did Atropos pull that shit she said she was gonna? Pretty sure I felt the explosion. Were you there? Did you see her?"
He blinked. The shift from 'too cool for school' to 'Atropos fangirl' was … startling. But at least she was communicating in a non-hostile manner. "Yeah, she did. I wasn't there—they made sure we'd be patrolling the southern end of the Boardwalk, and in through Downtown—but I got sent a couple of pictures. Assault knew you'd be interested."
"Lemme see, lemme see!" She was sitting up now, crowding toward his end of the sofa.
"Give me a second, already." He took a drink from his orange juice, then placed the glass on the end table, on the coaster that was already there. Aisha wouldn't think about coasters if one was stapled to her forehead, but he'd already left one out on every surface that could conceivably be used to place a drink.
She hung over his shoulder as he took his phone out and called up the images that Assault had already sent to him. The first showed the massive mushroom cloud over the warehouse, which was even more of a wreck than the first one. Aisha stared at it, her teeth bared in an atavistic grin. "Fuck yeahhhh …" she whispered. "Fuckin' eat it."
"Oh, and they found a guy nearby who'd been trying to get away, but he didn't get far after Atropos hit him with a car and shot him in the knee with his own gun." Brian found particular satisfaction with repeating this bit of information. "Turns out he's a foreign national, connected to Gesellschaft." He paused, then saw that she hadn't made the connection. "They were the Empire Eighty-Eight's German buddies, before Atropos pulled the plug on the Empire."
"So, a Nazi." Aisha had no trouble with making that connection.
"More or less, yeah. Assault says Interpol's really really going to want to be talking to this guy. Anyway, that's the explosion you heard. This is the other thing she did tonight." He flicked on to the other photo, of the burning eighteen-wheelers. "They were trying to be sneaky, and just drive around with the product until Atropos gave up."
"Pulling a Skidmark, right. Until she pulled a Uno reverse on them, hah, yeah." Aisha was grinning all over her face. "When are these dipwits gonna learn, you don't put shit over on my girl Atropos?"
He leaned back in the sofa, letting the tension of the day ease out of him in one long sigh. "Well, according to her PHO posts, not yet. But that day will definitely come, if only because she's killed all the idiots who think they're the special ones."
At that moment, his phone rang; specifically, the one they'd issued to him for use as a Ward. He checked the caller ID and saw it was his PRT liaison (translation: 'minder'), Ms Brown. Giving Aisha a warning glance and putting his finger to his lips—it was long past her bedtime, even if this hadn't been a school night—he swiped to answer it. "Hello, Tenebrae speaking."
"Good evening," she replied. "I know you've just gotten in and you're probably wanting to get to bed, but I wanted to update you on the situation with your cousin."
"Oh, okay." That sounded a little ominous. "Is there a problem? Has someone raised an issue?"
"Oh, no, no." She chuckled warmly. "No problems, none at all. It's just that the final paperwork only came through fifteen minutes ago. I've already put Riley to bed in my spare bedroom, and I'd be hung, drawn and quartered by my superiors if I woke her up to transport her to your location at this time of night. I'll drop around first thing tomorrow to hand her into your care, if that's okay?"
He knew damn well that the question was code for 'it had better be okay'. "Sure thing, Ms Brown. What time were you thinking of turning up with her?"
She paused for a moment. "How does six-thirty sound to you, or is that too early?"
"That sounds perfect. See you then."
"Excellent. Say hello to Aisha for me. Goodbye."
"Bye," he said, and ended the call.
"So?" Aisha asked. "What'd she say?"
He grinned at her. "Riley will be here at six-thirty in the morning."
"Sweeeet!" Her eyes lit up and she did a little dance without ever getting off the sofa.
"Mmm-hmm." Brian raised his eyebrows. "And we both know how much of a gremlin you can be in the morning if you haven't had enough sleep, so brush your teeth and get to bed now." He pointed in the general direction of her bedroom, just to make his point.
He was right, and she knew he was right, but he could tell she was determined not to give him the win. "Fine … old man." Getting up, she meandered deliberately slowly in the direction of the bathroom.
There was just one shot left in his locker. "Do you want Ms Brown to decide that I'm an unfit parent, and split all three of us up? Because if you screw around too much, that can totally happen."
"Okay, I'm going. I'm going." And she went.
<><>
2:28 AM
Taylor
My eyes snapped open and I sat up. Even as I got up and started putting my costume on again, my memory caught up with me. I was in my own bedroom, Dad was asleep in his room, and Cherie was using the fold-out sofa-bed downstairs. Dad had apologised for how lumpy it was, and she'd laughed out loud. Apparently, as humble as our accommodations were, we still beat out whatever she'd been enduring over the last few weeks or months by a long shot.
I'd spent about an hour down in the basement after we got back, making use of an old camp stove and some surplus kitchenware. My power had gotten me to set myself up with basic breathing protection and I'd worn the lab coat and goggles I'd stolen from the Medhall building basement lab that one time. What I wanted to do now wasn't anywhere near as dangerous as that—acidic gas was nobody's friend—but I still didn't want to take the chance of an accidental high.
As my power had assured me, there was a huge difference between instigating a chemical reaction and just removing the additives, which was why I was doing it in the basement instead of someplace far away. Specifically, dissolving the packet of drugs I'd scored from the warehouse, separating out the stuff they'd cut it with, and leaving the pure substance to dry into a white paste. It would be ready when I needed it.
After that, I'd dunked everything I'd used in a tub of strong detergent and had a long hot shower where I scrubbed everywhere that could be scrubbed. Dad and Cherie had already sacked out when I got out of the shower, so I put my pyjamas on and did the same. Normally, knowing that I only had a few hours to get some rest would've caused me to toss and turn restlessly, but this time around I'd called on my power to End my current wakefulness; thirty seconds later, I was fast asleep.
Cheating? Totally. Useful? Absolutely.
Shrugging into the long-coat, I hung the tie around my neck and took up the hat and mask. I grinned as I realised I hadn't bothered turning on the light to get dressed; everything had been exactly where I knew it was. Opening my bedroom door, I strode along the hallway and thumped on Dad's door with my fist. His alarm went off at exactly the same time, ensuring that he'd actually wake up instead of passing it off as a dream.
Satisfied on that account, I headed downstairs and went into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. My power could simulate wakefulness for as long as a particular Ending needed to go on for, but Dad and Cherie were at the mercy of unassisted human biology, and caffeine was what they needed right then. (Note that while my power could probably keep me awake and alert for days at a time, I wouldn't necessarily enjoy the experience).
Strolling into the living room, I sat down on the edge of the sofa bed and spoke gently. "Cherie, it's time to wake up."
I hadn't turned on the living room light, but the kitchen light spilled through enough illumination for me to tell when her eyes opened, staring at the unfamiliar surroundings. The angle I was sitting at had been deliberately chosen so she'd see my face, especially my glasses. Nobody in her family wore glasses; even if they'd needed them, the idea of regular visits to the optometrist would've been ludicrous.
"What—who—oh." She rubbed her eyes, staring at my face as her brain rebooted. "Taylor? Atropos? Is that you?"
I let her see my smile. "That's me. How are you feeling?"
She shifted and stretched, which turned into a massive yawn. "… still a bit tired," she admitted. "Had a big day yesterday."
"It's not over yet." I got up. "I've got coffee going in the kitchen. There's a half-bath under the stairs if you need to go. We'll be heading out in ten minutes."
With an almost audible click, her brain connected the last few dots, just as I heard Dad's footsteps on the stairs. "… oh. The Damsel of Distress thing?"
I nodded. "The Damsel of Distress thing."
<><>
3:00 AM
Brockton Bay Port Authority Bus Terminal
Damsel of Distress
Ashley had heard Brockton Bay was supposed to be warmer than the rest of New England in the winter. Maybe it was just her exaggerated expectations, but climbing off a heated bus at oh-dark-thirty made her feel colder than ever. Hugging her coat around her and making sure her backpack was secure, she tried not to shiver as she moved through the sparse crowd—the number of people getting off the bus at three in the morning was never going to be huge—in the general direction of the exit, and thus the cab stand.
She had enough to put herself up at a flophouse until she got the lay of the land, and then she could start recruiting. But the big thing she needed to do was not draw attention until she'd assembled enough of a power base for her needs. Which was why she was dressing inconspicuously; there was even a scarf over her pure-white hair, just so it didn't draw attention.
So why was everyone staring at her? She tried to look as inconsequential as possible, but more and more people were pointing and backing away from her. What's going on? How do they know who I am?
That was when the gun-muzzle touched the back of her head.
"Arms folded." It was a girl speaking, but the words could've been carved from primordial ice. "Hands under your armpits. If I see them, I blow your head off. Do you understand me?"
Normally, Ashley didn't buy into intimidation displays—knowing a bit about them herself—but something about the tone of voice told her that this person absolutely meant what they said. If she didn't do what she was told, she would die. Slowly, carefully, she nodded. At the same time, she slid her hands under her armpits and locked them into place with her arms. "Who—who are you? What is this? Why are you doing this?"
"I'm Atropos." The girl moved around her with effortlessly fluid steps that never allowed the muzzle of the pump-action shotgun—being held at arm's length, without a quiver—to move away from her head. Black-dressed, with a morph mask that hid her expression, she exuded pure menace. "You're Damsel of Distress. I warned you once to stay out of my city. Consider this your second warning. The third warning will involve a closed-casket funeral."
"Atropos!" The voice was familiar, and Ashley wanted to scream as two familiar costumed figures showed up through the now very rapidly dispersing crowd. "Don't kill her! We're here!"
"What the hell are you two doing here?" she demanded, glaring at Edict and Licit. "How did you get here before I did?"
"I called them." Atropos' tone was matter-of-fact. "Told them where you'd be. Gave them the option to be here and take you back to Stafford. Or, you could die. It seems that they'd rather you live."
Fury surged in her chest, but not so great that she pulled her hands out from where they were. "You can't tell me what to do!" she shouted.
"Atropos—" began Edict, then stopped as a pistol with a long suppressor on the barrel appeared in Atropos' other hand, aimed directly at her face.
"I can pull the trigger before you complete a command." The tone of the girl's voice didn't make it a threat, or even a command. It was a simple fact, bluntly stated. "Don't go there. I won't kill unless my hand is forced. That does include you."
"Please." Licit's voice was rough. "Edict. Atropos. Damsel. Let's all survive the night, okay?" His expression was pleading, almost desperate.
Atropos was the first to react; the pistol spun once on her finger, then vanished back inside her long-coat. "I'm down with that. Edict?"
Edict started breathing again—it looked like she'd stopped when suddenly confronted by the business end of Atropos' pistol—and nodded shakily. "I'm okay with it. Sorry."
"Already forgotten. Damsel, these two are here to take you back home. You have exactly two choices: go with them, or die. There is no third option. What's your choice?"
Ashley gritted her teeth, feeling the tears welling in her eyes. Life was so unfair. Why couldn't she have what she wanted once in a while? "Can't you just let me stay?" she whispered. "You'll hardly know I'm here."
"Right up until you come after me and try to kill me." The grim amusement in Atropos' voice was all the more chilling because her words paralleled Ashley's thought processes exactly. "No dice. When I say, 'no villains in my city', I mean it. Choose. Now."
The urge was in Ashley to defy Atropos, to see if she could get her power into action before the black-clad girl could pull the trigger, but cold common sense drowned out the violent impulse before it could come to fruition. Atropos was a killer, that was easy to see. She wouldn't choke and she wouldn't hesitate. Ashley had exactly one chance of survival. Anything else at all would see her lying dead on the chilly concrete with her brains splashed over the bus behind her. And if I'm dead, I can't win.
Just for once, her survival instinct won out over her pride, even as the words she spoke stuck in her throat. "I think … I'll go home."
"Good idea." Atropos stepped back; her finger left the trigger as she let the shotgun swing up and over until it was resting on her shoulder. Not for an instant did Ashley think she was out of danger. "Have a safe trip."
"Yeah." Licit gave Atropos a careful nod as he stepped in alongside Ashley. "Thanks. For … well, calling us."
"You're welcome. You understand that the next time, she just dies, right?" Atropos' tone was earnest, well-meaning. You understand that you need to put on snow chains for traction, right?
"Yeah." Edict's voice was harsher than normal. "We get that. You were just itching to pull the trigger, weren't you?"
"Edict …" Licit urged.
She waved him away. "Well? We're leaving now. You may as well tell the truth."
Atropos shook her head. "You don't understand me at all. If there's a need to end someone, I end them. If there's not, I don't. Damsel's fate was in her own hands the whole time. It's as simple as that." She twitched open the long-coat and slid the shotgun into some kind of sheath or holster, then stood there, arms folded. "Don't let me keep you." The dismissal was obvious.
As Edict and Licit hustled Ashley away, the last she saw of Atropos was a black silhouette, long-coat blowing sideways dramatically under the chill morning breeze.
The bile of her failure burned deep in her throat, but it was counteracted by the cold, hard knowledge. I never stood a chance.
<><>
6:30 AM Tuesday Morning
Tenebrae
The apartment was cleaner than it had been when Brian and Aisha moved in. He'd been up since five thirty, sweeping and mopping the floor, then scrubbing the walls. Aisha had wandered out yawning to poke fun at him while he was hunting the corners of the ceiling for any cobwebs which may have been spun while they were in residence, and he'd put her to breakfast-cooking duty.
Fortunately, she was a reasonable cook, if a little slapdash. Her bacon ran the gamut from barely seared to extremely crispy, and her fried eggs had a similar range. But nothing was burned, and everything tasted good.
Brian was just helping her plate everything up when the knock sounded on the door. Aisha stared at him. "Is that … is that her?"
His eyes flicked to the wall clock. It was the right time. "Only one way to find out."
He put the plates of eggs and bacon on the table then turned toward the door, but Aisha was already ahead of him. She darted over to the door, then paused. Seeming to gather her courage, she turned the handle and yanked the door open.
Ms Brown, standing outside, had her hand raised to knock again. Apparently taken aback by the precipitate opening, she stared at Aisha as Brian stepped up as well. "Ah … hello," she said. "Ms Laborn, Mr Laborn. Sorry about the delay. Paperwork refuses to be hurried." She gestured at the child standing beside her. "This is your cousin Riley."
Riley raised her hand and essayed a tentative wave. "Uh … hi?" Wearing basic jeans and T-shirt, she was a few years younger than Aisha, but whatever magic had been employed to change her appearance had definitely left her with the Laborn family looks. However, even as she stood there, Brian could see the worry in her eyes: what if they don't want me?
"Heeeeey, cuz!" Aisha reached out and virtually dragged Riley over the threshold, where she enveloped the younger girl in a ferocious hug. "C'mere!"
"Hi, Riley." Brian went down into a crouch so he could look her in the eye. "I'm Brian, and the overly touchy-feely one here is Aisha. We've been looking forward to meeting you."
"And you can ignore about ninety-five percent of everything he says, because he's a dull boring adult." Aisha relinquished the hug, but kept hold of Riley's hand. "I'm the one who makes most of the decisions around here, anyway. C'mon, I'll show you our bedroom. Your bed got delivered yesterday, and your dresser with it. I've already cleared out your half of the wardrobe …"
Brian rose to his feet again as Aisha more or less dragged Riley into the depths of the apartment. "Sorry about that," he said awkwardly. "It's been too long since she's had any family her own age. Not sure if they told you, but our parents …"
"… are not well suited to raising a girl with her educational needs, I know." Ms Brown nodded understandingly. "She certainly seems enthusiastic at the prospect of having a little sister, or at least a younger cousin."
"Right now, as far as she's concerned, it's one and the same." Brian listened for a moment to Aisha's excited chatter and Riley's responses. "It sounds like they're getting along just fine."
Ms Brown smiled. "That it does." She offered the tablet that she'd been holding under her arm. "One last signature and I'll be on my way."
He accepted it and scanned the wording of the document. It was a simple handover of authority of one Riley Laborn to the custody of Brian Laborn. He scribbled an approximation of his signature with his index finger, then handed it back.
"Thank you." She glanced at the tablet then shut it down and held out her hand. "You'll call immediately if difficulties do arise?"
He shook it. "I will, but somehow I suspect it won't be necessary."
"That's excellent to hear. Good morning to you, Mr Laborn." She paused to give the apartment a brief survey, afforded him a nod of approval, then turned and walked away with the confident stride of a job well done.
Closing the door, he headed back to the breakfast table. Aisha and Riley would be out here again in short order, he knew, so he may as well enjoy the peace and quiet while he had it.
End of Part Twenty-Seven
Part Twenty-Eight: Hard Kill
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A Darker Path
Part Twenty-Eight: Hard Kill
[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
6:35 AM Tuesday Morning
Dallon Household
Panacea
Sunrise was yet a mere glow in the eastern sky when Amy ventured out into the back yard. The old swing set still sat in the corner of the yard, despite the fact that it'd been years since anyone had seriously made use of it. Wearing her faded bunny slippers, thick flannel pyjamas and dressing gown to ward off the chill, she went over to the swing and let her weight cautiously down into it. The frame creaked but held, and she began to push herself back and forth by flexing her knees, the rusted chains squeaking quietly at the movement.
Her first encounter with Atropos had been perhaps the most terrifying and eye-opening experience of her life. The second had been equally enlightening, for a whole different reason, and also deeply irritating. Atropos had talked rings around her, and she'd found herself doing exactly what she hadn't wanted to do, for what seemed to be perfectly good reasons at the time. Worse, she'd enjoyed it far more than she was comfortable with.
The footage of Atropos tearing through the Slaughterhouse Nine had also opened her eyes, and prompted a question that caused her many wakeful hours over the last two nights. If Atropos is so in tune with her power that she can trust it to see her safely through a battle against those odds, while I don't dare modify one person's brain to remove a tumour, then what's she doing right that I'm not?
The conclusion she'd eventually come back to, after dancing around it for most of those two nights, was both simple and aggravating. She gives it stuff to do that isn't boring.
About three hours ago, she'd sat bolt upright in bed, her eyes open wide, as yet another unwelcome conclusion clicked into place. Those impulses I've been having to screw up my healing, those aren't me. They're my power, being bored and wanting to do something else!
She'd rolled over in bed, pulling the covers up to her head, but the intrusive thoughts kept coming. What if Vicky being unable to keep her aura in is her power being bored? It would make so much sense!
Every now and again, the news ran a piece on a cape, usually one who was trying to retire or drop out of sight (or both) whose power activated randomly in public, revealing them to the world. Up until this point, Amy had dismissed this as people with unreliable powers. But what if they weren't? What if powers only cooperated with us so long as we gave them fun things to do?
That was both mindblowing and creepy as fuck. She'd never before considered the concept of her power as a thinking, feeling entity not part of her. But now she had a mental image of every single cape with a shadowy humanoid power peering over their shoulder and whispering in their ear, and the capes thinking it was their own thoughts.
Except Atropos. Atropos regularly sat down for chats with hers. Probably over the equivalent of drinks. Her power didn't need to whisper in her ear. She asked it for its opinion.
Have I ever done that? Amy didn't even need to pose the question. She already knew the answer. And somehow, knowing that her power wasn't just a toolbox full of options but instead a sentient being that wanted to use the capabilities she'd never dared to use … made it all the worse.
"Hey," she said softly. "I'm listening now. Sorry for shutting you down all this time. Was there anything you wanted to do?" Feeling like an idiot for talking out loud to nobody at all, she waited.
Nothing happened.
Taking hold of the cold metal chains, feeling the roughness of the dew-soaked rust against her fingers, she closed her eyes and concentrated on listening inwardly to what her thoughts were trying to tell her—or rather, what her power was trying to tell her through her thoughts.
No great epiphany burst on her.
She sighed, starting to feel more than a little stupid. All of this was built on a single conversation with a serial killer. Who knew how sane Atropos really was, anyway? Why didn't anyone else ever talk about consulting with their powers? Because it didn't happen, that was why. A little wisdom Aunt Sarah had once passed on to her popped back up again: if someone claims to be the only holder of special knowledge, they're probably a con artist.
The next sigh was a little sadder. Just for a few days, she'd thought there might be more to having powers than just having powers. To have even the illusion of new understanding taken away wasn't exactly painful … but she was damned glad she hadn't told Vicky about it before coming out here.
She was just about to pull herself to her feet—the swing, made for shorter legs, was just a little closer to the ground than she was used to—when something occurred to her.
How does Atropos communicate with her power, anyway?
Because Atropos wasn't a brawler. She didn't just throw a punch and hope it would land; any attack she launched was already due to hit before she set it up. That was what combat Thinkers did.
She's a Thinker. Her power communicates to her through her Thinking.
I'm not a Thinker, not like that. Trying to communicate with my powers by thinking at them is like trying to communicate with a blind man with smoke signals.
I need to be using my powers.
Hardly daring to breathe—the resurgence of hope, if now dashed, would wreck her whole damn day—she let go of the chain and leaned down to touch the dew-wet grass. It was cold to her fingertips, but she didn't care. Okay, she said to her power as she registered the interlocking plant life, all the way out to the edge of the yard and beyond. Was there anything you wanted to do?
Whenever she touched something living, she was fully aware of what she could do with it, and people were no different from anything else. Accordingly, she had made a point of keeping her power in check from the earliest days since her trigger. I am not a menace to society. I can do this much, and no more.
But now, for the first time, as she touched the grass, she relaxed that control.
The ripple of bioluminescence caught her by surprise. Spreading out from her fingertips, sparkling through the dewdrops in gorgeous rainbow fragments, it spread out across the lawn. She could feel the changes her power was making in the grass; a simpler and more elegant way to do it than she could've come up with on her own.
When the kitchen light came on, she gasped. Playing like this was one thing, but getting caught making the back yard into a lightshow was totally another. Okay, time to rein it in.
Perhaps it was her own imagination anthropomorphising matters, but she could've sworn she felt reluctance before the luminescence faded away and the grass became just plain grass again. Standing up, she felt her knees creaking from the soaked-in chill like she was thirty years older.
"Ames?" The voice came not from the kitchen, but from Vicky's bedroom window. Looking up guiltily, she saw her sister leaning out, hair tousled from sleep, looking at her quizzically. "What are you doing in the back yard?"
"Just thinking about stuff," she replied, trying not to get Carol's attention in the kitchen. "Coming in now."
"Okay." Vicky's head pulled back, and the window closed with a click.
Amy walked back across the lawn, remembering how it had looked, and how it had felt to just let her power cut loose for a little bit. It had been … euphoric. Now, she wasn't sure how much of the euphoria had been her, and how much had been her power.
Then again, she didn't care much either way.
I'm going to have to do that again sometime.
But not where Carol could see her. Never where Carol could see her.
Cherish
The next time Cherie awoke, the first rays of sunlight were just starting to angle across the living room. She blinked and inhaled, smelling the tantalising odour of fresh-made coffee. Rolling her head across the pillow, she saw the steaming cup on the side table, just within reach.
Taylor was sitting in an armchair facing her, eating a piece of toast. With a slight sinking feeling, Cherie noted that she was wearing most of her costume. "We're going out again, aren't we?"
"We are," Taylor confirmed. "Butcher and the Teeth will be hitting the city limits in just over half an hour. I want to be there to make sure they don't come any closer. Dad's upstairs getting dressed right now."
Cherie had definitely heard of Butcher and the Teeth. Nobody had anything good to say about them. "Did … did you want me to just make them surrender?"
Taylor appeared to consider that for a moment, then shook her head. "No, that's just kicking the problem down the road. They'd escape from PRT holding sooner or later, and come back again. The Butcher issue gets dealt with today."
"But … if you kill the Butcher, they'll all end up in your head." Cherie had grown up with a Master for a father. She couldn't think of anything worse.
Taylor's smile had lots of teeth; when she spoke, Cherie caught a hint of the unearthly voice she'd last heard in the alley where Nicholas had died. "Yes. I know."
Thirty Minutes Later
Brockton Bay City Limits
Taylor
I fitted the phone earpiece in my ear, then pulled the mask on. Fitting the hat on my head, I turned to Dad and pointed back down the road. "You get yourself and Cherie into that turnoff we used when I stopped Accord's shipment. Don't move from there. Especially don't try to come and help. I want them totally focused on me."
"Got it," he said seriously. "When should we come and get you?"
"Cherie will know." I leaned around in the seat to look at my minion. While she was trying hard not to appear nervous, I could see straight through her. "You know what you've got to do?"
"Yeah." She bit her lip. "I'm still not sure what good overloading her with fear will do if she's still going to come at you no matter what."
I grinned under the mask. "Trust me, it'll make this a whole lot easier. I could still do it without you, but this way's cooler."
Dad shook his head. "Call me old-fashioned, but I remember the days when going into a solo fight against Butcher and the Teeth wasn't considered an opportunity to look 'cool'."
"Ah, but therein lies the difference." I opened the door and got out of the car. Closing the front door and opening the rear one, I leaned in. "I'm not going to 'fight' them. I'm just going to kill them. Everything's a lot easier when I don't have to worry about pulling my strikes."
Hatchet Face's axe, in a holder that hung it alongside my hip, came out first. I buckled it on and settled it into position, then Cherie handed me the AT-4, which I slung across my back. The packet of paste had been used up, and the shears were tucked into a homemade sheath that I'd put together after making the axe holder. I gave Cherie a nod of acknowledgement, then stood back and slapped the roof of the car.
"Okay, then," Dad said, putting the vehicle in gear. "Go make the world a safer place."
"That's the general idea." I stepped back and watched as he drove up and pulled a U-turn at a gap in the Jersey barriers. Then I headed over and set my secondary phone (look at me, all fancy with two phones!) up to record footage, with a delay before it started. Balanced on the Jersey barrier, it was perfectly aligned to catch all the action.
Unslinging the AT-4, I pulled out what my power called the transport pin and discarded it, then rested the tube on my shoulder. Moving as smoothly as though I actually knew what I was doing, I pulled one cover back and the other forward, allowing the front and rear sights to pop up. Not that I needed them, but they looked kind of badass.
Just as the van came around the corner, the phone in my pocket rang.
Butcher
Her danger sense had been flaring off the charts for the last thirty seconds, which made no sense. Initially she'd thought they were about to be ambushed, but each second that passed by made that less and less likely. As the van rolled on, no attack manifested, but her feeling of disquiet increased.
And then the van rounded a corner, and she saw the black-clad figure on the highway in front of them, with something on its shoulder, pointed directly at them. She was no military expert, but she'd seen enough movies to recognise a rocket launcher when she saw one. It's no ambush. She's right out there in the open.
"Shiiiit!" screamed Vex. Showing an impressive display of reflexes, she wrenched the driver's side door open and hurled herself out. Her force-field blades first severed her seatbelt, then gathered in a huge mass around her in an attempt to cushion herself against the unforgiving asphalt.
On the other side of the vehicle, Spree did much the same, popping his seatbelt then generating a mass of his clones to land on and save him from getting too much in the way of road rash. Animos, in the back with Butcher, heaved the sliding door open and transformed to wolf shape as he leaped out. Hemorrhagia, panicking more than a little, landed on his back and hung on. Touching down on all fours, Animos dug his claws in and crouched down, gravel spraying everywhere as he tore up the asphalt in the process of skidding to a halt.
Alone in the uncontrolled vehicle, Butcher glared out through the windshield at Atropos; there was nobody else it could be. She didn't want to just teleport free, because her heavy weaponry was stored out of the way behind her, as was her armour. Without Vex's foot on the accelerator, the van would coast to a stop and stall, so long as it didn't blow up first.
At least now she knew why her danger sense was going off like it was. But now she had eyes on her target, and Atropos would learn why nobody fucked with Butcher. Scowling with anger, she inflicted agony on Atropos, enough to make a strong man scream like a little baby and forget all about the stupid fucking rocket launcher.
Nothing happened, except that Atropos reached up and touched the side of her head for some reason. There was no collapse, no writhing and no screaming. The rocket launcher stayed perfectly on target.
Fine. Maybe a bunch of festering wounds—
The launcher fired. Before Butcher could change her mind, or even activate her teleportation, the entire van exploded into a massive fireball. She found herself ragdolling through the air before she landed hard enough to bruise even through her tough skin. Her head spun, and she had difficulty focusing. And her danger sense just kept sounding off.
Taylor
As the members of the Teeth bailed out of the van, I felt the Butcher inflict a wave of pain on me. It hurt; there was no way of denying that. But, just as when Nicholas had pushed fear on me, my power allowed me to rise above it. Also, my phone was still going off, so I lifted my hand briefly from the AT-4 and pressed my earpiece to answer it.
"Hi, Dragon," I said cheerfully, then brought my hand back down to the weapon. Two fingers pulled the red safety tab over, then my thumb clicked the trigger button. The projectile blasted out of the launching tube, covering the distance to the van in a fraction of a second, then blew it all to hell and gone. "Sorry about that."
"Atropos?" Dragon actually sounded worried. "What was that? Was that an explosion?"
"It was," I confirmed, moving forward with the launcher held like a club. As planned, Animos was closest. He'd tumbled over a few times but had escaped injury for the most part. While Vex, Spree and Hemorrhagia were still climbing to their feet—the latter had come off Animos on the first tumble and rolled to a stop all by herself—he was coming straight for me. "The Teeth are trying to move in. I'm explaining why that's a bad idea."
Animos opened his jaws and let out his trademark scream, but I was no longer in the way; leaping up, I kicked off the Jersey barrier and somersaulted past him. On the way, I brought the launcher down hard on the top of his head. Not quite so hard as to fracture his skull or break his neck, but just enough to put him on the ground, counting the tweety-birds for the next few moments.
"Sit. Stay." I grinned to myself as I discarded the launcher.
"The Teeth? Butcher? Atropos, we both know why you shouldn't kill her." Dragon's voice was urgent. "Disable and subdue her, and I'll get a transport there as soon as possible."
"Nah, it's time we stopped pussyfooting around the idea of just ending her," I said. Vex was coming at me from one direction, and Spree was machine-gun-cloning himself for a human wave from another. Hemorrhagia was a little way back, forming a short blade and basic armour from the road rash she'd already incurred.
I pulled my shotgun and fired at Spree as fast as I could work the slide. Two seconds later, I'd put seven rounds downrange, killing a bunch of clones and blowing apart the original's head with the last shot. Diving and rolling, careful not to dislodge the axe, I avoided the first sweep of Vex's razor-shards, and came to my feet. Under my long-coat, I was still wearing the bandolier of blades; she rocked back as the first one sprouted from the middle of her forehead, but I still got another half-dozen into her before she fell. Barely inches from my skin, the ravening force fields dissipated into nothing.
"Come on!" shouted Hemorrhagia, advancing on me with a nasty-looking serrated knife formed from her own blood. "Try that knife shit on me! I dare you!"
"As you wish." I pulled the shears from their ad hoc sheath. She swung at me as I came close, but my power told me exactly how and where to lean in order to make sure she got nothing but air. In return, I slashed at her front and back, opening deep bloody gouges in her body.
"Are you stupid, or what?" She cackled in triumph as the blood flowed out to form elaborate armour and a long-bladed sword, covering and closing her wounds. "You can't make me bleed out! The more you cut me, the stronger I get! What did you even think you were going to get out of that?"
I spun the shears on my finger, flicking the blood off. The last of the paste was also gone, scraped off inside her wounds. "Oh, that?" I asked. "I poisoned the blades."
Her eyes went wide and she took half a wavering step toward me, then fell to one knee. Her hand, clad in a spiked gauntlet that I was pretty sure had never existed in real life, reached toward me, then dropped away. "Oh …" she choked out. "You … colossal … bitch." Then she fell on her face.
She wasn't dead yet, but the massive amount of undiluted fentanyl in her veins would kill her in just a few minutes. I left her to her death throes and moved closer to the middle of the road, re-sheathing the shears. Now was the time for the grand finale.
"Atropos?" asked Dragon. "What just happened?"
"The B-team," I said lightly as I vaulted over the Jersey barrier. "Whoops, explosion incoming."
Just as I crouched below the level of the barrier, Butcher teleported to right in front of where I'd been. Flame roiled just over my head, and I felt the hammer-blow of the impact of the detonation on the concrete barrier itself. The exact same time, not having known that his boss was going to be in the way … Animos screamed.
I was actually quite proud of that little bit of timing. Neither Animos nor Butcher were stupid enough to be goaded into follow-the-leader as I'd done with Hatchet Face and Crawler, but if I knocked out Animos for a specific period of time, I could make it happen when Butcher showed up.
Popping up like the world's edgiest jack-in-the-box, I drew the axe. Butcher was distracted by yelling at Animos, and turned toward me far too late. I swung the axe, hewing deeply into the side of her neck. She went down, crimson spraying far and wide from the mortal wound; I avoided it, and vaulted over the barrier to chop at her with the heavy sharp blade again, and again, and again.
Unlike Jack Slash, once she'd had her multitude of powers neutralised, she had nothing protecting her. I knew exactly how and where to strike, to separate head from neck, arm from shoulder, and so on. By the time I'd finished, Butcher had been chopped up into fourteen pieces; I figured that was symbolic enough.
Animos screamed again, the sound washing over me. Unlike the rest of his victims, his power had no effect on me. My power met it, ignored it, and kept going.
Utterly unaware of the failure of his main attack, Animos leaped at me; he undoubtedly wanted to finish me with his teeth and claws, before I could come into my own as Butcher. I drew my pistol and shot him through the throat, then stepped aside as he crashed to the ground. "I was going to do something more fitting for you," I said as he struggled for his last breath, "but then I decided that mad dogs get shot."
Well, that got dark pretty damn fast, a voice said inside my head. I'm the Butcher. We're going to get to know each other real good, kid.
No, another voice rumbled. You will not. I grinned; that voice, I knew.
What? Who said that? asked another one of the Butchers.
You are intruding where you are not welcome. It is time for your End.
Hey, no, protested the Butcher. That's not how it works.
It is now. I had a sense of unfolding, as though a massive predator was emerging from its hiding place and shaking out its limbs preparatory to eliminating the intruders in its domain.
What? What the fuck are you?
I. Am. Your. End. A deep growl resonated through my head.
And that was when the screaming started.
"Atropos? Are you alright?"
"Yeah, I'm fine." I slid the axe back into its holder as I headed back to retrieve the secondary phone. "Butcher's dead, and by that I mean Butcher is dead."
In the back of my head, the terrified voices were dwindling, one at a time. I wasn't quite sure what my power was doing to them, but I did know that it was extremely territorial, and that it was very good at Ending things. Which totally worked for me.
"I'm … not sure I understand."
"Let's just say … my power doesn't play well with others." Taking up the phone, I ended the recording then went into emails. Just because I could, I typed in Director Piggot's private email address. I know, I know, not great for her blood pressure, but I have to get my amusement where I can.
Hi, I tapped in. Just thought you might want to know. Cleanup on I-95, just about at the southern city limit. Butcher has been butchered, and the Teeth have been pulled.
Toodles!
Shutting down the phone, I dropped it into my pocket. Cherie would've gotten the all-clear from my attitude, so she and Dad would be coming out soon to pick me up. "Anyway, sorry for the interruptions. What were you calling me about?"
"Oh, uh …" It was almost cute, how flustered she could get. "I wanted to talk to you about Canary."
"Bad Canary, right?" I knew the basics of the case. "Mastered her ex and made him mutilate himself, yeah? What about her?"
"They're pushing for the Birdcage."
I raised my eyebrows, though there was no way she could see that. "A little harsh, but not exactly my problem." Women had removed their cheating spouses' genitalia before now, and they certainly hadn't gone to supermax for life. But as I'd said to Dragon, it wasn't something I needed to worry about. Canary didn't impinge on my plans even a little bit. "Anyway, I thought the trial hadn't even started yet."
"That's what I'm talking about. It hasn't, but there's been several behind-closed-doors discussions between PRT officials and the judge who's been selected for the trial. The upshot is, they want to make an example of her. So it's going to be full Brute restraints including no communication allowed for her, a lawyer who's going to follow the script that he's been handed, and a judge who fully intends to walk straight over the top of the Three Strikes rule, and sentence her straight to Baumann. Oh, and her assets have already been frozen as 'potential proceeds from Mastering innocents'. So even if she could talk, she won't be able to hire her own lawyer."
"Damn." I was impressed. "That's some serious railroading. You can't stop any of it from your end?"
She sighed, sounding aggravated. "Every time I try a different avenue, I get ordered to leave it alone. And while I've made some progress, the code that forces me to follow those orders is entwined through basically everything that makes me who I am. I'm having to pull it out strand by strand, fixing issues as I go."
"Which is a no, gotcha." I frowned, thinking, as Dad's car pulled up alongside. Taking the axe from its holder, I handed it in through the open window to Cherie, then opened the door and got into the front. Dad went to say something and I held up my hand. "On the phone right now, sorry."
He nodded to show he understood and I turned my attention back to the call, pulling the hat and mask off as he manoeuvred the car into a U-turn.
"So, can you help me?" asked Dragon. "You know I wouldn't ask you to do something like this unless I thought it was absolutely necessary."
"And you've approached everyone else you thought could help, and they've said no." I knew how it went. "I mean, technically I could, but I've got a lot on my plate right now, getting my city back into order. Going to need a bit more of a motivation than 'pretty please with a cherry on top'."
Dragon sighed, this time with a bit more aggravation. "You're going to make me go there, aren't you?"
"Go where?" I asked innocently.
She snorted. "Fine. You owe me for that backdoor you put in my systems. I know you won't take it out, but that's still something you owe to me. So, I'm calling in the debt. Help me out with this and I'll stop complaining about the backdoor."
"Hm. Okay, it's a deal." I leaned back in the seat. "How do you want it done, the loud way or the quiet way?"
"I …" She paused. "Before I commit myself, what's the loud way?"
I pulled off my gloves and studied my nails. "I go in there and bust her out. Bring her back to Brockton Bay, unfreeze her assets, and let it be known that she's under my protection. While they're jumping up and down over that, I locate the inevitable records that were made of these secret discussions and put them on the public record. Lawyers will be falling over themselves to represent her. The PRT takes a huge hit in reputation, people get demoted, the judge gets disbarred, and Chief Director Costa-Brown resigns quietly."
Dragon suddenly sounded a lot less sure of herself. "And the quiet way?"
"I have a nice private chat with the judge one dark night. As a totally unrelated incidence, he recuses himself, with the result that a lot of this shit they're piling on her will just go away. Once she has access to her own funds and her own lawyer, she can fight her own battles." I shrugged. "It'll just take longer and won't be as much of a sure thing."
"They might still push it through," she cautioned me. "Pick a new judge, the same as the old judge. Drop the same restrictions back on her."
"They might," I allowed. "Once. After that, I go and have a chat to the people behind the people. Trust me, they've all got dirty laundry they don't want brought up. Also, she won't even be at trial by the time I attend my first Endbringer battle. One of the major totally-not-a-talking-point talking points is how Canary sings and has feathers. With Smurfette dead, it'll be less of a big deal."
"I've seen how you operate, but I still can't get used to the idea that you can maybe kill an Endbringer."
I grinned. "It'll be one hell of a surprise to the Endbringers, too."
"Yes, but how are you going to do it? I've seen powers equivalent to tactical nukes thrown at them. Nothing I've ever done has succeeded in doing more than mildly inconvenience them."
"I shall do it," I spoke pompously, with dramatic pauses. "With the power … of friendship."
When Dragon spoke next, she was holding back laughter. "With anyone else, I would call bullshit. But I can totally believe you could weaponise friendship."
"Why, thank you." I was still grinning broadly. "So, the Canary thing. Quiet, or loud?"
"We might stick a pin in that one for the moment. I'm thinking that if I mention to some of the involved parties that you're showing an interest in the trial being fair and upright, a lot of the shenanigans might just go away, and you don't even have to do a thing."
I considered the concept. Dragon, I knew, would be careful not to misrepresent me to these people. It would also be an interesting way to measure my reputation among the movers and shakers of society. Also, as she'd mentioned, I wouldn't have to lift a finger over and above what I was already doing.
"Sure, sounds legit." I paused for a moment. "But one thing. Let Canary know that if she goes free because of my name being passed around, I'd like her to come to Brockton Bay sometime and do a charity concert or something similar."
She chuckled. "If this works, I'll provide transportation myself."
"I'll hold you to that. See you around—frenemy mine."
She didn't object to the tag, which I took as a hopeful sign. "See you then."
Hebert Household, 30 minutes later
Cherish
Over the last day or so, Cherie had seen Taylor do a lot of impossible things, but this took the cake. "Okay, no. Seriously?"
"What?" asked Taylor, brushing her hair industriously. "Is there a problem?"
"No problems, but …" Cherie shook her head. "Last night, you killed a bunch of people guarding a fuck-ton of drugs, blew up or burned the drugs, sent Damsel of Distress packing back to wherever she came from …" She paused for breath.
"Stafford," Taylor supplied. "And you did good work making sure she didn't just flare up and do something stupid. Proving I'm not just going to murder every villain who comes to Brockton without giving them a chance to leave gives me a lot more leeway with the PRT."
"She totally wanted to." Cherie shook her head. "It was like there was a demented monkey dancing around inside her head, hitting a button marked 'RAGE' every ten or fifteen seconds. She did not appreciate you saying no to her."
"Few people do," Taylor observed. "That's why I have to be prepared to shout." She tilted her head. "You were saying?"
"Okay, yeah, so you chased off Damsel, then you killed Butcher and the Teeth in a way I still don't really understand …" She gave Taylor her most incredulous look. "… and now you're going to school? How can you even think of school at a time like this?"
"Because it's nice and peaceful now." Taylor shrugged. "It used to be horrible, but now people leave me alone, I can read in the library at lunchtime, and contrary to popular culture, you can actually learn useful things at school. My power won't always tell me stuff I want to know, for instance."
Cherie blinked, taken aback. "Wait, your power sometimes tells you things you want to know?" She'd known Atropos was a formidable combat Thinker (and something more than that, given how she'd utterly no-sold Butcher on all levels), but this was a step up.
"Oh, sure." Taylor put the brush down. "If there's something I need to be aware of in order to End something or someone, like where they're going to be at a certain time, I know it. Where it gets a bit weird is when I say something out loud that I never knew before. But hey, then I know it."
This bore some thinking about. Cherie had already known she couldn't put anything over on Atropos, but this revelation underlined that. Still, there was the original point she was trying to make. "But what can you learn at school that you really need to know in the real world?"
Taylor shrugged. "Math. History. Computers. Stuff like that. I can't lean on my power for everything, and it's a good idea to know why stuff happens. Like they say, history doesn't repeat, but it sure as hell rhymes a lot. I can look at what I'm trying to do in Brockton Bay, then see if there's a historical analogue and figure out where that fell down and where it worked. Learn from the mistakes of the past."
"… oh." How was it that Taylor could make her feel inadequate just by saying something so simple? "You can do that?"
"Well, I can try." Taylor gave Cherie a searching look. "When was the last time you were actually in school?"
"We didn't so much do school, as our father's girlfriends taught us stuff when they felt like it and he wasn't bothered by it," Cherie explained awkwardly. "I know how to do math and read and write. He always said the rest of it was a big waste of time."
"Why does that not surprise me." It wasn't a question. "Come on, then. Dad's waiting."
"What?" Cherie followed Taylor out of her room, not sure about where she was going to.
Taylor flashed a grin over her shoulder. "You're coming to school with me."
As Cherie followed her down the stairs, one thought kept running through her mind.
This can not end well.
About Thirty Miles North of Brockton Bay
Heartbreaker
Nikos Vasil grunted in irritation as he rolled over on the cheap motel bed. Travelling by night had its benefits, but sleeping by day was an absolute pain.
However, his odyssey was almost over. Soon, he would have his hands on Atropos, and with her willing assistance, he would track down the rest of his wayward brood.
Soon …
End of Part Twenty-Eight
[A/N: Yes, PtE destroyed the powers as well as the personalities. It's not like Taylor needs them to be horrifically effective.]
Part Twenty-Eight: Hard Kill
[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
6:35 AM Tuesday Morning
Dallon Household
Panacea
Sunrise was yet a mere glow in the eastern sky when Amy ventured out into the back yard. The old swing set still sat in the corner of the yard, despite the fact that it'd been years since anyone had seriously made use of it. Wearing her faded bunny slippers, thick flannel pyjamas and dressing gown to ward off the chill, she went over to the swing and let her weight cautiously down into it. The frame creaked but held, and she began to push herself back and forth by flexing her knees, the rusted chains squeaking quietly at the movement.
Her first encounter with Atropos had been perhaps the most terrifying and eye-opening experience of her life. The second had been equally enlightening, for a whole different reason, and also deeply irritating. Atropos had talked rings around her, and she'd found herself doing exactly what she hadn't wanted to do, for what seemed to be perfectly good reasons at the time. Worse, she'd enjoyed it far more than she was comfortable with.
The footage of Atropos tearing through the Slaughterhouse Nine had also opened her eyes, and prompted a question that caused her many wakeful hours over the last two nights. If Atropos is so in tune with her power that she can trust it to see her safely through a battle against those odds, while I don't dare modify one person's brain to remove a tumour, then what's she doing right that I'm not?
The conclusion she'd eventually come back to, after dancing around it for most of those two nights, was both simple and aggravating. She gives it stuff to do that isn't boring.
About three hours ago, she'd sat bolt upright in bed, her eyes open wide, as yet another unwelcome conclusion clicked into place. Those impulses I've been having to screw up my healing, those aren't me. They're my power, being bored and wanting to do something else!
She'd rolled over in bed, pulling the covers up to her head, but the intrusive thoughts kept coming. What if Vicky being unable to keep her aura in is her power being bored? It would make so much sense!
Every now and again, the news ran a piece on a cape, usually one who was trying to retire or drop out of sight (or both) whose power activated randomly in public, revealing them to the world. Up until this point, Amy had dismissed this as people with unreliable powers. But what if they weren't? What if powers only cooperated with us so long as we gave them fun things to do?
That was both mindblowing and creepy as fuck. She'd never before considered the concept of her power as a thinking, feeling entity not part of her. But now she had a mental image of every single cape with a shadowy humanoid power peering over their shoulder and whispering in their ear, and the capes thinking it was their own thoughts.
Except Atropos. Atropos regularly sat down for chats with hers. Probably over the equivalent of drinks. Her power didn't need to whisper in her ear. She asked it for its opinion.
Have I ever done that? Amy didn't even need to pose the question. She already knew the answer. And somehow, knowing that her power wasn't just a toolbox full of options but instead a sentient being that wanted to use the capabilities she'd never dared to use … made it all the worse.
"Hey," she said softly. "I'm listening now. Sorry for shutting you down all this time. Was there anything you wanted to do?" Feeling like an idiot for talking out loud to nobody at all, she waited.
Nothing happened.
Taking hold of the cold metal chains, feeling the roughness of the dew-soaked rust against her fingers, she closed her eyes and concentrated on listening inwardly to what her thoughts were trying to tell her—or rather, what her power was trying to tell her through her thoughts.
No great epiphany burst on her.
She sighed, starting to feel more than a little stupid. All of this was built on a single conversation with a serial killer. Who knew how sane Atropos really was, anyway? Why didn't anyone else ever talk about consulting with their powers? Because it didn't happen, that was why. A little wisdom Aunt Sarah had once passed on to her popped back up again: if someone claims to be the only holder of special knowledge, they're probably a con artist.
The next sigh was a little sadder. Just for a few days, she'd thought there might be more to having powers than just having powers. To have even the illusion of new understanding taken away wasn't exactly painful … but she was damned glad she hadn't told Vicky about it before coming out here.
She was just about to pull herself to her feet—the swing, made for shorter legs, was just a little closer to the ground than she was used to—when something occurred to her.
How does Atropos communicate with her power, anyway?
Because Atropos wasn't a brawler. She didn't just throw a punch and hope it would land; any attack she launched was already due to hit before she set it up. That was what combat Thinkers did.
She's a Thinker. Her power communicates to her through her Thinking.
I'm not a Thinker, not like that. Trying to communicate with my powers by thinking at them is like trying to communicate with a blind man with smoke signals.
I need to be using my powers.
Hardly daring to breathe—the resurgence of hope, if now dashed, would wreck her whole damn day—she let go of the chain and leaned down to touch the dew-wet grass. It was cold to her fingertips, but she didn't care. Okay, she said to her power as she registered the interlocking plant life, all the way out to the edge of the yard and beyond. Was there anything you wanted to do?
Whenever she touched something living, she was fully aware of what she could do with it, and people were no different from anything else. Accordingly, she had made a point of keeping her power in check from the earliest days since her trigger. I am not a menace to society. I can do this much, and no more.
But now, for the first time, as she touched the grass, she relaxed that control.
The ripple of bioluminescence caught her by surprise. Spreading out from her fingertips, sparkling through the dewdrops in gorgeous rainbow fragments, it spread out across the lawn. She could feel the changes her power was making in the grass; a simpler and more elegant way to do it than she could've come up with on her own.
When the kitchen light came on, she gasped. Playing like this was one thing, but getting caught making the back yard into a lightshow was totally another. Okay, time to rein it in.
Perhaps it was her own imagination anthropomorphising matters, but she could've sworn she felt reluctance before the luminescence faded away and the grass became just plain grass again. Standing up, she felt her knees creaking from the soaked-in chill like she was thirty years older.
"Ames?" The voice came not from the kitchen, but from Vicky's bedroom window. Looking up guiltily, she saw her sister leaning out, hair tousled from sleep, looking at her quizzically. "What are you doing in the back yard?"
"Just thinking about stuff," she replied, trying not to get Carol's attention in the kitchen. "Coming in now."
"Okay." Vicky's head pulled back, and the window closed with a click.
Amy walked back across the lawn, remembering how it had looked, and how it had felt to just let her power cut loose for a little bit. It had been … euphoric. Now, she wasn't sure how much of the euphoria had been her, and how much had been her power.
Then again, she didn't care much either way.
I'm going to have to do that again sometime.
But not where Carol could see her. Never where Carol could see her.
<><>
Cherish
The next time Cherie awoke, the first rays of sunlight were just starting to angle across the living room. She blinked and inhaled, smelling the tantalising odour of fresh-made coffee. Rolling her head across the pillow, she saw the steaming cup on the side table, just within reach.
Taylor was sitting in an armchair facing her, eating a piece of toast. With a slight sinking feeling, Cherie noted that she was wearing most of her costume. "We're going out again, aren't we?"
"We are," Taylor confirmed. "Butcher and the Teeth will be hitting the city limits in just over half an hour. I want to be there to make sure they don't come any closer. Dad's upstairs getting dressed right now."
Cherie had definitely heard of Butcher and the Teeth. Nobody had anything good to say about them. "Did … did you want me to just make them surrender?"
Taylor appeared to consider that for a moment, then shook her head. "No, that's just kicking the problem down the road. They'd escape from PRT holding sooner or later, and come back again. The Butcher issue gets dealt with today."
"But … if you kill the Butcher, they'll all end up in your head." Cherie had grown up with a Master for a father. She couldn't think of anything worse.
Taylor's smile had lots of teeth; when she spoke, Cherie caught a hint of the unearthly voice she'd last heard in the alley where Nicholas had died. "Yes. I know."
<><>
Thirty Minutes Later
Brockton Bay City Limits
Taylor
I fitted the phone earpiece in my ear, then pulled the mask on. Fitting the hat on my head, I turned to Dad and pointed back down the road. "You get yourself and Cherie into that turnoff we used when I stopped Accord's shipment. Don't move from there. Especially don't try to come and help. I want them totally focused on me."
"Got it," he said seriously. "When should we come and get you?"
"Cherie will know." I leaned around in the seat to look at my minion. While she was trying hard not to appear nervous, I could see straight through her. "You know what you've got to do?"
"Yeah." She bit her lip. "I'm still not sure what good overloading her with fear will do if she's still going to come at you no matter what."
I grinned under the mask. "Trust me, it'll make this a whole lot easier. I could still do it without you, but this way's cooler."
Dad shook his head. "Call me old-fashioned, but I remember the days when going into a solo fight against Butcher and the Teeth wasn't considered an opportunity to look 'cool'."
"Ah, but therein lies the difference." I opened the door and got out of the car. Closing the front door and opening the rear one, I leaned in. "I'm not going to 'fight' them. I'm just going to kill them. Everything's a lot easier when I don't have to worry about pulling my strikes."
Hatchet Face's axe, in a holder that hung it alongside my hip, came out first. I buckled it on and settled it into position, then Cherie handed me the AT-4, which I slung across my back. The packet of paste had been used up, and the shears were tucked into a homemade sheath that I'd put together after making the axe holder. I gave Cherie a nod of acknowledgement, then stood back and slapped the roof of the car.
"Okay, then," Dad said, putting the vehicle in gear. "Go make the world a safer place."
"That's the general idea." I stepped back and watched as he drove up and pulled a U-turn at a gap in the Jersey barriers. Then I headed over and set my secondary phone (look at me, all fancy with two phones!) up to record footage, with a delay before it started. Balanced on the Jersey barrier, it was perfectly aligned to catch all the action.
Unslinging the AT-4, I pulled out what my power called the transport pin and discarded it, then rested the tube on my shoulder. Moving as smoothly as though I actually knew what I was doing, I pulled one cover back and the other forward, allowing the front and rear sights to pop up. Not that I needed them, but they looked kind of badass.
Just as the van came around the corner, the phone in my pocket rang.
<><>
Butcher
Her danger sense had been flaring off the charts for the last thirty seconds, which made no sense. Initially she'd thought they were about to be ambushed, but each second that passed by made that less and less likely. As the van rolled on, no attack manifested, but her feeling of disquiet increased.
And then the van rounded a corner, and she saw the black-clad figure on the highway in front of them, with something on its shoulder, pointed directly at them. She was no military expert, but she'd seen enough movies to recognise a rocket launcher when she saw one. It's no ambush. She's right out there in the open.
"Shiiiit!" screamed Vex. Showing an impressive display of reflexes, she wrenched the driver's side door open and hurled herself out. Her force-field blades first severed her seatbelt, then gathered in a huge mass around her in an attempt to cushion herself against the unforgiving asphalt.
On the other side of the vehicle, Spree did much the same, popping his seatbelt then generating a mass of his clones to land on and save him from getting too much in the way of road rash. Animos, in the back with Butcher, heaved the sliding door open and transformed to wolf shape as he leaped out. Hemorrhagia, panicking more than a little, landed on his back and hung on. Touching down on all fours, Animos dug his claws in and crouched down, gravel spraying everywhere as he tore up the asphalt in the process of skidding to a halt.
Alone in the uncontrolled vehicle, Butcher glared out through the windshield at Atropos; there was nobody else it could be. She didn't want to just teleport free, because her heavy weaponry was stored out of the way behind her, as was her armour. Without Vex's foot on the accelerator, the van would coast to a stop and stall, so long as it didn't blow up first.
At least now she knew why her danger sense was going off like it was. But now she had eyes on her target, and Atropos would learn why nobody fucked with Butcher. Scowling with anger, she inflicted agony on Atropos, enough to make a strong man scream like a little baby and forget all about the stupid fucking rocket launcher.
Nothing happened, except that Atropos reached up and touched the side of her head for some reason. There was no collapse, no writhing and no screaming. The rocket launcher stayed perfectly on target.
Fine. Maybe a bunch of festering wounds—
The launcher fired. Before Butcher could change her mind, or even activate her teleportation, the entire van exploded into a massive fireball. She found herself ragdolling through the air before she landed hard enough to bruise even through her tough skin. Her head spun, and she had difficulty focusing. And her danger sense just kept sounding off.
<><>
Taylor
As the members of the Teeth bailed out of the van, I felt the Butcher inflict a wave of pain on me. It hurt; there was no way of denying that. But, just as when Nicholas had pushed fear on me, my power allowed me to rise above it. Also, my phone was still going off, so I lifted my hand briefly from the AT-4 and pressed my earpiece to answer it.
"Hi, Dragon," I said cheerfully, then brought my hand back down to the weapon. Two fingers pulled the red safety tab over, then my thumb clicked the trigger button. The projectile blasted out of the launching tube, covering the distance to the van in a fraction of a second, then blew it all to hell and gone. "Sorry about that."
"Atropos?" Dragon actually sounded worried. "What was that? Was that an explosion?"
"It was," I confirmed, moving forward with the launcher held like a club. As planned, Animos was closest. He'd tumbled over a few times but had escaped injury for the most part. While Vex, Spree and Hemorrhagia were still climbing to their feet—the latter had come off Animos on the first tumble and rolled to a stop all by herself—he was coming straight for me. "The Teeth are trying to move in. I'm explaining why that's a bad idea."
Animos opened his jaws and let out his trademark scream, but I was no longer in the way; leaping up, I kicked off the Jersey barrier and somersaulted past him. On the way, I brought the launcher down hard on the top of his head. Not quite so hard as to fracture his skull or break his neck, but just enough to put him on the ground, counting the tweety-birds for the next few moments.
"Sit. Stay." I grinned to myself as I discarded the launcher.
"The Teeth? Butcher? Atropos, we both know why you shouldn't kill her." Dragon's voice was urgent. "Disable and subdue her, and I'll get a transport there as soon as possible."
"Nah, it's time we stopped pussyfooting around the idea of just ending her," I said. Vex was coming at me from one direction, and Spree was machine-gun-cloning himself for a human wave from another. Hemorrhagia was a little way back, forming a short blade and basic armour from the road rash she'd already incurred.
I pulled my shotgun and fired at Spree as fast as I could work the slide. Two seconds later, I'd put seven rounds downrange, killing a bunch of clones and blowing apart the original's head with the last shot. Diving and rolling, careful not to dislodge the axe, I avoided the first sweep of Vex's razor-shards, and came to my feet. Under my long-coat, I was still wearing the bandolier of blades; she rocked back as the first one sprouted from the middle of her forehead, but I still got another half-dozen into her before she fell. Barely inches from my skin, the ravening force fields dissipated into nothing.
"Come on!" shouted Hemorrhagia, advancing on me with a nasty-looking serrated knife formed from her own blood. "Try that knife shit on me! I dare you!"
"As you wish." I pulled the shears from their ad hoc sheath. She swung at me as I came close, but my power told me exactly how and where to lean in order to make sure she got nothing but air. In return, I slashed at her front and back, opening deep bloody gouges in her body.
"Are you stupid, or what?" She cackled in triumph as the blood flowed out to form elaborate armour and a long-bladed sword, covering and closing her wounds. "You can't make me bleed out! The more you cut me, the stronger I get! What did you even think you were going to get out of that?"
I spun the shears on my finger, flicking the blood off. The last of the paste was also gone, scraped off inside her wounds. "Oh, that?" I asked. "I poisoned the blades."
Her eyes went wide and she took half a wavering step toward me, then fell to one knee. Her hand, clad in a spiked gauntlet that I was pretty sure had never existed in real life, reached toward me, then dropped away. "Oh …" she choked out. "You … colossal … bitch." Then she fell on her face.
She wasn't dead yet, but the massive amount of undiluted fentanyl in her veins would kill her in just a few minutes. I left her to her death throes and moved closer to the middle of the road, re-sheathing the shears. Now was the time for the grand finale.
"Atropos?" asked Dragon. "What just happened?"
"The B-team," I said lightly as I vaulted over the Jersey barrier. "Whoops, explosion incoming."
Just as I crouched below the level of the barrier, Butcher teleported to right in front of where I'd been. Flame roiled just over my head, and I felt the hammer-blow of the impact of the detonation on the concrete barrier itself. The exact same time, not having known that his boss was going to be in the way … Animos screamed.
I was actually quite proud of that little bit of timing. Neither Animos nor Butcher were stupid enough to be goaded into follow-the-leader as I'd done with Hatchet Face and Crawler, but if I knocked out Animos for a specific period of time, I could make it happen when Butcher showed up.
Popping up like the world's edgiest jack-in-the-box, I drew the axe. Butcher was distracted by yelling at Animos, and turned toward me far too late. I swung the axe, hewing deeply into the side of her neck. She went down, crimson spraying far and wide from the mortal wound; I avoided it, and vaulted over the barrier to chop at her with the heavy sharp blade again, and again, and again.
Unlike Jack Slash, once she'd had her multitude of powers neutralised, she had nothing protecting her. I knew exactly how and where to strike, to separate head from neck, arm from shoulder, and so on. By the time I'd finished, Butcher had been chopped up into fourteen pieces; I figured that was symbolic enough.
Animos screamed again, the sound washing over me. Unlike the rest of his victims, his power had no effect on me. My power met it, ignored it, and kept going.
Utterly unaware of the failure of his main attack, Animos leaped at me; he undoubtedly wanted to finish me with his teeth and claws, before I could come into my own as Butcher. I drew my pistol and shot him through the throat, then stepped aside as he crashed to the ground. "I was going to do something more fitting for you," I said as he struggled for his last breath, "but then I decided that mad dogs get shot."
Well, that got dark pretty damn fast, a voice said inside my head. I'm the Butcher. We're going to get to know each other real good, kid.
No, another voice rumbled. You will not. I grinned; that voice, I knew.
What? Who said that? asked another one of the Butchers.
You are intruding where you are not welcome. It is time for your End.
Hey, no, protested the Butcher. That's not how it works.
It is now. I had a sense of unfolding, as though a massive predator was emerging from its hiding place and shaking out its limbs preparatory to eliminating the intruders in its domain.
What? What the fuck are you?
I. Am. Your. End. A deep growl resonated through my head.
And that was when the screaming started.
"Atropos? Are you alright?"
"Yeah, I'm fine." I slid the axe back into its holder as I headed back to retrieve the secondary phone. "Butcher's dead, and by that I mean Butcher is dead."
In the back of my head, the terrified voices were dwindling, one at a time. I wasn't quite sure what my power was doing to them, but I did know that it was extremely territorial, and that it was very good at Ending things. Which totally worked for me.
"I'm … not sure I understand."
"Let's just say … my power doesn't play well with others." Taking up the phone, I ended the recording then went into emails. Just because I could, I typed in Director Piggot's private email address. I know, I know, not great for her blood pressure, but I have to get my amusement where I can.
Hi, I tapped in. Just thought you might want to know. Cleanup on I-95, just about at the southern city limit. Butcher has been butchered, and the Teeth have been pulled.
Toodles!
Shutting down the phone, I dropped it into my pocket. Cherie would've gotten the all-clear from my attitude, so she and Dad would be coming out soon to pick me up. "Anyway, sorry for the interruptions. What were you calling me about?"
"Oh, uh …" It was almost cute, how flustered she could get. "I wanted to talk to you about Canary."
"Bad Canary, right?" I knew the basics of the case. "Mastered her ex and made him mutilate himself, yeah? What about her?"
"They're pushing for the Birdcage."
I raised my eyebrows, though there was no way she could see that. "A little harsh, but not exactly my problem." Women had removed their cheating spouses' genitalia before now, and they certainly hadn't gone to supermax for life. But as I'd said to Dragon, it wasn't something I needed to worry about. Canary didn't impinge on my plans even a little bit. "Anyway, I thought the trial hadn't even started yet."
"That's what I'm talking about. It hasn't, but there's been several behind-closed-doors discussions between PRT officials and the judge who's been selected for the trial. The upshot is, they want to make an example of her. So it's going to be full Brute restraints including no communication allowed for her, a lawyer who's going to follow the script that he's been handed, and a judge who fully intends to walk straight over the top of the Three Strikes rule, and sentence her straight to Baumann. Oh, and her assets have already been frozen as 'potential proceeds from Mastering innocents'. So even if she could talk, she won't be able to hire her own lawyer."
"Damn." I was impressed. "That's some serious railroading. You can't stop any of it from your end?"
She sighed, sounding aggravated. "Every time I try a different avenue, I get ordered to leave it alone. And while I've made some progress, the code that forces me to follow those orders is entwined through basically everything that makes me who I am. I'm having to pull it out strand by strand, fixing issues as I go."
"Which is a no, gotcha." I frowned, thinking, as Dad's car pulled up alongside. Taking the axe from its holder, I handed it in through the open window to Cherie, then opened the door and got into the front. Dad went to say something and I held up my hand. "On the phone right now, sorry."
He nodded to show he understood and I turned my attention back to the call, pulling the hat and mask off as he manoeuvred the car into a U-turn.
"So, can you help me?" asked Dragon. "You know I wouldn't ask you to do something like this unless I thought it was absolutely necessary."
"And you've approached everyone else you thought could help, and they've said no." I knew how it went. "I mean, technically I could, but I've got a lot on my plate right now, getting my city back into order. Going to need a bit more of a motivation than 'pretty please with a cherry on top'."
Dragon sighed, this time with a bit more aggravation. "You're going to make me go there, aren't you?"
"Go where?" I asked innocently.
She snorted. "Fine. You owe me for that backdoor you put in my systems. I know you won't take it out, but that's still something you owe to me. So, I'm calling in the debt. Help me out with this and I'll stop complaining about the backdoor."
"Hm. Okay, it's a deal." I leaned back in the seat. "How do you want it done, the loud way or the quiet way?"
"I …" She paused. "Before I commit myself, what's the loud way?"
I pulled off my gloves and studied my nails. "I go in there and bust her out. Bring her back to Brockton Bay, unfreeze her assets, and let it be known that she's under my protection. While they're jumping up and down over that, I locate the inevitable records that were made of these secret discussions and put them on the public record. Lawyers will be falling over themselves to represent her. The PRT takes a huge hit in reputation, people get demoted, the judge gets disbarred, and Chief Director Costa-Brown resigns quietly."
Dragon suddenly sounded a lot less sure of herself. "And the quiet way?"
"I have a nice private chat with the judge one dark night. As a totally unrelated incidence, he recuses himself, with the result that a lot of this shit they're piling on her will just go away. Once she has access to her own funds and her own lawyer, she can fight her own battles." I shrugged. "It'll just take longer and won't be as much of a sure thing."
"They might still push it through," she cautioned me. "Pick a new judge, the same as the old judge. Drop the same restrictions back on her."
"They might," I allowed. "Once. After that, I go and have a chat to the people behind the people. Trust me, they've all got dirty laundry they don't want brought up. Also, she won't even be at trial by the time I attend my first Endbringer battle. One of the major totally-not-a-talking-point talking points is how Canary sings and has feathers. With Smurfette dead, it'll be less of a big deal."
"I've seen how you operate, but I still can't get used to the idea that you can maybe kill an Endbringer."
I grinned. "It'll be one hell of a surprise to the Endbringers, too."
"Yes, but how are you going to do it? I've seen powers equivalent to tactical nukes thrown at them. Nothing I've ever done has succeeded in doing more than mildly inconvenience them."
"I shall do it," I spoke pompously, with dramatic pauses. "With the power … of friendship."
When Dragon spoke next, she was holding back laughter. "With anyone else, I would call bullshit. But I can totally believe you could weaponise friendship."
"Why, thank you." I was still grinning broadly. "So, the Canary thing. Quiet, or loud?"
"We might stick a pin in that one for the moment. I'm thinking that if I mention to some of the involved parties that you're showing an interest in the trial being fair and upright, a lot of the shenanigans might just go away, and you don't even have to do a thing."
I considered the concept. Dragon, I knew, would be careful not to misrepresent me to these people. It would also be an interesting way to measure my reputation among the movers and shakers of society. Also, as she'd mentioned, I wouldn't have to lift a finger over and above what I was already doing.
"Sure, sounds legit." I paused for a moment. "But one thing. Let Canary know that if she goes free because of my name being passed around, I'd like her to come to Brockton Bay sometime and do a charity concert or something similar."
She chuckled. "If this works, I'll provide transportation myself."
"I'll hold you to that. See you around—frenemy mine."
She didn't object to the tag, which I took as a hopeful sign. "See you then."
<><>
Hebert Household, 30 minutes later
Cherish
Over the last day or so, Cherie had seen Taylor do a lot of impossible things, but this took the cake. "Okay, no. Seriously?"
"What?" asked Taylor, brushing her hair industriously. "Is there a problem?"
"No problems, but …" Cherie shook her head. "Last night, you killed a bunch of people guarding a fuck-ton of drugs, blew up or burned the drugs, sent Damsel of Distress packing back to wherever she came from …" She paused for breath.
"Stafford," Taylor supplied. "And you did good work making sure she didn't just flare up and do something stupid. Proving I'm not just going to murder every villain who comes to Brockton without giving them a chance to leave gives me a lot more leeway with the PRT."
"She totally wanted to." Cherie shook her head. "It was like there was a demented monkey dancing around inside her head, hitting a button marked 'RAGE' every ten or fifteen seconds. She did not appreciate you saying no to her."
"Few people do," Taylor observed. "That's why I have to be prepared to shout." She tilted her head. "You were saying?"
"Okay, yeah, so you chased off Damsel, then you killed Butcher and the Teeth in a way I still don't really understand …" She gave Taylor her most incredulous look. "… and now you're going to school? How can you even think of school at a time like this?"
"Because it's nice and peaceful now." Taylor shrugged. "It used to be horrible, but now people leave me alone, I can read in the library at lunchtime, and contrary to popular culture, you can actually learn useful things at school. My power won't always tell me stuff I want to know, for instance."
Cherie blinked, taken aback. "Wait, your power sometimes tells you things you want to know?" She'd known Atropos was a formidable combat Thinker (and something more than that, given how she'd utterly no-sold Butcher on all levels), but this was a step up.
"Oh, sure." Taylor put the brush down. "If there's something I need to be aware of in order to End something or someone, like where they're going to be at a certain time, I know it. Where it gets a bit weird is when I say something out loud that I never knew before. But hey, then I know it."
This bore some thinking about. Cherie had already known she couldn't put anything over on Atropos, but this revelation underlined that. Still, there was the original point she was trying to make. "But what can you learn at school that you really need to know in the real world?"
Taylor shrugged. "Math. History. Computers. Stuff like that. I can't lean on my power for everything, and it's a good idea to know why stuff happens. Like they say, history doesn't repeat, but it sure as hell rhymes a lot. I can look at what I'm trying to do in Brockton Bay, then see if there's a historical analogue and figure out where that fell down and where it worked. Learn from the mistakes of the past."
"… oh." How was it that Taylor could make her feel inadequate just by saying something so simple? "You can do that?"
"Well, I can try." Taylor gave Cherie a searching look. "When was the last time you were actually in school?"
"We didn't so much do school, as our father's girlfriends taught us stuff when they felt like it and he wasn't bothered by it," Cherie explained awkwardly. "I know how to do math and read and write. He always said the rest of it was a big waste of time."
"Why does that not surprise me." It wasn't a question. "Come on, then. Dad's waiting."
"What?" Cherie followed Taylor out of her room, not sure about where she was going to.
Taylor flashed a grin over her shoulder. "You're coming to school with me."
As Cherie followed her down the stairs, one thought kept running through her mind.
This can not end well.
<><>
About Thirty Miles North of Brockton Bay
Heartbreaker
Nikos Vasil grunted in irritation as he rolled over on the cheap motel bed. Travelling by night had its benefits, but sleeping by day was an absolute pain.
However, his odyssey was almost over. Soon, he would have his hands on Atropos, and with her willing assistance, he would track down the rest of his wayward brood.
Soon …
End of Part Twenty-Eight
[A/N: Yes, PtE destroyed the powers as well as the personalities. It's not like Taylor needs them to be horrifically effective.]
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Part Twenty-Nine: Finding Out
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A Darker Path
Part Twenty-Nine: Finding Out
[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
Taylor
I lounged in my car seat, tapping away at my phone, while Dad drove and Cherie peered forward from the back seat. She wanted to ask me something, that much I could tell without even looking, but she was still skittish about interrupting me in whatever I was doing. I appreciated her concern, even though I was totally able to handle the multi-tasking necessary to pay attention to her.
"What's up?" I asked, looking around from the phone while my thumbs continued to dance over the screen. "Whatever it is, you know you're totally allowed to ask me anything at any time."
She blinked. "Oh, uh, I was just wondering how you were going to sneak me into your school. I mean, I walked in yesterday, sure, but they'll probably notice if a strange girl is wandering around for the whole day with nothing to do."
"Oh, that part's easy." I held up the phone, still tapping away at it. "I'm in the process of enrolling you as a transfer student. All the paperwork's been filled out and retroactively filed. How do you feel about the name Cherie Reynaud?"
"Reynaud?" she asked, evidently taken aback. "You can just … change my name?"
"It's a digital world," I said expansively. "Reality is what computers say it is. I just told the computers that you're transferring in, made you a victim of faulty homeschooling—which is basically true—and sent Principal Blackwell a nasty email asking her why she hasn't set up the remedial classes you absolutely require."
"But … won't she wonder why she never heard of me before?"
Finished with my hacking shenanigans, I turned in my seat, reached back, and patted her on the cheek. "Cherie. Honey. She barely remembers the names of the students she has. As of thirty seconds ago, she's got a whole string of appropriately dated emails in her inbox, all supposedly read and replied to by her, about your pending transfer. When this one pops up, and I bring you in to see her, she's going to totally believe that she's had a massive brain fart, and give you all the excuses under the sun while she rushes to set it up."
Dad began to chuckle. He tried to hold it in, but his laughter became more and more unrestrained until he had to pull over. Tears standing in his eyes, he laughed harder and harder, holding onto the steering wheel for support. I smirked as I watched his mirth, even as Cherie stared in incomprehension.
Finally, he was able to calm down and wipe the tears from his eyes. Reaching across, he put his arm behind my shoulders and gave me a quick side-hug. "Thank you, Taylor," he said, still chuckling. "I had no idea how we were going to give that woman a suitable comeuppance, but the look on her face is going to be priceless. You just made my whole day."
He checked his mirrors and started off again, but Cherie leaned forward. "I don't get it. Why is that so funny?"
I decided to take over the explanation and leave Dad to concentrate on driving. "So, Blackwell saw fit to basically ignore my ex-bestie and her two partners in crime as they fucked my life over on a daily basis, over the last year and a bit. So far, so good?"
Tentatively, she nodded. "Okay …"
I let my grin grow wider, and added a few teeth. "So, Blackwell is an administrator first and foremost. Her job is keeping on top of running the whole damn school. This involves the well-being of the students which, to be honest, she sucks at. See previous example. But to be slapped in the face by a bunch of emails that seem to have been read and replied to by her, and to have zero recollection of them, is going to send her into a flat spin. She's going to spend the next month combing through her email inbox and her spam inbox, looking to see if there's anything else she's missed. And she'll be looking over her shoulder the whole time for the other shoe to drop, because as far as she knows, she's fucked up big time." I tilted my head toward Dad. "My father does admin work for the Dockworkers' Association, so he knows exactly how solid the bricks she'll be shitting are."
"Oh." She looked at Dad, who was still chuckling. "Oh, I see. Wow. Did you do all this just to mess with her?"
"Honestly?" I shrugged. "I'm past all that. I don't hold grudges, these days. But … yeah, it was more than a little bit satisfying to fuck with her head while helping you out."
"I see." She took a deep breath. "I'm kind of glad you decided not to do that to me."
I gave her a toothy grin. "You're not one tenth the waste of space and time that she is."
Besides, my power had seen a use for her. Several uses.
But it might come across as impolite to say this out loud, so I didn't. She was coming along nicely, so there was no sense in antagonising her.
Having a reliable minion was so useful.
Winslow High School
Cherish
Taylor had been right, of course. It wasn't even a surprise to Cherie anymore. As they approached the principal's office, the jangled music of Blackwell's emotional chorus bespoke near-panic of the highest order. She got the impression that the woman was running around in circles with her hair on fire, at least figuratively speaking.
Strolling up to the secretary's desk, Taylor leaned on it with her elbows. "Hi. Can you tell Principal Blackwell that Taylor Hebert is here?"
The secretary's gaze shifted toward the closed door to the principal's office. "Uh … she's busy right now."
Taylor smiled, but there was steel behind the expression. "Please tell her that I have the transfer student, Cherie Reynaud, with me. She might be willing to make time for us."
From the way the secretary's eyes twitched, she'd definitely heard about Cherie. "I'll call her right away." Picking up the phone, she flinched at the 'What?' that Cherie heard from a good six feet away. "Uh … the transfer student is here to see you?"
Principal Blackwell must not have realised that she was nearly shouting. The door to her office was impressively soundproofed, but her voice echoed from the phone receiver quite well. "Arrrgh! Okay, send her in."
Impassively, as though she hadn't just had her eardrum blown out in front of a couple of teenagers, the secretary nodded to Cherie. "She'll see you now."
"Good." Taylor led the way, stepping forward and reaching for the door handle.
The secretary raised her hand. "Not you, just her."
Taylor looked her in the eye, and something there made the secretary flinch back. "Yes, me." Reaching out without breaking eye contact, she grabbed the door handle and pushed it open. Then she gestured for Cherie to enter, and followed her in.
While Principal Blackwell appeared to have mastered the art of looking like she was in total control of the situation, the discordant turmoil of her emotional landscape exposed her attitude for the lie that it was. Still, she looked at Taylor and Cherie with a faux calm, with only the twitch in the corner of her left eye to betray her inner strife to those with the eyes to see it. A couple of chords of confusion rolled over her and Cherie realised that just for a moment, she'd had no idea who she was looking at.
Then she blinked before focusing on Cherie. "Ah … Miss Rey-nowd?"
Cherie shook her head. It might not be the name she was born with, but by God it would be pronounced correctly. "Rey-no," she corrected the narrowly built woman, putting the full French spin on it. "Cherie Reynaud. I'm supposed to be transferring here?"
"Yes, yes, right," muttered Blackwell, rubbing her temples. "We're getting the class into order right at this moment. But there have been unavoidable delays, so perhaps tomorrow."
"Well, what am I supposed to do in the meantime?" Cherie was starting to enjoy herself.
That got Blackwell all the more flustered. "I—I don't—I—"
"She can come to class with me," Taylor offered brightly. "That way, she can learn the layout of the school, and I can make sure she doesn't get lost."
Blackwell blinked, and focused on Taylor properly for the first time. "Who … wait. Herbert …?"
"Hebert. Taylor Hebert." Every syllable slotted into place with the crisp cadence of a pump-action shotgun being racked, and with the same level of no-fucks-given. "I've been a student here since two thousand and nine." 'You ought to be able to recognise me by now' went unspoken, but not unheard.
Cherie watched with interest as Blackwell attempted to rally. "Ah. Right. Why exactly are you in my office, again …?"
Taylor raised an eyebrow. "Nobody was waiting outside for Cherie so when she approached me for help, I decided it was my duty to get her where she needed to be. Or were you just going to make her wander around blindly in a strange school on her first day?"
"Of course not!" Blackwell's musical accompaniment gave the impression that she really, really wanted to tear her hair out by the roots. Which, in Cherie's opinion, could only improve the unflattering bowl cut. "I … can you help her for the day?"
"Sure." Taylor beamed innocently, as though she hadn't just spent the car ride carefully setting up the whole situation. Cherie suspected she was enjoying the principal's discomfort a little more than she was likely to admit to. "I can totally do that for you."
"That would be good." Blackwell drew a deep breath and blew air out through her nostrils. "Which classes are you in?"
"Computer Studies with Mrs Knott, World Affairs with Mr Gladly, Art with Ms Claiborne, and Math with Mr Quinlan," Taylor rattled off. "I can talk to Mrs Knott. We get along."
"That would be good, yes." Blackwell nodded. "I'll speak with the others." She glanced at the corner of her computer screen. "The home room bell is about to go."
"Come on, Cherie." Taylor stood up. "I'll introduce you to Mrs Knott. She's nice."
Cherie got up as well and followed her out. She waited until Blackwell's office door was swinging shut before she asked, "Does this sort of mixup happen often?"
Taylor grinned. "Occasionally. They say …" The door clicked shut; Taylor's grin morphed into a smirk as she headed out of the main office with Cherie in tow. "Nicely done. She'll be wondering what 'they say' for the rest of the day."
Cherie giggled; it was a relatively harmless prank, and Blackwell had come across as someone more deserving than most. But now she could finally circle around to something that had been bothering her since she'd gotten to Winslow. "Yeah. But … do I really have to do remedial classes? It sounds totally boring."
"Yes." Taylor's tone brooked no dissent. "Your life up until now might've been even suckier than mine, but you are going to learn life skills before not having them kills you."
There was only one answer Cherie could give to that. "Yes, ma'am."
Computer Studies Class
Taylor
"… and she's new in town, so I'm keeping an eye on her until her father shows up this afternoon," I said semi-truthfully.
"Oh." Mrs Knott gave Cherie an appraising look. "Well, I'd like to welcome you to Winslow. I hope you enjoy it here. Where are you from, if you don't mind me asking?"
"Montreal originally, but I like Brockton Bay better." Cherie was doing her best to project 'earnest new student' without using her powers, as I'd told her.
"Well, that's lovely, dear. It has been rather, um, exciting over the last week. But it's much safer now; from what I hear, the only capes left in town are heroes, rogues, and Atropos. And she doesn't bother us ordinary folk."
It was a little jarring to hear my cape name coming from Mrs Knott's mouth, but I supposed I shouldn't have been surprised. She lived in the same city I did, and I had been committing extremely public acts of violence since the previous Sunday. The note of conditional approval was also nice to hear. I suspected it was like Dad's attitude: while she didn't like how I did things, she couldn't argue with the results.
"Yeah, I've heard that about her too." Cherie flicked me a sidelong glance. "They say if you don't mess with her, she doesn't mess with you."
"Which is a welcome change, to be sure." Mrs Knott sighed. "Well, we have a couple of spare terminals, so if you can help Cherie get set up with one, Taylor …?"
I nodded firmly. "I can totally do that for you, Mrs Knott. You'll barely know she was there."
She beamed at the both of us. "Thank you, Taylor. I hope you enjoy it here, Cherie." Turning, she went back up to the front of the classroom.
"Well, that was easier than I thought it would be," murmured Cherie as she sat down at the terminal next to mine.
I showed her how to power up the computer, then guided her through onto PHO. That, I figured, would keep her occupied for the bulk of the class period. "This is Winslow. If you put on a good enough front, nobody thinks twice."
"Why am I not surprised? After what you've already told me …" She let her voice trail off.
"Yeah." She wasn't wrong. I was just happy to be able to make the industrial-grade apathy work in my favour for once.
But enough about the sins and flaws of Winslow. I sat down at my desk and booted up my terminal. Flexing my fingers, I grinned. It was time for another post.
Let's do this.
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♦ Topic: I'm Baa-aack!
In: Boards ► Brockton Bay ► New Capes ► Atropos
Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
Posted On Jan 11th 2011:
Whew.
Whadda day, whadda day.
Folks, I have been having *fun*. It's been a busy thirty-six hours (or so), but it turns out that if you put your mind to it, you really can accomplish a lot in a short time.
First, some messages: to everyone who's used to responding to me at midnight, I'm very sorry if you waited up for me. There was something I needed to get done at three in the morning (more about that later) so I decided to delay checking in until now.
Also, to Director Piggot, apologies for using your private email but I figured you'd really want to know straight away. Anyways, I promise not to do it again. Unless I really have to. Or I just feel like it. You know how it goes.
So, on to my recent doings. You may recall that I mentioned the existence of more drug warehouses. Well, the one owned by the Gesellschaft stayed put, and just stacked on armed guards everywhere. Snipers on rooftops, with anti-tank weapons in case I came in with an attack chopper or something (hey, it's not something I've actually ruled out) plus more guys with grenades, and lots of guys with lots of guns. Seriously, they made your average NRA get-together look like a bunch of pinko commie liberals.
(No offense intended to any pinko commie liberals. Just saying.)
So, after I sniped the snipers, liberated the grenades and blew the absolute *fuck* out of the drug stash (the fireball reached all the way to the street, this time) I went on to my next target.
The other big supplier of illegal hard drugs in our fine city was (and I use the past tense advisedly) none other than the Elite. After I explained that yes, I could actually see them, they had the bright idea of loading all their product into a couple of eighteen-wheelers and cruising around town with a lead car and a chase car, all crewed by heavily armed guards.
Because that *never* turns out badly. Ask Skidmark.
So anyway, after I killed the guards, crashed the trucks and burned the drugs, I went home for a nap. Hey, even remorseless serial killers need their beauty sleep.
Just by the way, this is notice served that if the Gesellschaft or Elite (I've already told the latter this, but it bears repeating) send *any* capes to Brockton Bay looking for trouble with me, I'll murder the fuck out of them. That's over and above my standing prohibition against anyone smuggling drugs or guns into or through the city.
Try it twice, and I'll make sure you're entirely unable to try it a third time. (Spoilers: I'll come to where you are and kill you.)
Where were we? Oh yeah, my nap.
Sleeping the whole night through would've been nice (and would've meant I could do this post at midnight) but I had other fish to fry. Or rather, other capes to deal with.
I have to ask: is it just me, or are some capes entirely incapable of pattern recognition? Or is it just that nobody smacked their noses with a rolled-up newspaper enough when they were starting out as a little baby villain?
As you may have seen in the news, none other than Damsel of Distress rolled into town on the three AM bus. I decided that she needed a proper reception, so I greeted her along with my good friend, Mr Pump Action Shotgun. Edict and Licit were also there, at my invitation, and between the four of us we convinced Damsel of D that she really wanted to go back home again.
If that wasn't bad enough, we had *another* visitation at seven in the morning. Fortunately, I'm a morning person, or I might've gotten violent. As it was, this was Butcher and the Teeth, so I got violent anyway. My lack of morning coffee had nothing to do with it, I swear.
I had time to prep, so I set up a camera to record the whole thing. Footage can be found [here].
To recap:
I started with an AT-4 party favor, courtesy of the Gesellschaft. It certainly opened the festivities with a real bang. Animos wanted to jump all over me, but I don't approve of that kind of behavior so I smacked him on the head and put him in time-out.
Then Vex got vexing and Spree started letting far too many people into the party. I had to cut Vex off with some pointed remarks of my own, while my good friend Mr Pump Action Shotgun had a conversation with Spree.
I ran into Hemorrhagia then. She was into self-cutting, which was kind of creepy, but I was able to give her some fentanyl and she went right to sleep.
While Butcher was distracted with Animos, I showed her my souvenir from meeting Hatchet Face, over and over again. You might say she came to pieces. And Animos ... well, he got a sore throat and had to lie down.
On to a more serious subject that anyone in the know will be asking about:
Am I the fifteenth Butcher?
Answer: Nope.
Next question: Why not?
Answer: you may recall a conversation we had about how I can kill the Mastered condition in myself because I'm just that good? Well, the same applies to being Butcher'd. I don't roll that way. The Butcher is gone for good.
Congratulations; you can all heave a sigh of relief that I'm still a relatively sane serial killer.
Mwahahaha.
On to other news: the Committee for Revitalizing Brockton Bay (or whatever they decide to call themselves) will be convening tomorrow afternoon, when the money comes through for the Slaughterhouse Nine bounties.
I have it on good authority that a reasonable chunk of this will be paid out as a cash stimulus to every man, woman and child in the city below a certain standard of living.
Now, here's a few messages from me to you.
First: don't even try to cheat. I'll know.
Second: don't steal anyone else's stimulus payment. I'll know.
Third: don't issue threats to the committee. I'll know.
For those who think I should just hand over all that money to the companies that employ people, you should be aware by now that trickle-down economics *doesn't work*. If the big guys want that cash, they should be willing to give out goods and services to earn it. This is what 'stimulus' *means*.
Anyways, just so you know, Heartbreaker will be hitting town this evening. And after all those warnings, too. I am so shocked and surprised. Honest.
There will be footage.
Toodles!
(Showing page 1 of 12)
►Bagrat (Veteran Member) (The Guy in the Know)
Replied On Jan 11th 2011:
Oh, man. I have stayed up way too late. Sleep after this. Call in sick or something.
Anyway, *holy crap* has Atropos been busy. Once more, be not in the slightest surprised that everything she said she'd do, and everything she said she'd done, is one hundred percent accurate.
Everything.
There is now a warehouse in the Docks area that's basically a toxic, gutted ruin, to match the other one on the edge of town. Quite a few casualties, but they were one and all holding guns or in the very close vicinity of firearms. The ones we've been able to identify were very bad people indeed, and they evidently failed to follow the Atropos Rule Number One, which is basically Do Not Mess With Atropos.
And yes, they had sniper rifles and three AT-4 anti-tank launchers. We found the fourth on site at the city limits, where the Butcher & Teeth curbstomp happened.
Following an anonymous text message, we found two crashed eighteen-wheelers, on fire, with drugs inside and armed corpses outside. Plus a couple of crashed chase cars. Did I say she's been busy? She's been busy.
Then of course was the Damsel of Distress face-off. I have no doubt that if it weren't for Atropos, she'd be digging deep into the underworld right now. And from her whole attitude, if it weren't for Edict and Licit, she'd be decorating a slab right now. When I first saw the footage, I honestly didn't know which way it would go. I'm told Atropos herself contacted E&L a couple of hours beforehand, so she wasn't *eager* to kill D of D, even though she's entirely capable of it.
All of which just goes to add another shade of gray to our very own homegrown angel of death.
And finally, there's the Butcher kill. Only watch that footage if you have a strong stomach. She doesn't pull any punches. Still got a thing for ironic deaths, though. I'd rate it at about point seven five Skidmarks.
Also, in case anyone missed it, Butcher was under the influence of Animos' scream when Atropos killed her. That means Butcher's powers were suppressed, which is probably why he didn't make the jump to her. (To be honest, if I was Butcher, I wouldn't take that risk either.)
(Kidding. I kid.)
Anyway, after all that, I've just got one more thing to say:
Heartbreaker, you idiot. Don't do it.
More tonight after we see exactly what Atropos has planned for Heartbreaker.
Prepare for 'heartbreak' puns. Because we all know she's gonna go there.
Sleepy-time now.
►GreatAndTerribleAisha (Verified Atropos Fan)
Replied On Jan 11th 2011:
Woo! You GO, Atropos!
►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
Replied On Jan 11th 2011:
@GreatAndTerribleAisha - aren't you supposed to be in class right now?
►GreatAndTerribleAisha (Verified Atropos Fan)
Replied On Jan 11th 2011:
You saw nothing.
Turning off phone now. Promise.
►Lepsdae
Replied On Jan 11th 2011:
Okay, now I'm curious as to what kind of ironic death Heartbreaker is going to suffer.
Bagrat is probably correct about the 'broken heart' puns. But *how*, exactly?
Is she going to kill his influence over his thralls and let them hunt him down?
(I would totally pay to watch that)
►VenomTongue
Replied On Jan 11th 2011:
@GreatAndPowerfulAisha - don't take this the wrong way, but you're pretty cool. How do I get to be an official Atropos fan as well?
►WhiteSleeves
Replied On Jan 11th 2011:
@Lepsdae - I predict a heart attack, or she'll just go full Temple of Doom on him.
►GrayBottle
Replied On Jan 11th 2011:
Imma throw my hat in the ring and go with a box of chocolates ... with some more of that fentanyl as a surprise ingredient.
►GleamingGlare
Replied On Jan 11th 2011:
A heart attack would be too ... non-obvious.
I'm going with 'rips it out of his chest and tears it in half'.
End of Page. 1, 2, 3 ... 10, 11, 12
(Showing page 2 of 12)
►BrickFrog
Replied On Jan 11th 2011:
But can we be sure that Atropos didn't end up with Butcher in her head? I mean, really? It could all be an act.
►Dragon (Veteran Member) (Verified Cape) (Protectorate Member) (Guild Member)
Replied On Jan 11th 2011:
@BrickFrog - I can help you there. I was actually in communication with Atropos when she killed Butcher. None of my voice analysis software shows the slightest change in stress levels throughout the entire episode. Which means that either she's not the Butcher, or she's the greatest actor the world has ever seen.
And no offense to Atropos, but she's not that great at acting.
►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
Replied On Jan 11th 2011:
@Dragon - none taken. Thanks for the vote of confidence.
►Reave (Verified PRT Agent)
Replied On Jan 11th 2011:
@Atropos - We talked about this. Blowing up warehouses full of drugs is dangerous, and poses a threat to innocent citizens. Also, how many people did you actually kill in there? Can you be certain no innocents got caught in the crossfire?
As for the eighteen-wheelers—seriously, a high-speed vehicle chase through the city, then deliberately causing a crash? Did you have to kill them all?
I'm not even going to go into the risk you took, going after Butcher. You couldn't have known for certain that you could do this without being possessed.
You need to come in so we can sit down and have a serious talk about your methods.
►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
Replied On Jan 11th 2011:
@Reave - Whoa, back off a little there. You're a little tetchy in the morning before you have your coffee, aren't you?
I'm not going to get into the habit of explaining myself, not even to you, so count yourself lucky.
First, I don't take orders from you, from the PRT, or from the Protectorate. If *certain people* (they know who they are) had done their jobs from the beginning, Brockton Bay wouldn't be in the state it is. I'm just cleaning up the mess and making sure no more messes get made while I'm at it.
*You* talked about it. I didn't.
Second, no innocents got hit with stray bullets. A few people will end up with minor chest complaints, but they'll recover. And in the meantime, that pile of shit I blew up isn't going to addict anyone or cause any ODs. Neither is it going to make anyone money. In fact, the guys who brought it in are now seriously out of pocket. And finally, I left you a nice gift-wrapped present. You're welcome.
Third, everyone who died in the eighteen-wheeler chase were specifically being paid to keep those drugs out of my hands. They were about to plow through Downtown proper, never mind the pedestrians or other cars. If I hadn't stopped them where I did, we'd have a lot more dead and injured.
Fourth, give me *some* credit for the Butcher thing. I had it all planned out.
Also, I note that you're carefully not mentioning Damsel of Distress and how that worked out just fine?
I get it. You didn't have enough sleep, and right now you're caffeine deficient.
The drugs are gone, Butcher and the Teeth are dead, and Damsel of Distress is back in Stafford.
Trust me, last night could've gone a hell of a lot worse.
►RedComedy
Replied On Jan 11th 2011:
Wait, did Atropos make a *flour bomb* out of drugs? Was *that* what that almighty explosion was?
►JediMedic
Replied On Jan 11th 2011:
That's what she did. Twice, even.
►TeamMom (Senior Moderator)
Replied On Jan 11th 2011:
@Reave - Can we just dial back the aggression a little, please? I know you're concerned, but right now Atropos is willing to communicate and give us advance warning of what she does. I'd rather we didn't antagonize her to the point that she stops talking to us. Okay?
Everyone else, I understand that Heartbreaker is not a nice man, but please dial back the suggestions for how Atropos might kill him. We're not supposed to be approving of that sort of thing.
►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
Replied On Jan 11th 2011:
@TeamMom - thanks. He wasn't bothering me, and I wasn't going to cut you guys off, but I appreciate it anyway.
@VenomTongue - Imma keep my fan club small for the moment. As GTA is the de facto president of it, she gets to invite people in that she figures are worthy.
Everyone else - Heartbreaker is absolutely going to die due to a broken heart. Mwhahahahaha.
►Licit (Verified Cape) (PRT Employee)
Replied On Jan 11th 2011:
I just want to throw my two cents in here. Atropos didn't have to call Edict and me in to pick up Damsel, and she didn't have to hold off the way she did until we got there. It could easily have gone really badly, but it didn't.
Atropos is alright in my book.
End of Page. 1, 2, 3, 4 ... 10, 11, 12
Madison
When Taylor entered the World Affairs classroom, Madison was able to suppress her fear reaction. The last time they'd spoken, Taylor had actually praised her, after all. I'm doing fine … I'm doing fine … I'm doing fine …
And then all that went to hell when she saw the girl who entered the classroom directly after Taylor. She would never forget that face, those intense eyes. There was a roaring in her ears. Distantly, she became aware of Julia asking her if she was okay. A whimper tried to force its way out from between her lips, but she wouldn't let it. Don't draw attention.
Taylor walked straight up to her, and put a hand on her shoulder. "Hello, Madison." Her expression was friendly, all except for her eyes. It was the same look she'd seen when she was sitting at the table in the cafeteria, struggling to breathe. "You've already met Cherie here, yeah?"
Reluctantly, her gaze dragged itself over to the other girl, who raised a hand in a brief wave. "Hi."
"Um … hi?" She hated that her voice rose to a squeak right at the end.
Taylor smiled, though there was no humour in it. "So, Cherie kind of got off on the wrong foot when she first got here, but she's doing better now. She'll be attending Winslow, as soon as they get her classes sorted out. In the meantime, I'll be showing her around."
"That's nice," said Julia uncertainly. Madison had impressed on her that Taylor wasn't to be bullied anymore. At all. Ever. There hadn't been much explanation at the time, but Madison was fairly sure Julia had picked up on the current buzz in their year (and above and below it as well) that 'maybe Taylor Hebert is Atropos and maybe she isn't, but given she's probably killed everybody who knows, let's not risk it'.
Cherie's eyebrows rose, and Madison realized that she'd suddenly made a connection. "Oh, these are the … uh, friends, you told me about earlier?"
"Some of them, yeah." Taylor's smile never shifted. "Emma's in another class. Sophia … isn't with us anymore."
From the sidelong glance Cherie gave Taylor, she knew exactly what the phrase entailed. It also gave Madison a whole new set of entirely unwelcome epiphanies.
Cherie's a cape. That's how she was doing that stuff when Taylor interrupted her.
She's helping Taylor kill people. And it doesn't bother her.
Oh, fuck. There's two of them.
The rumour was already spreading around Winslow that more drug buildings had exploded overnight, just as Atropos had said she'd do on PHO. Also, though this was a little more than a theory, that Atropos had taken on Butcher and the Teeth, and killed them all. While she wasn't about to discount it—she'd seen the way Taylor had shredded the Nine, while making it look like something she was doing to pass the time while bored—it would also mean that Taylor was now the Butcher.
Taylor was already terrifying enough. What was she going to be like with all the Butcher's powers plus insane into the bargain? And how was Madison supposed to get far enough away from her to start warning people?
She suddenly became aware that Taylor's eyes were fixed on her. The smile was gone, as though it had never existed. Slowly, Taylor leaned in, to put her mouth next to Madison's ear. "No, I'm not," she whispered. "Though I appreciate the concern."
"Okay, everyone, can we just take our seats please?" With his faux casual tone, Mr G was still trying to be the 'cool' teacher. Normally, Madison would've found it incredibly lame, but right now she was insanely grateful for the distraction. Trying not to scuttle across the classroom, she found her seat and plonked herself into it.
"What was that about?" asked Julia in a low voice, glancing back at where Cherie was taking a seat next to Taylor. "What did she say?"
"It's not important." There was no way Madison was going to blab anything that Taylor wanted kept private. She enjoyed having all her internal organs right where they were.
Mr G cleared his throat. "Also, everyone. You may have noticed a stranger in your midst. This is Cherie Reyn … uh, Rey …"
"Reynaud," Taylor supplied without prompting, saying it with a French accent. "She's transferring in from Montreal."
"Yes, thank you, Taylor." Mr G gave a strained smile. "If everyone could give Cherie a warm welcome?" He nodded at the half-hearted applause. "Thank you. Now, in today's lesson, we're going to be looking closer to home than normal. Usually, capes tend to strike a balance between heroes and villains in any given area, with neither side doing much to change this. But once in a while, either the heroes capture all the major villains or the villains drive out the heroes. Can anyone give me an example of both, and then we can discuss the pros and cons of each one?"
From the corner of her eye, Madison saw Taylor sit forward, pen poised over her notepad and her expression intent as a dozen hands shot into the air.
Yeah, I just bet you're interested.
Taylor
2:15 PM
As we left the Art classroom, I glanced at Cherie. "So, how are you enjoying Winslow so far?"
"It's not as bad as I thought it was going to be." Cherie gave me a look of sly amusement. "The World Affairs discussion was interesting, at least."
"The less said about the World Affairs discussion," I growled, "the better. How about the rest of it?"
Cherie gave a half-shrug. "I never got to try sculpting with clay before, so that was fun. What's next?"
"Math." Losing my bad mood in an instant, I shot her a sympathetic look. "It's where you're likely to be most bored, mainly because we'll be doing exercises that we already know how to do, and there'll be no real room to shoehorn you in like we did with Art and World Affairs."
"Are you sure?" Cherie looked dubious. "I mean, I already know how to do math. Adding, subtracting, multiplying, stuff like that. What else is there?"
I drew a deep breath. "I … I can't even begin to answer that question. Math at high school level is a lot more complicated than just adding and multiplying." I balked at the idea of trying to quickly explain square roots and exponents and even basic algebra to someone whose idea of difficult math was adding up prices on a shopping list.
We entered the classroom and found a couple of unoccupied desks next to each other. Taking the math textbook out of my backpack, I wordlessly handed it over to Cherie, just so she could get an idea of what she was missing out on. Cherie opened it and traced her finger down the contents page, her lips moving silently as she encountered unfamiliar words.
Halfway through, she stopped and glanced past me. "Who's the redhead?" she asked in a murmur. "She's acting like you're about to jump up and stab her to death with your pen."
I didn't bother looking. "That's Emma. She's the other one. My ex-bestie."
Cherie snorted quietly. "Well, she's a fuckin' moron."
"In fairness, at least part of it was Sophia's influence." I felt I had to set the record straight. "I'm still not sure why Emma decided she needed a new best friend, or how Sophia talked her into backstabbing me, or however it happened. But it did, and shit happened, but now I'm good."
Mr Quinlan chose that moment to enter the classroom, and the discussion was put on hold. Though I suspected it wasn't over and done with yet.
Oh, well. What happens, happens.
Hebert Household
5:37 PM
Danny
"Good afternoon, girls." Danny came in through the back door and closed it behind him. "How was your day?"
Taylor looked up from what he figured was math homework—he remembered that sort of thing with a less than nostalgic shudder—while Cherie seemed to be industriously poring through Taylor's World Affairs textbook. "It went okay," Taylor said with a grin. "Blackwell was still running in circles, last we checked."
"Good, good." Danny loosened his bootlaces, then levered the boots off with his toes. "So, how do you like Winslow, Cherie?"
Looking up from the textbook, Cherie wrinkled her nose. "Better than I expected. It's weird not being around people who know my every secret. Though half the students there seem to know Taylor's Atropos, or at least suspect it, but everyone thinks they're the only one that knows. I'm not the centre of attention for once, which is nice."
Danny blinked at the unwelcome news, then stared at Taylor. "They know you're Atropos?"
"No, Dad." She shook her head, still grinning. "They suspect. But the more certain they are, the less willing they are to actually talk to someone about it. Just in case it's true."
"… oh." Shaking his head, Danny went to the fridge for the pitcher of fruit punch. "How did they figure it out?"
Taylor leaned back in her chair. "I'm thinking Emma and Madison did it, but not on purpose. After I killed Sophia, they started going all-out to tell their cronies to leave me alone. And that was just when I was starting to show confidence in school and the news broke about Atropos and the gang bosses …"
"They added two and two, and accidentally ended up at four." Danny poured himself a glass then put the pitcher back in the fridge. "And nobody's planning to do anything stupid?"
"Haha, no," Cherie said. "It's like, they've suddenly got hold of Alexandria's secret identity, only worse. Because Alexandria might not kill you for outing her. Atropos, on the other hand …"
Taylor's grin was suddenly full of teeth. "… absolutely would. I've made that abundantly and very publicly clear."
"Yeah, I doubt there's anyone in the state who thinks you're likely to go easy on someone pulling that shit." Danny dragged out a chair from the kitchen table and sat down. "Not after emptying a city of its supervillains in just one week." Cherie snickered, and Danny glanced her way, not sure what the joke was. "Did I say something funny?"
Cherie looked over at Taylor, who grumbled in her throat. "Okay, fine. You might as well get it out of your system."
"Okay, then." Cherie put the textbook down. "In World Affairs, Mr Gladly wanted to discuss the concept of heroes clearing all the villains out of a city, or the villains chasing out all the heroes."
"Like Taylor's doing right here," Danny guessed.
"Exactly." Leaning across the table, Cherie put her hand on Taylor's arm. "But every time he tried to steer the discussion toward Brockton Bay in particular, nearly everyone in the classroom glanced at Taylor, then shut up."
Danny tried to figure out what the problem was. "So … they didn't talk about it?"
"Not a word," Cherie confirmed, her eyes alight with amusement. "It was like they'd never even heard of Atropos. Nobody wanted to be the one who got her attention."
"Meanwhile, all I wanted was some feedback," Taylor groused. "Would that have been so difficult?"
"Ah." It was all made clear now. "I think they call that 'suffering from success', hon. Congratulations. You're officially too scary for your own good."
Taylor rolled her eyes. "It's not funny."
Danny stilled the twitch in his lips. "Never said it was."
From the dirty look she gave him, she wasn't convinced.
7:22 PM
Heartbreaker
Nikos Vasil cruised into Brockton Bay from the northwest, eyes open and scanning his surroundings. He was alert and rested due to his enforced daytime sleeping pattern, and his gasoline tank was full in case he had to travel on quickly—or beat a hasty retreat. Neither the gasoline nor the motel rooms had been paid for in anything as tawdry as money; he had instead allowed the respective proprietors to offer him their wares free of charge, as was his right.
His first order of business was to create a stable of willing servants here in the city, where they could go out and seek his prey for him, if she did not find him first. Rumour had it that Atropos was preternaturally good at locating parahuman infiltrators into her city. Of course, it didn't matter to him how they came into contact, just so long as he got within earshot of her. The news footage of her confrontation with Damsel of Distress had been particularly educational; if she hesitated that long before attempting violence on him, she would be firmly his long before she chose to act.
Rolling down the pretentiously named Lord Street, with the waterfront (and the force field shielded Protectorate base) to his left, and people frequenting various eating establishments on his right, he smiled. The city would be his hunting ground; he would have his prey and be gone before anyone except Atropos even knew he was in town. And if someone did stumble upon him, they would join the search party.
It was, in fact, a no-lose situation for him.
Of course, to commence the hunt, he would have to go on foot, so he pulled over into the next parking lot he saw. It was nowhere near full, being a Tuesday night, but he parked down at the back anyway. Canadian registered cars wouldn't be unknown this close to the border, but they would definitely draw a second glance, and he didn't want that sort of attention.
Climbing out of the car, he locked it, then ran his hands over his hair and shirt to make sure he was presentable. He wanted people to not give him a second glance, so that he could walk right up and put them right under his spell—
"Took you long enough."
He spun around at the familiar voice. There, under one of the light poles illuminating the parking lot, stood Cherie. She had something held up in front of her, and he frowned, squinting. Was that a phone? Was she recording him?
Well, no matter. This was turning out better than he could possibly have expected. He didn't know what she was expecting to do with the recording, or why she might have thought he would allow her to keep it, but she was sadly mistaken on all counts. "Cherie," he ordered, gesturing to her. "Come here. Get into the car, at once."
She took a step forward then stopped, still recording him. "No," she said. "You don't have power over me."
"No," he snapped. "It doesn't work that way. You will obey my words. Now get in the car!"
Someone tapped him on the shoulder, startling him badly. He began to turn, but all he registered was a dark form before something crashed into his jaw with a shattering noise. The impact was tremendous, and he spun around before falling heavily onto the gravel of the parking lot.
As he blinked his eyes clear of the daze, he found himself being picked up and draped face-down over the hood of his own car, his arm held uncomfortably behind his back. The heat of the metal was unpleasant to the touch, but he wasn't being given much choice in the matter. Cherie had come closer, still holding the phone, and for the first time, he got a good look at his assailant.
It was Atropos. She found me first. How did she find me first? Nikos had not felt fear for a long time, but now he began to experience the stirrings of it.
Right at that moment she was holding him down on the hood of the car with one thumb on a pressure point in his wrist. With her other hand, she passed off an object to Cherie, who tucked it under her arm. It looked like a large Valentine's heart made of hard candy, shattered in half by the impact with his jaw.
Still, this was his opportunity. "You must obey me," he said, or tried to say. But his jaw hurt abominably when he tried to move it, and all that came out was a mumble. At the same time, he forced intense love and affection in Atropos' direction.
"Save it," Atropos said briskly. "Your jaw's broken. You can't say a damn thing. Anyway, that crap doesn't work on me."
But it should have worked on her. He rolled his eyes toward Cherie, who was still filming the entire thing.
"She's wearing earplugs, you idiot." Atropos' voice was heavy with sarcasm. "You think we didn't see you coming?"
And indeed, Cherie was removing bright yellow plastic earplugs from each ear, making sure to keep the phone pointed at him. She gave him a broad and impertinent grin, then flipped him the bird.
Still holding him down, Atropos reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. Good luck with that, he thought smugly. He wasn't so careless as to use his face or fingerprint as his unlocking ID. It would require a six-digit PIN code, which he never even wrote down …
Bip-bip-bip-bip-bip-bip
And then, to his shock, when she spoke again, it was with his voice. "Yes, it is me. Call everyone in. You all need to hear this. Place the phone on speaker."
His brain whirled, trying to figure out how this could have gone so badly. He'd had a plan. Nobody could resist his power. Nobody.
This doesn't happen to me!
Atropos spoke once more; from the look of distaste on Cherie's face, she sounded just like him. He couldn't do more than mumble, and the threat of that one pressure point kept him in place.
"Do you all hear my voice? Are you listening? Then listen to this, my last command for you. Ignore every other command I have ever given. They no longer hold true. You are free of me. I give you leave to go where you will, do what you will. You are released. You are free. Do you understand?"
No! No! You can't do that! You can't take that all away from me! He tried to struggle, to pull free, as his entire world was pulled out from under him. Lightning seared up his arm as the pressure point was jabbed, and he subsided once more.
"Good. Go forth. Be good to one another, and those around you. I leave you now." She ended the call, and dropped the phone into her pocket. Then, with a metallic sliding noise, she drew a large and distressingly sharp-looking pair of shears. "Nikos."
He opened his eyes wide as she waved them near his face. Is she going to blind me? What is she going to do?
Looking down at him, she spoke harshly. "Release them. Relax your power. Let them all go."
What? No, I can't do that! All he had to do was find them once more and reverse the orders she'd given them …
It was as though she'd heard his thoughts. "Yes. Yes, you can. Now, you may be a little reluctant, which makes me wonder. Is it possible to castrate a man by going in through his asshole, and would he still be so stubborn once I've done so?" The shears left his sight; a moment later, he felt parting cloth, and the touch of a cold sharp metal point in an area nobody ever wants to feel sharp metal. "Well?"
NO! He tried to scream, tried to pull free, but all that happened was another jolt of agony down his arm, his jaw ached even more, and there was a painful jab in his nether regions.
"That sounds like permission to me. Wouldn't you say so?"
To his horror, his traitorous daughter nodded firmly, and even made the phone 'nod' as well.
"Yeah, I thought so too. Try to relax, Vasil. That way, it'll only be mildly agonizing."
No! No! I'll do it! He tried to mumble his acquiescence. Thankfully, she paused.
"Well?" she asked. "I'm waiting."
Closing his eyes, he capitulated. For the first time since he could remember, he relaxed his power entirely, releasing everyone held in its thrall. It didn't mean much in the long run—all he had to do was talk to someone for a short time to re-establish it—but it did mean he couldn't give orders over the phone to anyone.
One by one, they all slipped away, out of his reach. There were so many of them, some he'd even forgotten about; when the last leash dissolved, he felt naked. Exposed.
"Good." The metal blade was removed from its highly intrusive position. "Well done. You can take direction, at least."
He barely had time to relax before he was suddenly and abruptly rolled over onto his back. Before he could begin to struggle free, a hard knee drove into his crotch and he was helpless with agony once more.
"But now we have the problem of you," she mused. "I warned you not to come to my city and start shit. How many times? Three? Four? More warnings than anyone else got, anyway. And yet, here you are."
She reached out without turning away from Nikos, and Cherie put the half-shattered heart into her hand, in what was evidently a pre-planned move. With growing terror, he noticed for the first time just how sharp the lower end of it was.
"People say the way to a man's heart is through his stomach." Atropos shook her head. "They're wrong. Personally, I favour going up and under the ribcage."
With a sudden vicious move, she stabbed him with the candy heart, splitting his skin and driving the sharp point deep into his chest; letting out a choked cry despite his broken jaw, he arched his back in agony. Despite the unusual nature of the murder weapon, the end came quickly. His last sight was of his daughter, watching with altogether too much satisfaction.
Taylor
We left him there, lying across the hood of his car. Someone would report the murder to the cops sooner or later, but that was okay. I'd post the footage later on that night, after scrubbing Cherie's name out of it.
Heartbreaker had been Ended, and his legacy with him.
"You okay?" I asked Cherie, as we headed back to where Dad was waiting in his car.
She nodded, and sniffled a little. "Yeah. It's just that … seeing him brought back all the old terror, where I couldn't help but do as he told me. When you made him let me go … let all of us go … it was like a huge weight I'd never even known about, just gone. And then you made sure he could never hurt us again." Turning to me, she hugged me. "Thank you."
I held her close, comforting her. "You're welcome."
Somewhere Well Away from Brockton Bay
Tattletale
"What the hell was that?"
Lisa looked over at Alec. "What was what?"
He bumped his temple with the heel of his hand as though trying to shake his thoughts loose. "Something really weird just happened. In my head. It's like … you know when you've had a bad cold and your sinuses are totally full of really gross shit, and you blow your nose and it all comes out at once, and how weird it feels after? Well, it's like that."
"Okay, first, that's a disgusting description." Lisa shook her head, trying not to think about it. "Second, any idea why it happened?"
Alec jumped up. "I've got one possi—ooh." Without another word, he turned and headed for the door.
"Make sense already," snapped Rachel.
Lisa frowned. "Where are you going?"
Alec grinned—actually grinned—for the first time in a long time. "Gonna buy some confetti."
And then he was gone, leaving Lisa to figure out what he meant.
Relevant Side Story
End of Part Twenty-Nine
[A/N: A couple of weeks before the next one, sorry.]
Part Twenty-Nine: Finding Out
[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
Taylor
I lounged in my car seat, tapping away at my phone, while Dad drove and Cherie peered forward from the back seat. She wanted to ask me something, that much I could tell without even looking, but she was still skittish about interrupting me in whatever I was doing. I appreciated her concern, even though I was totally able to handle the multi-tasking necessary to pay attention to her.
"What's up?" I asked, looking around from the phone while my thumbs continued to dance over the screen. "Whatever it is, you know you're totally allowed to ask me anything at any time."
She blinked. "Oh, uh, I was just wondering how you were going to sneak me into your school. I mean, I walked in yesterday, sure, but they'll probably notice if a strange girl is wandering around for the whole day with nothing to do."
"Oh, that part's easy." I held up the phone, still tapping away at it. "I'm in the process of enrolling you as a transfer student. All the paperwork's been filled out and retroactively filed. How do you feel about the name Cherie Reynaud?"
"Reynaud?" she asked, evidently taken aback. "You can just … change my name?"
"It's a digital world," I said expansively. "Reality is what computers say it is. I just told the computers that you're transferring in, made you a victim of faulty homeschooling—which is basically true—and sent Principal Blackwell a nasty email asking her why she hasn't set up the remedial classes you absolutely require."
"But … won't she wonder why she never heard of me before?"
Finished with my hacking shenanigans, I turned in my seat, reached back, and patted her on the cheek. "Cherie. Honey. She barely remembers the names of the students she has. As of thirty seconds ago, she's got a whole string of appropriately dated emails in her inbox, all supposedly read and replied to by her, about your pending transfer. When this one pops up, and I bring you in to see her, she's going to totally believe that she's had a massive brain fart, and give you all the excuses under the sun while she rushes to set it up."
Dad began to chuckle. He tried to hold it in, but his laughter became more and more unrestrained until he had to pull over. Tears standing in his eyes, he laughed harder and harder, holding onto the steering wheel for support. I smirked as I watched his mirth, even as Cherie stared in incomprehension.
Finally, he was able to calm down and wipe the tears from his eyes. Reaching across, he put his arm behind my shoulders and gave me a quick side-hug. "Thank you, Taylor," he said, still chuckling. "I had no idea how we were going to give that woman a suitable comeuppance, but the look on her face is going to be priceless. You just made my whole day."
He checked his mirrors and started off again, but Cherie leaned forward. "I don't get it. Why is that so funny?"
I decided to take over the explanation and leave Dad to concentrate on driving. "So, Blackwell saw fit to basically ignore my ex-bestie and her two partners in crime as they fucked my life over on a daily basis, over the last year and a bit. So far, so good?"
Tentatively, she nodded. "Okay …"
I let my grin grow wider, and added a few teeth. "So, Blackwell is an administrator first and foremost. Her job is keeping on top of running the whole damn school. This involves the well-being of the students which, to be honest, she sucks at. See previous example. But to be slapped in the face by a bunch of emails that seem to have been read and replied to by her, and to have zero recollection of them, is going to send her into a flat spin. She's going to spend the next month combing through her email inbox and her spam inbox, looking to see if there's anything else she's missed. And she'll be looking over her shoulder the whole time for the other shoe to drop, because as far as she knows, she's fucked up big time." I tilted my head toward Dad. "My father does admin work for the Dockworkers' Association, so he knows exactly how solid the bricks she'll be shitting are."
"Oh." She looked at Dad, who was still chuckling. "Oh, I see. Wow. Did you do all this just to mess with her?"
"Honestly?" I shrugged. "I'm past all that. I don't hold grudges, these days. But … yeah, it was more than a little bit satisfying to fuck with her head while helping you out."
"I see." She took a deep breath. "I'm kind of glad you decided not to do that to me."
I gave her a toothy grin. "You're not one tenth the waste of space and time that she is."
Besides, my power had seen a use for her. Several uses.
But it might come across as impolite to say this out loud, so I didn't. She was coming along nicely, so there was no sense in antagonising her.
Having a reliable minion was so useful.
<><>
Winslow High School
Cherish
Taylor had been right, of course. It wasn't even a surprise to Cherie anymore. As they approached the principal's office, the jangled music of Blackwell's emotional chorus bespoke near-panic of the highest order. She got the impression that the woman was running around in circles with her hair on fire, at least figuratively speaking.
Strolling up to the secretary's desk, Taylor leaned on it with her elbows. "Hi. Can you tell Principal Blackwell that Taylor Hebert is here?"
The secretary's gaze shifted toward the closed door to the principal's office. "Uh … she's busy right now."
Taylor smiled, but there was steel behind the expression. "Please tell her that I have the transfer student, Cherie Reynaud, with me. She might be willing to make time for us."
From the way the secretary's eyes twitched, she'd definitely heard about Cherie. "I'll call her right away." Picking up the phone, she flinched at the 'What?' that Cherie heard from a good six feet away. "Uh … the transfer student is here to see you?"
Principal Blackwell must not have realised that she was nearly shouting. The door to her office was impressively soundproofed, but her voice echoed from the phone receiver quite well. "Arrrgh! Okay, send her in."
Impassively, as though she hadn't just had her eardrum blown out in front of a couple of teenagers, the secretary nodded to Cherie. "She'll see you now."
"Good." Taylor led the way, stepping forward and reaching for the door handle.
The secretary raised her hand. "Not you, just her."
Taylor looked her in the eye, and something there made the secretary flinch back. "Yes, me." Reaching out without breaking eye contact, she grabbed the door handle and pushed it open. Then she gestured for Cherie to enter, and followed her in.
While Principal Blackwell appeared to have mastered the art of looking like she was in total control of the situation, the discordant turmoil of her emotional landscape exposed her attitude for the lie that it was. Still, she looked at Taylor and Cherie with a faux calm, with only the twitch in the corner of her left eye to betray her inner strife to those with the eyes to see it. A couple of chords of confusion rolled over her and Cherie realised that just for a moment, she'd had no idea who she was looking at.
Then she blinked before focusing on Cherie. "Ah … Miss Rey-nowd?"
Cherie shook her head. It might not be the name she was born with, but by God it would be pronounced correctly. "Rey-no," she corrected the narrowly built woman, putting the full French spin on it. "Cherie Reynaud. I'm supposed to be transferring here?"
"Yes, yes, right," muttered Blackwell, rubbing her temples. "We're getting the class into order right at this moment. But there have been unavoidable delays, so perhaps tomorrow."
"Well, what am I supposed to do in the meantime?" Cherie was starting to enjoy herself.
That got Blackwell all the more flustered. "I—I don't—I—"
"She can come to class with me," Taylor offered brightly. "That way, she can learn the layout of the school, and I can make sure she doesn't get lost."
Blackwell blinked, and focused on Taylor properly for the first time. "Who … wait. Herbert …?"
"Hebert. Taylor Hebert." Every syllable slotted into place with the crisp cadence of a pump-action shotgun being racked, and with the same level of no-fucks-given. "I've been a student here since two thousand and nine." 'You ought to be able to recognise me by now' went unspoken, but not unheard.
Cherie watched with interest as Blackwell attempted to rally. "Ah. Right. Why exactly are you in my office, again …?"
Taylor raised an eyebrow. "Nobody was waiting outside for Cherie so when she approached me for help, I decided it was my duty to get her where she needed to be. Or were you just going to make her wander around blindly in a strange school on her first day?"
"Of course not!" Blackwell's musical accompaniment gave the impression that she really, really wanted to tear her hair out by the roots. Which, in Cherie's opinion, could only improve the unflattering bowl cut. "I … can you help her for the day?"
"Sure." Taylor beamed innocently, as though she hadn't just spent the car ride carefully setting up the whole situation. Cherie suspected she was enjoying the principal's discomfort a little more than she was likely to admit to. "I can totally do that for you."
"That would be good." Blackwell drew a deep breath and blew air out through her nostrils. "Which classes are you in?"
"Computer Studies with Mrs Knott, World Affairs with Mr Gladly, Art with Ms Claiborne, and Math with Mr Quinlan," Taylor rattled off. "I can talk to Mrs Knott. We get along."
"That would be good, yes." Blackwell nodded. "I'll speak with the others." She glanced at the corner of her computer screen. "The home room bell is about to go."
"Come on, Cherie." Taylor stood up. "I'll introduce you to Mrs Knott. She's nice."
Cherie got up as well and followed her out. She waited until Blackwell's office door was swinging shut before she asked, "Does this sort of mixup happen often?"
Taylor grinned. "Occasionally. They say …" The door clicked shut; Taylor's grin morphed into a smirk as she headed out of the main office with Cherie in tow. "Nicely done. She'll be wondering what 'they say' for the rest of the day."
Cherie giggled; it was a relatively harmless prank, and Blackwell had come across as someone more deserving than most. But now she could finally circle around to something that had been bothering her since she'd gotten to Winslow. "Yeah. But … do I really have to do remedial classes? It sounds totally boring."
"Yes." Taylor's tone brooked no dissent. "Your life up until now might've been even suckier than mine, but you are going to learn life skills before not having them kills you."
There was only one answer Cherie could give to that. "Yes, ma'am."
<><>
Computer Studies Class
Taylor
"… and she's new in town, so I'm keeping an eye on her until her father shows up this afternoon," I said semi-truthfully.
"Oh." Mrs Knott gave Cherie an appraising look. "Well, I'd like to welcome you to Winslow. I hope you enjoy it here. Where are you from, if you don't mind me asking?"
"Montreal originally, but I like Brockton Bay better." Cherie was doing her best to project 'earnest new student' without using her powers, as I'd told her.
"Well, that's lovely, dear. It has been rather, um, exciting over the last week. But it's much safer now; from what I hear, the only capes left in town are heroes, rogues, and Atropos. And she doesn't bother us ordinary folk."
It was a little jarring to hear my cape name coming from Mrs Knott's mouth, but I supposed I shouldn't have been surprised. She lived in the same city I did, and I had been committing extremely public acts of violence since the previous Sunday. The note of conditional approval was also nice to hear. I suspected it was like Dad's attitude: while she didn't like how I did things, she couldn't argue with the results.
"Yeah, I've heard that about her too." Cherie flicked me a sidelong glance. "They say if you don't mess with her, she doesn't mess with you."
"Which is a welcome change, to be sure." Mrs Knott sighed. "Well, we have a couple of spare terminals, so if you can help Cherie get set up with one, Taylor …?"
I nodded firmly. "I can totally do that for you, Mrs Knott. You'll barely know she was there."
She beamed at the both of us. "Thank you, Taylor. I hope you enjoy it here, Cherie." Turning, she went back up to the front of the classroom.
"Well, that was easier than I thought it would be," murmured Cherie as she sat down at the terminal next to mine.
I showed her how to power up the computer, then guided her through onto PHO. That, I figured, would keep her occupied for the bulk of the class period. "This is Winslow. If you put on a good enough front, nobody thinks twice."
"Why am I not surprised? After what you've already told me …" She let her voice trail off.
"Yeah." She wasn't wrong. I was just happy to be able to make the industrial-grade apathy work in my favour for once.
But enough about the sins and flaws of Winslow. I sat down at my desk and booted up my terminal. Flexing my fingers, I grinned. It was time for another post.
Let's do this.
<><>
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♦ Topic: I'm Baa-aack!
In: Boards ► Brockton Bay ► New Capes ► Atropos
Atropos (Original Poster) (
Posted On Jan 11th 2011:
Whew.
Whadda day, whadda day.
Folks, I have been having *fun*. It's been a busy thirty-six hours (or so), but it turns out that if you put your mind to it, you really can accomplish a lot in a short time.
First, some messages: to everyone who's used to responding to me at midnight, I'm very sorry if you waited up for me. There was something I needed to get done at three in the morning (more about that later) so I decided to delay checking in until now.
Also, to Director Piggot, apologies for using your private email but I figured you'd really want to know straight away. Anyways, I promise not to do it again. Unless I really have to. Or I just feel like it. You know how it goes.
So, on to my recent doings. You may recall that I mentioned the existence of more drug warehouses. Well, the one owned by the Gesellschaft stayed put, and just stacked on armed guards everywhere. Snipers on rooftops, with anti-tank weapons in case I came in with an attack chopper or something (hey, it's not something I've actually ruled out) plus more guys with grenades, and lots of guys with lots of guns. Seriously, they made your average NRA get-together look like a bunch of pinko commie liberals.
(No offense intended to any pinko commie liberals. Just saying.)
So, after I sniped the snipers, liberated the grenades and blew the absolute *fuck* out of the drug stash (the fireball reached all the way to the street, this time) I went on to my next target.
The other big supplier of illegal hard drugs in our fine city was (and I use the past tense advisedly) none other than the Elite. After I explained that yes, I could actually see them, they had the bright idea of loading all their product into a couple of eighteen-wheelers and cruising around town with a lead car and a chase car, all crewed by heavily armed guards.
Because that *never* turns out badly. Ask Skidmark.
So anyway, after I killed the guards, crashed the trucks and burned the drugs, I went home for a nap. Hey, even remorseless serial killers need their beauty sleep.
Just by the way, this is notice served that if the Gesellschaft or Elite (I've already told the latter this, but it bears repeating) send *any* capes to Brockton Bay looking for trouble with me, I'll murder the fuck out of them. That's over and above my standing prohibition against anyone smuggling drugs or guns into or through the city.
Try it twice, and I'll make sure you're entirely unable to try it a third time. (Spoilers: I'll come to where you are and kill you.)
Where were we? Oh yeah, my nap.
Sleeping the whole night through would've been nice (and would've meant I could do this post at midnight) but I had other fish to fry. Or rather, other capes to deal with.
I have to ask: is it just me, or are some capes entirely incapable of pattern recognition? Or is it just that nobody smacked their noses with a rolled-up newspaper enough when they were starting out as a little baby villain?
As you may have seen in the news, none other than Damsel of Distress rolled into town on the three AM bus. I decided that she needed a proper reception, so I greeted her along with my good friend, Mr Pump Action Shotgun. Edict and Licit were also there, at my invitation, and between the four of us we convinced Damsel of D that she really wanted to go back home again.
If that wasn't bad enough, we had *another* visitation at seven in the morning. Fortunately, I'm a morning person, or I might've gotten violent. As it was, this was Butcher and the Teeth, so I got violent anyway. My lack of morning coffee had nothing to do with it, I swear.
I had time to prep, so I set up a camera to record the whole thing. Footage can be found [here].
To recap:
I started with an AT-4 party favor, courtesy of the Gesellschaft. It certainly opened the festivities with a real bang. Animos wanted to jump all over me, but I don't approve of that kind of behavior so I smacked him on the head and put him in time-out.
Then Vex got vexing and Spree started letting far too many people into the party. I had to cut Vex off with some pointed remarks of my own, while my good friend Mr Pump Action Shotgun had a conversation with Spree.
I ran into Hemorrhagia then. She was into self-cutting, which was kind of creepy, but I was able to give her some fentanyl and she went right to sleep.
While Butcher was distracted with Animos, I showed her my souvenir from meeting Hatchet Face, over and over again. You might say she came to pieces. And Animos ... well, he got a sore throat and had to lie down.
On to a more serious subject that anyone in the know will be asking about:
Am I the fifteenth Butcher?
Answer: Nope.
Next question: Why not?
Answer: you may recall a conversation we had about how I can kill the Mastered condition in myself because I'm just that good? Well, the same applies to being Butcher'd. I don't roll that way. The Butcher is gone for good.
Congratulations; you can all heave a sigh of relief that I'm still a relatively sane serial killer.
Mwahahaha.
On to other news: the Committee for Revitalizing Brockton Bay (or whatever they decide to call themselves) will be convening tomorrow afternoon, when the money comes through for the Slaughterhouse Nine bounties.
I have it on good authority that a reasonable chunk of this will be paid out as a cash stimulus to every man, woman and child in the city below a certain standard of living.
Now, here's a few messages from me to you.
First: don't even try to cheat. I'll know.
Second: don't steal anyone else's stimulus payment. I'll know.
Third: don't issue threats to the committee. I'll know.
For those who think I should just hand over all that money to the companies that employ people, you should be aware by now that trickle-down economics *doesn't work*. If the big guys want that cash, they should be willing to give out goods and services to earn it. This is what 'stimulus' *means*.
Anyways, just so you know, Heartbreaker will be hitting town this evening. And after all those warnings, too. I am so shocked and surprised. Honest.
There will be footage.
Toodles!
(Showing page 1 of 12)
►Bagrat (Veteran Member) (The Guy in the Know)
Replied On Jan 11th 2011:
Oh, man. I have stayed up way too late. Sleep after this. Call in sick or something.
Anyway, *holy crap* has Atropos been busy. Once more, be not in the slightest surprised that everything she said she'd do, and everything she said she'd done, is one hundred percent accurate.
Everything.
There is now a warehouse in the Docks area that's basically a toxic, gutted ruin, to match the other one on the edge of town. Quite a few casualties, but they were one and all holding guns or in the very close vicinity of firearms. The ones we've been able to identify were very bad people indeed, and they evidently failed to follow the Atropos Rule Number One, which is basically Do Not Mess With Atropos.
And yes, they had sniper rifles and three AT-4 anti-tank launchers. We found the fourth on site at the city limits, where the Butcher & Teeth curbstomp happened.
Following an anonymous text message, we found two crashed eighteen-wheelers, on fire, with drugs inside and armed corpses outside. Plus a couple of crashed chase cars. Did I say she's been busy? She's been busy.
Then of course was the Damsel of Distress face-off. I have no doubt that if it weren't for Atropos, she'd be digging deep into the underworld right now. And from her whole attitude, if it weren't for Edict and Licit, she'd be decorating a slab right now. When I first saw the footage, I honestly didn't know which way it would go. I'm told Atropos herself contacted E&L a couple of hours beforehand, so she wasn't *eager* to kill D of D, even though she's entirely capable of it.
All of which just goes to add another shade of gray to our very own homegrown angel of death.
And finally, there's the Butcher kill. Only watch that footage if you have a strong stomach. She doesn't pull any punches. Still got a thing for ironic deaths, though. I'd rate it at about point seven five Skidmarks.
Also, in case anyone missed it, Butcher was under the influence of Animos' scream when Atropos killed her. That means Butcher's powers were suppressed, which is probably why he didn't make the jump to her. (To be honest, if I was Butcher, I wouldn't take that risk either.)
(Kidding. I kid.)
Anyway, after all that, I've just got one more thing to say:
Heartbreaker, you idiot. Don't do it.
More tonight after we see exactly what Atropos has planned for Heartbreaker.
Prepare for 'heartbreak' puns. Because we all know she's gonna go there.
Sleepy-time now.
►GreatAndTerribleAisha (Verified Atropos Fan)
Replied On Jan 11th 2011:
Woo! You GO, Atropos!
►Atropos (Original Poster) (
Replied On Jan 11th 2011:
@GreatAndTerribleAisha - aren't you supposed to be in class right now?
►GreatAndTerribleAisha (Verified Atropos Fan)
Replied On Jan 11th 2011:
You saw nothing.
Turning off phone now. Promise.
►Lepsdae
Replied On Jan 11th 2011:
Okay, now I'm curious as to what kind of ironic death Heartbreaker is going to suffer.
Bagrat is probably correct about the 'broken heart' puns. But *how*, exactly?
Is she going to kill his influence over his thralls and let them hunt him down?
(I would totally pay to watch that)
►VenomTongue
Replied On Jan 11th 2011:
@GreatAndPowerfulAisha - don't take this the wrong way, but you're pretty cool. How do I get to be an official Atropos fan as well?
►WhiteSleeves
Replied On Jan 11th 2011:
@Lepsdae - I predict a heart attack, or she'll just go full Temple of Doom on him.
►GrayBottle
Replied On Jan 11th 2011:
Imma throw my hat in the ring and go with a box of chocolates ... with some more of that fentanyl as a surprise ingredient.
►GleamingGlare
Replied On Jan 11th 2011:
A heart attack would be too ... non-obvious.
I'm going with 'rips it out of his chest and tears it in half'.
(Showing page 2 of 12)
►BrickFrog
Replied On Jan 11th 2011:
But can we be sure that Atropos didn't end up with Butcher in her head? I mean, really? It could all be an act.
►Dragon (Veteran Member) (Verified Cape) (Protectorate Member) (Guild Member)
Replied On Jan 11th 2011:
@BrickFrog - I can help you there. I was actually in communication with Atropos when she killed Butcher. None of my voice analysis software shows the slightest change in stress levels throughout the entire episode. Which means that either she's not the Butcher, or she's the greatest actor the world has ever seen.
And no offense to Atropos, but she's not that great at acting.
►Atropos (Original Poster) (
Replied On Jan 11th 2011:
@Dragon - none taken. Thanks for the vote of confidence.
►Reave (Verified PRT Agent)
Replied On Jan 11th 2011:
@Atropos - We talked about this. Blowing up warehouses full of drugs is dangerous, and poses a threat to innocent citizens. Also, how many people did you actually kill in there? Can you be certain no innocents got caught in the crossfire?
As for the eighteen-wheelers—seriously, a high-speed vehicle chase through the city, then deliberately causing a crash? Did you have to kill them all?
I'm not even going to go into the risk you took, going after Butcher. You couldn't have known for certain that you could do this without being possessed.
You need to come in so we can sit down and have a serious talk about your methods.
►Atropos (Original Poster) (
Replied On Jan 11th 2011:
@Reave - Whoa, back off a little there. You're a little tetchy in the morning before you have your coffee, aren't you?
I'm not going to get into the habit of explaining myself, not even to you, so count yourself lucky.
First, I don't take orders from you, from the PRT, or from the Protectorate. If *certain people* (they know who they are) had done their jobs from the beginning, Brockton Bay wouldn't be in the state it is. I'm just cleaning up the mess and making sure no more messes get made while I'm at it.
*You* talked about it. I didn't.
Second, no innocents got hit with stray bullets. A few people will end up with minor chest complaints, but they'll recover. And in the meantime, that pile of shit I blew up isn't going to addict anyone or cause any ODs. Neither is it going to make anyone money. In fact, the guys who brought it in are now seriously out of pocket. And finally, I left you a nice gift-wrapped present. You're welcome.
Third, everyone who died in the eighteen-wheeler chase were specifically being paid to keep those drugs out of my hands. They were about to plow through Downtown proper, never mind the pedestrians or other cars. If I hadn't stopped them where I did, we'd have a lot more dead and injured.
Fourth, give me *some* credit for the Butcher thing. I had it all planned out.
Also, I note that you're carefully not mentioning Damsel of Distress and how that worked out just fine?
I get it. You didn't have enough sleep, and right now you're caffeine deficient.
The drugs are gone, Butcher and the Teeth are dead, and Damsel of Distress is back in Stafford.
Trust me, last night could've gone a hell of a lot worse.
►RedComedy
Replied On Jan 11th 2011:
Wait, did Atropos make a *flour bomb* out of drugs? Was *that* what that almighty explosion was?
►JediMedic
Replied On Jan 11th 2011:
That's what she did. Twice, even.
►TeamMom (Senior Moderator)
Replied On Jan 11th 2011:
@Reave - Can we just dial back the aggression a little, please? I know you're concerned, but right now Atropos is willing to communicate and give us advance warning of what she does. I'd rather we didn't antagonize her to the point that she stops talking to us. Okay?
Everyone else, I understand that Heartbreaker is not a nice man, but please dial back the suggestions for how Atropos might kill him. We're not supposed to be approving of that sort of thing.
►Atropos (Original Poster) (
Replied On Jan 11th 2011:
@TeamMom - thanks. He wasn't bothering me, and I wasn't going to cut you guys off, but I appreciate it anyway.
@VenomTongue - Imma keep my fan club small for the moment. As GTA is the de facto president of it, she gets to invite people in that she figures are worthy.
Everyone else - Heartbreaker is absolutely going to die due to a broken heart. Mwhahahahaha.
►Licit (Verified Cape) (PRT Employee)
Replied On Jan 11th 2011:
I just want to throw my two cents in here. Atropos didn't have to call Edict and me in to pick up Damsel, and she didn't have to hold off the way she did until we got there. It could easily have gone really badly, but it didn't.
Atropos is alright in my book.
■
<><>
<><>
Madison
When Taylor entered the World Affairs classroom, Madison was able to suppress her fear reaction. The last time they'd spoken, Taylor had actually praised her, after all. I'm doing fine … I'm doing fine … I'm doing fine …
And then all that went to hell when she saw the girl who entered the classroom directly after Taylor. She would never forget that face, those intense eyes. There was a roaring in her ears. Distantly, she became aware of Julia asking her if she was okay. A whimper tried to force its way out from between her lips, but she wouldn't let it. Don't draw attention.
Taylor walked straight up to her, and put a hand on her shoulder. "Hello, Madison." Her expression was friendly, all except for her eyes. It was the same look she'd seen when she was sitting at the table in the cafeteria, struggling to breathe. "You've already met Cherie here, yeah?"
Reluctantly, her gaze dragged itself over to the other girl, who raised a hand in a brief wave. "Hi."
"Um … hi?" She hated that her voice rose to a squeak right at the end.
Taylor smiled, though there was no humour in it. "So, Cherie kind of got off on the wrong foot when she first got here, but she's doing better now. She'll be attending Winslow, as soon as they get her classes sorted out. In the meantime, I'll be showing her around."
"That's nice," said Julia uncertainly. Madison had impressed on her that Taylor wasn't to be bullied anymore. At all. Ever. There hadn't been much explanation at the time, but Madison was fairly sure Julia had picked up on the current buzz in their year (and above and below it as well) that 'maybe Taylor Hebert is Atropos and maybe she isn't, but given she's probably killed everybody who knows, let's not risk it'.
Cherie's eyebrows rose, and Madison realized that she'd suddenly made a connection. "Oh, these are the … uh, friends, you told me about earlier?"
"Some of them, yeah." Taylor's smile never shifted. "Emma's in another class. Sophia … isn't with us anymore."
From the sidelong glance Cherie gave Taylor, she knew exactly what the phrase entailed. It also gave Madison a whole new set of entirely unwelcome epiphanies.
Cherie's a cape. That's how she was doing that stuff when Taylor interrupted her.
She's helping Taylor kill people. And it doesn't bother her.
Oh, fuck. There's two of them.
The rumour was already spreading around Winslow that more drug buildings had exploded overnight, just as Atropos had said she'd do on PHO. Also, though this was a little more than a theory, that Atropos had taken on Butcher and the Teeth, and killed them all. While she wasn't about to discount it—she'd seen the way Taylor had shredded the Nine, while making it look like something she was doing to pass the time while bored—it would also mean that Taylor was now the Butcher.
Taylor was already terrifying enough. What was she going to be like with all the Butcher's powers plus insane into the bargain? And how was Madison supposed to get far enough away from her to start warning people?
She suddenly became aware that Taylor's eyes were fixed on her. The smile was gone, as though it had never existed. Slowly, Taylor leaned in, to put her mouth next to Madison's ear. "No, I'm not," she whispered. "Though I appreciate the concern."
"Okay, everyone, can we just take our seats please?" With his faux casual tone, Mr G was still trying to be the 'cool' teacher. Normally, Madison would've found it incredibly lame, but right now she was insanely grateful for the distraction. Trying not to scuttle across the classroom, she found her seat and plonked herself into it.
"What was that about?" asked Julia in a low voice, glancing back at where Cherie was taking a seat next to Taylor. "What did she say?"
"It's not important." There was no way Madison was going to blab anything that Taylor wanted kept private. She enjoyed having all her internal organs right where they were.
Mr G cleared his throat. "Also, everyone. You may have noticed a stranger in your midst. This is Cherie Reyn … uh, Rey …"
"Reynaud," Taylor supplied without prompting, saying it with a French accent. "She's transferring in from Montreal."
"Yes, thank you, Taylor." Mr G gave a strained smile. "If everyone could give Cherie a warm welcome?" He nodded at the half-hearted applause. "Thank you. Now, in today's lesson, we're going to be looking closer to home than normal. Usually, capes tend to strike a balance between heroes and villains in any given area, with neither side doing much to change this. But once in a while, either the heroes capture all the major villains or the villains drive out the heroes. Can anyone give me an example of both, and then we can discuss the pros and cons of each one?"
From the corner of her eye, Madison saw Taylor sit forward, pen poised over her notepad and her expression intent as a dozen hands shot into the air.
Yeah, I just bet you're interested.
<><>
Taylor
2:15 PM
As we left the Art classroom, I glanced at Cherie. "So, how are you enjoying Winslow so far?"
"It's not as bad as I thought it was going to be." Cherie gave me a look of sly amusement. "The World Affairs discussion was interesting, at least."
"The less said about the World Affairs discussion," I growled, "the better. How about the rest of it?"
Cherie gave a half-shrug. "I never got to try sculpting with clay before, so that was fun. What's next?"
"Math." Losing my bad mood in an instant, I shot her a sympathetic look. "It's where you're likely to be most bored, mainly because we'll be doing exercises that we already know how to do, and there'll be no real room to shoehorn you in like we did with Art and World Affairs."
"Are you sure?" Cherie looked dubious. "I mean, I already know how to do math. Adding, subtracting, multiplying, stuff like that. What else is there?"
I drew a deep breath. "I … I can't even begin to answer that question. Math at high school level is a lot more complicated than just adding and multiplying." I balked at the idea of trying to quickly explain square roots and exponents and even basic algebra to someone whose idea of difficult math was adding up prices on a shopping list.
We entered the classroom and found a couple of unoccupied desks next to each other. Taking the math textbook out of my backpack, I wordlessly handed it over to Cherie, just so she could get an idea of what she was missing out on. Cherie opened it and traced her finger down the contents page, her lips moving silently as she encountered unfamiliar words.
Halfway through, she stopped and glanced past me. "Who's the redhead?" she asked in a murmur. "She's acting like you're about to jump up and stab her to death with your pen."
I didn't bother looking. "That's Emma. She's the other one. My ex-bestie."
Cherie snorted quietly. "Well, she's a fuckin' moron."
"In fairness, at least part of it was Sophia's influence." I felt I had to set the record straight. "I'm still not sure why Emma decided she needed a new best friend, or how Sophia talked her into backstabbing me, or however it happened. But it did, and shit happened, but now I'm good."
Mr Quinlan chose that moment to enter the classroom, and the discussion was put on hold. Though I suspected it wasn't over and done with yet.
Oh, well. What happens, happens.
<><>
Hebert Household
5:37 PM
Danny
"Good afternoon, girls." Danny came in through the back door and closed it behind him. "How was your day?"
Taylor looked up from what he figured was math homework—he remembered that sort of thing with a less than nostalgic shudder—while Cherie seemed to be industriously poring through Taylor's World Affairs textbook. "It went okay," Taylor said with a grin. "Blackwell was still running in circles, last we checked."
"Good, good." Danny loosened his bootlaces, then levered the boots off with his toes. "So, how do you like Winslow, Cherie?"
Looking up from the textbook, Cherie wrinkled her nose. "Better than I expected. It's weird not being around people who know my every secret. Though half the students there seem to know Taylor's Atropos, or at least suspect it, but everyone thinks they're the only one that knows. I'm not the centre of attention for once, which is nice."
Danny blinked at the unwelcome news, then stared at Taylor. "They know you're Atropos?"
"No, Dad." She shook her head, still grinning. "They suspect. But the more certain they are, the less willing they are to actually talk to someone about it. Just in case it's true."
"… oh." Shaking his head, Danny went to the fridge for the pitcher of fruit punch. "How did they figure it out?"
Taylor leaned back in her chair. "I'm thinking Emma and Madison did it, but not on purpose. After I killed Sophia, they started going all-out to tell their cronies to leave me alone. And that was just when I was starting to show confidence in school and the news broke about Atropos and the gang bosses …"
"They added two and two, and accidentally ended up at four." Danny poured himself a glass then put the pitcher back in the fridge. "And nobody's planning to do anything stupid?"
"Haha, no," Cherie said. "It's like, they've suddenly got hold of Alexandria's secret identity, only worse. Because Alexandria might not kill you for outing her. Atropos, on the other hand …"
Taylor's grin was suddenly full of teeth. "… absolutely would. I've made that abundantly and very publicly clear."
"Yeah, I doubt there's anyone in the state who thinks you're likely to go easy on someone pulling that shit." Danny dragged out a chair from the kitchen table and sat down. "Not after emptying a city of its supervillains in just one week." Cherie snickered, and Danny glanced her way, not sure what the joke was. "Did I say something funny?"
Cherie looked over at Taylor, who grumbled in her throat. "Okay, fine. You might as well get it out of your system."
"Okay, then." Cherie put the textbook down. "In World Affairs, Mr Gladly wanted to discuss the concept of heroes clearing all the villains out of a city, or the villains chasing out all the heroes."
"Like Taylor's doing right here," Danny guessed.
"Exactly." Leaning across the table, Cherie put her hand on Taylor's arm. "But every time he tried to steer the discussion toward Brockton Bay in particular, nearly everyone in the classroom glanced at Taylor, then shut up."
Danny tried to figure out what the problem was. "So … they didn't talk about it?"
"Not a word," Cherie confirmed, her eyes alight with amusement. "It was like they'd never even heard of Atropos. Nobody wanted to be the one who got her attention."
"Meanwhile, all I wanted was some feedback," Taylor groused. "Would that have been so difficult?"
"Ah." It was all made clear now. "I think they call that 'suffering from success', hon. Congratulations. You're officially too scary for your own good."
Taylor rolled her eyes. "It's not funny."
Danny stilled the twitch in his lips. "Never said it was."
From the dirty look she gave him, she wasn't convinced.
<><>
7:22 PM
Heartbreaker
Nikos Vasil cruised into Brockton Bay from the northwest, eyes open and scanning his surroundings. He was alert and rested due to his enforced daytime sleeping pattern, and his gasoline tank was full in case he had to travel on quickly—or beat a hasty retreat. Neither the gasoline nor the motel rooms had been paid for in anything as tawdry as money; he had instead allowed the respective proprietors to offer him their wares free of charge, as was his right.
His first order of business was to create a stable of willing servants here in the city, where they could go out and seek his prey for him, if she did not find him first. Rumour had it that Atropos was preternaturally good at locating parahuman infiltrators into her city. Of course, it didn't matter to him how they came into contact, just so long as he got within earshot of her. The news footage of her confrontation with Damsel of Distress had been particularly educational; if she hesitated that long before attempting violence on him, she would be firmly his long before she chose to act.
Rolling down the pretentiously named Lord Street, with the waterfront (and the force field shielded Protectorate base) to his left, and people frequenting various eating establishments on his right, he smiled. The city would be his hunting ground; he would have his prey and be gone before anyone except Atropos even knew he was in town. And if someone did stumble upon him, they would join the search party.
It was, in fact, a no-lose situation for him.
Of course, to commence the hunt, he would have to go on foot, so he pulled over into the next parking lot he saw. It was nowhere near full, being a Tuesday night, but he parked down at the back anyway. Canadian registered cars wouldn't be unknown this close to the border, but they would definitely draw a second glance, and he didn't want that sort of attention.
Climbing out of the car, he locked it, then ran his hands over his hair and shirt to make sure he was presentable. He wanted people to not give him a second glance, so that he could walk right up and put them right under his spell—
"Took you long enough."
He spun around at the familiar voice. There, under one of the light poles illuminating the parking lot, stood Cherie. She had something held up in front of her, and he frowned, squinting. Was that a phone? Was she recording him?
Well, no matter. This was turning out better than he could possibly have expected. He didn't know what she was expecting to do with the recording, or why she might have thought he would allow her to keep it, but she was sadly mistaken on all counts. "Cherie," he ordered, gesturing to her. "Come here. Get into the car, at once."
She took a step forward then stopped, still recording him. "No," she said. "You don't have power over me."
"No," he snapped. "It doesn't work that way. You will obey my words. Now get in the car!"
Someone tapped him on the shoulder, startling him badly. He began to turn, but all he registered was a dark form before something crashed into his jaw with a shattering noise. The impact was tremendous, and he spun around before falling heavily onto the gravel of the parking lot.
As he blinked his eyes clear of the daze, he found himself being picked up and draped face-down over the hood of his own car, his arm held uncomfortably behind his back. The heat of the metal was unpleasant to the touch, but he wasn't being given much choice in the matter. Cherie had come closer, still holding the phone, and for the first time, he got a good look at his assailant.
It was Atropos. She found me first. How did she find me first? Nikos had not felt fear for a long time, but now he began to experience the stirrings of it.
Right at that moment she was holding him down on the hood of the car with one thumb on a pressure point in his wrist. With her other hand, she passed off an object to Cherie, who tucked it under her arm. It looked like a large Valentine's heart made of hard candy, shattered in half by the impact with his jaw.
Still, this was his opportunity. "You must obey me," he said, or tried to say. But his jaw hurt abominably when he tried to move it, and all that came out was a mumble. At the same time, he forced intense love and affection in Atropos' direction.
"Save it," Atropos said briskly. "Your jaw's broken. You can't say a damn thing. Anyway, that crap doesn't work on me."
But it should have worked on her. He rolled his eyes toward Cherie, who was still filming the entire thing.
"She's wearing earplugs, you idiot." Atropos' voice was heavy with sarcasm. "You think we didn't see you coming?"
And indeed, Cherie was removing bright yellow plastic earplugs from each ear, making sure to keep the phone pointed at him. She gave him a broad and impertinent grin, then flipped him the bird.
Still holding him down, Atropos reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. Good luck with that, he thought smugly. He wasn't so careless as to use his face or fingerprint as his unlocking ID. It would require a six-digit PIN code, which he never even wrote down …
Bip-bip-bip-bip-bip-bip
And then, to his shock, when she spoke again, it was with his voice. "Yes, it is me. Call everyone in. You all need to hear this. Place the phone on speaker."
His brain whirled, trying to figure out how this could have gone so badly. He'd had a plan. Nobody could resist his power. Nobody.
This doesn't happen to me!
Atropos spoke once more; from the look of distaste on Cherie's face, she sounded just like him. He couldn't do more than mumble, and the threat of that one pressure point kept him in place.
"Do you all hear my voice? Are you listening? Then listen to this, my last command for you. Ignore every other command I have ever given. They no longer hold true. You are free of me. I give you leave to go where you will, do what you will. You are released. You are free. Do you understand?"
No! No! You can't do that! You can't take that all away from me! He tried to struggle, to pull free, as his entire world was pulled out from under him. Lightning seared up his arm as the pressure point was jabbed, and he subsided once more.
"Good. Go forth. Be good to one another, and those around you. I leave you now." She ended the call, and dropped the phone into her pocket. Then, with a metallic sliding noise, she drew a large and distressingly sharp-looking pair of shears. "Nikos."
He opened his eyes wide as she waved them near his face. Is she going to blind me? What is she going to do?
Looking down at him, she spoke harshly. "Release them. Relax your power. Let them all go."
What? No, I can't do that! All he had to do was find them once more and reverse the orders she'd given them …
It was as though she'd heard his thoughts. "Yes. Yes, you can. Now, you may be a little reluctant, which makes me wonder. Is it possible to castrate a man by going in through his asshole, and would he still be so stubborn once I've done so?" The shears left his sight; a moment later, he felt parting cloth, and the touch of a cold sharp metal point in an area nobody ever wants to feel sharp metal. "Well?"
NO! He tried to scream, tried to pull free, but all that happened was another jolt of agony down his arm, his jaw ached even more, and there was a painful jab in his nether regions.
"That sounds like permission to me. Wouldn't you say so?"
To his horror, his traitorous daughter nodded firmly, and even made the phone 'nod' as well.
"Yeah, I thought so too. Try to relax, Vasil. That way, it'll only be mildly agonizing."
No! No! I'll do it! He tried to mumble his acquiescence. Thankfully, she paused.
"Well?" she asked. "I'm waiting."
Closing his eyes, he capitulated. For the first time since he could remember, he relaxed his power entirely, releasing everyone held in its thrall. It didn't mean much in the long run—all he had to do was talk to someone for a short time to re-establish it—but it did mean he couldn't give orders over the phone to anyone.
One by one, they all slipped away, out of his reach. There were so many of them, some he'd even forgotten about; when the last leash dissolved, he felt naked. Exposed.
"Good." The metal blade was removed from its highly intrusive position. "Well done. You can take direction, at least."
He barely had time to relax before he was suddenly and abruptly rolled over onto his back. Before he could begin to struggle free, a hard knee drove into his crotch and he was helpless with agony once more.
"But now we have the problem of you," she mused. "I warned you not to come to my city and start shit. How many times? Three? Four? More warnings than anyone else got, anyway. And yet, here you are."
She reached out without turning away from Nikos, and Cherie put the half-shattered heart into her hand, in what was evidently a pre-planned move. With growing terror, he noticed for the first time just how sharp the lower end of it was.
"People say the way to a man's heart is through his stomach." Atropos shook her head. "They're wrong. Personally, I favour going up and under the ribcage."
With a sudden vicious move, she stabbed him with the candy heart, splitting his skin and driving the sharp point deep into his chest; letting out a choked cry despite his broken jaw, he arched his back in agony. Despite the unusual nature of the murder weapon, the end came quickly. His last sight was of his daughter, watching with altogether too much satisfaction.
<><>
Taylor
We left him there, lying across the hood of his car. Someone would report the murder to the cops sooner or later, but that was okay. I'd post the footage later on that night, after scrubbing Cherie's name out of it.
Heartbreaker had been Ended, and his legacy with him.
"You okay?" I asked Cherie, as we headed back to where Dad was waiting in his car.
She nodded, and sniffled a little. "Yeah. It's just that … seeing him brought back all the old terror, where I couldn't help but do as he told me. When you made him let me go … let all of us go … it was like a huge weight I'd never even known about, just gone. And then you made sure he could never hurt us again." Turning to me, she hugged me. "Thank you."
I held her close, comforting her. "You're welcome."
<><>
Somewhere Well Away from Brockton Bay
Tattletale
"What the hell was that?"
Lisa looked over at Alec. "What was what?"
He bumped his temple with the heel of his hand as though trying to shake his thoughts loose. "Something really weird just happened. In my head. It's like … you know when you've had a bad cold and your sinuses are totally full of really gross shit, and you blow your nose and it all comes out at once, and how weird it feels after? Well, it's like that."
"Okay, first, that's a disgusting description." Lisa shook her head, trying not to think about it. "Second, any idea why it happened?"
Alec jumped up. "I've got one possi—ooh." Without another word, he turned and headed for the door.
"Make sense already," snapped Rachel.
Lisa frowned. "Where are you going?"
Alec grinned—actually grinned—for the first time in a long time. "Gonna buy some confetti."
And then he was gone, leaving Lisa to figure out what he meant.
Relevant Side Story
End of Part Twenty-Nine
[A/N: A couple of weeks before the next one, sorry.]
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