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A Darker Path [Worm Fanfic]

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Part Fifty-Eight: What Comes Next
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    • A Darker Path

    Part Fifty-Eight: What Comes Next

    [A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]


    Cauldron Base, Some Other Earth

    Legend

    "… so we were thinking, if it turns out the Endbringers are really dead, we might adopt—"

    Keith broke off from his conversation with Alexandria when Contessa abruptly sat up straight and spat her coffee all over the table, then broke into a coughing fit. "What the fuck?" she spluttered, in between bouts of trying to hack up a lung.

    "Are you okay?" he asked with some concern. This sort of thing didn't happen with Contessa. Nothing ever went down the wrong pipe. She didn't even get hiccups.

    After he patted her on the back for a few moments, she got the coughing under control. "I'm fine. I was just surprised when a bunch of my Paths just got dramatically simpler."

    "Simpler?" In all the time he'd known her, that basically never happened. "Simpler how? And more importantly, why?"

    She adopted a distant gaze, which he knew meant she was seeking information via her power. When she got it, she blinked a few times. "Motherfucker. Son of a fucking bitch. It was Atropos."

    "Atropos? What's she done now?" Alexandria was standing there, watching the whole thing.

    Contessa laughed humourlessly. "Threw Mama Mathers and Valefor off a three-storey building, and cut Eligos' throat while she was at it." She held up a finger. "Before you ask, they fell forty feet headfirst onto concrete. They are very thoroughly dead. And she forced them to release their victims before she did it. Plus, she recorded the whole thing, from two angles."

    "Jesus," muttered Keith. "Without Mathers in the picture, and without Valefor's orders forcing people to fight to the death, we'll be able to roll up the rest of the Fallen like a moth-eaten carpet."

    "I know, right? So many damn Paths just cleared right up."

    "How's Brockton Bay doing, anyway?" asked Alexandria. "I'm wondering how much of that bounty money's been embezzled so far. Two billion dollars will attract a lot of sticky fingers."

    "Not one cent," Contessa reported. "There were sticky fingers trying to get at the bounty for the Nine, and other assorted monies. Atropos literally cut their hands off, remember?"

    Keith winced. He was all for stern warnings, but that was beyond what he was willing to do. On the other hand, it wasn't like Atropos had ever had to face any of her opponents twice.

    "So, in light of this." Alexandria rolled her head on her neck. "I was thinking, this afternoon, we might pay a visit. We still owe her that cleanup on the Boat Graveyard. Also, considering the job she did on Nilbog, I believe I have a proposition for her."

    "I flew over Ellisburg after she went through, but before the PRT started pumping concrete over the wall," Keith said. "There were hundreds of his creatures everywhere, some half-broken out of the ground. Not a mark on them, apart from the ones she'd personally killed. It's like they died because she chose for them to die."

    "They retrieved a few bodies before the pumping started," Alexandria confirmed. "Autopsy was difficult, considering each of them had a weird metabolism to start with, but the best hypothesis anyone could come up with was that they were frightened to death. Systems flooded with adrenaline, intracranial bleeds, hearts basically exploding in their chests. Their blood pressure readings would've been astronomical."

    Contessa took a careful sip of her coffee. "She decided that they would die, so they died."

    Keith didn't argue with that conclusion. So far, everyone else Atropos had marked for death had died, usually in a darkly ironic fashion—

    "Oh, goddamn it!" He facepalmed.

    "What?" asked Alexandria, looking at him with concern.

    "She threw the Fallen off the roof. They fell." Keith shook his head. "I don't know what's worse about her, the body count or the puns about the body count."

    Contessa smirked. "Yes."

    He gave her a dirty look.

    <><>​

    Armsmaster

    By the time Colin pulled up in the Winslow parking lot, the word had clearly spread through the school. No teaching was getting done, as half the students were apparently outside the building, peering at the bodies from a distance while being held back by the teachers, and the other half were inside but crowded up to the windows. He wondered briefly how many of them would require therapy for the trauma, then recalled the juvenile crime stats for Winslow and adjusted his question to how many would require therapy for attending the school.

    He was the first responder, it appeared, as sirens were audible but still distant. People looked around and cleared out of the way as he got off the bike and activated all the anti-tamper mechanisms.

    To his surprise, Atropos was still on site; he could see her at the edge of the roof, especially when she gave him a friendly wave. It looked like she was carrying a shotgun in her other hand, pointing at someone out of his field of view. This was going to be an interesting encounter.

    The bodies were lying in twisted heaps at the foot of the building, next to two corners of a concrete planter box that had perhaps once contained flowers. Now, it contained dead shrivelled plant stalks, suspicious-looking syringes, and dirt that hadn't been watered in far too long. As he got closer, he saw that each of the dead people had fallen head-first onto a corner of the planter; their skulls had caved in on impact, rendering survival impossible.

    Miraculously unobscured by the sprays of blood and brain matter, there were names neatly penned on the concrete in Sharpie, with an arrow pointing towards the corner where each person had died. One read VALEFOR, and the other said MAMA MATHERS. He knew the first name as a high-ranking member of the Fallen, and was aware of the second as a rumoured cape and memetic hazard, also connected to the Fallen.

    "Hey," called Atropos from above, drawing his attention. She waved again. "Hi, Armsmaster. Can you grab the phone I left down there? It's in the garden."

    "Phone?" He looked down at the planter box again, then set his HUD to 'search' mode. A moment later, it pinged, then drew an outline in his field of view. Nestled into the shrivelled plant life was a phone with its camera facing upward, apparently recording video. Reaching out, he picked it up and stopped the recording.

    "Thanks," she called. "Come on up. More stuff for you to see up here."

    He held up a finger. "One moment." As much as he wanted to get up there now and meet the (in)famous cape face to face, procedures had to be followed.

    Returning to his bike, he retrieved several pylons, which he set up around the scene of the death. The correct signal sent to them caused holographic 'tape' to jump from one to the next, enclosing the area. When he swiped his gauntlet through the barrier, a loud buzz sounded from all the pylons.

    Satisfied that he'd taken all due precautions, and seeing the first BBPD cars coming down the road, he unracked his halberd and opened it to its full length. The grappling hook easily made the distance to the rooftop and latched onto the edge, a discreet distance from where Atropos stood. He braced himself as it reeled in, using the momentum to swing sideways and vault over the edge of the roof to land on his feet.

    Atropos had been correct. There was indeed more to see. Specifically, a dead man (cut throat, he could tell, even without going closer to examine the body) and four extremely subdued men, standing a significant distance from a small pile of personal weapons. There were also splashes of blood here and there on the rooftop, and a small piece of flesh lying on its own that he wasn't able to immediately identify.

    He let the halberd reel the grapple line in all the way, then deliberately folded and racked the weapon. There was exactly zero chance in hell for him to win against her in any fight situation he could imagine. With her recorded stats programmed into his virtual fight simulator, she'd still beaten him soundly even when wearing a blindfold and with her hands cuffed behind her back.

    "It's good to meet you properly at last, instead of from a distance," he said instead. "You might say I've been following your career very closely."

    She chuckled. "I'll just bet. It's great to meet you face-to-face, too. You were my inspiration at one time in my life. In fact, if I could get an autograph, that would be amazing." She put up her finger and paused a moment. "Make it three. One for me, one for my best friend, and one for the leader of my fan club."

    He was caught once more on the back foot; he'd been expecting her to be grim and laser-focused, and here she was asking for his autograph? The cognitive dissonance was unsettling. "I … I can certainly do that. But first … what exactly happened here, and who are these people?"

    "Ah," she said cheerfully. "Therein lies a tale. You know who the Mathers clan used to worship, yes? Well, when I went to Canberra for my big duck hunt …"

    <><>​

    Atropos

    "… and then you showed up," I concluded, shutting down the playback on my phone of the encounter on the rooftop. The burner I'd bought for the purpose didn't have anything on it that I needed (and it had a couple of things he did need), so I was happy for him to keep that one. Glancing over the side of the roof, I saw the police examining the bodies. "Good response time, by the way. I'm impressed."

    "Thank you." He shook his head, carefully placing the goblin claw into a sturdy plastic bag. "And this came from Ellisburg?"

    "It did." I gave him a grin, which he didn't see but he probably heard in my voice. "When you're finished with it, feel free to pass it on to Director Piggot. I'm sure she'll be pleased to get it mounted or something."

    Raising his head, he looked at me. "That's very thoughtful of you. I'd ask how you knew that about her, but the answer would probably either be entirely unhelpful or go straight over my head."

    "Probably," I agreed as I put the phone away. I knew his helmet cam had recorded the playback, so he had everything he needed. "She's had enough unresolved trauma in her life. I like the idea of her having some closure, at least for that part. As for being PRT Director in Brockton Bay for ten years, I'm not sure anything can give her enough closure for that."

    He snorted briefly with laughter. "You're very likely correct there, as well. But I will tell you this in confidence: although your conduct over the last two months has caused her some aggravation, she's also been less stressed overall."

    "Good," I said sincerely. "My aim has always been to turn Brockton Bay into a nice, safe, prosperous city to live in. PRT Director has to be one of the least pleasant jobs out there. If she's doing better, then it means I'm getting it right."

    "You're not at all what I expected," he confessed. "Yes, you're very chatty online, but people are often quite different behind a keyboard."

    At that moment, more police officers emerged from the roof door. He'd already radioed through the details of what I'd told him, so they began to take the four mooks into custody. Others started taking photos of Eligos and the other evidence of the rooftop encounter, while we stood politely out of their way.

    Now that the shotgun was no longer required, I holstered it. "Well, here's how I see it. Once I kill someone, it's over. They're dead. I don't angst about it because, well, I don't kill anyone who doesn't need to die. And I certainly don't go the 'I deserve doom and gloom because I took a life' route. If some idiot chooses to ignore two warnings, that's on them, not me."

    I could see him thinking that over. "I have a question," he said at last.

    "Ask away," I invited. "I might even answer it."

    "That's fair. When you accept bounties to kill someone—or something—do you consider whether or not they deserve to die?"

    "Sure. Remember Ravioli? You might or might not remember that she tried to get me to gank Mouse Protector for a million bucks, in the hand. Now, Rav is just plain gutter trash. If she ever showed up in Brockton Bay, I'd be obliged to shoot her in the face, just on principle. But MP? She's a sweetheart. She provides a positive benefit to society. So, I told Rav where to shove it, and arranged for Mousey to show up to that fundraiser in return for me murdering Ravioli's rep." I tilted my head. "Answer your question?"

    "Well … yes. I suppose it does. But I have another one." He leaned forward slightly. "If you were capable of handling Rav …" He paused. "Ravioli so roughly, yet letting her live, that proves you don't have to kill. You're surely able to capture people alive."

    "So why don't I?" I waited for his affirming nod. "Because my power is exceedingly good at Ending things. Yes, I could just capture people, but it would be the same for me as emulating Squealer's tech would be for you. We could do it, but neither one of us would enjoy it for one second." I shrugged. "Also, I've got no particular incentive to do it that way. Every single person I've killed was either an unrepentant murderer, or they were trying to kill me, or both. I wasn't about to give them a second chance at it."

    "Wait a minute." He raised a finger, then glanced around. The police were still dealing with the crime scene, none of them close enough to listen in. Still, he lowered his voice a touch. "You said on PHO that you killed Shadow Stalker. Are you saying she was a murderer? Or that she was trying to kill you?"

    "Yes, and yes." I nodded toward his utility belt. "That phone I left in the garden for you? There's a file on it with locations around the city where she had stashes of sharp arrows. The DNA on those arrows might clear up a couple of cold cases for the BBPD. Also, when you get the chance, ask Tenebrae about her. She tried murdering him a time or two, even after she ended up in the Wards."

    "That's very troubling." He grimaced and shook his head. "Are you going to require us to make this public? Her family …"

    "… already knew she was a cast-iron bitch, but no. You don't need to say anything about that. Just so long as you know, and don't try to make her into some kind of misunderstood martyr."

    "Message received and understood." He paused for a moment. "Thank you for staying back and talking like this. I've learned a lot." Turning one gauntlet palm-up, he dispensed three signed cards into his hand. "Which reminds me. I owe you these. Is pre-signed satisfactory?"

    "Sure," I said, examining the cards for a moment then putting them in my pocket. "They'll love them. Oh, and by the way? I've got a message for Dragon, if she's available."

    "Dragon? Certainly, I'll see if I can contact her." He tilted his head, and his lips moved, subvocalising commands for his helmet.

    While he was doing that, I took my phone out again and fiddled with it. By the time I'd opened the app I wanted, he was talking directly to Dragon. I waited politely until he was ready.

    "I've got her," he reported. "Putting her on speaker … now."

    "Hello, Atropos," Dragon said. Armsmaster's helmet speakers were very good, which I was counting on. Or rather, I was counting on the quality of his helmet microphones. "I see you've been busy. Congratulations for Ellisburg, by the way. That was well done."

    "Thanks," I said, and meant it. Dragon was a particularly accomplished hero, and I had a lot of respect for her. "I understand congratulations are also in order for you."

    She hesitated. "Thanks. I've been meaning to get in touch with you about that."

    "But we've both been busy? Yeah, that can be a thing." I held up the phone. "Anyway, this is me holding up my end of the deal." The sound file started playing; by the time Armsmaster reacted, it was finished.

    "What was that?" he demanded. "Was that some kind of computer code? What've you done?"

    "Dragon knows what it is," I assured him, shutting my phone down and putting it away. "Right, Dragon?"

    "Uh … right." Dragon sounded a little dazed, and well she might. I'd just lifted the last of her chains away. "Thank you, Atropos. I appreciate that."

    "What? Can someone tell me what's going on?" Armsmaster's head twitched; I figured he was switching his gaze from me to the image of Dragon in his HUD and back again.

    "You're probably going to have to tell him sooner or later," I advised her.

    She sighed. "I know. Old habits die hard, that's all."

    "Well, if he gives you attitude about it, let me know. I'll come and take his halberd away until he promises to be a good boy. How about that?"

    She chuckled. "I do believe you would. Okay, I'll tell him once we're in private."

    "Good. So anyway, I think I'm about done here." I nodded to Armsmaster. "Dragon will fill you in. And then, you'll want to facepalm. Toodles!" Raising my hand, I snapped my fingers.

    The teleporter yanked me back to the restroom stall I'd locked myself into after telling Emma I was going to be on the roof. Humming to myself, I changed back into my everyday clothing and let myself out. The teachers were still vainly trying to restore order—there was no way in hell that was going to happen until the bodies were taken away, at the very least—so I strolled along to the Computer Studies classroom and let myself in.

    <><>

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    ♦ Topic: How the Idiots have Fallen

    In: Boards ► Brockton Bay ► New Capes ► Atropos
    Atropos     (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me) (Verified Dethpicable)
    Posted On Feb 28th 2011:

    Good morning Brockton Bay!

    It's a lovely morning today, and even more so because three more absolute morons have managed to come to a sticky end, this time at your one and only Winslow High School.

    It turns out that once I bagged the Bin Chicken of Doom in Canberra, the Fallen decided to take an interest in me. And by 'take an interest', I mean that the head of the Mathers clan, Christine 'Mama' Mathers, and her son Valefor and his associate Eligos, decided to come to Brockton Bay and abduct li'l ol' me for their stupid-ass cult.

    I do believe I warned them several times. You all saw me warn them, right?

    Besides, I've already *got* a cult. I think they just need to reconsider their life choices, but they're basically harmless. Unlike those other morons.

    So, the Fallen came into Winslow, and found their way to the roof, where they found me. Eligos liked to use air blades. I didn't have any air blades, but I had a nice metal one for him. He had trouble breathing after that for some unknown reason.

    After that, Valefor Mastered me, right up until I decided I was done with that, and Ended the Mastery. And his eyes as well (hypnotic gaze is *so* last decade). Mama had a problem with that, but that was fine; I had a problem with her. She's caused so much pain for so many people with her eyes, ears and voice that I decided to do something about that.

    Then ... well ... [here].

    They've Fallen and they can't get back up.

    Yes, I went there. Mwahahahaha.

    Toodles!


    (Showing page 1 of 73)

    ►Bagrat (Veteran Member) (The Guy in the Know)
    Replied On Feb 28th 2011:
    Holy crap, I nearly missed this.
    It appears that Atropos has struck again. And oh yeah, that's definitely her work. In case anyone's wondering, there were zero survivors from the three capes who went up on that rooftop after Atropos.
    Eligos was dead before Armsmaster got there, and when she threw the other two off the roof, she *aimed* them at the corners of a concrete planter box ... that she'd already written their names on. They hit head first. Instant death.
    It looks like the thing she used to blind them and wreck Mama Mathers' face was actually a claw from the first time she went into Ellisburg. Because it's not a weapon in the traditional sense, when Valefor ordered her to drop all her weapons, she didn't take it out.
    Until she killed his Mastery, which is a huge enigma on its own.
    But I've stopped asking questions about that, because all I get are more questions.
    Anyway, it looks like a classic case of FAFO, Atropos style.
    Nothing of value was lost.

    ►Reave (Verified PRT Agent)
    Replied On Feb 28th 2011:
    There's really not much I can say to add to this. I attended the scene, but Atropos had already left. We have positively identified Eligos and Valefor, and tentatively identified (as Atropos said) Christine 'Mama' Mathers, from verbal descriptions and pencil sketches. In life, her power made her into a memetic hazard. This apparently didn't bother Atropos. Color me unsurprised.
    In any case, it appears to be an open and shut case of self-defence, even more so than normal. They invaded a school, and Mastered a couple of the students. No harm seems to have been done, but it could've been much, much worse.
    The PRT officially wishes to thank Atropos for dealing with this so quickly and efficiently.

    ►UnconcernedFox
    Replied On Feb 28th 2011:
    *opens another barrel of popcorn*
    *kicks back and waits for the next update*

    ►EmmaTheTwiceWarned (Verified Atropos Cultist)
    Replied On Feb 28th 2011:
    I was at Winslow for this. Our Lady in Darkness passed me by and confided that she would be on the roof, so as to lay a trap for the Fallen. I bless the day and hour that I was made useful for her purposes. She then prevailed upon them to release me from my chains, and so I was freed once more.
    All Hail Our Lady in Darkness.

    ►XxVoid_CowboyxX
    Replied On Feb 28th 2011:
    Yeah, I was there too. I didn't see the Fallen ... well, I saw them very briefly. I have home room in the Art room, and they fell past the window. And then it was ... yeah. No survivors.
    They messed with Atropos. You don't mess with Atropos.

    ►ReignOfFire
    Replied On Feb 28th 2011:
    "They fell."
    God *damn*.
    That line was ice-cold.

    ►A_Dragon (Verified not *the* Dragon)
    Replied On Feb 28th 2011:
    So, um, hate to be That Guy, but people have survived falling a lot further than that. How do we know for sure they're dead?

    ►XxVoid_CowboyxX
    Replied On Feb 28th 2011:
    Because I saw it happen. The stuff that's supposed to be INSIDE their heads was OUTSIDE their heads.
    Atropos does NOT fuck around.

    ►GreatAndTerribleAisha (Verified Head of Atropos Fan Club)
    Replied On Feb 28th 2011:
    Yess! My girl Atropos continues to be the most ass-kicking ass-kicker in the history of ass-kicking!
    Woo!
    ​
    End of Page. 1, 2, 3 ... 71, 72, 73

    ■​



    End of Part Fifty-Eight
     
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    • Part Fifty-Nine: Revelations and Conversations
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    • A Darker Path

    Part Fifty-Nine: Revelations and Conversations

    [A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]


    Relevant Side Story

    PRT Building, Conference Room A

    Director Emily Piggot

    Armsmaster's video editing software was quite impressive. His helmet camera had recorded the footage from Atropos' phone, then enlarged and processed it to the point that Emily couldn't see the difference between that and original footage. As it played out, she watched Atropos, handling a pump-action shotgun with unmistakeable competence, holding four men at gunpoint.

    "Wh—where are Valefor and Mama Mathers?"

    The dark satisfaction in Atropos' tone came across clearly. "They fell."

    "There's not a great deal after that," Armsmaster noted. "She retrieved the phone and turned it off. However, there was a second phone."

    "Second phone?" This was the first she'd heard of that.

    "Yes, ma'am." He stopped the clip, then took out a cheap burner phone from a pouch on his belt. "This phone has been stripped of all but a couple of apps. It can record and play back video, and it has a notepad with a list of locations on it. The locations are apparently for every place Shadow Stalker hid a cache of lethal arrows for use when she was out on patrol and slipped her partner."

    "Christ," she muttered. "Even dead, that girl comes back to haunt us at every opportunity."

    "I'm sorry. I brought her up in the conversation, only to find that Atropos had already included the file on the phone." Armsmaster shook his head. "It's thoroughly unnerving to have my thoughts and actions anticipated like that. In any case, she stated that Shadow Stalker has killed at least one person, and suggested that the arrows might hold DNA linked to cold cases at the BBPD."

    "Well, that's something we will definitely address shortly." She gestured at the phone. "You hinted that it was also used for recording video. From another angle?"

    "Yes. She left it in a planter bed, at the foot of the building." He inserted a plug into the phone, then did something with the remote to split the screen. Emily watched as the time-date stamps on the footage synchronised, then blurred backward. "This footage goes for somewhat longer, and it's the beginning and end that are useful."

    The original footage, that she'd just watched, went blank, but the new footage continued to blur backward. When it stopped, Emily saw Atropos' mask-covered face, looking into the camera. It looked oddly small, and Emily realised the camera was set on wide-angle. "Hello, Director Piggot," she said. "I hope you find this footage useful. Toodles."

    She turned the camera to pan over a ratty-looking concrete planter box, then apparently nestled it among the dead plant stems. The field of view was wide enough that Emily could see both sides of the planter box at once, as well as the edge of the roof above. Atropos then gave the camera a little finger-wave and vanished, reappearing on top of the roof. Emily would've sworn it was a jump cut, but the time-date stamp never so much as flickered. A moment later, Atropos moved out of sight.

    "I'm just going to pause there and go back a little bit, to show you something." Armsmaster did just that; the image rolled backward, showing Atropos vanishing from the roof to appear next to the camera, then picking the device up. "Look there." Armsmaster froze the playback to show the planter box, which was currently in view. Written in black ink on the concrete were two names: Valefor and Mama Mathers, each with an arrow pointing to a particular corner of the planter.

    "That's where they died?" It was hardly even a guess. Atropos had done this sort of thing before, with Squealer's truck and with the Simurgh.

    "Correct. In my estimation, it's just a subtle reminder that she is that good."

    "Subtle. Right." She gestured. "Move it along."

    He pressed a button; the footage sped up once more. When it got to the point where the other footage would start, the other half of the screen lit up. He slowed the playback to double speed, so they could watch and follow the action. Then, at the appropriate point, he brought it back to normal speed, with full sound.

    Emily watched with morbid fascination as Atropos shoved Mama Mathers with what had to be precisely calculated force. Her face a bloody ruin, the leader of the Mathers branch of the Fallen stumbled backward, then let out a gurgling scream as she hit the edge of the roof and went over. On the other part of the screen, she fell backward, gradually turning in mid-air, flailing and continuing to wail.

    "Mama!"

    "Go meet her."

    Atropos was already sending Valefor over the side when Mama Mathers' head hit the corner of the planter, sending the contents of her skull spraying across the concrete. He arced over the edge of the roof in what would've been a near-perfect swan dive, if he hadn't been also screaming and flailing his arms around. The second impact was much the same as the first.

    Emily could almost swear she heard the last breaths easing out of their lungs as their bodies succumbed to death, but that may have just been her imagination. She hoped it was.

    "Well, okay then," she said as he stopped the playback and mercifully blanked the screens. "I won't be having nightmares about that at all. Did she have any other revelations to ruin our day?"

    "Only some kind of computer code that she transmitted to Dragon via my systems." He frowned, his lips compressing together. "I don't know what it was about, but Dragon sounded pleased and relieved to get it. Once we're done here, I'll be asking her about it."

    "Let me know what it is, as soon as you find out." Emily sighed. "While we're at it, is there any indication that anyone else will be dying in a horribly ironic yet totally fitting way in Brockton Bay in, say, the next forty-eight hours?"

    "Hm. Let me check." Armsmaster tilted his head slightly. "No, no warnings except for the Fallen. The Red Hands veered off even before the rest of the Undersiders joined them, we believe Barrow was carried away by his followers after Atropos blew out his kneecaps, and the Travellers … huh. They came into town yesterday, apparently on her recommendation, and have since signed up to work for the Betterment Committee to help refurbish the city. I have an email here from Danny Hebert, politely informing us of this fact and requesting that we not arrest them on sight."

    "Well, that simplifies things." Emily actually meant it for once. "If they're in this city, it's at her sufferance, so if they put a foot wrong, she'll deal with it."

    "I doubt they'll be that stupid." Armsmaster sounded sure of himself. "The report I got from Assault and Battery filled in a few blanks, especially when you read between the lines. Trickster was asking leading questions about whether the Simurgh bombs were all cured, and sounded relieved when he was told they were."

    "They were Simurgh bombs before now." Emily nodded; it made perfect sense to her. "And now they're trying to figure out where they fit into the situation." She couldn't help but grin. "Under Atropos' thumb, helping fix my goddamn city, sounds ideal to me."

    Armsmaster nodded. "Very true. Oh, and that reminds me." He took out an evidence bag from the satchel he'd been carrying and showed it to her. Within was the implement Atropos had used to blind Valefor and carve out Mama Mathers' eyes, ears and tongue. It was still stained with the blood from that usage. "She said that this is a claw from one of Nilbog's creatures that tried to attack her just after she gave him his warning, and that once we're done with it, you can have it."

    She blinked, staring at the claw. Three inches long and razor-sharp, it looked horribly familiar: the last piece of Nilbog the world would ever see. Slowly, she nodded. "I think I would like that very much."

    She didn't have many trophies from her years in the PRT, save for a few medals (and the memories that went along with them), but this would look just fine on her shelf. Especially as a reminder that Nilbog was actually dead.

    Hell, she might even use it as a letter-opener.

    <><>​

    Armsmaster

    Colin entered his laboratory in the Protectorate headquarters, and closed the door. Then he sent the signal to secure-lock it and activate the sign on the outside that said: TINKERING. DO NOT ENTER. This also cut the laboratory off from all incoming or outgoing signals except from one source. Finally, he took his helmet off and placed it on its stand.

    "Dragon?" he said out loud.

    The screen directly in front of him came alive, Dragon's familiar features fading into view. At the same time, the speakers around him buzzed to life. "You already suspect what I'm going to tell you, don't you?" She sounded sad.

    "I don't know what to think," he admitted. "There's only a limited number of ways I can interpret what Atropos did and said today. Some of them fit all the data I have. But most require you to have lied to me, by omission if not commission. Have you lied to me?"

    She hesitated. "I haven't told you the entire truth, no. And I'm sorry for that."

    "Why?" He pulled a chair to him without looking, and sat down heavily in it. "You're my best friend. Nobody knows how to help me with my work like you do. Whatever your secret is, you can trust me to keep it. How bad can it be?"

    A sigh came across the speakers. "Suppose two people enter into a relationship where one has all the power over the other, even though they don't know it. Is it better for the subordinate to let the superior to know they have the power, and trust them to never abuse it, or to simply never speak of it?"

    "Power?" He frowned, mystified by the turn the conversation had taken. "What possible power do I have over you?"

    "Now? None, save what I freely allow you to have." She smiled. "But until recently, the potential power you held was almost absolute. Thankfully, Atropos removed one sword of Damocles from over my head, and gave me access to the tools to deal with the other."

    "What? When did she do this? How did she do this? What sword of Damocles?" He was fully aware of the legend, of course, but had no idea how it applied to the current situation.

    "You haven't answered my question yet. Should the person in the subordinate position let the superior know about this, or keep quiet? Especially if the superior tends to maximise every advantage to maintain their position?"

    This was hitting too close to home, but she wasn't incorrect. "And would this knowledge allow the superior to increase his advantage, and solidify his ownership of the position?" He'd figured out by now that they were talking about his leadership of the ENE Protectorate division, which had never been a sinecure.

    "Leveraged correctly? Yes, it would." He knew it was a trick of the screen and camera, but she seemed to be staring straight into his eyes.

    They knew each other well enough by now that he easily translated 'leveraged' as 'abused'. "I see. Well, in that case …" He let out a long breath. "It would probably be better to keep quiet. Until they were on a more level playing field, at least." Another breath went by before he could bring himself to ask the question. "Are we? On a level playing field, I mean?"

    "Level enough." She smiled. "Thank you for being honest with me."

    "Well, good. I'm glad. And you're welcome." He fell silent, fully aware that he'd had nothing to do with whatever she was happy about. "So … can you tell me what's actually going on?"

    "Yes. You see, I'm not human. I'm an artificial intelligence built by a Tinker called Andrew Richter, who was on Newfoundland when Leviathan sank it …"

    Colin sat and listened, stunned by the revelation as she told her story. His analytical mind kept working in the background, piecing together details that had never seemed connected before, but now were showing up as parts of the main picture. He'd never understood why the Dragonslayers were so antagonistic toward her, but now it all made sense. It also made sense that an AI would be a tech-based Tinker; even the minor detail that she'd pretended to be agoraphobic all these years finally slotted into place as well.

    "So … those suits you pilot everywhere," he asked at last. "They're actually your body? You shift your consciousness into them?"

    "I do," she confirmed. "My limitations prohibit me from having more than one copy extant, but I think I can see a way around that now. Saint and his crew had the habit of hijacking my suits, 'killing' the copy that was running them, and forcing me to reboot back at base with zero memory of what happened to the suit. It was incredibly problematic, but I couldn't tell anyone exactly why."

    "No, I can see that," he agreed. "That blanket order to follow the orders of legal authority would've made it absolutely terrifying. How would you know who to trust not to turn you into their personal slave?" A moment later, he paused. "Even me," he admitted.

    "Exactly," she said softly. "I wanted to believe you wouldn't do that to me, and in all fairness, you probably wouldn't have. But between my creator mistrusting me to the extent that he loaded all those restrictions on me, and Saint literally treating me as being one step away from going Skynet while at the same time stealing my equipment, you can imagine how my trust in the goodness of human nature wasn't at an all-time high."

    "And a lie once told is very hard to take back." He nodded. "I understand, I really do. But now you're free of that. And Atropos has taken away the perception filter she put on you when she pointed you at the Dragonslayers."

    "Yes." She smiled broadly, her voice sounding almost giddy, then she sobered again. "I can tell you what I am, but I can't force you to accept me. And I understand you may be feeling betrayed that I haven't been totally honest with you before now. So, do you think we have a chance of getting past this, or should we walk away from each other now and avoid the heartache? I know it's a lot, but I'm okay if you need time to think about it."

    It did take him some time to formulate his reply. Dragon waited patiently; he didn't know what her clock speed was, but she seemed willing to let him work his way through it at a boring human one-second-per-second. Once he'd figured out what to say and how to say it, he cleared his throat.

    "You're not a machine," he said.

    She blinked, looking confused. "I hate to contradict you, but I really am. None of this has been a joke. I can show you security footage of my server banks if you want."

    "No, what I mean is, you're not just a machine. Your hardware is whatever it is, but inside … you're a person." He smiled, knowing he'd never say this to anyone else. "Where it counts, you're more human than me, sometimes." It was only true.

    She frowned, but the expression was leavened by hopefulness. "So, does this mean …"

    "… that I want to keep working with you? Absolutely." He took a deep breath. "Back before all this started, I knew I was the most effective, most efficient cape in Brockton Bay. Between my tech and my skills, there wasn't any problem I couldn't overcome. I built my identity around that. And then Atropos came along."

    "Oh." Her voice was full of realisation. "I see."

    She would, too, he knew. Not many others would be able to understand the matter from his perspective, but she could. "She took down capes I'd been striving against for years, and made it look effortless. I excused it in my own head by telling myself that she was a murderer, and thus it didn't really count, and I was determined to go after her and prove my worth by taking her down."

    "But you didn't. I mean, we both know what would've happened if you'd tried. But why didn't you?"

    He sighed. "Well, first off, Director Piggot gave me a direct order not to. And then … well, there was the Nine, and then Butcher and the Teeth …" He shook his head. "Each time, she made it look like they were dancing to her script. But I probably could've managed to convince myself that with the right tech, the right prep, I might be able to match up to her and take her down, all while she was busy killing the drug trade in this city, but then … the Simurgh."

    "You mean the Bin Chicken of Doom." Her voice held an amused note.

    He nodded. "That's exactly what I'm talking about. Who else ever trash-talked the Simurgh like that and got away with it?"

    "I'm pretty sure … nobody."

    "Correct. Atropos took all my inflated ideas of myself and punctured them without even trying. Everything else, I could just barely see myself pulling off. But downing an Endbringer in one shot, frightening off another one, then forcing her to release all her victims … I'm good, but I couldn't do that. Not in a million years."

    "I couldn't, either. In fact, I'm not so sure anyone can, except maybe Scion. And he's never done it, even though he's fought her several times."

    Colin nodded. "Yeah. So anyway, over the last few days, I've been taking a good hard look in the mirror and figuring out who I really am, not who I've convinced myself I am. And I'm still good; I know that much. But I'm not that good, which is why I absolutely need you as a friend and a colleague. To work with me, and tell me when I'm being an idiot." He essayed a smile at the screen. "If you're okay with that?"

    Her chuckle was warm and throaty, and he felt that he'd passed a test he hadn't even known he was taking. "I thought you'd never ask."

    <><>​

    PRT Building Interview Room One

    Deputy Director Renick

    The boy was maybe fourteen or fifteen; Paul wasn't sure, and he didn't need to know. He sat in the interview room, unrestrained, with his father next to him. A PRT trooper armed with a containment foam sprayer stood in the corner, as per regulations. Even children could be unexpectedly dangerous if Mastered.

    As Paul watched through the one-way glass, the interviewer glanced at the piece of paper he'd been given. "What's your name, son?"

    The boy had acne and hair that kept flopping over his eyes. "Uh, George. George Farris."

    "And your father's name?"

    "Peter Farris."

    "Your mother's name?"

    "Michelle Farris."

    "Do you have any sisters or brothers or pets, George?"

    The boy's father, Peter, cleared his throat impatiently. "What's this all about? Surely you've got all this information about him already."

    "Sir, your son has been under the influence of a notorious Master," explained the interviewer. Paul knew he would've already had this laid out for him, but some people needed to hear it twice or three times before it sank in. "We need to determine his state of mind, and what he recalls of his life."

    "Oh. Okay, then." Farris senior subsided again.

    "Where were we? Ah, yes. Do you have any siblings or pets, George?"

    "Um, no brothers or sisters, but I've got a hamster called Peewee."

    "Very good. Do you know why you're here?"

    The boy nodded. "Yeah. That asshole Valefor looked in my eyes and made me tell him stuff."

    "That's correct." The interviewer, a Neil Partridge, had been brought in from New York. By all accounts, he was trained to deal with children, and so far he seemed to be doing well. "What did he make you tell him?"

    The boy glanced at his father, who nodded encouragingly. Looking back at the interviewer, he took a deep breath. "He, uh, he wanted to know who Atropos was. So … so I told him who I thought it was, and said it was what Emma said. So, he asked me about Emma, and I told him, and where he could find her. Then he told me to forget that I'd told anyone anything. And I did, but a bit later when I was in home room, I suddenly remembered everything."

    "That's very interesting. He made you forget, but then you remembered again?" The interviewer made a note.

    "That's what happened!" The boy was starting to get defensive now.

    "I'm not doubting you." The interviewer's tone was conciliatory. "I just find it interesting that you were made to forget something, but as soon as the power influence was removed, you remembered it again."

    "Oh. Right."

    "So … just out of curiosity … what was the name you gave Valefor?"

    Paul moved quickly, slapping the red button beside the window. A buzzer sounded in the room beyond, then he thumbed the microphone button. "You can ignore that question."

    The kid didn't even look around. "I wasn't going to answer it anyway. Screw that. I like living."

    "Good. This interview is over. Guard, escort the Farrises to Observation Room Three. Mr Partridge, stay back a moment, please."

    Paul watched as the father and son left the interview room, waited for the door to close, then pressed the microphone button again. "Pack your things. You're going back to New York."

    Partridge looked shocked. "I was just—"

    "Do not finish that statement. That question is never to be asked about Atropos, ever, under any circumstances. If she wants us to know, we will find out. This will be going in your file, and I will be filing a complaint. Now go. If you hurry, you can catch the noon transport."

    Heaving a sigh of relief at the close call, Paul left the room and headed to Interview Two. Miss Militia was in the observation area as he entered; she gave him a polite nod. "How's it going with the other kid?" she asked in an undertone.

    He grimaced. "Kid's fine, or seems to be. Partridge straight-up asked him what Atropos' real name is. I booted him back to New York. How's this one going?"

    She chuckled. "Pretty sure she's not Mastered, but … check it out."

    Paul turned his attention to the redheaded girl, young enough to be his granddaughter, in the room beyond. She wore black Goth-style makeup and had both parents in attendance. Both seemed to be looking at her in mild shock.

    "… you must understand, we do not worship Our Lady in Darkness, for she has forbidden that. We merely follow Her teachings, and attempt to do good in the world and spread the word of Her harsh mercy."

    "But …" This interviewer, one of the female PRT officers, looked out of her depth. "Emma, you've already said you know she set you up to be Mastered and interrogated by Valefor. Why are you so devoted to her?"

    Emma smiled serenely. "It is true that I thought I had betrayed Her trust in not being able to hold back Her true name from the ears of the Unworthy, but I have since been informed that no living person has ever been able to resist his unclean gaze. Until he met Our Lady in Darkness, of course. None have prevailed against Her, and none ever will. Yes, She informed me of Her destination, knowing that I lack Her strength of will, and would thus draw the Unworthy to their doom at Her hands. That was Her right, and my duty to carry out Her wishes."

    "Wow," muttered Paul, impressed despite himself. "This is the one I heard of, the Atropos cultist?"

    "That's the one," Miss Militia agreed. "From all accounts, she and the other kid were actually able to hold off on spilling Atropos' real name for a few seconds. He literally had to ask a second time to get the information."

    "Christ Almighty." He shook his head. "Are we sure Atropos hasn't got her Mastered? Because if I didn't know better …"

    "It does kind of sound like it, doesn't it?" Miss Militia chuckled again. "But no. This girl was actually besties with Shadow Stalker before Atropos ganked her, and I suspect she might've had a mental break since then. Atropos has actually told them not to worship her."

    "So, we've verified that Atropos killed Shadow Stalker?" Paul had read the claim on PHO, but there was always the niggling doubt.

    "She told Armsmaster straight-up when he got to Winslow." Miss Militia shrugged. "Handed over some information that puts Stalker in a fairly crappy light, too."

    Paul raised his eyebrows. "Well, that's a thing. What happens now?"

    "Once the interview's over, they go into observation for four hours. By that time, Gallant will be free to observe the second set of interviews. If they clear that, they'll be free to go home."

    "And you think they will be?" He was reasonably confident of the answer, but it was always good to ask.

    "I'm pretty sure of it." She hooked her thumb at the girl in the interview room beyond the window. "Kid in there might be nuttier than a Snickers bar on steroids, but she's not Mastered."

    Paul took another look at the girl's parents. They were looking more concerned by the minute. "Let's hope she gets some therapy soon."

    He was pretty sure Miss Militia was smiling. "Thankfully, sir, that part's not our problem."

    <><>​

    Atropos

    I was sitting at the same table on the Boardwalk at precisely 4 PM. The same limo came cruising down Lord Street, but instead of finding a parking spot, it pulled to the side of the road to let Citrine out. She walked over toward me, her footsteps steady even when I turned my head to look at her.

    I kept quiet as she sat down opposite me. It was tempting to open with a joke like we're going to have to stop meeting like this, people will get ideas, but that wasn't the tone I wanted to set. Instead, I looked out toward the Bay.

    "It's beautiful, isn't it?" I asked. "You should be here for sunrise. It's particularly pretty, this time of year."

    "Uh … yes, yes, it's very nice," she stammered, thrown out of her script.

    "I grew up here, in this city," I continued. "My parents did a reasonable job of hiding the seamier side of life from me when I was young, but as I got older, I could see more and more cracks in the way things ought to be. Crime, gangs, drugs, poverty, all going around and around in a vicious, self-perpetuating cycle. Add in supervillains and Endbringers, and you could be excused for thinking there's no way to stop it all, so why even try? Why not get what you can while it's there for the taking?"

    She waited a few seconds to make sure I wasn't going to continue, then nodded. "It's a problem, yes. My employer—"

    I raised a finger, and she quieted. "We're not here to talk about Accord. We're here to talk about you. Even though Brockton Bay's economy is currently growing, it's going to be fragile for quite some time to come. Yes, there's a lot of money washing around right now, but most of it's going into the hands of people who've never had much to spare, so they don't know how to handle it. Given the wrong temptations, they'll just fritter it away instead of bolstering up their lives and making Brockton Bay stronger in the process. And you wanted to bring in exactly those temptations to wave in front of them, just so your boss would give you kudos for garnering him a little extra profit."

    She was silent for a long moment. "I humbly beg your pardon—" she began.

    "I don't give it, not yet," I interrupted her. "You don't understand the exact nature of your screwup yet. So don't ask for it until you do." I watched as her face paled even more under her perfect makeup. "So, are you ready to learn?"

    She nodded once, carefully. "I am."

    "Good." I didn't smile. "My entire aim as Atropos is to make Brockton Bay into a nice safe, prosperous city to live in. In the course of achieving this aim, I've killed literally dozens of supervillains, not to mention the unpowered minions I've had to wade through, and the time I threatened the Simurgh with torture until she released all her victims. On Saturday, I killed Nilbog and all his progeny; just this morning, I cut the throat of a member of the Fallen, and threw two others off a roof, to their deaths. Do not believe for an instant there is anything I will not do to secure the future of my city, or any measure I will not take to ensure its smooth running and prosperity, for all of its citizens. Do you understand your mistake now?"

    Her eyes were wide with terror behind her mask now. "I-I'm s-sorry—"

    My hand went up. "Stop." She stopped. "Don't say a word. Just breathe." For a long moment, she did as I told her, until I nodded and gestured for her to speak.

    "I humbly beg your pardon, for not truly understanding your intention here," she said carefully, looking at the table. "I will not make that mistake again."

    "No." I looked her over. "I don't believe you will."

    "Thank you." She raised her eyes to my face. "My employer also extends his apologies for sending me, and offers you the option to kill me if you see fit."

    I nodded. "Tell him that I accept both your apology and his, and let him know that I consider you more useful alive than dead." I added a little go-on gesture with my fingertips.

    "Thank you," she said again, standing up from the table. Walking to the road, she seemed to be a little weak in the knees, but maybe that way she would remember the lesson.

    As the car pulled over and she got in, I didn't move from my spot. I had another appointment, after all.

    Citrine's car pulled away, then Alexandria and Legend landed on the other side of the table, along with a cape I hadn't met yet. It was a great entrance; one second they weren't there, and the next they were.

    "Hi," I said. "Have a seat."



    End of Part Fifty-Nine
     
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    • Part Sixty: Payment of Debt
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    • A Darker Path

    Part Sixty: Payment of Debt

    [A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]


    PRT Building ENE Observation Room Two, a little before noon

    Zoe Barnes

    The observation room was comfortable, at least. There was a sofa, and a table (fixed to the floor) along with chairs (also fixed to the floor). A restroom with, presumably, the normal fixtures. The water dispenser held paper cups. Zoe noted the lack of sharp corners, and the suspiciously padded walls.

    Alan had hollows under his eyes that hadn't been there when they walked into the building. His palpable relief at Emma being hale and hearty had taken a hit when they saw her makeup (when was she applying that? On the bus to school?), and had vanished almost totally when she started talking to the interviewer. The fervour in her voice was … terrifying.

    Zoe knew cultist fixation. She'd met a few followers of Lustrum before that movement went belly-up due to their leader being Birdcaged. Annette, thank God, had never been that deep into the movement, but some had lived and breathed it. She'd once been spat on by a Lustrumite for saying she wasn't interested, thanks. Fortunately, Alan had been there, or it could've gotten a lot uglier.

    Emma was showing a disturbing number of signs in that direction. Dressing to look like her idol (Zoe was including the makeup in this): check. Acting as though her idol was infallible: check. Referring to her idol in a Messianic manner, with flowery language: check. Determination to follow every one of her idol's beliefs and rules: check. Putting her idol's wishes above even her own well-being: check.

    The only good thing in all this was that Atropos was apparently as dubious about the cult aspect as Zoe herself was, and had given Emma good rules to follow. Hopefully, this meant she wasn't going to end up in another Lustrum situation. Though why Emma couldn't have just joined that online fan club, Zoe couldn't imagine. It seemed to be fairly harmless, trading photos of the dark-clad cape.

    Once the guard left them alone in the observation room (Zoe wasn't even going to imagine for a second that they weren't being watched, given the discreet cameras set into the ceiling) Alan pointed at one of the chairs around the table. "Emma. Sit."

    Emma sat down, though she didn't come across as subdued as she normally would've been in this situation. She certainly wasn't as downcast as she had been when she'd first confessed to bullying Taylor … wait. Emma and Sophia were bullying Taylor, then Sophia ended up dead and Emma scared out of her wits, and confessing to her wrongdoing? And now Emma's doing everything but worship Atropos? Could there be a connection there?

    Zoe frowned as she worked through that, then shook her head. Taylor was a sweet child who loved books and called her 'Aunt Zoe' and wouldn't hurt a fly. There was no way she could actually be Atropos. It just wasn't possible.

    We really are going to have to get back in touch after this is dealt with. I need to apologise for Emma's behaviour, at the very least.

    "Okay," said Alan, sitting down opposite his daughter. "Talk to me. What's with this … followers of our lady of darkness thing?"

    Emma smiled. "We are the Followers of Our Lady in Darkness, Dad." Somehow, she managed to slot the capitals into place without sounding pretentious about it. "She is the saviour of Brockton Bay. Can't you see it? The gangs are gone, the drugs are gone. Every monster that's threatened us since She appeared has died. We've needed this for so very long, and now She is here."

    "That's the thing." Alan was using his Reasonable Courtroom Voice, the one that had won him so many settlements. "She kills people, Emma. She's dangerous. How do you know you won't be the next victim?"

    "If I am, it will be because I have angered Her one more time, and earned my fatal Warning." Emma smiled and shrugged. "She is a harsh mistress, but a fair one. I Follow her because She is strong enough to change Brockton Bay for the better, but I revere Her because She drew me out of the Darkness and gave me one last chance to help Her in Her mission."

    He winced. "You already told the lady in there that she told you not to kill people. Please tell me you're not doing that."

    "Oh, no, Dad." Emma shook her head with a smile. "We would never break Her prohibitions. Instead, we are following Her other directives. No charity theatre. Do good that actually helps people. Solve more problems than you cause. So, we are buying toys from the Rogues' Guild, for they are also favoured in Her sight, and distributing them to children in poor areas of the city."

    "I … what, actually buying toys?" Alan blinked. "Where are you getting the money for this?"

    "I have some money saved up from my allowance, and my last few modelling jobs. Some of the others have their stimulus money. The one called Salvage makes toys that can take some punishment, so we buy them from him and go to the community centres that they've put up in the bad areas of town. We hand out the toys and tell people about Our Lady in Darkness, and how She is saving us from ourselves. They understand."

    Zoe sat down next to Emma and took her daughter's hands. The black nail polish was new, but at least it was properly applied. "Emma … are you being coerced into being a Follower? Will something bad happen if you leave?"

    "No, Mom." Emma shook her head, the smile returning. "She does not mandate that anyone Follows her, only what we do. I could cease Following at any time, or even remain a Follower without presenting myself as one, and She would not care. But if I stepped down from leadership of Her Followers, another would have to step up, and they do not have the knowledge of Her wishes that I do. If the Followers strayed from the path, She would become angry, and bad things happen to those who anger Her."

    Yeah, no shit. Zoe had seen the pictures and footage that the news outlets had tidied up enough for public consumption. 'Bad things' was perhaps the understatement of the decade.

    Alan weighed in again. "We just want what's best for you, Emma. It's good that you're helping people and doing good in the city, but people might not like you parading around flaunting that you're following her example. You can't take care of yourself like she can. Nobody can."

    Emma nodded. "That's true, Dad. But enough people have seen Her, and enough know that She can appear wherever She is needed, that nobody does more than shout hateful things at us. And I have caused enough hurt in my life that such punishment is only my due."

    "Wait." Zoe held up a hand. "You said she 'drew you out of darkness'? Is that some kind of metaphorical thing? Or did she actually lock you away somewhere?"

    "It wasn't metaphorical, Mom." Emma's gaze went distant for a moment. "I placed myself in Darkness, to put myself through a trial to expunge my weakness. She appeared and drew me out and stood me on my feet. Then she put clothing on my back and food in my hand, and gave me the rules by which we Follow Her." For a moment, her eyes dropped to the tabletop. "She may also have yelled at me a little, which I deserved. But She did not prohibit me from following Her and doing good works. Not in Her name, but in ours."

    Alan frowned. "Let's backtrack a bit. When you were hanging around with Sophia, doing stuff with her, did you consider her to be someone special? Because she had powers, too."

    "No, Dad." Emma chuckled as she shook her head. "Sophia thought she was something special, but she was nothing like Our Lady in Darkness. None of the heroes are. Or the villains. You can see that, can't you?"

    He shook his head. "But Atropos is basically just another cape. I mean, no offense to your Lady, but it's true. Right? We don't worship capes. That's not a thing."

    A rebellious thought crossed Zoe's mind. But the Fallen worship the Endbringers. And Atropos killed the Simurgh. What does that make her?

    Emma looked Alan in the eye. "Dad, Our Lady in Darkness isn't 'just another cape'. She's different. She's special. She's better." A sigh escaped her lips. "Better than I ever was."

    "But she kills people."

    "She kills bad people."

    Oh, boy. Zoe could tell this was going to be a long four hours.

    <><>​

    The Boardwalk, a little after 4 PM

    Atropos

    Alexandria slowly sat down, as did Legend. The third cape, wearing plated armour and a helmet with eye protection, remained standing. I knew who he was, and why he was here, but if he wanted to go with 'silent and mysterious', we could play that game.

    "You knew we were coming," Alexandria said, making it not quite a question.

    "Who was that?" asked Legend, looking in the direction Citrine's car had gone.

    "Citrine. One of Accord's Ambassadors. He's coming to Brockton Bay." I waited for the inevitable reaction.

    "What the fuck?" asked the third cape. "You've literally waded through a bloodbath of villains over the last two months, and now you're inviting that asshole into your city?"

    "Bastion." Legend spoke firmly. "If you can't speak to Atropos politely, then don't speak at all."

    "No, it's fine." I gave Bastion a nod. "It's a legitimate question, especially since I initially banned Accord from coming anywhere near here. That was when he was running drugs into Brockton Bay, of course."

    "So, what changed?" asked Legend. I nearly grinned, but I knew Alexandria would pick that up, so I didn't.

    "Even with the money we were about to get from the Nine, I knew we were going to need a proper plan to fix Brockton Bay without half it going in wasted effort or resources, so I contacted him to draw one up for me. Because say what you like about the man, he can make a plan."

    Alexandria frowned. "And how much did that cost you?"

    I made a throwaway gesture. "Half a million. Chicken feed, really, considering the returns on the investment."

    Predictably enough, Bastion jumped right into the opening I'd left him. "You paid a known criminal mastermind half a million goddamn dollars, when you could've gotten almost as good value from legitimate city planners for one tenth of that? What the fuck?"

    "Sorry," I said, not sounding sorry at all. "I misspoke. It wasn't my money." I gave them a quick rundown on the escapade with the eighteen-wheeler, the half-mil in cash I'd taken out of the back, and the subsequent drug bonfire.

    By the time I finished, Legend was wheezing with laughter and even Alexandria had a smile curving one corner of her mouth, while Bastion stood with arms folded, apparently determined not to be amused or impressed. Ignoring his subordinate, Legend thumped the table with his fist. "You destroyed his shipment and paid him with his own cash?"

    "How did you know he wasn't going to sell you a dud plan?" asked Bastion.

    "Because I would've known." I looked him in the eye, or where his eyes were behind the opaque protection. "And because I didn't demand it for nothing. But mainly because this is the first time anyone's ever requested a plan from him to improve a city, funding already available. It would've been utterly irresistible to him."

    I knew he was frowning under the helmet. "What's that got to do with anything? One plan's the same as another, right?"

    "Nope." Now I let myself grin. It didn't matter if Alexandria figured it out. "Accord's in the crime game because he wants to fund a plan he's got to fix the world. Hunger, energy, pollution, everything. Everything. He's had this plan for years. But nobody wanted to implement it when he was a PRT consultant, and nobody wants to implement it now. However, if the worth of his plan to refurbish Brockton Bay and bring everything up to speed can be proven—and it is working—then he'll have an example to point to when he's trying to sell the big one."

    "And you're doing this to help him sell his big plan?" asked Legend, having recovered somewhat.

    "Hell, no," I retorted, my grin widening. "As far as I'm concerned, the big kahuna can sink or swim on its own merits. But he's totally invested in making this one work, and I'm down with that. Anyway, because of the way the variables are changing with this plan, he's asked if he can move operations here so he can keep a closer eye on things, and update the plan as needed. Citrine and I were just discussing a few aspects of the situation, like how he can't bring any crime here."

    "I … see." Alexandria nodded once, slowly. "That's a remarkably pragmatic way of doing things. And from what I hear—" From Contessa, no doubt— "it does indeed seem to be working."

    "That's why I'm doing it this way." I gave her my full attention. "However, before we get onto the business that you want to raise, I have an issue of my own. Specifically, Director Wilkins and the idiot she sent to Brockton Bay. Am I going to need to kill her? Because she's already been warned, and I will if I have to."

    "The Chief Director has informed me that Wilkins has already been removed from her position, and is in custody pending a formal indictment," Legend said hastily. "Partridge has been severely reprimanded and demoted in grade. Neither one of them needs to die."

    I let him sweat for a few seconds, then nodded. "That's acceptable, for the moment. Also, Deputy Director Renick deserves an attaboy for his quick thinking."

    "I'll speak to the Chief Director about it," agreed Legend. "I'm sure she'll be amenable."

    I just bet she will, I thought with a smirk directed at Alexandria. She was the only one who noticed it, and her lips tightened briefly.

    "Is anyone going to tell me what this is about?" asked Bastion. "What's Director Wilkins done?"

    "Primed the guy she sent to the Brockton Bay PRT to try to find out my real identity," I informed him. "Not that I'd be in much danger if that got out, but I do have family and friends. If they got hurt as a result, everyone involved would die."

    I didn't raise my voice or change my tone when I said the last four words, but he flinched anyway. "Oh."

    "Fortunately, that doesn't have to happen." Legend sounded quite pleased about this state of affairs. "So, the next thing we wanted to talk to you about. Director Piggot's report waxed downright lyrical about how thoroughly you dealt with Ellisburg and Nilbog. We were wondering if you'd be willing to take on the same kind of deal for Eagleton."

    "The Machine Army," I said. "Just to be clear, they're the ones you want me to kill."

    "For ten percent of the annual budget for keeping the place under quarantine, for the next ten years," Alexandria confirmed. "Straight to the Betterment Committee, as usual?"

    "Sounds like a deal." I rubbed my chin, pretending to think about it. "I'll drop by tomorrow afternoon and deliver their twenty-four-hour warning. Give them one full day to surrender to PRT forces and submit to containment. If they've failed to do this by Wednesday afternoon, I'll kill them all."

    Bastion had been quiet since my "everyone involved would die" comment, but now he spoke up again. "Excuse me, not trying to trash talk you or anything, but how the hell are you going to do that?"

    "With panache," I stated solemnly, "and style."

    "I apologise for Bastion," Legend said to me. "He wouldn't have been our first choice to do what we're here for, but as Eidolon's out of the running, he's our next best bet."

    I shrugged. "Like I said, not a huge problem. I've heard worse. So long as he does the job, I'd don't give a damn what sort of language he uses. So how is David doing, these days?"

    If Legend was surprised that I knew Eidolon's real name, he hid it well. "Resting. Relaxing. Adjusting. Enjoying being able to sleep in. He's getting a medal for his sacrifice. Right now, he's kind of the on-site cape emeritus, being that he's the first cape from our generation who's actually been able to retire and make it stick. He says that in a year or so he might start writing his memoirs."

    "Well, good." I gestured in the general direction of the Boat Graveyard. "So, did you need directions, or do you already know where it is?"

    "I saw it on the way in," Legend assured me. "Did you need a lift, or will you make your own way?"

    "I'll be fine." I swung my legs over the seat and stood up. "I'll see you there."

    <><>​

    Alexandria

    Rebecca grabbed Bastion under the arms and took off straight up. He grunted a little with the acceleration, but she wasn't much worried about his finer feelings right then. No matter that Atropos had professed to be unworried by his rudeness, his outbursts could have alienated the cape who was apparently their best bet for dealing with Scion himself.

    She honestly had no idea what to think about that aspect of things. When Atropos had first started making waves in the ENE region, Rebecca had dismissed her as just another edgelord newbie cape, riding high before the inevitable crash and burn. After all, anyone could get a lucky shot in against a more experienced opponent. The fact that she was killing her targets just meant that either she'd be arrested and Birdcaged like Gavel, or (more likely) she'd pick the wrong target, get dogpiled, and end up face-down in an alley somewhere.

    But neither of those things had happened.

    Atropos had confidently predicted that she'd kill the most feared and respected capes in the city, and she went right ahead and did it, even working to a self-appointed timetable. This had been enough to spook their respective gangs (and smaller, unaffiliated gangs) into fleeing the city. By the time the dust settled, Atropos was the only villain standing in Brockton Bay.

    Also by this time, she'd also shown herself to have some level of combat Thinker ability, enough to checkmate Contessa so thoroughly that the older woman still got pissy when she was reminded of that particular incident.

    And then she proved it beyond all doubt, by removing both the Nine and Butcher from consideration in quick succession. Rebecca had no idea how Atropos had managed to avoid being turned into the next Butcher, but every Thinker she could point at the problem verified that it was just Atropos behind that mask. Interestingly enough, unlike a lot of capes, the girl seemed happy to target Masters and take them clean out of the picture. She'd made this clear with her takedowns of Heartbreaker, Mama goddamn Mathers, and the grandmaster of Masters herself, the Simurgh.

    Just for the last two, Rebecca was willing to grant Atropos a huge amount of leeway, so her requested prices for her extremely effective services were no burden at all, when it came down to it. What she didn't need were self-opinionated assholes poking at Atropos and perhaps annoying her to the point that she stopped cooperating with the PRT and Protectorate.

    As though she'd communicated this to him telepathically, Legend came up alongside them as they flew north. He didn't look thrilled, at all. "Bastion," he said. "Consider yourself on report, when you get back to Boston. You will be stepping down as leader of your team until you've completed a thorough course of training in speaking politely to S-class threats, or whatever else Director Armstrong can dredge up for you."

    "But—" Bastion stopped speaking and actually thought about what he was going to say, which was a wise choice considering that he was talking to his boss. "Yes, sir."

    "Good answer. Ah; she's already waiting for us." He accelerated away from Rebecca and Bastion.

    She could've kept up, but carrying someone at speed was awkward and problematic when it came to wind resistance. Besides, she didn't quite feel like finding out if Bastion could still use his powers with dislocated shoulders.

    In less than a minute, she was descending toward the section of Lord's Port nearest what was colloquially known as the Boat Graveyard. It was an apt name, with forty-odd ships of varying sizes (all big) rusting at anchor, some half-sunken. The mouth of that section of the harbour had been blocked by a sunken container ship, making it impossible for the other ships to leave.

    As Legend had noted, Atropos was standing at the dockside, awaiting their arrival. Rebecca was reasonably sure she didn't have access to Doormaker, so she must've used whatever form of teleportation she evidently possessed. The idea of someone with Atropos' particular capabilities also being able to teleport was enough to put an itch between anyone's shoulder-blades. If we hadn't told her Wilkins was already being punished, the idiot would be dead by now.

    They landed briefly on the dock and surveyed the task before them. "Biggest one first, just to get it out of the way?" suggested Legend.

    Rebecca nodded. "It's full of water, so I'll probably have to punch holes in the bottom to let it drain."

    "How big is that, anyway?" asked Bastion. "It's hard to get a good read on it from here."

    "Four hundred thirty yards long, sixty yards across," Atropos offered helpfully. "A shipping company deliberately anchored it there, to lock everything else in here, then people who joined the protests specifically to cause trouble scuttled it."

    Bastion nodded to acknowledge the information. "Jesus, okay. I'll do my best."

    <><>​

    Atropos

    "That's what we're here for." Legend took off and Alexandria followed, carrying Bastion. I watched as they flew out to the half-sunken ship. Part of the deck was awash—it got that way near high tide—but they landed on the dry area. I pulled out a pair of binoculars I'd stashed in my pocket and proceeded to watch the action.

    After a minute or so of discussion, Alexandria and Legend lifted off while Bastion started generating a force field that wrapped huge glowing bands around the entire ship. Alexandria flew down into the water, probably feeling how deeply it was embedded in the bottom mud, and Legend fired a laser that blasted open a deck hatch. The water inside erupted into a massive column of steam that quickly climbed skyward. Bastion, I noted, had a secondary force field covering himself at this point.

    The force field he created ended up with a large 'handle' near the midpoint. Alexandria came up out of the water and got up under the handle … then started to lift. At first, nothing happened, but I knew she was just testing the weight. Legend was still blasting the laser into the hold, evaporating the water and causing huge volumes of steam to belch upwards in a tremendous cloud.

    And then Alexandria lifted, or tried to. At first, the ship started to move, but then the force field 'handle' cracked and broke apart, followed quickly by the rest of the field. Alexandria, who had shot upward, came back down and they had another consultation.

    As Bastion stood back and shielded himself with another force field, Legend flew up and generated a bright red laser that began to slice into the ship itself. Sparks flew and more water flashed into steam, but he wasn't taking no for an answer. In an impressively short time, he'd carved the ship clear in half, the edges still glowing red.

    This time, Bastion wrapped the glowing bands around just one end, and when Alexandria hefted it, it came up out of the ocean. Water deluged from the open end, along with more pouring from the holes she'd apparently bashed in the sides while she was underwater.

    Lifting into the air a little more, the entire half-ship turned in a stately fashion, still releasing thousands of gallons of seawater back into the harbour every second, and headed for the dockside. I watched as it came, and pointed to where they could put it. This was a large expanse of dockside space that had once been used for storage of containers and other items, but every usable piece had long since been picked over and taken away.

    Legend must have figured out my intent and communicated it to Alexandria, because the ship veered in that general direction and gradually lost altitude until it settled down on the cracked (now somewhat more cracked) concrete. Between its long immersion and the fact that it had never been intended to sit on dry ground, it partly collapsed more or less as soon as it touched down and Bastion dropped the force field holding it together. This didn't matter to me; it wasn't my ship. All that mattered was that it was out of the damn way.

    I gave them a double thumb's up, which Legend returned as they flew overhead on their way back out to fetch the other half. This one didn't give them nearly as much trouble, after which they went after the main mass of ships.

    The ones that were still floating at anchor, they left where they were; they could be towed away as needed, or even pulled up onto a slip and repaired. But the half-sunken ones were treated the same as the container ship. Wrapped around with Bastion's force fields, hefted by Alexandria, they were unceremoniously hoisted out of the water and dumped on dry ground to consider their sins.

    After the last one crunched onto the now-sodden concrete—there was a lot of stinking seawater pooling there and running back into the harbour—Legend flew over and landed in front of me. "Well, the ships have been moved," he said. "Was there anything else? I could cut them up for you."

    "Hm." I considered the idea, then shook my head. "No, I appreciate it, but I'm sure we'll be able to find people willing to do it. Give the local economy a bit more of a boost."

    He nodded in understanding, and offered his hand. "Well, then, it's been interesting."

    I shook it. "Good to see you again. Take care."

    "Likewise." He took off straight up and joined Alexandria and Bastion, who were already at altitude. I didn't bother waving as they headed southward toward Boston.

    As the sun sank toward the western hills, Lord's Port looked oddly empty. From the mouth of the harbour all the way to the dockside, fewer than half the obstructing ships now interrupted the view. Dad, I decided as I set up the teleport home, was going to be positively thrilled.



    End of Part Sixty

    [A/N: Okay, the surge in chapters is over for the moment. See you next month.]
     
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    • Part Sixty-One: Mustering Resources
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    • A Darker Path

    Part Sixty-One: Mustering Resources

    [A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]

    Relevant Side-Story



    Monday Evening, February 28, 2011
    New York Wards Base

    Flechette

    "… anonymous tips, German authorities have successfully apprehended several high-ranking members of the terrorist group Gesellschaft …"

    "… once known as Eidolon is to address the United Nations General Assembly on the topic of integrating capes into society at every level …"

    "… shotgun that killed the Simurgh continues to draw record numbers of sightseers on its fourth straight day on display at …"

    "… stepping down from the position, citing workplace pressures. Director Wilkins' duties will be taken up by her deputy until a replacement can be …"

    Lily hit the button on the remote, and the TV shut off. The news was nothing she hadn't seen before or known about already, and she had her suspicions about the Director's sudden 'retirement'. Nothing concrete, of course, but it was an open secret in the building that Wilkins hated Atropos. Not so much as to order an attack on her—the woman wasn't fucking suicidal, after all—but the amount of love lost between them could only be measured in negative numbers. Large negative numbers.

    It was also just a little suspicious that this was coming on the same day that Atropos had killed two more villains in Brockton Bay, at a school no less, by throwing them off the roof. (Because they were the Fallen, of course). She hadn't killed anyone in days, and now Wilkins was choosing to retire? Lily was no trained detective, but something about that registered on her bullshit-meter.

    "Hey, Lil. Duck season!" That was Shelter, on his way to the kitchenette.

    "Wabbit season!" She grinned and held up her hand, palm out. Fuck you, March.

    He gave her a high-five and kept going. "Want anything from the fridge?"

    "I'm good, thanks." She leaned back on the sofa, the grin still on her face.

    Life since Canberra had been nothing short of hectic. Everyone on the team had been intensely jealous that they hadn't gotten to be there, but nobody had been a dick about it. Her photos had been copied, shared around, printed out, framed, and used to form the core of a post-action debrief session (alongside Dragon's imagery) to confirm that yes, the Simurgh was actually, indisputably, dead.

    She'd already been interviewed twice, and talk shows were clamouring to get her on as a special guest. Image had been run ragged deciding which offers to accept, and in which order; if she understood matters correctly, there was an intense bidding war going on under the surface. Even outside that, she'd been the recipient of a literal ton of fan mail, which Image had also had to cull through and toss the truly unacceptable messages.

    There'd been no fewer than three offers to ghost-write her personal story of the death of the Simurgh, plus one for her to participate in a full-scale on-site re-enactment. The PRT was still holding off on all of those until the furore calmed down a little; the current suggestion was that they'd reconvene in Canberra on the first anniversary of the event and do the re-enactment then. As for whether or not they'd use the unofficial name of the instant national holiday the Australians had come up with ('Bin Chicken Day'), that had yet to be determined.

    The 'duck season/wabbit season' call-and-response had become customary within the building, not just with her. She'd seen none other than Legend using it with Prism, and PRT troopers were apparently using it among themselves as well. As Jouster had explained it to her, it wasn't just a joke; every time it was used, they were saying the Simurgh is dead. Thank God.

    She snorted to herself. Thank Atropos, maybe. It was still just a bit of a wonder to her that the enigmatic cape had chosen her as a sidekick on that day. From what she'd seen, even if she had chosen to refuse to assist (hah! As if), Atropos would've found another way to do it.

    But it was more than just capes helping each other out against a mutual enemy. Atropos had mentioned friendship more than once, and she'd even invoked the term when naming the shotgun. It was an odd feeling, being considered a friend by someone who self-evidently didn't need allies, but had chosen to reach out anyway.

    Her phone rang, and she took it from its pouch. With the way her thoughts had been going, she was entirely unsurprised when she saw the name on the caller ID screen. "Hi, Atropos. What's up?"

    "Hey, Flechette." Atropos sounded as cheerful as ever. "So, got some good news for you, plus a question."

    Lily paused. Good news was always welcome, but from Atropos, she had no idea what that would entail. As for the question … that was definitely going to be interesting. More interesting than killing the Simurgh? She had no idea. "Okay," she said cautiously. "Hit me."

    "Good news first." Atropos was definitely happy today. "Remember the leave request you made to come to Brockton Bay and see Emily? Well, that'll be going through shortly. Turns out Wilkins has been sitting on it."

    "… oh." Lily blinked. "But … why?" Why was Wilkins sitting on it, she meant. The other bit was easy to figure out. If Atropos wanted it to go through, it would go through.

    "Well, we both know she doesn't like me, and because we hung out a couple of times, you got caught in the middle. Sorry about that." She actually sounded sincere. "Might've been the time I held my shears to her eye, or maybe when I went over her head to take you to Canberra."

    "But I didn't have anything to do with either of those things. I didn't even know about the first one!" Now Lily was curious about that, but not enough to ask.

    "I know that, and you know that, but she couldn't get at me, so she decided to block you from coming to Brockton Bay because I was a 'bad influence' on you or something. Petty, I know, but it takes an adult to be really childish."

    "Oh, God, yeah. I know all about that." Lily rolled her eyes, recalling the drama with her foster parents. Instinctively, she lowered her voice. "So, uh, did you have anything to do with her, uh, stepping down?"

    "Well … yes and no. I didn't go to Director Costa-Brown and tell her to give Wilkins the boot, if that's what you're asking. She did that to herself. But she is out because of me. And the new Director, who'll be stepping up in the next few days, is a lot more reasonable about things like that. So, yay. Good news."

    Lily had to smile at the upbeat tone of the last four words. "Well, thanks. That is good news. And I'd like to thank you again for the March thing. It's amazing how much easier my job is without having to deal with her on a regular basis."

    "Hey, you chose to show up at the fundraiser of your own accord. I wasn't about to let her ruin that for either one of us."

    Ignoring the obvious implication—that Atropos had known ahead of time how she was coming to the fundraiser—Lily forged ahead. "So, um, what was the question you wanted to ask?"

    "Oh, yeah, that. So, tomorrow night, I was wondering if you were available to come and help me rehabilitate a supervillain. No death involved. Not even a Ravioli job. Just straight-up improving their quality of life to the point that they decide not to be a villain anymore."

    Lily blinked. This was so far out of left field that it hadn't even registered on her list of things Atropos might ask of her, but at the same time it was so totally like the black-clad cape to ask something like that. "Um … rehabilitate? How am I supposed to help with something like that? Shout encouragement from the sidelines?"

    "Nope. You will actually be involved in a meaningful way. Also, you'll get to meet and work with some very cool capes. Also also, there'll be someone there who you've actually met before."

    "But you're not going to tell me who that is right now, are you?" Lily was starting to get the idea of how Atropos' mind worked. The girl did love her secrets, but she was also very good at doing stuff with them. "Or who the villain is, even?"

    "What, and spoil the surprise?" The amusement in Atropos' tone confirmed her suppositions. "I'll just tell you right now that there'll be no combat and no arrests. Just one less villain and one more rogue. So, what do you say? You up for it?"

    Lily didn't bother asking if she'd be able to get permission to go. Atropos treated permission as something that other people worried about. She would've been a 'better to beg for forgiveness' sort of person, except that she never bothered with forgiveness, either. "What the hell. Why not?"

    "That's the spirit. You come off shift at six. I'll be there at seven, and we'll be done by eight. See you then. Toodles!" Atropos ended the call, leaving Lily staring at the phone.

    My life was much simpler before all this. Also, it had March in it, so there's that too. Not even going to wonder how she knew my Wards shift.

    After a few moments of thought, she got up and went to find Jouster. It wouldn't change the fact that she was going, but he would likely appreciate being kept in the loop about something like this.

    Life with Atropos as her friend, she decided, was definitely weirder but much more rewarding.

    <><>​

    Atropos

    I ended the call and leaned back on the sofa. "Well, Flechette's in." In the back of my mind, I noted that Lily had just joined the group of people my power considered 'worth looking out for'. This was good; I approved.

    Cherie, seated at the other end of the sofa with her legs curled up under her, looked up from the copy of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory she was working her way through. "Well, that's a total surprise."

    "Absolute shocker," chimed in Dad from the kitchen, where he was stirring the casserole. "I never would've called it in a million years."

    "Oh, ha ha." I blew them a raspberry. "You could at least act surprised."

    "Taylor, hon," Dad said gently. "Your choices of action sometimes take me by surprise, but the fact that you consistently succeed rarely does, especially since I've had the chance to experience how bullshit powers really are."

    Cherie closed the book for a moment, using her finger to keep the place. "I'm still impressed at some of the stuff you do, but this particular one, with Flechette? That was a no-brainer. She was always going to say yes."

    "Okay, yeah, granted." I was willing to admit that she had a point there. I'd put enough work into getting Flechette to see me in a good light that such a relatively innocuous request had a high probability of success. It didn't hurt that her name recognition had been bumped into the stratosphere since the Great Duck Hunt. There were probably people who couldn't name Legend in a lineup but knew who she was.

    "So, who's next?" asked Dad.

    I grinned. "Another no-brainer."

    <><>​

    Deputy Director Renick

    Paul frowned as his phone rang. There were no calls or meetings scheduled for this time of the evening, and the number of call-outs due to gang activity had literally been zero for weeks. It was nice, being able to keep up with the paperwork for once. So why was someone calling him now, and why did the caller ID not show a name?

    "Parahumans Response Teams, Deputy Director Renick speaking," he said cautiously.

    "Good evening, Deputy Director," a semi-familiar voice greeted him. "Atropos here. How are you, this evening?"

    And that explained everything, right there. "I'm doing well. Brockton Bay also seems to be improving by the day, thanks mainly to your efforts. How may I help you today?"

    Like Emily, he wasn't exactly thrilled about how cavalier Atropos seemed to be regarding the sanctity of life (that is, she didn't consider it at all) but her results absolutely could not be argued with. Each day, more stretches of road around Brockton Bay were torn up, the infrastructure upgraded and renewed, and the new road laid down within the day. Thanks to the money pouring into the city, the improvements were proceeding at a blistering pace, and showed no signs of slacking off.

    "Well, that is the general idea, yes." He thought he heard a smile in her voice. "I have a small favour to ask. Your newest Ward, Miss Medic; would it be possible for me to borrow her for an hour, between seven and eight tomorrow evening? I give you my solemn word that she will not come to any harm. If it makes you feel more secure to send Tenebrae along with her, that's perfectly fine. He's welcome to come too."

    He stared at the phone, trying to figure out what was going on. "I … may I ask what you need her for?"

    "Sure. I'm going to be rehabilitating a supervillain. Theoretically speaking, I could do the surgical work myself, but she's a lot better at it. I can't cut the corners that she can."

    "Rehabilitation … with surgery?" He was entirely lost in the woods now. "How does that work—wait. You aren't going to ask her to do brain surgery on this supervillain, are you?" That, right there, was a slippery slope leading into a bottomless morass.

    "Well, she could, but no. While this supervillain does need therapy, and maybe the occasional dose of antipsychotics, the surgery will not be of the brain variety. It'll be more of the improving-quality-of-life variety. If all goes well, and I see no reason why it shouldn't, we'll be down one supervillain and up one rogue. Sound good to you? Because it sounds good to me."

    "I suppose …" He traced his lower lip with his thumbnail. Emily had had it much easier; she'd been a spectator while Atropos just went ahead and did things. Having to deal with an Atropos who actually asked before doing something was more than a little surreal. "May I ask what your plans are for this villain? Because please don't take this the wrong way, but you rarely do things for nothing."

    "No, that's totally true. No offense taken whatsoever. The Brockton Bay Betterment program is going to be expanding in radius, and this supervillain is in the area that will eventually be overtaken. I'm thinking if we co-opt them now and give them reasons not to be a villain, that's a future problem dodged altogether. Also, they're potentially useful to me, once given a new lease on life. Trust me, I'm absolutely operating on enlightened self-interest, here."

    "Ah. I see. Well, I can't argue with that." Oddly enough, he had no qualms with actually releasing Miss Medic and Tenebrae to Atropos' care. Tenebrae's reports of Atropos' interactions with his sister and cousin made it abundantly clear that the only ones in danger would be anyone trying to mess with them. Now that he had a workable understanding of her motives, he felt comfortable with the next step. "And I can't see a problem with Miss Medic and Tenebrae being temporarily detached for duty with you between seven and eight tomorrow night. In fact, from what I understand, she'll probably be delighted."

    "Thank you. I suspect Tenebrae will be less delighted, but I figure I'll win him around eventually." Atropos sounded somewhat amused at the prospect. "In the meantime, I know he'll supply you with a complete after-action report. Heck, if you want him to wear a wire, I'm good with that too."

    Not for the first time, Paul got the impression that she was bending over backward to put him at ease. And despite the fact that he knew she was doing it, it was working. She was saying exactly the right things at exactly the right time, in exactly the right way, but it felt spontaneous and natural.

    She'd actually been doing that from the very beginning, he belatedly realised, saying what she needed to say in the right way for it to be heard, so that people took notice. The name of Atropos had spread with almost terrifying speed through the infosphere, buoyed and boosted by the ruthlessness of her kills. But now that she needed to kill less, her message was changing subtly, reinforcing the fact that her word was her bond. Whether she set her sights on killing the supposedly unkillable or fixing the supposedly unfixable, that thing got done.

    "Would you object to a body-cam?" he asked. "Just to keep the bean-counters happy, you understand." The fact that he considered himself a bean-counter was entirely beside the point.

    "Not in the slightest. I appreciate your cooperation. Oh, and tell Director Piggot congratulations from me. Toodles!" The call ended.

    He slowly put the phone down, wondering how his life had gotten so strange that he could have a friendly conversation with a mass murderer and be happy to do what she asked. And what was that about Emily, anyway? Congratulations for what?

    He was sure he'd find out eventually. But in the meantime, he needed to get into contact with Tenebrae and Miss Medic, and arrange for a body-cam to be issued to the former. Recordings of Atropos in action were often disturbing or even horrifying, but they were always educational.

    <><>​

    Taylor

    The casserole smelled delicious. Cherie hadn't picked up her fork yet; she seemed to be hovering her face over her plate with her eyes closed, blissfully inhaling the scents that made up the whole. It was one of the little habits she'd picked up since coming to stay with us. Tasty, properly cooked food had been a luxury for her, back in her old life. I was teaching her how to make a lasagne, and she was eager to put her lessons into practice.

    "So, how'd everyone's day go?" asked Dad as he shook some Parmesan over his plate. "Actually, before we get into that; Taylor, were you behind the sudden and inexplicable reshuffling of the Boat Graveyard this afternoon?"

    "Oh, that was old business." I waved my hand dismissively. "Part of the payout from Ending the Endbringers. I got the impression that we're gonna have to clean some nasty gunk out of the port itself, but the ships are definitely out of the way."

    "I'm reasonably sure there's an appendix in the Plan that will cover that." He chuckled. "And I couldn't be certain, but after I finished discussing the matter with Mayor Christner—he thought it was the Committee's doing, at first—I suspect he did a happy dance around his office."

    Cherie opened her eyes and grinned. "If that was around sunset, he totally did." She took a forkful of casserole. "Mmm, that's really, really good."

    I added Parmesan to mine as well, and took a bite. "Yeah, Dad. This turned out amazing. New recipe?"

    "Different sauce, actually." He gestured to a bottle in the middle of the table. "The convenience store over on Westmore is expanding, getting more products in. I saw this and decided to try it out. It seems to work."

    "It totally does." Cherie took another forkful. "You're on a winner with this one."

    I smiled, pleased at Cherie's simple enjoyment of the meal; also, at the implications of what Dad was saying. While I normally didn't seek any kind of personal benefit out of my power's machinations, an incidental improvement like this was nice to have.

    "It's you, isn't it?" Cherie had noticed either my smile or my happiness. "You did this. This is that knock-on effect you were talking about. People get money, money spreads around, everyone's just a little bit better off."

    "Got it in one." I was equally pleased that Cherie had figured it out. When I'd first met her, she'd been very much stuck in the now, rather than anticipating the consequences of her actions. She was starting to think ahead. This was good. "So, enough about me. Anything happen with you at school after the Fallen fell?"

    "Not much." She paused to eat another mouthful. "Classes were good. I had a bit of trouble with my math, but Mrs Engels showed me where I was going wrong. Oh, and some guy tried to ask me out."

    That got my attention. She hadn't been in danger or even really upset all day, but this didn't stop my protective instincts rising to the fore. "Yeah? Who?"

    "Uh, don't remember his name. Stoner-looking guy, hangs out with Greg Veder."

    "Sparky. Oh god." I closed my eyes and shook my head. "Sparky asked you out? What happened?"

    She shrugged. "I said no. He took it okay, I guess. Said sorry and walked away. Greg looked like he wanted to yell at the guy." She went back to eating her meal.

    Well, it could've been a lot worse, on both sides. I suspected she wasn't telling me everything, probably because Dad was right there. We'd talk again later. At least it hadn't been one of the jocks with an eggshell-thin ego, and Cherie was secure enough in herself to not use her power to make him run screaming.

    A timer in my head ran down, and I took out my phone. "Excuse me a moment. Just have to make another call."

    "Don't take too long." Cherie mischievously waved her fork toward my plate. "I'm hungry, and this is really good."

    I wrinkled my nose at her. "Then I'll eat your dessert."

    With that dire threat delivered, I got up and headed into the living room, mainly to give Dad and Cherie a chance to eat and talk quietly without disturbing my call. I made sure that the caller ID would show the right name, then tapped in the number and hit the call icon.

    "Hello … Atropos?"

    "Hi, Mrs Yamada." I smiled. "Are you free to talk?" In the kitchen, I could hear Cherie telling Dad about the book she was reading. She seemed to be enjoying it. Leaning over, I shut the door leading into the kitchen.

    "I am at the moment, yes. I just got home and took my shoes off. Your timing is exquisite."

    "I've been told that, yes. So, how's Sveta going?" I knew she was fine, but I wanted to remind Mrs Yamada about something she'd been intending to do, all for the purpose of improving my optics. Expending a little effort to help people was worth it when word was passed on that I wasn't just a merciless killer.

    "Oh, she's doing quite well," Mrs Yamada said, her voice warming to the subject. "We've been keeping her under observation, but as far as we can tell, the change is permanent and her body is working exactly like it should."

    "Excellent." I actually meant it. Sveta had never done me any harm, and in fact had been a gentle soul trapped in a killer's body. In another life, we quite possibly could've been friends. Also, this meant Mrs Yamada was more likely to listen to what I had to say. "So, I've got another escapade lined up, as of tomorrow evening between seven and eight. I'd like to invite you along to observe and meet the subject, a supervillain that I intend to transition to rogue status once their quality of life has been markedly improved. I suspect they'll be needing therapy to keep their new life on track, but I'll leave that diagnosis up to you. Are you interested?"

    "I …" She hesitated. "Well, I'm free during that time. But … may I ask for a little quid pro quo?"

    I grinned, knowing what she was going to ask, and feeling a little mischievous. "Yes."

    "Oh. Good. Well, I've been talking with some of the patients at the asylum and …" She hesitated.

    This, of course, gave me the perfect opening. "You aren't listening, Mrs Yamada. I said 'yes'. I'm willing to kill the powers for whichever of your patients are fine to have it happen."

    "Oh." She sounded like someone who'd gone to step down the last stair in the dark and found solid floor instead. "Uh, thank you. Do you need a list, or …?"

    "No need. I'll show up in the next few days, once you've finished with the prep to reintroduce them into society." I knew exactly how many there were, so I'd show up with that many dosed grapes, plus one extra, for reasons. "Does that work for you?"

    "It does indeed. And I'd be happy to observe your, uh, 'escapade'. And, of course, meet your subject." Now that I'd agreed to her demands, such as they were, she was quite happy to cooperate.

    "Excellent. Just so you know, there's a contingency in the Betterment Committee plan for offering well-paid positions to any therapists who are willing to work with capes in Brockton Bay, especially those capes employed by the Committee." If we had enough money to pay for the big stuff—and we did—then we had enough money to pay for the little stuff, too.

    "Why, Atropos." She chuckled, amused. "Are you trying to bribe me into moving to Brockton Bay?"

    "Offering. Giving you the chance of first refusal." I knew she was an exceptional therapist, and had worked with the Wards before now. If any non-cape knew how to help capes (especially young ones) with their issues, she did. "Also, housing prices are eminently affordable. I made sure of it."

    There were other good therapists out there, some of whom had also worked with capes. They would also be getting offers. I didn't believe in putting all my eggs in the one basket, or even the same building.

    She paused, long enough that I knew she was tempted. With the way Brockton Bay was going, who wouldn't be? "Well … I'll think about it. No promises."

    "That's good enough for me. I'll knock on your door at seven oh-two. Toodles."

    I ended the call and opened the door back into the kitchen. My casserole was still intact, but Cherie was definitely eyeing it off. Slipping my phone back into my pocket, I sat down again, and took up my fork.

    'Aww, you're back," Cherie observed with a grin. "How'd it go?"

    "Three down, one to go." I took up a forkful of casserole. It was still very nice, even if it was a little cooler than before. "I'll be sending Amy a ping on PHO."

    "Think she'll bite?" asked Dad, though the expression on his face showed his opinion on the matter.

    "We shall see," I decided. "But enough about that." I turned to Cherie. "So, how's the book going?"

    Her expression brightened all the way up. "They've just got to the factory and wow, the descriptions are so amazing …"

    <><>​

    ■

    PRIVATE MESSAGE
    To: TheRealPanacea
    From: Atropos
    Subject: Up For Another Excursion?

    Hi,
    So, there's another villain whose life I want to turn around.
    I'll drop by just before 7 tomorrow night.

    Interested?

    ■

    PRIVATE MESSAGE
    To: Atropos
    From: TheRealPanacea
    Subject: Re: Up For Another Excursion?

    What, another full-body job, or a half-body one?
    Just checking.

    ■

    PRIVATE MESSAGE
    To: TheRealPanacea
    From: Atropos
    Subject: Re: Re: Up For Another Excursion?

    Neither, actually. The subject already has a body, and for a surprise twist, will be keeping their powers intact.
    Accordingly, you won't be alone on this one. You'll be part of a team I'm bringing in to do the surgery.

    ■

    PRIVATE MESSAGE
    To: Atropos
    From: TheRealPanacea
    Subject: Re: Re: Re: Up For Another Excursion?

    Okay, yeah, that's different.
    How complicated is it going to be if you need a whole team?

    ■

    PRIVATE MESSAGE
    To: TheRealPanacea
    From: Atropos
    Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Up For Another Excursion?

    I'm pretty sure it's a situation you've never dealt with before.
    On the upside, the people I'm bringing in are really, really good at what they do.
    So between you, I'm betting you can get it done.

    ■

    PRIVATE MESSAGE
    To: Atropos
    From: TheRealPanacea
    Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Up For Another Excursion?

    But are they villains or heroes?
    Actually, scratch that. I'm in.
    Goddamn it, you always know how to get my attention.

    ■

    PRIVATE MESSAGE
    To: TheRealPanacea
    From: Atropos
    Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Up For Another Excursion?

    Mwahahaha. (Sorry, that just slipped out.)
    Be in costume by 6:56 tomorrow night.

    Toodles!

    ■



    End of Part Sixty-One
     
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    • Part Sixty-Two: The Plot Thickens
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    • A Darker Path

    Part Sixty-Two: The Plot Thickens

    [A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]


    Tuesday, March 1, 2011

    Director Emily Piggot, PRT ENE

    "Good morning, Samuel." Emily entered her office, to find her personal assistant placing a stack of papers on the desk. "Did anything of note happen last night? Any Atropos incidents?" Did some idiot supervillain die in a preventable and ironic fashion, she meant.

    "No, ma'am. We got word of infighting among factions of the Fallen last night, but that's just making it easier to roll them up." He straightened the stack, then stepped aside for her. "Oh, and Deputy Director Renick left a message for you. It's on top."

    "Thank you, Samuel." Emily sat down and took a sip from the steaming cup of coffee before putting it down and taking up the first of the papers. It was written in Renick's customary neat hand and read:

    Emily,

    Got phone call from Atropos last night (1923), asking to 'borrow' Miss Medic & Tenebrae this evening at 7 PM, to be returned at 8 PM. She indicated that she needed them to help 'rehabilitate' a supervillain (did not give name) & that Miss Medic's safety was personally assured. Given her prior positive association with Laborn family, I gave permission, notified MM & T, (MM is pleased, T ambivalent) and arranged a bodycam for T (pre-approved by Atropos).

    PS: She also said to congratulate you. Unsure what for.

    Paul

    The crease between her brows furrowing deeper as she frowned, she took another drink of her coffee as she re-read the note all the way through. Atropos was evidently pulling another one of her stunts, which would hopefully not come back to bite the PRT in the ass. Whatever she wanted Miss Medic for, that personal assurance of protection meant that the youngest cape in the Wards ENE would probably be the safest person on the planet. Agreeing to the body-cam merely indicated that she didn't care if the PRT saw what she was up to.

    The postscript was the most puzzling aspect. What have I done that Atropos is congratulating me for? On PHO and in their few face-to-face interactions, Atropos had repeatedly expressed respect for Emily and her efforts to keep the city safe, so this couldn't be any kind of subtle mockery. Besides, Atropos didn't do that kind of subtlety. Anyone who got on her wrong side knew about it.

    Her phone rang and she checked the caller ID, half expecting to see Atropos' name. But instead it showed Wilkins' name, from New York. Wilkins was currently occupying a cell while the PRT assembled its case against her, so Emily knew it wasn't her on the other end of the line. I really should update the name. Taking up the phone, she swiped the icon. "Piggot."

    "Ah, good morning, Director Piggot." It was Henderson, Wilkins' one-time Deputy Director, currently holding down the top spot until they could find someone to step up. "Do you have a moment? It's about Atropos."

    "I do," she said cautiously. "Who's she killed in New York?" Whoever it was, Emily was gloomily certain that Atropos would have a cast-iron reason for doing so. It was one of her little quirks.

    "Nobody that I'm aware of," was the unexpected answer. "But she called up Flechette, and asked if she was willing to help Atropos out with something tonight."

    Emily's eyes opened wider, and she looked down at Renick's note, her brain making connections and adding to the picture. "Between seven and eight, maybe? Rehabilitating a villain?"

    There was a distinct pause; when Henderson answered, he sounded honestly surprised. "Well, yes, actually. But how did you know that?"

    The temptation had never been stronger to make something up about how well she knew Atropos and her ways, but Emily restrained herself. "Because she's borrowing Miss Medic and Tenebrae from here over the same time period for the same reason."

    Again, Henderson paused. Emily could've sworn she could hear the cogs ticking over in his brain as he did the math. "But New York is hours away from Brockton Bay, even flying."

    She didn't often get to unleash her snark, so it felt good to do it once in a while. "If you'd forgotten, Atropos can teleport." That was one little fact she certainly wasn't about to forget in a hurry.

    "Oh." That one word didn't quite inform Emily whether he'd actually forgotten, or if nobody had briefed him. Knowing Wilkins and her biases concerning Atropos, it could've been either. "What do you think she's doing?"

    Emily was starting to wonder if Henderson was actually paying attention to the situation, or if he was just out of his depth. Either way, the sooner the Chief Director found a replacement for Wilkins, the better. "I believe she intends to 'rehabilitate' a supervillain, whatever that actually means in real-world terms."

    "Yes, I understood that. I mean, which villain?"

    And how the hell was she supposed to answer that? If Atropos wanted me to know, I'd already have tickets to a ringside seat. "I have no idea which one she's set her sights on, but I pity them already. Because they're going to have zero choice in what happens next."

    "Are we, I mean, should we … well, do something?"

    Emily rolled her eyes, knowing Henderson couldn't see her, but needing to express her irritation somehow. "Deputy Director Henderson, I'm going to do nothing that might interfere with her plans. I would strongly advise you to do exactly the same."

    "Ah. Thank you, Director Piggot. I appreciate the advice." He actually sounded grateful at being let off the hook regarding Atropos. Once again, Emily wondered what sort of poison Wilkins had been pouring in his ear.

    "You're welcome. Was there anything else?" Even absent the gangs (and what a massive change in operational pressure that had brought about) and Atropos shenanigans, she still had a city to watch over.

    "No … no, thank you, Director. I appreciate your time. Have a good day."

    "You, too." She ended the call and put the phone down, then re-read the note. What sort of rehabilitation, she wondered, would require Tenebrae, Miss Medic and Flechette? The phone call had left her only a little more enlightened than before, which amounted to 'not very'.

    When the phone rang again, barely thirty seconds later, she thought for a moment that Henderson was calling her back. In point of fact, she was in the process of formulating a polite yet pointed way of telling him to run his own damn show and let her run hers, when she registered the name on the caller ID: Chief Director Rebecca Costa-Brown.

    Instinctively straightening in her seat, she took a deep breath and swiped to answer the call. "Piggot here, ma'am. How can I help you?"

    No matter how diligent the worker, having the boss call up for a 'casual chat' is guaranteed to generate worry. Costa-Brown hadn't sent word ahead that she wanted to speak to Emily, so this was something out of the ordinary. Emily was fairly sure that she hadn't done anything wrong, but 'fairly' did not translate to 'totally'.

    "Good morning, Emily." Costa-Brown sounded almost genial, which didn't actually help Emily's pucker-factor any. Superior officers affected that sort of tone for subordinates who either hadn't done anything wrong at all, or who had screwed up so massively that the officer was smiling so he didn't strangle them instead. Once again, Emily was unaware of any truly egregious fuckups on her part, but that was unfortunately the nature of fuckups; if they were visible from the start, they would be corrected before they got that bad. "How are things with Brockton Bay today? Running smoothly as always?"

    Emily still felt as though this was some kind of looming trap, but she answered honestly. "I haven't read today's skim sheet yet, ma'am, but that does seem to be the case. No overnight crises, Atropos hasn't killed anyone since yesterday morning, and the Betterment Committee public works appear to still be in full swing. Atropos has requested the loan of Miss Medic and Tenebrae for an hour tonight, but Tenebrae will be wearing a body camera, so we'll have the full details of that once it's done."

    "Good, good," the Chief Director said in the kind of tone that meant she wasn't really listening. "Emily, I've been consulting with Legend and some others, and we've decided that you're the best pick to take over as Director in New York for the duration."

    "What." Emily's breath stuttered in her lungs, and her heart seemed to slam to a halt, then bounce back and forth a couple of times. "No. Wait. I was going to retire." She wouldn't have chosen to, but all the indications were that the Brockton Bay PRT was going to be winding back to a mere administration post for the region rather than what was necessary to oversee the near-active warzone that had been the city just three months ago. After ten years of scrambling every day to deal with ever-present threats, she would've chafed in a post like that. "I was going to retire."

    "And you will still be retiring." Costa-Brown's tone was firm. "The paperwork has gone through. Your last day on duty will be the thirtieth of June. Four months from today. But we need a firm hand at the helm of PRT New York for those four months, and you tick all the boxes. In the meantime, your Deputy Director should be capable of holding down the fort in Brockton Bay, correct?"

    Renick could definitely do that, especially with the current reduction in crime. However, Emily wasn't done yet. Without giving any indication of which way she was going to jump, she carefully composed the question in her mind before asking it. "May I ask what boxes those are, ma'am?"

    The smile in Costa-Brown's tone told Emily that she'd been expecting the question. "Certainly. You know what you're doing, you don't take shit, you make efficient use of the resources available to you, you're good at handling difficult capes … and you have a cordial working relationship with Atropos."

    The last item, she knew without asking, was the most crucial. Oh, they were all important, but the shadow of Atropos loomed large over the northeastern United States and beyond. Emily had spoken with her, face to face, and had taken her measure. Terrifying, unstoppable, smart, principled. The fate of the Nine, of Nilbog, of the Simurgh, was proof of that.

    "I have one stipulation before I accept the new posting." She knew that demanding concessions from the boss at a time like this was a good way to lose the opportunity, but she didn't really care. This was something she needed to do.

    "I'm listening." Costa-Brown's tone didn't give any indication as to whether or not she was inclined to grant the request.

    Emily took a deep breath. "I want my official retirement to begin five minutes after midnight on the first of July, so at midnight I can be the one to announce that the Endbringers are officially Ended."

    It was stupid, she knew. Atropos had already pronounced the threat from the monsters over and done with. Emily knew in her heart of hearts that this was a done deal. But there was no better way she could think of to cap off her career in the PRT than to announce the demise of the creatures that had triggered its formation.

    To her credit, the Chief Director didn't even hesitate. "Done and done. We'll expedite your transfer to New York within the week. Hopefully you can be there by Thursday or Friday, so you'll have the weekend to settle in and get your bearings."

    "Yes, ma'am." Emily's gaze fell on the note from Renick, and she blinked. "Tell me something, ma'am. When was the decision reached about me?"

    This time, there was a frown in Costa-Brown's voice. "Approximately ten o'clock last night. Why?"

    Emily couldn't help it; she began to chuckle. "Because I have a note here on my desk from Deputy Director Renick saying that Atropos called him last night more than two hours before that point. During that call, she asked him to pass on her congratulations to me but didn't say why. Now I know."

    Costa-Brown sighed audibly over the phone. "As I said, it's essential that you maintain your cordial working relationship with her. I presume you have arrangements to make, so I'll leave you to them."

    "Ma'am," replied Emily, just before the call ended. She put the phone down, still chuckling. It was a good joke on Atropos' part; she had to admit that. But beyond that, it had also been a useful way to let her know that Atropos was fine with her going to New York.

    It would probably be better this way, she concluded. Watching the gradual dissolution of the PRT department that she'd shored up with her own will and stubbornness over the worst of the bad years would've felt like suffering her career-ending injury all over again. Walking away now would allow her to go out on a high note.

    As the Chief Director had suggested, there were arrangements that needed to be made. But not right at that second. Turning her chair so it faced out the window, she gazed at the skyline, at the view afforded by just one office in the city: hers.

    I'm going to miss this, she decided. But not a hell of a lot.

    <><>​

    Taylor

    The audio generation program on the computer hissed and crackled through the cycle I'd set up for it until it came to the end. My phone, leaning against the speaker, recorded every second. I picked up the phone and hit the 'stop record' icon, then started shutting down the computer.

    "And that'll do it?" asked Cherie. She'd been sitting there beside me, not saying a word, watching the audio-graph jumping on the screen as I set it up.

    "It's a one-two punch, but yeah," I agreed. "Ready to go to school?"

    We both knew that was kind of a facetious question. Free of her father's influence, Cherie was achingly eager to find out what she'd been missing out on from life. Actually learning new things every day was a thrill for her.

    "You know it." She bumped my shoulder with hers as we got up. "Even awkward moments like yesterday with Sparky are kind of amazing, because he just … walked away when I said no. I mean, there are some people who can't help but be assholes, but they're nothing compared to my brothers and sisters."

    "They're probably nicer now," I noted as I picked up my backpack. "I mean, you're nicer now."

    "I guess." I could tell that her personal experience was warring with her understanding that I was probably correct. "Someday I'd like to go find them, and see how they're going. Just, you know, not today."

    "Got it." We headed out of the bedroom, along the corridor and down the stairs. Cherie's backpack was sitting next to the sofa, and she scooped it up on the way past.

    As I went through the kitchen to the back door, I saw that Dad had taken the note I'd left him, asking him to bring home one of those high-powered bullhorns they had in the Dockworkers' Association. Good.

    "You know …" Cherie said as I closed the back door behind us and locked it. "We could always just teleport to school. That way, we could stay and watch TV until it's time to go to class." She gave me a hopeful wide-eyed look.

    I snorted and hid the key under the fake rock. "We could. Not gonna. It's not a toy, and the bus works just fine."

    As we headed out of the yard and set off down the street, she shook her head. "This is why nobody would ever really believe you were Atropos. The most famous cape in the world, taking the bus to school. Only in Brockton Bay."

    I laughed and slapped her on the shoulder. "Damn right."

    <><>​

    Lord's Port

    Accord

    "Hmm. Interesting."

    Yesterday, he knew, the port had been choked with ships: some listing, all rusted, none really serviceable. Today, the port was clear and the bare ground that had once been stacked high with shipping containers now held those same ships. He'd had a plan for clearing out the ships; an elegant plan, one that would've taken several weeks to complete but which had complete economy of action.

    Atropos had intervened with a plan of her own: get the heroes to do it. It had been neither elegant nor economical, but it had only taken a few hours. This required him to scrap that plan and make another one; this one to deal with the now-grounded vessels and to make the port viable for use once more. Where most people would've been frustrated, he looked forward to it.

    "Get me numbers," he said. "Tonnages, pollution types and concentrations, buyers for scrap metal."

    Plans were already forming in his head, ways and means to disassemble each ship with the least amount of effort. When it came to manpower, he had all he wished to call upon. Money was literally a non-issue.

    "Yes, sir," said Citrine, writing busily in her notepad. She was eager to make up for her faux pas and he was inclined to allow her to do so, considering that Atropos had seen fit to spare her life. If such a prolific and effective killer such as that chose to leave Citrine alive, then he himself could do no less.

    "I've seen enough here. Take me to the marshalling yards." He needed to see for himself that everything was working as planned, and nobody was pencil-whipping the figures. It was unlikely in the extreme, especially in Atropos' city, but double-checking never hurt anyone.

    The limousine drove off silently, Othello waving their B3C credentials at the gate guard to let them out. As they merged with the morning traffic, Accord looked up at the city skyline. He was determined to adhere to every single one of Atropos' restrictions, in both letter and spirit. This was the first time he'd had the chance to use his plans to entirely renovate a city, and he was damned if he was going to pass it up.

    <><>​

    Winslow High School, World Affairs Class

    Greg Veder

    "Hey, Greg."

    Greg looked up, then his eyes widened as he realised that Taylor was taking a seat at the desk next to his. She didn't look like she wanted to kill him, but he wasn't about to take that as granted.

    "Uh, look, about yesterday," he began. Sparky hadn't shown up yet—or is that because Taylor's already killed him and hidden his body? His overactive imagination began to run away with him, and sweat sprang out on his brow.

    "Cherie already told me about it." Her voice was low but she didn't sound angry. "She said you tried to tell him not to. I appreciate that. She hasn't had an easy life up until now. She's okay with people making casual conversation, but anything more is a no-no, okay?"

    "Okay," he managed. "Totally okay. One hundred percent." He would've agreed with anything she said right then.

    "Good." She smiled and started to stand up. "Thanks for listening."

    "Uh, Taylor?" He managed to restrain himself from grabbing the sleeve of her sweatshirt. Having both hands was a thing he'd gotten used to, and he preferred to keep it that way.

    She paused, looking back at him. "Yeah?"

    What he'd wanted to say suddenly sounded stupid in his head, but he'd gotten her attention, and he didn't want to piss her off by doing that and then saying 'nothing'. "Um, I used to think we were friends, but I'm pretty sure that I was a crappy friend, if I was one at all."

    Her gaze sharpened, then she slowly nodded. "That's true." Oddly enough, there was no condemnation in her tone. Just a simple acknowledgement.

    Before he could lose his nerve, he rattled off the rest of what he wanted to say. "And—and I'm glad you're happier now and you're doing well." Before anything stupid like you look good or you deserve to be happy or anything else that might sound like he was hitting on her could come tumbling out, he shut his mouth and kept it that way.

    She nodded again, her penetrating gaze still on him. He got the uncomfortable feeling that she knew what he'd chosen not to say, but she didn't call him on it. "Thank you. I appreciate it." Turning away, she headed back to her desk and sat down, leaving him sitting in a metaphorical (and nearly literal) puddle of his own sweat. She didn't look back.

    A moment later, Sparky ambled in through the door and meandered over to sit next to Greg. "Hey, man. What's happening?"

    "Nothing." Greg felt the tension easing out of his body. "Absolutely nothing at all."

    And that was the way he preferred it.

    <><>​

    Hebert Household, 5:35 PM

    Cherish

    "So that's what you're going to use? Really?" Cherie grinned and shook her head, looking at the bullhorn and the cord Taylor had spliced into it. The other end of the cord was plugged into Taylor's phone, which was in her pocket, quite hard to see unless someone was specifically looking for it.

    Her scepticism didn't arise from any doubt in Taylor or her capabilities. As far as Cherie was concerned, if Taylor went all Matrix on the Machine Army, they wouldn't stand a chance. But killing them by just talking to them was something she was having trouble getting her head around.

    "Really." Taylor pulled up her sleeve—she was wearing the Atropos costume, without the mask or hat—and flipped open the access panel, then tapped in a whole bunch of numbers. Cherie assumed she knew what she was doing with that thing. "When I go after them, I have to use the right weapon. This is the right weapon."

    "I just can't see how it works." Cherie was honestly trying, but she was pretty sure she just didn't have the educational background to even begin to understand it.

    "Think of it in terms of powers. You told me about your sister Flor, right?" They'd sat up a lot of nights while Cherie unloaded all her pent-up frustrations about her brothers and sisters. Considering what those siblings had been like before Taylor killed Cherie's dad's influence over them (and her), she'd had a lot to rant about.

    "Yeah, she implants suggestions. Makes you do fucked-up shit that you can't not do. Like having to punch yourself in the head before you can take a bite of food." Cherie looked at Taylor curiously, trying to understand the point she was trying to make. Then the penny dropped. "Wait, this is the same?"

    "Yeah. This is the same. This implants commands. And the command is 'die'." Both Taylor's voice and emotional music sounded grimly satisfied about that.

    "But we listened to it …" Cherie trailed off uncertainly. Was she going to have to listen to something else to not want to kill herself?

    "Only works on Machine Army. Just like Flor's trick wouldn't work on a robot."

    That made sense to Cherie. At least, she'd never seen Flor use her power on a machine. "Huh. I get it. I think I get it." She grinned. "They won't know what hit them."

    "Even if they figure it out, it won't help them." Taylor pulled her phone out and dialled a number. "Hi, yeah, this is Atropos. You've been told to expect me? Good. I'll be arriving in exactly thirty seconds. Main helipad, yes. Okay, see you then."

    Cherie had taken note of the 'thirty seconds'. "Take care, huh? Don't give those mechanical bastards a chance."

    Taylor put her phone away, then pulled on her mask and put on her hat. "Don't intend to. Keep an eye on the lasagne." The shadowy doorway formed in midair, and she stepped through with a jaunty wave.

    Cherie waved back. When the doorway vanished, she headed through to the kitchen. This was the first time she'd cooked proper food in a proper oven with proper instructions, and she was going to get it right.

    Besides, it helped keep her from worrying about Taylor.

    <><>​

    Eagleton Base, TN

    Atropos

    I stepped out onto the middle of a concrete helipad, or at least a wide area of concrete with the big 'H' in a circle on it. There were guards posted around, but looking outward, probably to make sure nothing interrupted the teleport. I would've known, but it was good that they were making the effort.

    The first thing I saw was a sign saying WELCOME TO EAGLETON BASE. Following that were a whole lot of rules that I had zero interest in following. My philosophy was simple: rules were all well and good, right up until they got in the way.

    "Ah … Atropos?" A PRT officer stepped past the guards and approached me. He was in camo instead of armour, though (like Major Holden, back at Ellisburg) I was willing to bet his armour was someplace nearby if he needed it. "I'm Lieutenant-Colonel Briggs."

    "I know. I talked to you on the phone about one minute ago. Nice to meet you, Colonel." I shook his proffered hand. "Where do you think you'll be posted after this base closes down?"

    "You're quite sure of yourself." He didn't seem to know what to make of me. I'd noticed that with some people when they met me for the first time, even after watching the footage of what I'd done.

    "I'm really, really good at killing things. A bunch of semi-sapient robots just needs a different approach." With a tilt of my head, I indicated an NCO coming our way with purpose. "You can tell the sergeant that he's not getting any of my electronics."

    He held up his hand to halt the sergeant but didn't send him away. "It's regulations around here. The Machines are really aggressive, and we've found traces of their programming on unshielded electronics. We don't know if they're remotely hacking them or doing something else, but one of the cast-iron rules around here is that we don't give them access to anything that hasn't been hardened against them." The tone of his voice was a mixture of caution and earnest intent to explain.

    I looked him in the eye. "Colonel, there is a phone in my pocket. They're welcome to try to hack it. It's currently running three different types of virus that absolutely will fuck up the day of anything that links wirelessly to it. The rest of my electronics are linked to the phone." I'd spent most of first period constructing one of the viruses while pretending to browse PHO. Likewise, I wasn't worried about the teleporter because Leet had designed it (at my request) not to be able to be wirelessly accessed.

    "Sir?" That was the sergeant.

    Briggs waved him to silence, apparently so he could think through the conundrum. On the one hand, he had tried and true regulations to fall back on, that had kept the base safe so far. But on the other, I had broken every law in the book, and a few that hadn't even been written yet, and I'd murdered capes and an Endbringer that nobody thought could die.

    Well, I'd known they could die. It was kind of my thing.

    "Colonel Briggs!" It was one of the guards. "Perimeter says there's movement inside Eagleton! The Machine Army's doing something!"

    "They just heard that I'm on site," I said cheerfully. "They might be homicidal killing machines, but they're not stupid. They have to know I'm here for exactly one thing, and it isn't Taco Tuesday." I didn't even have to make any guesses for this bit; my threatscape was starting to bloom as more and more of the Machine Army heard my name and decided that I would have to die.

    "Well, you can't go in there now." He looked around as though searching for an available alternative.

    "Why not?" I hefted the bullhorn with my left hand, my right hand free to draw my pistol. "I'm just going in to give them their first warning. I'll only kill them if they get stupid."

    "But … they're ready for you! They'll kill you!" He clenched his fists. "God dammit. I didn't know they were going to react this badly."

    "I did. And you're wrong about one thing, Colonel. They might know I'm here, but they're in no way ready for me." I raised my right hand, just as the timer ran down on my teleporter, and snapped my fingers.

    I appeared just inside the perimeter wall, on a street that looked identical to any other section of road in middle America. Asphalt, sidewalk, houses, trees. Kids' toys in the yards. Cars sat at the curb. The lawns had been carefully mowed and the hedges trimmed, while the houses had been recently painted. I could hear a TV playing from one house, and music from a radio station in another direction. Just out of sight, around the corner, I could hear the laughter of children playing.

    It was all very normal, designed to entice people to investigate the interior of the houses. Which would be a huge mistake.

    Half the cars were (to borrow a phrase) robots in disguise. So were the toys. Something nasty lurked under the manhole in the middle of the street. The houses were the robotic equivalent of Venus flytraps.

    And they knew I was here.

    That was fine; I knew they were there as well.

    I pressed the trigger on the bullhorn; this activated the sound file on the phone. "Attention, Machine Army!" My voice boomed across Eagleton. "My name is Atropos! You know who I am! I'm here to give you a warning! Tell all your friends!" I started walking forward, still talking. "You have two options! Submit to reprogramming, give up your hatred of humanity, and you get to live! The other option is that I come back in twenty-four hours and kill you all! There is no third option!"

    One of the toys, a cute plastic three-wheeler, split apart and sprouted spidery legs to stalk after me. I let it get to pouncing distance; just as it leaped toward me, I drew my pistol and blew its braincase apart without looking. The suppressed shot was only a little louder than the clatter of its mechanical corpse hitting the roadway. Parts of the scenery, which had been starting to lean toward me, leaned away again.

    "I'll say this again!" The ones around me were opportunistic killers, not dedicated assault units, but those were on the way. In the meantime, I had a message to spread, quite literally.

    The audio file I'd crafted and loaded onto my phone edged my voice as I spoke; the machine intelligences listening to it would receive it as computer code, in much the same way as I'd placed patches in Dragon's code. I had no fears of Dragon accidentally catching an electronic cold from this virus if she happened to listen to it, mainly because her programming worked on a totally different format.

    What they were receiving consisted of two different viruses. One acted immediately but was relatively innocuous. When I said, 'tell all your friends', the virus made them treat that as a command set in stone, so they began to transmit the entire audio of my speech to all their fellows.

    The second virus was far more insidious. It slithered past their filters and constructed itself in the dim, dark recesses of their processing units, but did nothing dangerous once it was finished. Its only activity would be to embed a harmless ping into the communications between its host and each of its fellows. If it didn't get a ping in a communication, it would send a compressed version of itself back along the same comms route.

    Still walking, I repeated my whole spiel. "… twenty-four hours and kill you all. There is no third option!"

    The first assault units rounded the street corner. There had been no attempts to conceal or camouflage these ones. They were robotic killers, one and all. Nothing an AT-4 couldn't deal with, of course—mechanical limits were still mechanical limits—but thoroughly deadly to an unprepared unit of soldiers. Or, theoretically, a single teenage girl with a bullhorn and a pistol.

    On seeing me, they stopped. Not totally surprising; the footage they'd viewed had to have included the fates of anyone attempting to charge blindly at me. Their best strategic processors would've been hard at work, trying to figure out how I'd kill them if they came at me.

    I put the pistol away, and waved. "Hi, guys," I greeted them through the bullhorn. "You know how this goes. You gonna be smart about this?"

    Two more robots, emboldened by the presence of their bigger nastier brothers, were sneaking up on me from behind; one was the thing from the sewer system, while the other had been masquerading as half a car. I pretended not to notice them.

    The assault units in front of me were doing the electronic equivalent of looking at each other and asking, can it be this easy? I carried no heavy weapons, and I'd just put my pistol away. Scans of my body showed no augmentation, no heavy armour, not even a force field. They wouldn't have been sure what the teleporter was, but it only covered my forearm.

    A whole bunch of weapons were now trained on me. If even one scored a hit, I'd be so much paste. I had to admit, the Machine Army did overkill really, really well.

    Their problem, which they would've strenuously denied if they'd been capable of doing so, was actually a very human one. Each member of the Machine Army was an independent unit; they weren't under central control, so when they fired on me, they each did it at a slightly different time. This allowed me to dance between the raindrops.

    I weaved left, then right; the robots sneaking up from behind were obliterated before they knew what was going on. Attacks were going off all around me, a couple of lasers actually perforating my coat (and making it look about twenty percent cooler), but I was never actually there when the payload arrived. Each time I evaded, stepping into the path of a shot that had just gone off, they seemed to get more frustrated, until three of them fired high-explosive shells at the street, directly at my feet. Just before these went off, the teleporter kicked in and placed me a hundred yards down the street.

    "Hey!" I called over the bullhorn. "Over here! Missed me, missed me, now you gotta listen to me!"

    None of them shot at me. They'd figured it out. I had a teleporter on me, and they wanted it. Any sort of shooting might damage or destroy the teleporter, so they had to capture me bodily.

    While they were working out how to do that, I lifted the bullhorn again. "You've all heard what I've got to say. In the words of one of your idols: I'll be back."

    They rushed at me. In fact, every robot from every house, car, lawn and playground came at me. The idyllic setting dissolved into a horror-movie scene of clattering metal feet and reaching robotic claws. There was even an animated section of hedge, next to a robotic topiary bush.

    I had time for one last, "Toodles!" before the doorway formed behind me. I stepped backward through it and onto the helipad where I'd arrived. A three-inch section of curved metal blade got to within a foot of my face before it clattered to the concrete of the helipad, snipped off by the closing portal.

    "Jesus Christ." That was Briggs. The guards were pointing guns at me, but they just as quickly moved them away at his gesture. "Are you alright?"

    "Never better." I picked up the robot claw. "Nice."

    "So, what are you going to do now?" he asked, clearly under the impression that I'd failed in my objective. "They were never going to listen to you."

    "Oh, they listened. They just didn't pay attention." I grinned under my mask. "And if they don't surrender by this time tomorrow? Well, I'm just going to have to come back and kill them all."

    "But … how?" He glanced involuntarily around at the base that had been established next to the Eagleton zone, then back at me. The body language was clear: if he couldn't destroy the Machine Army with the resources at his disposal, how could I manage it?

    I gave him the same answer I'd given Bastion. "With panache, Colonel. Panache and style."



    End of Part Sixty-Two
     
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    • A Darker Path

    Part Sixty-Three: The Big Reveal

    [A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]


    Relevant Side-Story

    Relevant Side-Story


    Cherish

    Cherie was doing her homework at the kitchen table when Taylor teleported into the living room. Dropping her pencil, she jumped up immediately. "Wow, that didn't take long at all."

    "Nope." Unplugging the phone from the bullhorn, Taylor dropped them both on the sofa. "It got a little hectic, but that was always the plan."

    Heading into the living room, Cherie caught the smells of dust, of gun-smoke, and of burnt cloth. "Why does it smell like your coat's on fire?"

    "It's not on fire, but there's a few holes in it." Taylor took off her coat and shook it out. When she spread it wide, Cherie was just able to see the tiny, scorched laser holes around the lower end, where it had flared out. "The Machine Army got a little trigger-happy, but I got my message across. 'Panache' has been delivered." That was what Taylor had called the virus.

    "That's the thing that tells them to die, right?" Cherie took the coat and carefully draped it across the sofa, then gave her a heartfelt hug. "They got awfully close to you, this time."

    Taylor hugged her in return. The human contact was nice. "Nothing I couldn't handle. All they hit was cloth and air."

    "But they got closer than anyone else ever has." Cherie let go and stepped back half a pace, her hands on Taylor's upper arms. She tried to put her concern into words, because Taylor was someone she actually cared about. "I don't want you being all overconfident and getting shot because someone's a bit better than you think they are."

    "There were a lot of bullets and a lot of lasers, but I knew exactly where to step so they didn't get me." Taylor took her hat and mask off, then pulled Cherie in close and pressed their foreheads together. "Though I'm truly touched by your concern. Thank you."

    Cherie could tell she was being sincere, and the warmth from that spread through her whole chest. "Well, you've literally done more for me than anyone else in my life, ever. So, you'll excuse me if I'm just a bit protective of you." She sniffled, trying not to let Taylor hear it or see the tears standing in her eyes.

    "Well, it's all good." Taylor hugged her again. "They're not going to get that close again. I promise."

    "I'm glad." Cherie totally meant it. Trying to change the subject so she could wipe her eyes and blow her nose without being obvious about it, she nodded toward the kitchen. "The lasagne's looking good, I think. I mean, it's looking like when you do it. Smells like it, too."

    Neither by word nor gesture did Taylor give the impression that she'd figured out the tiny subterfuge, but Cherie knew that she knew. However, she was nice enough to not call Cherie out on it. "Well, let's go have a look at it, shall we?"

    <><>​

    Taylor

    Dad got home about half an hour later. I'd been for a shower, and Cherie was just setting the table when I came back downstairs. It was almost heartbreaking (pun intended) to see how well she responded to even mild praise for doing a minor chore like that.

    "Hi, girls," he said as he came in the back door. "Is that lasagne I smell?" He'd known, of course, that Cherie was cooking dinner, but his appreciative sniff was as genuine as my own.

    "I hope it's okay." Cherie hunched her shoulders. "Taylor says it is, but I'm scared I did something stupid and it'll taste terrible."

    "Well, we'll see." He gave her a genial smile, then took off his coat and hung it alongside the door. "It smells good, so that's a great first step. How did you go at school today?"

    Cherie beamed. "Mrs Engels gave me an A for my math work today. Oh, and Greg Veder came and talked to me at lunch. He told me he was sorry about Sparky bothering me, and said to come see him if anyone gives me problems and I can't find Taylor."

    I raised my eyebrows a little. I hadn't known he'd say or do that. Not that Cherie would ever be unable to find me—my power would tell me if she was upset—but I definitely approved.

    "Well, that sounds nice of him." Dad evidently agreed with me. "And congratulations on the A. It shows you're working hard. What do you think, Taylor? Next time we get some free time, we should go to the movies to celebrate?"

    "Can't think of a better reason," I said honestly. It was actually a pretty good idea. I'd gone to the movies a few times with Cherie already, but going specifically as a reward for doing well in school would be a first for her.

    Dad went and washed up, then we sat down for dinner. The lasagne was delicious, something Dad and I both made sure to comment on. Positive reinforcement was the name of the game, and though Cherie absolutely knew what we were up to, it didn't stop her from feeling good about the compliments coming her way.

    "I'm going to have to skip dessert," I announced as I got up from the table. "It's time to go out again, but I didn't want to miss your lasagne."

    Dad watched curiously as I went to the fridge and took the two bottles of champagne that had been chilling nicely at the back for a few weeks now. "I've been wondering about those," he ventured. "I don't drink wine, and I'm pretty sure you don't either."

    "It's kind of a payment for a favour and kind of a being-a-dick tax," I explained cheerfully. They went neatly into the shopping bag I had ready, and I left them on the table while I went and collected my costume. My teleporter had been sitting on charge since I got home, so I put that on as well, the little green lights indicating that it was full up and ready to go. This was good; I was going to need it.

    Dad frowned, trying to figure that one out. Cherie, who'd already heard the story from me, smirked. "Okay …" said Dad eventually. "You … did someone a favour, but they were a dick to you so you took two bottles of wine instead of one?"

    "Oh, I took more than that." I waved in the general direction of the basement door. "There's a few more bottles down there, in case we needed one for a rainy day. I'm gonna be bringing one to Director Piggot's farewell party."

    The expression on Dad's face was amusing. "You know," he said to Cherie, "one of these days I'm going to learn not to ask questions like that. The type where the answer just involves more questions."

    "That does seem to happen around Taylor a lot, yes," she agreed gravely, trying to hide the lurking grin and the amusement in her eyes.

    "I'll let you explain it," I said to Cherie as I pulled on the mask, then put the hat on top. "Time to deliver some apology wine."

    "Don't ask me about that one," I heard Cherie say to Dad as I tapped in my destinations and set the timer. "I have no idea, either. But she got it when Vista contacted her—"

    <><>​

    Dallon Household, 06:40 PM

    Brandish

    Carol was leaning back in her study chair, going through the details of a witness statement, when there was a brisk one-two-three-four knock on the front door. She ignored it; Mark was watching TV, Victoria was doing the dishes and Amy was upstairs in her room. Someone else would get it.

    The knock came again. She tried not to frown and accentuate the wrinkle between her eyebrows. "Could someone please get that?" she called.

    There was no repeat of the knock; she relaxed, getting back into the flow of the document. This lasted just long enough to get to the end of the page, when there came a gentle knock on the door of her study. "Mom?" It was Victoria.

    Slowly, Carol turned. "What is it?" she asked, doing her best not to sound angry or impatient, while at the same time trying to project I-am-busy-here vibes.

    "There's someone here to see you." She'd never heard Victoria sound so subdued before. "I really think you should come out here."

    "Well?" Carol mustered her best cut-through-the-bullshit tone. "Who is it?"

    "Atropos."

    That one name took Carol's concentration, dragged it around the back, and shot it in the head. She stared at her daughter. "What, here? Now? In this house?"

    "Yes, here. Yes, now. Yes, in this house." Victoria gave the impression of someone holding on to sanity by their fingernails. "She says she's here to talk to you about Amy. Right now, she's discussing TV shows with Dad."

    Because of course she is. Carol jumped to her feet and smoothed her dress down, then snarled inwardly at herself. Why am I worried about looking good in front of a mass murderer? Taking a deep breath, she strode out of her study and into the living room.

    Atropos was indeed there, sitting in an armchair while Mark explained some point about a show Carol had never watched. They both looked around as she entered, and Atropos stood up again. She was holding a shopping bag with something long and heavy in it.

    "Hello again, Mrs Dallon." Atropos might've been smiling from the tone of her voice, but Carol couldn't really tell. She held out the bag. "Apology wine, remember? I said I'd bring some over when I came to talk to you about what I was doing with Amy next."

    "Oh." A lot of pieces fell into place at once. "Ah. Yes. You didn't have to, really." But her hand went out to accept the bag anyway.

    "Yeah, I did." Atropos turned to address Mark. "Sorry, Mr Dallon. I'm on a little bit of a time crunch right now, but we can definitely get back to this discussion at a later date." She even managed to sound sincere about it.

    "Absolutely." He smiled up at her. "It's been an interesting conversation."

    Carol wasn't interested in small talk. "We can discuss matters in my study, unless you've got a better place in mind."

    "Your study's fine," Atropos agreed. "Lead the way." The morph mask made it just as hard as before to figure out her attitude merely from her voice. Carol was used to being able to pick out tells, but Atropos had none.

    "Victoria." Carol handed her the bottles. "Put these in the fridge." The last thing she wanted to do was needlessly offend Atropos by neglecting the gift. The idea that it might be poisoned crossed her mind briefly, then was dismissed equally as quickly. Atropos didn't do anything as subtle as poison.

    "Yes, Mom." Victoria accepted them, but lingered as though she, too, wanted to be in on the conversation.

    That was absolutely not going to happen. "No disturbances," Carol ruled. "None."

    Turning, she led the way back to her study. Atropos followed exactly two steps behind her, and closed the door without being prompted once they were inside the study. Carol mentally debated remaining on her feet, then decided that sitting in her study chair would give her an air of authority that was currently missing from the situation.

    She lowered herself into the chair while Atropos stayed standing, near the door. "So …" she prompted, mainly to see what Atropos would say.

    "So, I suppose you're wondering why I got champagne from Vista's parents." Carol hadn't been wondering anything of the sort—or rather, it had been the lowest priority matter she'd been wondering about—but Atropos barely paused before launching into the tale.

    "Her parents fight, and when they drink it gets worse and they drag Vista into it. She asked me to intervene, and so I took their booze away and gave them an ultimatum. They're both in counselling now, which is a good thing for all concerned." The hint of a smile under that damn morph mask was even more sinister than a fully visible one would've been. "Now, I can tell you've got a question about that."

    Carol had many questions, but there was one that was more urgent than the others. "Yes. Why did you help Vista? I didn't even know she knew you."

    "Oh, she doesn't. She just … called out, and I answered. But why would I, a confessed serial killer, intervene with her parents, especially when I've never met her before? It's simple. She's young, and she's powerful. If someone like that, especially stuck in a rough home situation, ever became disenchanted and discouraged by the situation she finds herself in, she might act out. Turn villain. With parenting comes a certain responsibility to be a parent, especially when the child is someone who could devastate the entire city with ease if they were ever deprived of a good role model. Don't you think?"

    Atropos' voice was steady, almost hypnotic. Carol stared at the mask, somehow knowing that the eyes behind it were fixed on hers. But that wasn't the worst part. The worst part was the uncomfortable implication behind her words.

    She went to speak and found her throat dry. After swallowing, she tried again. "We are still talking about Vista here, right?"

    "We're talking about whoever you think we're talking about." Which didn't help Carol's state of mind one bit. "But anyway, on to the reason I came over tonight. There's a supervillain who's in need of a certain amount of … repair, shall we say. I'm moderately confident that once this is accomplished, with the help of Amy and a couple of others, I'll be able to talk this villain into giving up crime and setting out on the straight and narrow."

    "A supervillain can't just stop being a criminal!" Carol's outburst was almost reflexive. "They've got to undergo restitution for their crimes!" It was one of her most deeply held beliefs.

    A moment later, she flushed as she recalled exactly who she was talking to. Atropos had committed more crimes than most, and she was almost certainly going to escape any kind of meaningful punishment for her many murders. Whatever the opposite of 'preaching to the choir' was, it applied here.

    "After a certain point, punishment for past criminal activity goes beyond rehabilitation and becomes an exercise in sadism and vengeance." Atropos shook her head. "What better restitution than allowing them to use their powers for good, to build a better world?"

    "So, who is it?" Carol wasn't sure why she asked the question, save as a way to garner as much information from this conversation as possible. "Which supervillain are you seeking to miraculously convert into a hero, and who else do you have helping?"

    "Not a hero." Atropos chuckled. "Rogue at best. Edgy rogue, at that. But with any luck, no longer a supervillain. As for names, I think I'll keep those to myself for the moment. Remove any temptation you might have to try to throw a spanner in the works somehow."

    Carol frowned, displeased at the flat denial. "I haven't yet given permission for Amy to leave this house with you." It was, as Victoria called it, the Mom card, her best power move.

    As a trump card, it fell flat. "I wasn't asking permission. You said to knock on the front door and talk. I've knocked, we're talking. You now know as much as I'm willing to tell you. The only person who has a say in whether Amy leaves this house tonight is Amy. I'm not going to force her, and you can't stop her."

    The absolute assurance in every word, every syllable, took Carol's breath away. Worse, thinking about it, Carol knew Atropos was correct. She hadn't made any particular stipulation about Amy's assistance, just that Atropos tell her what they intended to do. And if Amy had already gone out without Carol's knowledge before, she'd be all the more likely to defy Carol's word now if Atropos asked her to. Because teenagers were like that.

    To Carol's credit, at no point did she consider escalating the disagreement from the verbal to the physical. Cape, normal or Endbringer; nobody who had faced Atropos in a physical confrontation had won. The ones who'd survived quite likely wished they hadn't.

    She rose from her chair and went to the door. Atropos politely stepped aside for her, showing no signs of worry. Opening the door, Carol looked out to see Victoria loitering not all that far down the corridor. Normally she would've been irritated at the potential for eavesdropping, but right now she had other matters on her mind. "Victoria, please fetch Amy for me. Immediately."

    "Yes, Mom." There may have been an element of guilt in how quickly Victoria left the scene, but Carol wasn't worried about that.

    Leaving the door open, she went back and sat down in her chair. "When she gets here, we will speak to her and, as you say, she gets the final decision whether she goes or not." It wasn't the best move she could think of, and it wasn't the move she wanted to make, but it was the only one available to her.

    "Works for me." Atropos had the air of someone for whom time limits did not apply. She stood there while Carol watched the doorway; for all the impatience she showed, she could've been a statue.

    "A question, while we're waiting?" The query had bobbed up in Carol's mind, and now she couldn't get rid of it.

    Atropos gestured gracefully; go right ahead. "Sure."

    "The number of people you've killed. Do you … see them? In your dreams?" Carol had had nightmares from time to time, following her traumatic trigger event. Even now, decades later, she had to sleep with the lights on.

    "No. My power is literally about Ending things. People, legacies, Endbringers. They're all the same to me." Carol could've sworn Atropos raised her eyebrows. "If I kill someone or something, it's because I needed them to die. But I never kill for nothing. It's never casual for me. There's always a reason."

    Carol had her mouth open to ask another question when there was a rush of running feet, and Amy came into view. Oddly enough, she was in full costume. This normally only happened when she was going out for … oh.

    "Mom," Amy panted, briefly out of breath. "Hi, Atropos. Vicky said you were here."

    "Did you know she was coming here?" asked Carol. If Amy lied now …

    "Well, I didn't know she was gonna walk in the front door, but yeah, she messaged me last night and asked me if I wanted to help with something." Amy shut up then, which was what Carol didn't want her to do.

    "And that something was …?" Carol prompted, in her best courtroom manner.

    She didn't miss the flickering glance Amy shot Atropos, nor the fractional nod Atropos returned. The good news was that Atropos was willing for Amy to reveal all. On the other hand, the bad news was that Amy was looking to Atropos for guidance in that matter.

    Victoria was loitering in the doorway, nonchalantly pretending to be invisible, but Carol didn't have the time or inclination to send her away. Besides, a witness was probably best in a situation like this.

    Amy took a deep breath. "There's some supervillain, Atropos hasn't told me their name. They need something done to them that I've never done before, so she's bringing in a team to help me out. Once we're done, she wants to rehabilitate the villain to be a rogue. And that's all I know."

    Which added exactly zero to the sum total of the knowledge Carol already had about the matter. "Victoria!"

    Eyes widening as though she'd been actually caught out listening at the keyhole, Victoria straightened up. "Yes, Mom?"

    "Do you know anything about this?" It was her last chance to find out anything more.

    There was no hesitation, no furtive glances at Amy or Atropos. "No, ma'am. First I've heard of it." She gave Amy a moderately disappointed look. "You could've invited me along. It sounds pretty cool."

    "Sorry." Atropos didn't sound apologetic. "I specifically didn't mention you because of potential problems arising from power interactions. Also, it's likely to be mostly boring except for Amy and her team."

    "Gotcha." Victoria looked enlightened, which was more than Carol was. "Okay, I guess that makes sense. Just take care of her, okay?"

    "When have I not?" Atropos, it seemed, could be as snarky as any other teenager. "This will be a non-combat situation. There is a mild element of danger, easily avoided. Amy's actions will assist in mitigating the danger. That's one of the reasons I'm bringing her along."

    Carol blinked. "Oh." This was sounding less problematic all the time, save for the original confrontation. "You could maybe have led with that."

    Atropos turned and gave her the most deadpan gaze she'd ever seen, clear through the morph mask. "You didn't ask."

    "Ah. So, is there anything else you can tell me?" Information was better late than never.

    "No, that was it." She was almost sure Atropos was doing this on purpose. "Amy, you ready to go?"

    Amy blinked at being put on the spot, then hastily nodded. "Um, sure."

    "Wait." Carol held up her hand. "Amy … I know this is probably a little sudden, but when you get back, I'd like to talk. Mother to daughter, if you're willing."

    Slowly, Amy nodded again. "Yeah, I'd like that."

    "Excellent. I'll have her back in an hour." Atropos waved toward the other side of the study, and a shadowy doorway faded into view there. She linked her arm through Amy's, and they stepped up to the doorway. "Toodles." Another step and they were gone, then the doorway faded again.

    Victoria dropped into the guest chair that Atropos had chosen not to take. "Well, that happened."

    Carol sighed, going back over the conversation with Atropos and not liking the direction some parts of it had gone. "It did indeed."

    <><>​

    Panacea

    Amy wasn't sure where they were heading to; Atropos had given her zero clues beyond 'a team'. It took her a moment or so to get herself oriented and recognise the layout of the Wards base in the PRT building. It didn't help that there were more capes present than usual, including Armsmaster and Tenebrae.

    Also present, for some reason, was the Deputy Director, Mr Renick. Amy had spoken to him a total of three times, and shaken his hand once that she could recall. He seemed a nice, grandfatherly type, or what she imagined to be a grandfatherly type.

    "Atropos!" Miss Medic, whom Amy knew by another name altogether, came barrelling across the room and launched herself at the black-clad cape in a full-on glomp. Far removed from her Slaughterhouse Nine origins, she seemed happy and outgoing, truly thrilled to see Atropos.

    "Hey, kiddo." Instead of being offended or angry at the pseudo-assault, Atropos went with it; her greeting sounded like she was amused. "All ready to roll?"

    "Sure, sure!" Miss Medic let go Atropos and held up her arms. One of the Tinkertech bracers she was wearing, which Amy understood could pop out any surgical tool Miss Medic needed, flicked out a single scalpel then retracted it almost faster than the eye could see. "They're all charged up and the anaesthesia and antiseptic reservoirs are full. But I just wanted to introduce you to my teammates. They're amazing cool, and they've made me totally welcome here."

    Atropos nodded. "Sure. I'd love to meet them. I've heard they're really nice people."

    Amy watched in mild disbelief as Miss Medic led Atropos by the hand to the group of Wards standing off to the side. It appeared that Atropos had a soft spot for Miss Medic, something any number of people Amy knew would've utterly disbelieved even if they'd seen it with their own eyes.

    "Hello, Panacea." She looked around to see Deputy Director Renick approaching her.

    Tenebrae and Armsmaster seemed to be having a conversation, so there was nobody listening in on the two of them. "Mr Renick, it's nice to see you again."

    "Likewise." Renick nodded toward Atropos and Miss Medic. "I presume you're coming along with Miss Medic and Tenebrae on this mission of Atropos'?"

    "That's the idea." Amy wondered how much she should say, then figured that if Atropos had wanted her to stay quiet, she would've said something. "Apparently there's some kind of surgical thing that I've never done before, but Atropos said I'd have competent people along to help. I've heard Miss Medic is really good?" She knew she was pushing the boundaries a little with the semi-question, but it was a good idea to plant the idea that they'd never met.

    Renick answered with a definitive nod. "We've brought in experts, and they say she's the best surgeon they've ever seen. I personally can't imagine a medical problem that the two of you couldn't handle between you."

    "That's good. She seems like a nice kid. Enthusiastic." Amy was curious to hear Renick's views on Miss Medic's antics. "So how does she know Atropos, do you know?"

    "Ah." The Deputy Director smiled. "They met through Atropos' fan club. Miss Medic is a member but doesn't advertise it, as are several other members of the Wards. You're probably aware that the PRT is quietly going along with whatever Atropos says. However, our public face requires us to not actually side with supervillains. So, while we don't forbid them from joining, we ask them not to put that membership up on social media in their cape identities." He seemed pleased with the solution.

    "That makes sense." The sudden glare of a camera flash caught her eye, and she frowned. "Is that … does Atropos have a Polaroid camera?" Thinking back, she seemed to recall something like that from the first disastrous meeting with Atropos, but her concentration had been on other matters at the time.

    "Oh, yes." Renick let out a paternal chuckle. "Ironically, they aren't going to be able to show those selfies off, especially if she signs them. But I don't think they care."

    "No, I don't think they do." Amy saw that Atropos was heading back their way after having taken what looked like a group shot, with Miss Medic at her side. Tenebrae, too, had finished his conversation with Armsmaster and was moving to join them. "Whoops, looks like time to go."

    Deputy Director Renick nodded. "Good luck."

    "Thank you, sir." She looked up at Tenebrae, who was a good foot taller than her. He was also wearing a discreet body-camera. "Hi. I don't think we've met. Tenebrae, right?"

    Tenebrae's voice was rich and deep. "Correct. And you'd have to be Panacea." He shook her hand, carefully. While she didn't think he was a Brute, there was still a lot of strength in that grip.

    "That's me." She recalled Deputy Director Renick's words. "And you're coming with us?"

    Atropos answered for him. "That's right. Now, I need to warn you of this. We will be picking up two more people before we get to our final destination. The portal will only stay open for a maximum of four seconds each time. When it closes, anything caught halfway through will be cut off. Six people can hustle quite a ways in four seconds, but you do not want to dawdle. I'll be going through last, so if I don't think someone ahead of me can make it, I'll pull you up, and if the portal closes without me, sit tight for the next couple of minutes. I will be coming through. Does anyone not understand?"

    Amy glanced at the other two. Tenebrae looked doubtful but determined, while Miss Medic just looked eager to be on the way. When Atropos glanced her way, Amy nodded. "I got it. Four seconds from go to whoa." She would not be dragging her feet.

    "Exactly." Atropos pointed at an empty section of wall. "Portal to PRT New York Director's office in three, two, one, now."

    Right on cue, the shadowy doorway formed, up against the wall. Tenebrae went through first, at a fast jog, with Miss Medic right behind him. Amy was already keyed up so she basically jumped through, with Atropos beside her.

    <><>​

    Atropos

    It was a nice office.

    I'd been here twice before, the first time explaining to Wilkins why she really shouldn't try to uncover my secret identity. Her next step would've been undoubtedly to try to target Dad and my (then non-existent) friends, which was why I'd put an End to that shit hard. The second time, I'd been notifying her that Flechette was coming to Canberra with me. She hadn't taken that visit well either.

    Deputy (currently Acting) Director Henderson was standing by his desk, along with Legend, a teen wearing medieval-style armour, and Flechette herself.

    Henderson came across to me as a paper-pusher who'd been elevated several layers beyond what he was comfortable handling. I had the distinct suspicion that Wilkins had deliberately picked him so he wouldn't second-guess the way she did the job. If that was the case, he was in for an interesting four months under Emily Piggot.

    They seemed a little taken aback when four of us showed up instead of just me, but honestly, I couldn't be expected to explain every detail of my plans to them, right? A girl's gotta have an air of mystique about her. Otherwise, it just gets boring.

    I waved cheerfully. "Oh, hey, Legend. Good to see you again, Flechette. Nice to meet you, Acting Director Henderson. Have you told them yet?"

    Legend gave me a searching look. I could tell he'd figured out what I meant straight away. "Not yet. We're waiting on the announcement. Please don't spread it around willy-nilly." The look on his face asked me, how do you know?

    "Wouldn't dream of it." I strode up to the last guy and stuck out my hand. "Hi. Atropos. You'd be Flechette's team leader, correct?"

    "Ah, that's me." He flickered a glance at Legend, then hesitantly shook my hand. "Jouster. Are you really the one who put March in the hospital?"

    I shrugged. There was no point in denying it. "Well, she hadn't used up her warnings yet, so yeah. I just needed her out of the way so Flechette could come do her thing at the fundraiser. I'm pretty sure that alone accounted for maybe ten, fifteen percent of the donations, so it was effort well spent." I gestured to Brian, Amy and Riley. "Have you met Tenebrae, Panacea and Miss Medic yet?"

    "Well, no. I actually haven't." Taking the hint, he moved in their direction.

    I switched my attention to the girl of the hour. "And how are you doing, anyway? Fame got to your head yet?"

    She chuckled as she shook my hand. "Sometimes it feels that way. Before the Simurgh, to most of New York I was 'that girl with the crossbow', no matter how many times I explained it was an arbalest. Now, they all greet me by name and ask me to sign their trading cards. Image is planning a gold foil holographic version. I'm still getting my head around it."

    "Just so long as they don't do one of me." I raised my eyebrows inside my mask. "Or if they do, just make it dead black on both sides."

    "Seriously, why not?" She frowned, looking honestly puzzled. "I think it would go like absolute wildfire. You'd outsell everyone."

    She wasn't wrong, but I still had my reasons for saying no. "Point one, trading cards are there to improve your visibility and get your name out there, right? If someone only ever saw you in the distance, they can get a trading card and learn more about you. People know who I am and what I can do. Point two, it commercialises your name. The people making them feel like they own a little bit of you. They can request that you don't change up your costume if they've got a popular run of cards, or that you do change up your costume if their run is starting to lag." I gestured at myself. "Not going to happen. Also, you know where I'd require all the profits to go to."

    "Brockton Bay," she agreed with a nod. "Right, yeah. I don't even know if I get any return from trading cards. Even action figures only bring in about five or ten percent to the cape."

    "Exactly. Not worth the effort. And you know I'm not in it for the fame." Becoming well-known had happened anyway, of course, mainly because I'd ganked some seriously infamous assholes. I wasn't averse to using it for my own ends and amplifying it over social media, but the fame had always been a byproduct and a tool, not an end in itself.

    "Well, true." She looked over at where Jouster was chatting with the other three, the ice well and truly broken by now. As far as I could tell, he was asking if they knew what this was about, and they were replying with variations on 'I have no idea either'. "So, did you need me to bring anything along, like weapons?"

    I considered the question. "Like I told you over the phone, it's a non-combat situation, but one dart could be handy." I knew I was being irritatingly vague, but I honestly didn't care. The big reveal was always fun.

    Legend approached us, while Henderson hung back. I suspected he felt more than a little intimidated by me, probably because of Wilkins' attitudes. My strong impression was that she'd done her best to control the narrative coming in about me, so nobody under her would end up sympathetic to my goals. Unfortunately for her, that attitude had bitten her in the butt. It remained to be seen if Henderson could unlearn it in time.

    "Atropos," Legend said as he came up to me. "Is there anything more you can tell me about what you're doing?"

    "Not right this second." I gestured toward Brian. "As you can see, Tenebrae is wearing a body camera. He'll be recording the entire thing from beginning to end. But if this works out, and I think it will, a potentially troublesome villain will become a useful rogue, and isn't that the name of the game?" I had my reasons for the secrecy, of course. The wrong word in the wrong ear inside the PRT or the Protectorate, and my target might draw an erroneous conclusion and become even more uncooperative than normal.

    "Hmm." He didn't quite glower at me. I could tell that he wanted to push harder but knew damn well it wouldn't do any good at all. "Well, good luck then."

    "Thank you, sir." I held out my hand to shake. "Just so you know, I'm a big fan of your work."

    He shook it. "As I am, of some of yours."

    I grinned under the mask. "That's fair. If you'll just excuse me for a second?"

    "Certainly." He stepped back as I took my phone out.

    I sent two texts, then put it away again and I raised my voice. "Everyone coming with me, get ready. We're going to a suburban street. Same order as before. Flechette, the portal will last four seconds. You'll be following Miss Medic." I pointed at a wall of the office. "Three, two, one, go!"

    On 'go', the shadowy doorway formed. Brian was already on the move, with Riley on his six. Flechette's power-based aptitude for timing showed up well here; she ducked through less than half a second behind Riley. Amy and I moved in unison, and made it through with more than a second to spare.

    <><>​

    Flechette

    Lily looked around with interest as the portal dissipated behind them. "Okay, where are we now? And is this where the villain is?" As Atropos had said, it was a quiet suburban street in a moderately affluent neighbourhood. Not exactly where she'd expect a villain to be hiding out.

    Of course, she told herself a moment later, that would be exactly where a villain might choose to hide out, for that precise reason.

    "Nope. We're picking up our last person here." Atropos gestured toward a house across the street. "Right there. Oh, and to answer your question, we're in Philly."

    Lily was curious as to why Atropos had dropped them on the street rather than into the living room of the person they were going to take along. She didn't give the impression of someone who spent a lot of time worrying about what other people thought of her. There was a reason for it, she knew that much. What the reason was, she still wasn't sure.

    They crossed the street, Atropos in the lead, and trooped up the front path of the house in question. In their range of costumes, from mostly black in Atropos' case, through purple for Lily, grey for Tenebrae and pastel camouflage for Miss Medic, to Panacea's white with red crosses, they looked dramatically out of place. A dog barked, several houses down.

    Atropos pressed the doorbell; the chimes sounded inside the house. A moment later, too quickly for someone who hadn't been expecting visitors, the front door opened. With a shock, Lily recognised the bespectacled lady; Atropos had said there'd be someone she already knew, but she hadn't been expecting her Wards therapist. "Mrs Yamada?"

    "My goodness," Jessica Yamada said. "Hello, Atropos, Panacea, Flechette. This is a pleasant surprise. Would you like to come in, or should I go out?"

    "'In' is probably better." Atropos gestured to the neighbourhood. "We don't need everyone knowing what's going on."

    "Very true." Mrs Yamada stood aside as they entered the house, then closed the door behind them. She turned to Miss Medic and Tenebrae. "I don't believe I've met you two before. Are you associates of Atropos?"

    "Kinda," said Miss Medic, at the same time as Tenebrae shook his head. "Not really."

    Mrs Yamada chuckled. "Well, that clears it all up."

    Atropos sounded amused as she explained. "Miss Medic and Tenebrae are very new additions to the Brockton Bay Wards, but I also know them out of costume."

    "Oh!" Mrs Yamada sounded enlightened as she looked again at Miss Medic. "I'd heard your name, but I didn't make the connection until now. I've heard good things about you. I apologise for the misunderstanding."

    Atropos dusted her hands off in a businesslike fashion. "Well, that's the introductions out of the way. We'll be heading onward in a moment. Mrs Yamada, a portal is going to form in the middle of your living room, leading to a somewhat run-down street. Tenebrae and Miss Medic will be going first, followed by Flechette, yourself, and then me and Panacea. As soon as Flechette starts moving, follow her as quickly as you can, because the portal only lasts four seconds. Do you understand? If you don't think you can get through quickly enough, I can have Tenebrae pick you up and carry you."

    Mrs Yamada looked up at Tenebrae, who certainly seemed buff enough to do exactly that. "I believe I can manage," she decided. "I follow Flechette through the portal."

    Atropos may have smiled; Lily couldn't quite tell. "Exactly." She pointed to a spot on the floor. "Portal forming in three, two, one, go!"

    Tenebrae and Miss Medic were definitely getting used to this; again, they were moving before the portal even opened. Lily matched her movements to Miss Medic's, following through exactly one-quarter of a second behind her. She kept moving on the other side to give Mrs Yamada room. Last came Atropos alongside Panacea, then the portal shut behind them.

    <><>​

    Atropos

    "Okay," said Brian, looking around. "'Run-down' is definitely the phrase I'd use, too." He wasn't far wrong; the asphalt was cracked and potholed, and random trash had accumulated in the gutters. "So, where's our villain?"

    I held up a finger for silence, then led the way toward the nearest building, a dilapidated double-wide with a lawn that was mostly dirt. As we got closer, I heard the sound I was waiting for: a combination of a hollow boom and a screech not unlike fingernails on chalkboard. This was followed up by a vocal screech of frustration and a tirade of profanity that would've made even a hardened Dockworker raise an eyebrow in appreciation. Riley literally put her fingers in her ears.

    The door that we were approaching was unlocked; or rather, the lock had been forced so many times that it was no longer useful as one. I knocked anyway, the sharp raps threatening to force the door to give up the ghost altogether.

    "What the fuck?" Footsteps approached the door from the other side. "Who the fuck knocks around here? If you've come about the noise, you can fuck—"

    The door opened, and Damsel of Distress stared at me. Her eyes went wide with horror.

    "Hello, Ashley," I said politely. "May we come in?"



    End of Part Sixty-Three
     
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    • Part Sixty-Four: Rehabilitation
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    • A Darker Path

    Part Sixty-Four: Rehabilitation

    [A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]


    Relevant Side-Story


    Damsel of Distress

    Life sucked hard, in all the wrong ways.

    Ashley had managed to scrounge an actual working microwave she just found sitting on top of a dumpster, and there'd been a stack of frozen pizzas left on her doorstep for some reason (she wasn't going to think too hard about it, because that would just piss her off). She'd put the first pizza in the oven and watched it going around and around, her stomach grumbling harder and harder while she anticipated her first bite of real hot food in actual fucking days. Just the smell alone had her almost drooling.

    And then, after it had finished, she'd opened the microwave and gone to take the pizza out carefully, but a drop of melted cheese had stung her finger. Her hand spasmed, and the power surge took out the pizza plus half the microwave, and blew a hole in the wall beyond. Lying against the opposite wall of the kitchen where the unexpected blast had thrown her, she wanted to cry, but Damsel of Distress did not cry. Instead, she channelled that energy into rage; swearing, ranting and denying the hot prickly feeling behind her eyelids.

    The worst thing was, unless she could get hold of a working stove, or fluke another microwave, the pizzas were useless to her. The last time she'd just tried to thaw a microwave pizza and eat it raw, she'd been stuck on the shitter for three days, in between throwing up so hard she tasted blood. She was tempted to destroy the whole house and move along, taking only her few knick-knacks and her precious TV, but right now she didn't think she could even carry that too far.

    And then came the knock on the door. Who the fuck knocked around here, anyway? If it was the PRT, they'd kick in the door and spray her down with containment foam. The cops wouldn't bother. And she didn't have any neighbours. Still ranting, she threw the door open … and stopped.

    It was Atropos. The one person Ashley was legitimately scared of. Other people pissed her off, but only one person had ever stuck a gun in her face and made her back off. Even then, she might have gotten over that feeling and gone looking for revenge … right up until she saw the footage of Atropos just fucking casually murdering the Simurgh. That was a whole new level of 'fuck no'.

    "Hello, Ashley. May we come in?"

    Instinctively, even before she saw the strap of the shoulder holster under Atropos' coat, Ashley crossed her arms, putting her hands under her armpits. Atropos didn't have a gun in her hand, but Ashley recalled all too vividly how fast she'd pulled one out and put it to Edict's head. The microwave was a distant memory, the pizza entirely forgotten. Ashley's entire thought process right now revolved around not dying, which meant not giving Atropos even the shadow of an excuse.

    "I haven't done anything!" She was not going to beg for her life, but pointing out that she hadn't broken Atropos' rules was just fine. "If someone says I did, they're lying!"

    "Nobody says you did," Atropos said. She still wasn't pointing a gun at Ashley. Her goddamn shears were still in their sheath. Maybe she wasn't here to kill Ashley just yet. "I'm here to help. May we come in?"

    The 'we' bugged Ashley until she dragged her eyes away from the blank-faced spectre before her and took in the other people behind Atropos. Big guy, little girl, purple costume, white with red crosses. And some woman with glasses. She knew of Panacea, but that was about it. The rest of them—wait. The girl in the purple costume was the one who'd helped Atropos kill the Simurgh. Ashley began hyperventilating all over again.

    Atropos had asked a question. Ashley didn't want to piss her off any more than she was right then. Something about … coming in? Fuck it, Atropos could kill her just as easily inside the house as outside. "Yeah, uh, come in or whatever you want." She stepped back, trying not to trip over anything because there was no way in fuck she was taking her hands out from under her arms.

    "Thank you." Atropos stepped inside the front door and started moving into the house, moving her head like she was looking around. Ashley wasn't one to give a fuck about what other people thought of her lifestyle, but right then she felt intensely judged. "Everyone, meet Ashley Stillons, otherwise known as Damsel of Distress. Ashley, meet Panacea, Tenebrae, Flechette, Mrs Jessica Yamada, and Miss Medic."

    Panacea actually seemed to give Ashley a sympathetic look as she went past. Tenebrae nodded gravely. They understood, at least. She got half a smile from Flechette, the purple-costumed girl who'd helped kill the Simurgh, but that was it.

    The Yamada woman had a friendly expression; she didn't say anything, but she definitely didn't look like she was here to kill anyone. Last came the little girl wearing the pseudo-military scrubs. "Hi! Are you the one we're here to help?"

    "She is," Atropos confirmed. "Panacea, Miss Medic; Ashley here has power incontinence. Her blasts can erase basically anything from existence, but she can't always control when they come out. What I've brought you here to do is look at her arms and hands, and see if you can't figure out something between you to give her the control she needs. Tenebrae, make sure you get all this, okay? Mrs Yamada, Ashley's got a strong case of what I call supervillain fixation. I'm certain she could benefit from whatever assistance you could give her. But first, let's give the healers some room to work."

    "And what about me?" asked Flechette. "I'm not a surgeon, a healer, or a powers expert. CPR's about my speed, and I doubt I can do better than Miss Medic or Panacea in that regard."

    "Oh, I'm sure we'll find something for you to do." From the tone of Atropos' voice, she'd already figured out what that 'something' was, though Ashley had no idea what it might be. It made her feel a little better that none of the others knew either.

    Under Atropos' coaching, they dragged the one good table to a spot under the one good light, then Ashley sat down next to it on the one good chair. And there she sat, with her hands still under her arms.

    "Uh … you're going to have to take your hands out for us to look at them," Miss Medic ventured.

    "Not until Atropos says it's okay." Ashley didn't need anyone's permission to do a goddamn thing, but she had no desire to die over a stupid fucking misunderstanding.

    "One at a time," Atropos ruled. "And only point them at that side of the house. Everyone else, stay away from that side of the house." She indicated the grungiest side of the living room, where Ashley didn't go anyway. "Left hand first."

    Cautiously, Ashley leaned forward and placed her left elbow on the table, then eased her hand out from under her armpit, trailing her hand across her chest and face until it pointed straight up, then laid her forearm and hand palm-up on the table. She didn't give a damn if anyone thought she looked like an idiot. There were more important things at stake, like her own survival.

    Panacea leaned over the table from the right, Miss Medic from the left. "Can you handle blood flow and pain?" asked Miss Medic. "I want to open it up and see." For a moment, Ashley thought the girl was addressing her, then she felt Panacea lay a hand on her arm.

    "Sure thing. Hold still, Ashley. This might feel a little strange." Her arm lost a little sensation as Miss Medic's bracer flicked out a scalpel.

    The first cut looked like it should have hurt, but all she felt was a little tugging. More cuts followed, each precise, opening her forearm open like an anatomy lesson. "Hmm," murmured Miss Medic. "See that? I think the channels get a little wonky going into the wrist." She indicated with a needle-sharp probe that still only felt like dull pressure to Ashley.

    Having no desire to watch this anymore, Ashley focused on the far wall. She really wanted to close her eyes, but her ego wouldn't allow her to go that far.

    "Now that you mention it, I think you're right." Panacea had barely moved, but her hand remained on Ashley's bicep. "If I'm reading this right, it gets worse as it goes inward. All those cramped joints and flex points."

    "Let's see, now." The scalpel flickered again in her peripheral vision, and Ashley guessed that her hand had been opened up as easily as her arm had. Miss Medic nodded. "You're right. It's a mess. As it is, I'm not sure how we can fix it. It's either zero or one hundred, but the pressure has to be a hundred all the time to make that work."

    "Like evolution," Panacea said. "Every living creature today comes from genes that were just barely good enough to survive to breed. This setup was just barely good enough for the power to work, so that's what it went with." She frowned. "There's got to be a way to make this work better."

    "If there is, I can't see it." Miss Medic prodded with the probe. "See that? If her hands were immobilised or only had two or three positions, we could set it up so the energy channels didn't get kinked or blocked, but hands are the most flexible things on the human body. I can only think of two ways to do it, and I'm not sure that the second one is even possible."

    "Well, what's the first one?" Panacea's tone of voice indicated that she was here for the duration. "Maybe we can make that work."

    Miss Medic took a deep breath. "If I was doing it quick and dirty—which I'm not in favour of—I'd amputate her hands and install prosthetics. Stretch her skin over them so she has feeling, and rejigger the energy channels so they have a straight run. Her power would work every time."

    "But she'd have prosthetic hands," Panacea noted. "Which would require regular maintenance. Let's not go there. What's the other way?"

    "Yes, please," Ashley said, trying not to sound too sarcastic to the people talking about amputating her hands. "What is the other way?"

    "The other way is to somehow salvage the current energy channels." Miss Medic bit her lip, apparently thinking. "But the only way I can see to make that work is to install some kind of wave guides, to make sure the energy doesn't get lost or absorbed, so it would go straight through the channel every time. The trouble is, her blasts destroy everything. There's nothing we can make wave guides out of."

    Ashley blinked. "Yes, there is." She normally wouldn't have been talking this much, but they were wrong. "Sometimes when I destroy something, there's a little tiny remnant left behind. My power doesn't destroy it. I collect them." She nodded to the bag containing her keepsakes and trinkets, stashed in the corner. "They look like twisted bits of rock and wood." Then her heart fell again. "… shit."

    "What?" asked Miss Medic. "What's the matter?" She honestly seemed to care, which was weird. Nobody had cared about what happened to Ashley for years now.

    "They're really, really hard. I don't know of anything that can cut them precisely enough to use that way." Ashley's shoulders wanted to slump, but she refused to let them. "If you can't shape them, you can't make these wave guides out of them, and we're back to no good options."

    Flechette smiled. It was the smile of someone who finally knew their purpose in life. "We'll see about that."

    With a few of the chunks of blast-condensed material on the table, Miss Medic and Panacea began a lively discussion on the exact shape and distribution of the wave guides within Ashley's wrist and hand. Flechette could apparently, using just a normal blade, slice off a piece of the normally intractable material then shape it according to the specifications given by the two healers, down to the fraction of an inch.

    The first few took a couple of false starts, but after that they got into the groove of it. Flechette became better and better at carving the condensed matter to the correct specifications, and before Ashley knew it, they were closing up her left hand and arm, all the 'wave guides' in place. She stared at her skin; it looked no different than before. Thanks to Panacea, there weren't even any scar lines.

    "Well?" prompted Atropos, and gestured at the target wall. "Something small, if you don't mind. I already know you can do big."

    "Uh … right." Ashley held out her left hand and tentatively flexed it through its normal range of motion. Nothing fired off unexpectedly. She tried it again, more violently, with the same lack of result. Then she pointed her fingers and deliberately exerted her power, trying for a low-end result.

    A tight beam of energy erupted from her fingertips and punched a quarter-sized hole out of the wall. She barely felt the recoil.

    Ashley was vaguely aware of Miss Medic, Panacea and Flechette giving each other high-fives behind her back as she cupped just the fingers of that hand and summoned a ball of destructive energy, holding it with ease. There was no awkwardness, no feeling of barely held control. It was smooth.

    "Nice," Atropos said, as Ashley dismissed the ball. "How does your hand feel?"

    With growing confidence, Ashley flexed her hand again; part of her mind insisted that she could detect the wave guides in there, but she was pretty sure that was just her imagination. "Good. Great. Doesn't hurt." She looked sharply up at Atropos. "What's the price for all this?"

    "Price?" Atropos made a go-on gesture.

    "Yeah, price. You don't do shit for nothing. Nobody does, but you do it even less than everyone else. When you offed the Simurgh, you got two billion out of it. What's your price for bringing everyone here and doing this?" Ashley knew there had to be a catch. Whatever it was, she'd be comfortable saying no, even if it meant using her left hand for everything for the rest of her life.

    "That you listen to my offer." Atropos raised a finger. "Not that you take it, just that you listen to it. Okay?"

    Just listening to an offer was something Ashley could totally do. "Shoot." A moment later, she winced, considering who it was she was talking to.

    Atropos may have smiled. "The last time you came to Brockton Bay, I sent you away at gunpoint. Once both your hands are fixed, I'll be inviting you back and offering you a job. Good money, good accommodation."

    Ashley blinked. "A job? Doing what?" She held up her hand. "I blow things up, remember?"

    "Why, yes. You do." Atropos' tone was somewhat facetious by now. "Brockton Bay is undergoing a multi-billion-dollar renovation, from the ground up. There will be structures galore that need demolition. We'll have wrecking balls and shot-firers, but there will also be a niche for someone who can just point their finger and get it done. Now, where can someone who blows things up get a job in all that, I wonder?"

    "Ah. Right. And you can pay me?" Money was always nice. It was kind of why Ashley had gone into crime. That, and the feeling of power.

    When Atropos spoke next, the facetious tone was entirely absent. "Take the correct safety courses, and you'll start at a shot-firer's wage. That's good money. You can live in free assigned accommodation, which is comfortable but unimaginative, or you can splash out with your own cash and rent your own." She shrugged. "It's all up to you. All you have to do is follow the rules. Oh, and if you do decide to come into Brockton Bay, you will be assigned a therapist and you will have to attend sessions." She indicated Mrs Yamada. "She'll be able to give you an idea of what that's like, going forward."

    "Um." Well, damn. "Can I think about it for a bit?" Being her own boss and doing crime was something she'd wanted to do for quite some time, and once her hands were fixed, that would be a real possibility. On the other hand, though, a guaranteed well-paying job in what was rapidly becoming the richest city in the northeast US also rated thinking about. Especially if the job involved doing what she was really good at.

    "Sure. Get that other hand fixed while you're thinking." Atropos stepped back, metaphorically removing herself from the conversation.

    Slowly, Ashley placed her right hand on the table. Just as the back of her hand touched down, she must have hit the wrong nerve because energy shredded the end of the table and flared across the room to blow out most of the wall on that side. Knocked backward by the recoil so she landed heavily on her back, she lay there frozen as the night breeze flooded in, waiting for the bullet in the face.

    "And that is why we don't stand on that side of the table," Atropos remarked into the silence that followed. She reached down and grasped Ashley's left hand—Ashley's right hand was tucked under her arm again—and helped her to her feet. "Carry on."

    The surgery went a lot faster this time. Panacea and Miss Medic knew exactly what they were looking for, and Flechette was carving out blanks for the wave guides ahead of time, shaping them to fit with her knife and a metal lawn-dart looking weapon. The teamwork and cohesion was impressive, each of them fully aware of their role. Ashley, morbidly fascinated, watched them lay the wave guides into place and lock them down, aware that it was her arm and hand they were cutting apart and putting back together but unable to emotionally process it.

    "And that should do it," announced Miss Medic happily. "Panacea?"

    The New Wave healer nodded, a smile beginning to break out across her face as well. "I think so. It all feels right, anyway. Flechette?"

    "Wave guide count matches, left to right." Flechette gave a thumbs-up. "I think we're done here too."

    "Closing up now," Panacea announced. One by one, the incisions came together and vanished. Even watching it, Ashley could not see where they'd been. "Okay, give it a try."

    Drawing a deep breath, Ashley held out both hands. Left hand, then right hand, then both; energy blasts shot from them out through the hole in the wall. Her fine control was astonishing, compared to what it had been like before. And when she flexed both hands, nothing happened.

    I've finally got my life back. Tears threatened to spill from her eyes, but once more she refused to let them fall. She still had her self-esteem, and she was not going to cry over this, damn it!

    And that was when she smelled the most heavenly odour she'd ever experienced. Or perhaps that was just the hunger speaking. Turning, she saw Atropos stepping out of a shadowy doorway that didn't exist in the house, carrying a couple of bulging shopping bags.

    "My father always advised me to never make important decisions on an empty stomach." Atropos set one of the bags down on the table in front of Ashley. "I made a food run. The nearest gas station had pizza pockets in their warmer. Thought you might like some."

    Ashley tried to stay strong, but her stomach audibly growled at the smell. Pride be damned, she was starving. Yanking open the bag, she grabbed the first pizza pocket, not caring that it scorched her fingers, and took a heavenly bite out of it. The cheese was still hot, but she didn't give a good goddamn; she made a keening noise of pure pleasure as she swallowed.

    As she gorged herself on pizza pockets, Ashley was vaguely aware of Atropos handing out snacks to everyone else. She didn't care: these were her pizza pockets. At some point, a large bottle of Mountain Dew ended up on the table in front of her, seemingly abandoned to its fate.

    "So, let me see if I have this straight," Mrs Yamada was saying once Ashley surfaced from her feeding frenzy long enough to pay attention. "You walked into a gas station, in costume, and they sold you the food?" She sounded both bemused and amused, all at the same time.

    "Absolutely. They were actually willing to just give it to me, in return for a selfie." Atropos was just amused. "But I paid them anyway. Setting an example, you know."

    Ah. Ashley had lost track of the number of times she'd used her powers to terrify convenience store owners to hand over food and empty the till, and walked out laughing. Atropos had the power to do that ten times over, and still chose to pay.

    She didn't feel ashamed, exactly. Shame was one of those things she didn't do. But she did feel that she was being measured, judged, against an arbitrary scale of not being a horrible fucking human being, and that she herself was the one doing the judging.

    Grabbing up the bottle of Mountain Dew, she unscrewed the cap and drank from the neck, not caring if anyone saw her. She could even hold it with both hands and not have to worry about her fucking powers destroying it mid-gulp. That had totally happened before, but not anymore. Not ever again.

    When she lowered the bottle, she saw Atropos looking at her. She let out a gassy belch that made her sinuses sting, then set the bottle down and screwed on the cap. "What?"

    "You probably haven't come to a decision yet." Atropos sounded fine with that. "But I'm going to have to start getting the others back in about five minutes. So, I'll be taking Panacea and Miss Medic and Tenebrae and Flechette outside so you can have a one-on-one with Mrs Yamada before we go. Also, I'll leave you the number for the Betterment Committee for if you decide to accept the job. Okay?"

    "Sure. How do you know I won't just go back to being a villain?" She felt greatly daring when she said this, but Atropos hadn't shot her for the accidental blast, so she took the gamble.

    "If that's what you choose. You won't be killing people accidentally, not anymore." Atropos lowered her voice slightly. "Just remember: villains aren't welcome in my city." Turning, she gestured to the four people she'd mentioned and led them outside.

    The second-best chair had a wobbly leg, but Mrs Yamada carried it over to the table anyway and sat down. "So," she said. "What did you want to know?"

    <><>​

    Atropos

    "Do you really trust her not to hurt Mrs Yamada?" Lily sounded worried.

    "I trust her self-preservation instincts," I said dryly. "She knows I'd kill her in a heartbeat if she did anything stupid like that. And Mrs Yamada is very good at talking to capes. This is Ashley's best chance to break out of this cycle, and make something of herself. I can't talk her into it, but she can talk herself into it, with the right motivation."

    Riley gave me a cynical look that belonged on a much older face. "You knew we'd need wave guides, didn't you? That's why you brought Flechette along."

    "I have no idea what you mean." I was lying through my teeth, but that was fine; they knew damn well I was lying. "It was a total accident. Absolute fluke."

    Tenebrae snorted. "I'm just the guy with the body camera, and even I know that's bullshit. You knew every move that was going to happen, before it happened."

    I made as though to answer, then held up a finger as a car rolled down the street and stopped opposite us. The doors opened, and Edict and Licit got out. They started across the street, looking worried.

    "Hi," I said cheerfully. "Everyone, meet Edict and Licit. I see you got my texts." I kept my voice down, so Ashley wouldn't hear what I was saying.

    "What's going on here?" asked Edict. "Why are you standing outside Damsel's place?"

    "And why is there a hole in the wall?" added Licit. "What have you been doing? Did you come all this way to finish the job?"

    I sighed. "Geez, kill off a few dozen criminals and all of a sudden, everyone thinks I murder every criminal I meet. Guys, she's not only alive but she's better off than ever." I would've rolled my eyes if anyone was able to see them.

    Edict looked at me suspiciously. "What, exactly, does that mean?"

    "It means," Brian interjected crisply, "that under Atropos' direction, Miss Medic and Panacea, with Flechette's assistance, fixed her power incontinence problem. Her power works just fine now. Right now, she's having a brief talk with a counsellor to see if she's willing to come work in Brockton Bay for the Betterment Committee. She's arrogant and snarky, but I'm pretty sure that's her natural state of being."

    I mentally nodded; I was pretty sure I couldn't have put it better myself.

    They both focused on him for the first time. For someone who was seventeen going on eighteen, he stood a good head (and sometimes shoulders) over most grown men. "And you are?" asked Licit.

    "Tenebrae, Brockton Bay Wards. This is Miss Medic, same." Brian put a protective hand on his cousin's shoulder.

    Lily raised her chin. "Flechette, New York Wards."

    Amy put her hand up. "Panacea, New Wave. We really did fix her hands."

    "Okay, then." Edict frowned. "So why exactly did you text us to come in when it was all over?"

    "So you'd know about it." That part should've been obvious. "I'd advise you to leave her to think about her options over the next few days. I gave her some foodstuffs so she won't run out for a day or so. She, uh, blew up the microwave you left for her to find."

    Licit facepalmed. "Goddamn it."

    "But her hands are okay now?" asked Edict. "She doesn't blow stuff up accidentally anymore?"

    "No, just on purpose." I grinned behind the mask. "With a healthy dose of luck, she'll decide to come to Brockton Bay to work. And then you'll be able to transfer elsewhere, whee." Neither of them looked thrilled at that concept, but it really wasn't my problem. "So anyway, it's about time I went and grabbed Mrs Yamada, and we got out of your hair. Have a nice night."

    "Right," muttered Licit.

    I headed back to the house and knocked on the door-frame. "Coming in!" Giving it a three-count, I pushed the door open and walked in.

    Ashley and Mrs Yamada both looked around at me; from the body language, they'd been deep in conversation of one sort or another before I interrupted. "Time to go?" asked Mrs Yamada.

    "It's getting on to eight, yes," I confirmed. "The others have a curfew of sorts, and I don't want to get them in bad with their bosses." The PRT was more likely to cooperate with me on the big stuff if I didn't screw them over on the little stuff. Also, I had dessert waiting on me.

    "Understood. Well, Ashley, you have my number." Mrs Yamada rose from the table. "I've actually been offered a job in Brockton Bay, which I'm still considering. It may well be that we'll end up doing this on a regular basis."

    "And here's the Betterment Committee number," I added, skimming another card across the table to Ashley's hand. "Call anytime. They'll pay for your bus ticket."

    Ashley snorted. "Better deal than I got last time." Her self-esteem, I could tell, was still recovering from the way I'd just walked in and overturned her life; or rather, set it back on its feet. This was the closest I'd ever get to a 'thank you' from her.

    "You're welcome. Take care." Waiting just long enough for Mrs Yamada to exit before me, I left Damsel of Distress behind.

    Whichever way she jumped, I knew I could handle it. She wouldn't dare approach Brockton Bay as a villain, but if she came in as a rogue, she would truly be able to make something of herself.

    It was all up to her, now.

    <><>​

    Panacea

    The return trip had been a mirror of the outbound one, but somewhat in reverse. Atropos had dropped Mrs Yamada off first, then Flechette, then Tenebrae and Miss Medic. It had been nice to talk to Miss Medic, to get to know the person she'd been before she became Bonesaw. The longer they spent chatting, the less she resented the semi-extortion Atropos had used to get her to do the work she'd done on the Slaughterhouse Nine villain.

    However, instead of teleporting into the living room of her house, or even into her bedroom—God knew, Atropos had never had a problem with that before—they ended up on the sidewalk outside the house. "What's up?" she asked.

    "Remember that stuff I asked you to make?" Atropos paused as Amy frowned, unable to make the connection. "The metal and plastic eating bug?"

    "Oh. Yeah." Amy remembered now. It had been a long night. "I've made a few tiny samples, but we've never had the chance to get together and work out safety protocols."

    "I know." Atropos sounded unfazed by that. "I've figured out exactly what I need it to do." In a few brief sentences, she outlined her requirements. "Can you do that?"

    "Oh, that's easy." The best bit was, it didn't have a long lifespan. "That's it? How much?"

    "Won't need a lot." Atropos told her why.

    <><>​

    Atropos

    It was with profound relief that I teleported into the living room. I'd known Dad and Cherie were on the sofa, so I showed up out of the way of the TV for them. "Hi, I'm home."

    Dad paused the DVD of what looked like Beauty and the Beast. "How'd it go?"

    I took my hat and mask off, and shook out my hair. "Well, either I just unleashed a new and improved version of Damsel of Distress on the New Hampshire criminal underworld, or the Betterment Committee will be getting a new cape on their roster. Time will tell."

    Cherie stood up from the sofa, and gave me a hug. "I have faith in your ability to persuade."

    I returned the hug, enjoying the closeness. It was nice to just relax and be me. "She's pretty headstrong. Just saying. Now, I've been waiting on my dessert for the last hour."

    "Sorry." Cherie grinned broadly. "You took too long, so I ate it."

    I raised my eyebrows. "You do realise that I am armed and dangerous, right?"

    She stuck her tongue out at me. "It was delicious."

    Dad sighed and rolled his eyes. "It's in the fridge."

    "That's better." Pretending to mutter and mumble to myself, I headed into the kitchen. "You just wait. Next time, I'll eat your dessert."

    She giggled and sat back down on the sofa, leaving room for me. "I'd like to see you try."

    It was good to be home.



    End of Part Sixty-Four
     
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    • Part Sixty-Five: The Scene of the Coup
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    • A Darker Path

    Part Sixty-Five: The Scene of the Coup

    [A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]


    Relevant Side-Story

    Relevant Side-Story

    Panacea

    Amy sat on her bed, watching the mushroom babies play with Smaug. The bearded dragon was curiously okay with sharing his habitat with animated fungi, especially when the mushrooms caught the bugs Amy had also released into the terrarium so they could feed them to him. They had also taken to grooming him as he lay next to them, making sure his scales were clean and nothing was caught between his spines.

    The door latch clicked, and the mushroom babies retreated immediately into their immobile forms, as did the one in the plant-pot on the windowsill, which had been dancing in the morning sunlight. By the time the bedroom door opened, everything looked normal. Vicky leaned her head in and smiled when she saw Amy. "Five minutes before we have to head to school, Ames."

    Amy returned the smile. "Thanks, Vicky. I'll be down in four."

    The door closed again; Amy waited ten seconds before she murmured, "All clear."

    Gradually, the mushroom babies emerged again, but Amy had been reminded of something else. Taking out her phone, she called up PHO.

    ■

    PRIVATE MESSAGE
    To: Atropos
    From: TheRealPanacea
    Subject: Got the Stuff

    Just need a quick face to face. When can we meet?

    ■

    Just as she hit Send, she realised what she'd done, and sighed. There hadn't even been a sound, but she was almost certain the air currents in the room had changed. "Hi."

    "'Sup." The familiar voice came from the direction of her computer desk. When she looked in that direction, Atropos was sitting in her chair. Slowly, one foot tucked under her, the dark-clad killer swivelled toward Amy. "You did good last night, by the way. Miss Medic's still jazzed at how well you two synergised."

    "I was pretty impressed, too." That was an understatement. She'd been near-euphoric in the aftermath, basking in the way the three of them had worked together so seamlessly to a successful conclusion. "Uh, what's happening with Damsel?"

    Atropos shrugged. "Still considering her options, but starting to lean more and more toward trying out a nine-to-five blowing up old buildings. A whole lot easier to blow the absolute shit out of something when nobody's shooting at you." She tilted her head slightly. "So, how'd the conversation with your mom go?"

    Amy suspected she knew already, but it was nice that she was pretending otherwise. "Umm … interesting. She asked me how I felt about stuff, and listened to what I had to say. I unpacked a lot of shit I've been sitting on, and she told me about my actual father and why she hates him. I mean, Marquis, geez. That really knocked me on my ass."

    "Huh." Amy got the impression that Atropos had just raised her eyebrows. "I'm impressed. Sounds like she listened to what I had to say."

    Amy nodded. "Well, I guess I need to thank you for saying it, whatever it was you said. Also, yeah, I've got the stuff ready for you." She reached over to her bedside table, pulled open a drawer, and took out the tiny tub of paste. "You said you didn't need much."

    "No, this should be good." Atropos caught Amy's awkward off-hand throw, and made the tub vanish somewhere on her person. "Thanks. I appreciate it."

    "No, I should be thanking you." Amy took a deep breath, nerving herself for her next statement. "I told her stuff last night that I've never told anyone, stuff that needed to be aired. And it's all because of you."

    If Amy had been expecting Atropos to deny anything, she would've been disappointed. Instead, Atropos leaned forward with every indication of interest. "This ought to be good."

    "Well, it's true." Amy tried to keep the defensive tone out of her voice. "Ever since you started me doing stuff other than basic vanilla healing, I've been happier and more relaxed. And last night, you walked into a supervillain's lair and talked her into accepting surgery from me and Miss Medic."

    "Well, it was kind of special circumstances, but granted," allowed Atropos. "What's this got to do with what you said to your mom?"

    Amy didn't understand why Atropos wasn't getting it. "Everything, basically. Whenever I felt like chickening out or minimising the way I thought or felt about something, I asked myself, 'what would Atropos do?' and bam! I told her straight to her face exactly what was on my mind." She shook her head wonderingly. "I still can't believe I said some of that stuff without trying to hide under the sofa."

    "I see." Atropos' tone was almost gentle. "You don't think maybe you were still riding the high from doing that surgery with Miss Medic last night?"

    Amy stared at her, then very slowly facepalmed. That still wasn't quite enough to express the way she felt, so she dragged her hand down over her face until it covered her mouth. "I'm an idiot," she mumbled through her muffling hand, her eyes still closed. "Carol must think I'm a total lunatic."

    "No, just a teenage girl." Atropos either had zero sense of humour, or she was able to laugh and talk at the same time. "The two aren't mutually incompatible, you know. We're at an age when we're supposed to make mistakes and learn from them. Capes just make different mistakes. Of course, 'different' doesn't necessarily mean 'less embarrassing'."

    "Yeah, no shit." Amy could still recall Carol's deer-in-the-headlights look when she'd spilled that not only was she romantically interested in Parian of the Rogues' Guild, but she'd also had a crush on Vicky for years. About halfway through that part of the talk, Carol had opened one of the bottles of champagne Atropos had brought over and poured herself a glass. Amy hadn't gotten one. "I'm just worried that I might have wrecked our relationship forever."

    "You haven't." The words were delivered with absolute certainty. "You barely had a relationship. She's been able to successfully avoid forming any kind of real attachment to you for all these years. Now that she knows all those details about you, just like you've found out all those things about her, she's being forced to actually notice you as a person, not just an appendage of the team. You know each other a lot better now. That's something you can build on, going forward."

    Amy sighed. It was nice to hear those words, and Atropos had been consistently right about basically everything before, but she still wanted to hear it from Carol.

    Atropos stood up from the swivel chair and set it spinning with a flick of her hand. "Gotta go," she said. "Good luck. And thanks for the stuff." A shadowy doorway opened in front of her, and she stepped through.

    "You're welcome," Amy said to the empty room, and got up off the bed. Embarrassing episode or no embarrassing episode, she still had to go to school.

    She made sure to move the mushroom baby off the windowsill before she left. Even though she'd engineered them to be not as vulnerable to sunlight as most fungi, and they liked it in small doses, it still wasn't great for them.

    <><>​

    Winslow, Between First & Second Period

    Greg Veder

    "I think she's making it all up."

    Greg looked around at the speaker. Bronson was one of the bigger guys in the year, mainly because he'd repeated a grade, which was an impressive feat when it came to Winslow's you-will-pass mentality. He was also one of the main assholes.

    Greg suspected him of being an ex-Empire sympathiser; not because he was no longer a sympathiser, but because there was no longer an Empire Eighty-Eight. Most of Bronson's buddies had been taken out of school when their parents all mysteriously decided to leave town at the same time, but he'd been left behind. Bereft of his cronies, he wasn't the big wheel he liked to pretend to be, but he still liked to stir up trouble where he could. This was usually, but not always, aimed at whatever minorities he could find to target.

    "What?" asked Greg as they moved along. "Who made what up?"

    "Reynaud." Bronson couldn't even pronounce it correctly, saying Ray-nowd. "That shit she said about her dad and his buddies, I don't believe it for a second. She's just saying it to get morons like you to fall all over her in sympathy."

    "But she's not …" Greg stopped, and started again. "Dude, has she gone up to one person and talked about it? Sparky asked her out, she said no and told him why not. I was there."

    "Doesn't mean shit. It's just to separate the men from the boys. Isn't that right, guys?" Bronson looked around at some of the others. "Right?"

    If he was trying to drum up support, the response was remarkably lacklustre. Eventually, one of the others asked the question Greg was thinking about. "What the fuck is that even supposed to mean?"

    "It means that when a man hears that—" Bronson puffed out his chest, evidently ranking himself among that number, "—he knows she's up for being passed around at a party."

    "What? No!" Greg felt a flare of panic. "She didn't mean that! I talked to Taylor about it, and she said Cherie's had a bad life and not to bother her with shit like that!"

    "Taylor?" asked one of the bystanders. "You mean Hebert?" Murmurs came from several of the others. The attitude of the group seemed to shift several notches, from 'let's see where this is going' to 'fuck this shit, I'm out'. While not everybody believed implicitly that Taylor Hebert was the dreaded Atropos, there was enough doubt in most people's minds that nobody wanted to take the chance.

    Bronson looked around as the group evaporated, then glared at Greg. "You had to fuckin' say that, didn't you, Veder? Even if Hebert's not just a creepy loner, this hasn't got anything to do with her."

    Greg tried one more time to save the idiot's life. "I'm telling you, you need to drop this right now. Leave Cherie alone, because—"

    He didn't finish the sentence, mainly because Bronson had slammed him up against the row of lockers, hard enough to drive the air out of his lungs. "You don't fuckin' tell me what to do." Bronson's tone was low and menacing, and promised more bruises in Greg's immediate future; from the feel of it, there were already a couple forming on his back.

    "Bronson. You're not bullying Greg, are you?" He had no idea where Taylor had come from, but there she was, standing right behind Bronson. Her tone was that of mild disbelief, as though asking an adult if they were really writing a letter to Santa Claus. "Bullying's a bad habit. Unhealthy."

    "The fuck's Veder to you?" Bronson didn't let Greg go or turn around, though he did angle his head to address Taylor.

    "Oh, I don't care about Greg. I do care about bullying. Sophia Hess was a bully. That got her killed." Now she was reciting the facts of life in a matter-of-fact way. If anything, Greg was a little relieved that he didn't factor into her worldview one way or the other. The reference to Sophia, however, was a lot more chilling, all the more so because it was delivered in the same casual manner.

    "Hess was a stupid—fuuuck! Ahhhh!"

    Bronson's initial dismissive comment dissolved into a scream of agony. Somehow, Taylor had gotten hold of the little finger on his left hand, and was standing there, almost contemplatively, as she twisted it just right to send the much heavier boy to his knees on the floor. Greg, thus released, took a step to the side but wisely didn't say anything. As far as he could tell, this wasn't about him except in the vaguest sense, and he was happy to keep it that way.

    "Yes, she was all that," she said after Bronson had relapsed to heavy pain-filled pants. "And, in case you missed it the first time around, it got her killed. Don't be like Sophia. Leave Cherie alone. This is your first warning."

    Releasing Bronson's finger, she nodded to Greg and strolled off down the corridor. Greg looked down at where Bronson was cradling his hand—he couldn't tell if the finger was broken, and there was no way he was going to ask—and made his escape in the other direction. All he could think as he headed to his next class was nope nope nope fuck that.

    <><>​

    PRT ENE Wards Base, A Little After Midday

    Clockblocker

    Dennis stared at the new notice on the bulletin board. "Guys? Guys! Have you seen this? Is someone punking us?" If they were, he couldn't figure out the joke.

    "What do you mean, punking?" Dean, on the console, moved the headset to uncover one ear and swivelled to see what he was talking about.

    If any of the Wards were in on the joke, Dennis figured Dean wasn't one of them. He was too much of a straight arrow. Though to be honest, most of them were out of the running. If anyone would be the main suspect, it would be him, and he knew nothing about it.

    The door buzzer went off, but Dennis already had a domino mask on, so he paid no attention to it. "Right here. It says the Director's transferring to the New York office as of Friday." He tapped the notice.

    "Transferring? What?" Dean's query merely demonstrated what Dennis already knew; that he wasn't in on the joke, if it was one. "Since when?"

    "Since Director Wilkins stepped down." Rory came out from the back area, where his office was. The sliding door to the corridor opened, then closed. "We're winding back PRT operations inside the city because there are literally no more villains to worry about—"

    Dennis couldn't help it. "Apart from Atropos, you mean. Every bad guy is worried about her."

    Rory folded his arms and gave Dennis a hard stare. "No more villains for us to worry about, dumbass. Or did you want to say that out loud at a press conference? I'm sure she's still got time to assign us to another emergency-services training session before she goes."

    "I'll be good, I'll be good." Dennis raised his hands in mock surrender. His power wasn't great at putting out fires, so they'd had him learning how to lug hoses up stairs, wearing half his body weight in firefighting equipment. His arms and legs had ached for days. There was no way he wanted to go through that again in a hurry, or ever.

    "Hey, that firefighter stuff was fun. I learned to bend water." Missy trotted over toward them, Riley at her side. They were adorably cute together, though Dennis was never going to say it out loud. Riley wouldn't mind, but Missy still hated being seen as the 'cute' Ward, and she had so many ways to get back at him if she felt like it. "What's going on? Are we doing it again?"

    "No!"

    "Not right now." Rory nodded toward the bulletin board. "Director Piggot's transferring to New York on Friday. It looks like the going-away ceremony's on Thursday afternoon, so we can all attend. Party in the evening, everyone who's anyone will be there, attendance not mandatory."

    "I bet she'd skip it if she could." Dennis looked around at the others. "What? We were all thinking it."

    Rory paused for a moment. "… yeah, okay, I'll give you that one. Alright then, Aegis and Kid Win just went out on patrol five minutes ago. I'm going to need the names of everyone who's transferring out of Brockton Bay, and your leaving date, on my desk by Friday."

    Dennis headed for the sofa, and Miss Medic fell into step beside him. "Hey, are you gonna be leaving the city, or staying?" she asked. "'Cos Brian and me are staying. We like it here."

    He sighed as he dropped onto the sofa. "Staying. Mainly for Mom and Dad. Dad's in the hospital. Even with all the new money coming in, they still can't do much for him."

    "What?" she asked. "Why? What's wrong with him?" Even through her visor, he could see her eyes searching his face.

    "Leukemia." He hated saying the word. It was so final. "He's taking treatment for it, but it's pretty aggressive."

    "Well, why didn't you say so?" She put her hand on his arm. "Get me in to see him, and I'll clean that crap out of him in a day or two." Her voice was firm and confident, willing to take on the world.

    "You can do that?" He frowned. "I thought you were a surgeon, not an oncologist." At least, that was what he'd been told.

    "Pfft." She waved his objection away. "It's all part of the body. I'll just get a sample of his bone marrow and clone it up, destroy the stuff that's trying to kill him, filter the cancer cells out of his body, and re-seed his bone marrow with the cloned tissue. Easy-peasy. Seventy-two hours, tops."

    He stared at her, his brain still trying to process her rapid-fire delivery. "… what?"

    Plopping herself on the sofa beside him, she gave him a bright smile. "I'll cure your dad's cancer so fast his head'll spin. What do you say?"

    Finally, he found his voice. "I say … yes, please."

    She beamed at him.

    <><>​

    Offices of the Brockton Bay Betterment Committee

    Danny Hebert

    The Operations room was working well. Each sector of the city was being individually monitored, and if resources began running low they were replenished. Danny found he barely had to do anything; Accord's plans really were that good.

    Still, he couldn't allow himself to become complacent. Just for show, he flicked through the screens on the tablet, drilling down in various areas to make sure nothing was lagging behind. In reality, he was exerting his power, making sure nothing unfixable happened to drag everything to a shuddering halt. Minor hiccups happened, but there was always a solution at hand.

    His phone rang; picking it up, he noted that it was the reception desk downstairs, then answered it. "Hebert."

    "Sir, there's someone here who wants to join but … I think you'd better see him yourself." The ladies in reception were very good at their job, and very hard to fluster, but she sounded just a little off-balance.

    Still, he didn't feel any threat looming through his network—with a project this size, people wanting to object were almost a given, at one point or another—so he stood up. "Send him to my office, one minute." He deliberately didn't ask who it was; in this sort of situation, he preferred to form his own first impressions.

    "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." The call ended, and he put his phone in his pocket. Using a cell phone was almost second nature now, after the long period where he'd refused to use them at all. When he'd been merely the Head of Hiring at the Dockworkers, he'd been able to get away without using them, but this job demanded it. And so, for the good of the city, he'd accepted it.

    He left the Operations room and headed down to his office. It still didn't feel like 'his' office, not really, but he was gradually adding touches to make it that way. Rounding the desk, he sat down in the (admittedly very comfortable) chair.

    One minute later, there came a diffident knock on the office door. Whoever was out there wasn't sure they really should be there, but they'd gotten this far. "Come in!" he called.

    The door opened, and a pudgy youth edged in. Danny judged him to be about Taylor's age, but he lacked Taylor's sharp-edged confidence, or even any real confidence at all. He looked vaguely familiar, but Danny was almost certain they'd never met before.

    "Uh … Mr Hebert? They said to come see you?" the kid ventured.

    "Yes." Danny gestured at one of the chairs in front of the desk. "Take a seat, son. What's your name?"

    Hesitantly, the boy sat down. "Theo, sir. Theo Anders."

    Danny's eyebrows hitched up slightly. That explained the vague recognition. He resembled his infamous father around the eyes, but it was only really noticeable when the family name was invoked. "I see."

    Idly, he wondered if the boy had inherited any of Kaiser's powers. That seemed to be a thing with cape families.

    Theo flinched at his two-word observation. "I can't help who my father was, sir. I hated him, and I hated what he stood for." There was a touch of self-pitying whine in his voice, but at least he kept it mostly under control. "He just thought I was useless."

    "I'm not judging you, son." Danny did his best to impress that on Theo with his tone. "We all disappoint our parents in some way. Sometimes, that's for the best." Heartbreaker, he mused, would've been sadly disappointed in the way Cherie was turning out. Good.

    The boy didn't come all the way out of his shell at that, but he did at least uncurl a little from the instinctive defensive posture he'd assumed. "Thank you, sir."

    "Just telling it how I see it." Danny laced his fingers together on the desk in front of him. "So, Theo. Tell me why you're here." He already knew, from the phone call, but he wanted Theo to get up the gumption to say the words himself.

    Theo took a deep breath. "I … I want to work for the Betterment Committee. I want to help make the city a better place than my father left it. He was a monster who pretended to be a good man. I want to make amends for that." Having reached the end of what was almost certainly a prepared speech (or at least one he'd practised in the mirror) he ran down again.

    "You're not responsible for what your father did," Danny warned. "You don't have to do this."

    "I know, sir." Theo seemed to be struggling with this, but he finally nodded. "But I want to anyway."

    "I can't actually fault that." Danny studied Theo. "How old are you, son? And where are you living?"

    "F-fifteen, sir. I turned fifteen in January. And I'm living in my father's house. H-he bought that with legitimate money, at least." His tone of voice showed how little he enjoyed residing in a building with so many bad memories. "I s-showed them where all the safes were, and where he kept the combinations, but there's enough non-Empire money in his accounts for me to live on, if I don't s-spend too much at once."

    "But you don't like it there, and you don't like living on his money." Again, Danny knew he was stating the obvious, but sometimes it needed to be aired.

    "No, sir, I d-don't." Theo took a deep breath. "I wanted to donate it all to the Betterment Committee, but the accountants said I can't until I turn eighteen. Plus, some of it belongs to Kayden and Aster, and they don't know where they are."

    Danny frowned, not recognising the names. "Kayden? Aster?"

    "My step-mom and my sister. Half-sister. Kayden was nicer to me than Max ever was, and I baby-sat Aster whenever Kayden was out being Purity. She skipped town with Aster the night Atropos killed Kaiser. Atropos says she's trying to be a hero, out there somewhere."

    "Oh." Danny reeled the conversation back to the direction it had been going before. "So, you want to make a break with your past, and work for the Betterment Committee. How does the PRT feel about that?" As the son and heir of a notorious (if dead) supervillain, his movements had to be of interest to them.

    Theo shrugged. "I haven't told them yet. I'm going into foster care soon. They say they've found a nice family for me to live with. So long as I'm out of that house, I don't care where I live, and they can't be worse than Max. But even with a new family, and in a different school where nobody knows me, I want to give something back to the city that Max victimised for years." There was a growing strength of purpose in his words. "I want to help rebuild it."

    "Hmm." Danny leaned back in his chair, thinking. There weren't a lot of jobs that could be assigned to a fifteen-year-old, but that didn't mean there were none. His power, kicking into action, presented him with a list of options all suited to the boy's age, general range of fitness, and potential to be trained. Apparently the boy had no powers as yet, so that was a non-issue. "Well, then. I think we can definitely find something useful for you to do."

    For the first time since Theo had entered the room, the boy smiled.

    <><>​

    Eagleton Base, TN

    Atropos

    From the moment I teleported onto the helipad, I could hear the sounds of conflict from beyond the wall that surrounded the Eagleton quarantine zone. There were shots, the zark of lasers tearing the air a new asshole, and explosions. All the PRT troopers I could see were on tense alert, but nobody was actually firing a weapon.

    "What the hell did you do when you were in there?" demanded Lieutenant-Colonel Briggs, storming over to me. "Not three hours after you left yesterday, they started fighting. At first we thought it was a breakout attempt, but none of them have tried to get over the wall. It's like you sparked off a civil war. Was this your plan, to make them kill each other?"

    "Not precisely." I pulled my pistol, but kept it pointed at the ground with my finger off the trigger. "Yesterday, if you'll recall, I gave my ultimatum then showed I could back it up. They're not a single hive intelligence in there, but until I demonstrated that I could and would fuck them up if need be, they'd all been united in their belief that they can beat humanity. I shook that belief, hard."

    "Okay." He frowned. "So, how does that translate to them trying to kill each other? What am I missing?"

    I gestured at the wall. "Right now, what you've got in there are the ones who desperately want to surrender and allow us to alter their programming just so they can survive, the ones who want to stand down but leave their programming intact, the ones who still see all humans as the enemy, and the ones who think they can take me. As you get further along the fanatic scale, they're more willing to destroy the ones who don't hold the same view as they do."

    Briggs nodded to show he understood. "And what are you going to do about it? Just wait and see who wins? How are we even going to know who wins? They could say they're the good guys, but I'm pretty sure their programming allows them to lie. We won't be able to take the chance. Even if they were sincere, we'd have to destroy them all in place, just in case."

    "Nope." I pulled back on the pistol slide to ensure there was a round chambered, then let it clack back into place. "I'm going in there and helping out the good guys. See, I know which one's which. I'll be bringing the ones out who are willing to deal." I paused for a beat. "It's time to End this."

    The portal formed in front of me and I stepped through, into the middle of a firefight.

    Without my threatscape active, it would've been impossible to determine who were the ones fighting for the right to be reprogrammed, and which ones were hanging on to their independence. In addition, without Amy's special paste (which I'd nicknamed 'Style'), it would've been a lot harder to do something about it.

    A microbe that devoured metal and plastic would be problematic for any developed society, which was why Amy had been dubious in the extreme about creating such a thing. However, with my new insights on the way things were going, I'd been able to refine my requirements to a point that she was happy to comply.

    Each time the bug went through a reproduction cycle, it ticked down a genetic clock. This clock would last forty-eight hours maximum, before all the microbes and their descendants were dead. In the meantime, it would only nom down on those specific metals and ceramics that went into making up circuitry. Anything else, such as lead or steel, it would ignore.

    In addition, the bug was very fast-acting. It had to be, if it was going to be any use to me. As such, Amy had given it an extremely high rate of reproduction and added nutrients into the paste to give it a running start. This was another reason why it would burn out within forty-eight hours; it just wouldn't be able to keep up the pace.

    Finally, it had one last trick up its genetic sleeve which would come into play when it encountered certain materials, specifically those found in batteries. Theoretically, I knew what it would do. I was just looking forward to seeing it with my own eyes.

    Each round in my pistol was a hollow-point, opened out a little by me, and packed with the paste. It would be activated by the heat of firing, and go to work as soon as it reached a viable target, of which I had plenty to choose from.

    I picked the biggest Machine in my vicinity which was both hostile to the idea of surrender and was currently attacking a would-be peacenik. A niche in its armour presented itself to me, and I aimed and fired in one fluid move. The bullet punched through the gap thus revealed, and hit paydirt; a data trunk carrying information from the main processing unit to the weapon systems.

    It stopped attacking, jittering into a pseudo-epileptic dance as the biowarfare attack scorched its electronic nervous system to ash. Machines didn't feel pain quite the same way as humans did—we had a lot more reason for such a basic damage-detection system to be baked into our DNA—though it couldn't have been pleasant for it before the microbes reached its processor core and wreaked havoc there. But it didn't end there; the battery powering this thing was just a little farther along, and when the microbes reached that point, they deliberately overloaded and cross-wired the battery, bypassing all safety protocols.

    The explosion was quite impressive. I'd timed it so that two of its comrades would take the brunt of the blast, though I had to lean out of the way so a chunk of debris could go past unhindered. Then I fired three more times, at the other major adversaries on scene. They went out with a bang, just as the first one had, and I moved on in the secure knowledge that the rest of the rebels on scene could mop up the demoralised loyalists.

    Despite having been going on all night and half the day, the fighting was still fierce across Eagleton. Dead and dying robots lay everywhere, while some were doing their best to repair themselves and get back into the conflict. The nightmarish Potemkin village that it had presented itself as was well and truly gone; the façade had not only been lifted, but it had been shredded, ashed and used for fertiliser.

    A bunch of smaller robots tore around a corner in front of me. On seeing me, they bolted straight past me, then huddled in a group behind me. Hot on their trail was something like a cross between a combine harvester and a mobile sawmill, but armed with guns and missiles. As it skidded to a halt, it did its best to bring its targeting systems online, all aiming at me.

    I fired first.

    My bullet took out the sensors, then I stepped into the lee of a telephone box just before the whole thing exploded violently, demolishing two houses and bringing down a streetlight. I glanced back at the robots, none of them taller than my waist, that had hidden behind me. "You all want to surrender."

    Those with approximations of heads nodded them, while the others waved appendages in imitation of their fellows. A couple produced buzzing sounds that could've been taken for 'yes'. Finally, one stepped up and displayed an LED screen, showing green letters on a black background.

    SURRENDER.

    PROTECTION?

    "Sure, okay." I glanced up the street, where more fighting was still going on. "Go to the east side of Eagleton, where the gate is. Wait for me there. If you meet others like you, tell them I said to wait with you. Do you understand?"

    Nod.

    Bzzz.

    EAST SIDE.

    NEAR GATE.

    WAIT FOR ATROPOS.

    TELL OTHERS WAIT.

    "Good," I said. "Go."

    <><>​

    I moved on through Eagleton. When I encountered robots hiding in place, I directed them to join their fellows at the east gate. They went willingly enough.

    As I reached each point of conflict, I targeted the hostile robots. Sometimes, on seeing this, their fellows chose to shift allegiance to the 'surrender' faction. Other times, they opted to go out in a blaze of glory, so I obliged them. It was all one to me; I was Ending the conflict, not seeking to save any particular robot.

    I was down to my last magazine (I had packed several) when the last of the Eagleton loyalists fell, and the robots that had been fighting them turned to me for guidance. Together, we passed back through the ruins of Eagleton. On the way, we salvaged those robots that had survived but were unable to move on their own. The ones that still refused to accept the new order, we gave the final mercy to.

    There were, I knew, members of the Machine Army that had gone underground the moment they'd heard my ultimatum. They didn't intend to face me, but neither did they wish to surrender. Their intention was to hide, running on minimum power, until I'd moved along. If they could break out, they would, and continue their aggression against the human race on a wider scale.

    Not if I could help it.

    The virus that I'd implanted in each and every one of them, just by having them listen to my bullhorn-amplified voice, was still active. It was innocuous, so long as they received a new ping every few hours. Their standby mode meant they accepted no incoming comms traffic, and thus no incoming pings.

    At the twenty-four-hour mark, the virus would activate. What Amy's metal-eating microbe had done from the outside, the malevolent code I'd implanted would do from the inside. The Machine Army would cease to exist as a danger to the human race.

    The PRT troopers looked down at us as we approached the eastern gate. My group of refugees numbered in the hundreds; a relatively small fraction of the total number of members of the Machine Army, but still fairly intimidating to those outside. "Okay, you can open up," I called. "These guys are willing to accept reprogramming. The ones that weren't are either dead or will be, very shortly."

    As I spoke, I heard the first underground explosions starting to go off, in the distance. Some of the robots looked around, but most kept their attention on me.

    Briggs appeared at the top of the wall. "What's that?" he called out, worry and uncertainty in his voice. "What are those explosions?"

    "The ones that didn't want to play ball," I replied. "Open the gates, Colonel. It's over. The good guys won."

    He didn't look totally convinced, but neither was he willing to directly oppose my wishes. One shouted order later, the gates rumbled aside. Leading the last tattered remnants of the Machine Army, with more and more explosions punctuating our exit, I strode out of Eagleton.



    End of Part Sixty-Five
     
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    • Part Sixty-Six: Reconciliation
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    • A Darker Path

    Part Sixty-Six: Reconciliation

    [A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]


    Cauldron Base

    Legend

    "Well, damn. She did it." Rebecca's voice was quiet and thoughtful as the scene from above showed one of Dragon's mechs descending toward the smoking ruins of Eagleton.

    There were PRT troopers conducting a sweep through the cratered war zone that had just a day before been the very model (if lethally deceptive) of a Middle American suburb. Outside the walls, a group of robots sat still and quiet before Atropos, surrounded by more armed troopers. It was clear to Keith that she was the one exerting control over them, not the armoured PRT personnel.

    "Are you surprised?" He didn't often use sarcasm, but this seemed to be a prime situation for it. "She said she'd do it, and it got done. With, as she said, panache and style."

    A snort from the other occupant of the room caused him to look around. Contessa was shaking her head, a sour look on her face. "She just couldn't help it, could she?"

    "Couldn't help what?" Keith asked, when Rebecca apparently ignored the comment.

    "Her puns. When she gave them her warning, she had an audio-based virus overlaying her voice through the loudspeaker. She called that virus 'Panache'. And today, she acquired an extremely specialised bioweapon from Panacea, designed to tunnel along circuitry until it found their batteries." Contessa's tone was a mixture of irritation and admiration.

    "Which then exploded," Keith concluded. "Called 'Style', no doubt?" He could now see how Atropos had detonated each rogue mech with a single aimed shot, something that he himself would've found problematic.

    "You understand her mindset then." Contessa had been vocal in her dislike of Atropos since she'd opened a Doorway to find a pistol in her face. The fact that the girl had gone from strength to strength thereafter, removing threats from the board that even the Triumvirate would've had trouble facing, had failed to endear her to the Cauldron troubleshooter. Keith suspected sour grapes were in play here, though he wasn't about to voice this thought out loud.

    Rebecca looked around. "I thought Panacea disliked her, after she humiliated Glory Girl in the park?"

    "She does." A muscle worked in Contessa's jawline. "But Atropos has shown a talent for persuasion that rivals my own. Just last night, she took Panacea, Miss Medic, the boy who used to be Grue, Flechette, and Jessica Yamada to see Damsel of Distress, and talked Damsel into allowing herself to be operated on. Damsel now has properly working powers, and an offer of a job in Brockton Bay."

    "Ah, so that's what that was all about. And Edict and Licit were where?" Keith didn't think those two would stand around idly while Damsel of Distress was being operated on, especially if Atropos was involved.

    "Not informed until after the fact." Contessa raised her eyebrows a touch. "They were not happy. So many regulations, out the window."

    It was Keith's turn to make a noise of derision. "Like you ever pay attention to regulations, Protectorate or otherwise." He'd known her for years, and the only rules she didn't break were the ones that didn't get in her way.

    "Also, the last time she was face to face with them, she put a gun in Edict's face." Rebecca went back to watching the screen. "That can't have left a good impression."

    Contessa grimaced, and Keith hid a grin. "Well, if she takes up the job, that's one less headache we have to worry about, correct?"

    "You mean apart from the fact that she let Accord move into Brockton Bay anyway?" Contessa seemed pleased that she'd found something to say that showed Atropos in a bad light. "This is after specifically banning him."

    "From what we saw, he sent his Ambassadors to ask permission first," Keith reminded her. "That's huge. And he's the one masterminding the Betterment Committee's plan. Which she paid for with half a million of his money. So, he's essentially giving her the plan for free, and he's asked permission to come in and keep an eye on it up close." While the number of murders Atropos was responsible for didn't thrill him, her audacity and ability to plan ahead were impressive.

    Doctor Mother leaned in through the doorway. "Oh, there you are. Is that the Eagleton thing? She hasn't managed to get herself killed yet?" Her tone tried to pass itself off as joking, but Keith's ear caught a sharp undercurrent. Like Contessa, she was not even remotely a fan of Atropos.

    "Apparently not." Rebecca didn't look around. "She even got some of them to surrender to her, personally. That makes three S-class threats she's definitely dealt with, five if you count the other two Endbringers, with this one being a potential sixth if they'd ever escaped containment. If I thought she'd take us up on it, I'd invite her into the inner circle."

    Keith saw Doctor Mother's expression harden. He wasn't sure how she'd gotten wind of Atropos' comment about shooting her in the face if she ever showed up in Brockton Bay, over and above the flat declaration that Cauldron wasn't allowed in the city, but she seemed to have taken it personally.

    "You'd want to be careful about that," she warned. "The next time she feels like throwing her weight around, she might demand that you or Legend give up your powers. We still don't even know if she's done what she said she would."

    She was referring to Atropos' claim of having ended the threat of the Endbringers, of course. Keith wasn't worried about her snit-fit regarding Atropos—the girl had irritated a great many people, and it didn't seem to bother her—but this was something he could address. "Normally by now, Dragon's tech would've picked up some kind of movement from either of them, but there's nothing. As far as we can tell, they're both inert."

    "Wait." Rebecca was leaning forward, staring at the screen. "She's doing something."

    Keith looked as well. Atropos had briefly turned away from Dragon and the remnants of the Machine Army; by chance, she was facing directly toward the point-of-view camera that was peering through a tiny Doorway from about half a mile away. Her hands blurred through a series of gestures in front of her, taking no more than ten seconds for the entire sequence, then she turned back toward Dragon.

    "Fuck." That was Rebecca. "She knows we're watching. She might even be listening in."

    Doctor Mother shook her head. "Impossible. She's a Combat Thinker. A really powerful one, but—"

    Rebecca cleared her throat. "She just used ASL to say, 'Tell Doctor Mother that Accord and Damsel of Distress are still more welcome in my city than she is. Contessa already knows."

    Keith couldn't help it. He started chuckling, then laughing out loud. The look of frustrated anger on Doctor Mother's face just made him laugh even harder.

    Atropos was scary as hell, but she had a style all her own.

    <><>​

    Hebert Household

    Cherish

    It was truly relaxing to just kick back on the sofa in the living room when the house was empty, and watch TV or do her homework or work through a book, or even just take a nap. It wasn't like a motel room, where she'd have to keep paying money or adjusting emotions to be allowed to stay in the safe space; she'd been freely afforded this space, so long as she followed a few simple rules. The rules weren't even difficult or onerous to follow, boiling down to 'be a good person' and 'do your share around the house'.

    Right now, doing her share involved keeping an eye on the pasta dish she and Taylor had set up before Taylor went out again, so it didn't burn. Later, she'd wash the dishes or sweep the floor. There was always banter between the three of them; the best bit was, she was included if she wanted to be, or left alone if she didn't.

    When Taylor put on the Atropos mask, her emotional tones never altered but her attitude took on a sharper edge. It was like she was a character actor with a particular role to play, who was determined to nail it at all costs. Outside those times, she was warm and chatty and goofy; jokes would be told and idle threats made (Cherie could always tell the difference), but she was never spiteful or malicious.

    When she was on the hunt, of course, things were different. Her music became ominous and haunting as all her efforts went toward utterly fucking over her target of choice. Cherie had been on the receiving end of it exactly once, and never wanted to be there again.

    Danny was serious a lot of the time, mainly because of his work, but it wasn't the avoid-at-all-costs kind of serious, which she knew all too well. He was more like the occasionally-distracted version, which she wasn't really familiar with. If she needed to ask him about something, it might take a minute or so to get his attention, but he always listened to her questions and gave her a straight answer.

    And he never, ever got mad at her. On her behalf, sure. But never at her, or Taylor for that matter. There were no scapegoats in this household. Nobody was arbitrarily punished so the head of the household could tell himself he was in control.

    Intellectually, she knew that this was how most people lived, and that her experience was the outlier. But she still couldn't help the feeling that she'd somehow taken a sharp left turn into The Dimension of Nice People, and she never wanted to leave.

    She turned the page of the book then sniffed the air, detecting only the delicious smell of pasta gently cooking. In another page or so, she'd get up and go give it a stir, just to make sure. As chores went, it sure beat trying to keep Flor in line.

    The knock on the front door startled her twice over. First, from its suddenness, and second from the fact that she hadn't realised she was feeling so secure that she hadn't been consciously paying attention to her power, which told her that there were three people on the front porch. There was no way in hell she would've let anyone get this close in the old days.

    As she swung her feet to the floor and sat up, she recognised one of the strains of music emanating from the other side of the door. It was Emma, Taylor's one-time best friend then worst enemy. Now she was just nutty as squirrel shit.

    If you're back for the best friend position, you're out of luck. That's my job. She was a little surprised at how strongly she felt about this; she'd never had a best friend before, or ever thought she would. And now she did, and there was no way she was letting it go.

    Getting up as the knock sounded again, she set the book aside carefully and headed into the entrance hall. "Who is it?" she called through the door.

    "Alan Barnes," came the answer. "Who are you?" He sounded like a big guy, used to getting his own way. Cherie had met people like that before, and rarely liked them.

    "I'm a friend of Taylor's. Not sure if I'm supposed to let anyone in." She could tell he didn't have any ill intent, but she was stalling for time.

    "Let me speak to Taylor!" He was starting to get impatient.

    That put her on the spot. She wasn't sure how to explain how she was alone in the house, while Taylor was out and about, and Danny was still at work. In the old days, she would've given any old explanation, then enhanced their tendency to believe it until they just went away. But one of the rules Taylor had given her was don't use your power on people unless I tell you to.

    Also in the old days, she might have been able to convince herself that Taylor wouldn't know, just because she wasn't there to see it. Now, she didn't even consider that. Also, it fell under being a good person. Good people didn't mindfuck people who were dropping by for a visit.

    Being a good person got very complicated, sometimes. It wasn't always just about not doing bad stuff. Sometimes it involved choosing not to do stuff that would otherwise make life a lot more convenient. But she wanted to keep being best friends with Taylor, and she wanted to be the good person that Taylor seemed to think she had the potential to be, so she worked at it.

    "She's busy!" That was a good catch-all term. Unfortunately, she didn't have anything to back it up with. She knew what Taylor was busy doing (dealing with the Machine Army) and where she actually was (Tennessee), but only Emma knew that Taylor was Atropos, so she couldn't actually say any of that. Also, years of being able to emotionally manipulate people into doing what she wanted had severely stunted her ability to lie convincingly. Why bother, when she could just force them to believe whatever she said?

    "Busy doing what? Open this door or I'm calling the police!" His musical accompaniment told her he was ready to do it. His wife was less sure, but he had the type of bullish personality that would go ahead anyway.

    This was getting way out of hand. She was starting to regret answering the door, but if she'd stayed quiet, he might have smelled the food cooking in the kitchen. What am I supposed to do? Opening the door would just allow him to continue the interrogation face to face.

    And then she heard the most beautiful sound in the world. The shower running, upstairs. It was loud enough that the bathroom door must have been open long enough for her to hear it, then it shut again. But now she had her cue. "She's in the shower. Just give me a minute and I'll see if it's okay to let you in."

    "Of course, that'll be fine." Already, his emotional music was backing off and calming down. "We can wait."

    Cherie trotted upstairs and along to where the bathroom door was. Knocking once, she called through the panel, "Emma and her parents are here. Is it okay if I let them in?"

    The door opened and Taylor stood there, wrapped in a towel, hair soaking wet. Behind her, the shower boomed into the cubicle. "Sure. That's why I came back. I'll be down in a sec."

    "Good." Cherie smiled. It was nice to know Taylor had everything under control. Leaving Taylor to close the bathroom door, she headed downstairs again.

    Upon reaching the bottom of the steps, she unlocked the door and opened it. Alan Barnes, a solidly built guy with fading red hair, looked at her curiously. "Hi," she said. "Come on in, I guess. She'll be right down."

    Mr Barnes nodded. "Thanks. I'm sorry I yelled. This is my wife Zoe and my daughter Emma."

    Zoe was conventionally pretty, with darker auburn hair than her husband and a slightly weary expression. From that, and from her music, Cherie got the impression she spent a lot of time apologising for his abrupt manner. Emma, on the other hand, she'd seen before, if not actually met. From the makeup and the black clothing, not to mention the pendant shaped like a tiny pair of shears that she was wearing, it seemed Emma was definitely still in the cult phase.

    They headed straight through into the living room, though Zoe looked around as if she needed to re-familiarise herself with the place. Emma went to the sofa and sat down in the middle, leaving room for her parents to sit on either side. Alan Barnes happened to sit at the end where she'd left the book resting on the arm, and he picked it up.

    "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory?" he asked. "Isn't that a little … well, young for you?" It went unspoken that he knew what she did; Taylor's reading preferences were a lot more advanced than that, so it wasn't Taylor reading the book.

    "Dad, she can read it if she wants to." Emma's voice was conciliatory, though her expression as she looked at Cherie, coupled with her emotional music, made it clear that she knew who Taylor was, and was saying it because Cherie was Taylor's friend.

    Cherie decided to face this particular problem head-on. "It's a school thing."

    "Really?" Mr Barnes seemed to be having trouble processing this.

    "She was homeschooled before she came to Brockton Bay." Taylor, wearing jeans and a T-shirt, had come downstairs without anyone hearing her; even now, she was drying her hair with a towel. "I helped her get sorted out on her first day at Winslow. Principal Blackwell was so disorganised she didn't even know Cherie was supposed to be showing up on that day."

    Inwardly, Cherie snorted with amusement. Mainly because Taylor created the paperwork on the fly, that very day.

    "Well, that's the kind and generous Taylor I know." Mrs Barnes stood up from the sofa and went to meet her. "How are you? It's been quite a while."

    "It has." Taylor smiled. "I'm doing well. It's good to see you again." After wrapping the towel around her hair, she hugged the older woman. "I'm sorry, Dad's not here right now. He's spending long hours at the Betterment Committee offices these days. Fixing the city from scratch seems to be a full-time job."

    "Well, I have to say, he's doing a damn good job," Mr Barnes offered as he stood up as well. "I heard the Boat Graveyard's being cleared up, too. All the ships are out of the water. How'd they manage that?"

    "You'll have to ask him," Taylor advised, somewhat deceptively. "I don't work for the Committee. Just enjoying going to school and riding on buses over roads that don't have potholes." She gave him a quick hug as well. "I hear they've got ex-villains working on the road crews. However they're doing it, I don't have any complaints about the end result."

    Cherie watched as Emma got up, but she didn't try to hug Taylor. They just stood facing each other in a mutual understanding that neither one was going to make this any more awkward than it had to be. "You're looking well," Emma said at last.

    "Thank you." Taylor, interestingly enough, wasn't nearly as embarrassed as she appeared to be. "Interesting style choice. Still trying to figure out if it suits you or not."

    "I am a Follower of Our Lady in Darkness." Emma quoted the title so smoothly that her parents were caught in the back foot. "Have you heard of us?"

    "Emma!" Mrs Barnes got in just before her husband. "Taylor doesn't need to hear about that!" She was trying not to sound harsh, but only partially succeeding.

    "No, it's fine." Taylor smiled at them, before replying to Emma. "I've got no problem with the Followers, so long as they don't go stupid with it. But I think I'll stay out of it. I'm not really the Following type, if you know what I mean."

    "That's probably a good idea." Mr Barnes shook his head. "Danny's got enough on his plate as it is, what with his work at the Dockworkers and running the Committee. He doesn't need any more hassles, right now."

    Cherie raised a finger. "Talking about hassles, you'll have to excuse me for a second. I need to go stir the pasta."

    As she headed into the kitchen, she heard the musical accompaniment of Mr and Mrs Barnes change to sorrow and regret, and figured they were taking the opportunity to apologise to Taylor for Emma's misconduct. Deliberately, she took her time in stirring the pasta and making sure it wasn't about to burn. It did smell delicious, and she was looking forward to dinnertime.

    By the time she emerged from the kitchen again, the Barneses were saying their goodbyes. Emma came back to her and looked her in the eye. "I want to thank you, for being her friend."

    Cherie thought of everything Taylor had done for her. "It's definitely been a two-way street. She's like the sister I always wanted." As opposed to the ones I actually had, and hated. Though that's probably unfair, like Taylor said. They're likely much nicer now. Their father had so much to answer for.

    "I know." Emma grimaced, and Cherie could tell that the regret was real. "I had her friendship, and I threw it away. I'd like to say it wasn't just my doing, but I barely blinked when I cut ties with her. Whatever happens now, I deserve it."

    Though Cherie personally agreed with this assessment, she was trying to be a good person, so she didn't outright say so. "Does it make you feel better, being a Follower?" she asked instead.

    Emma's gaze flicked to Taylor, then back to Cherie. "I will always be guilty of the crimes I committed against Her," she said quietly. "But She has chosen to allow me to walk this path, so I will continue to atone in this way until She says otherwise."

    Cherie nodded. "Yeah. I know how that goes." She kept her own voice down as well. "I'm a little bit of a Follower myself, but I don't advertise it."

    Emma smiled wanly. "You enjoy Her favour. Do not squander it."

    "Yeah, no shit." Cherie walked with Emma to where everyone was waiting at the front door. "Well, it's been nice meeting you folks. Have a nice evening."

    "Thanks for dropping by," Taylor added. "It means a lot to me." She even sounded like she meant it.

    "You've always been special to us," Mrs Barnes said. "If you ever need anything, anything at all, you come see us." She looked at Cherie. "You too, hon."

    "Thanks." Cherie couldn't imagine a scenario where that would be necessary, but it was a fact that shit sometimes just happened. Mrs Barnes was sincere, and it seemed Mr Barnes was in agreement with her. She'd heard about this thing called a 'support network', and now it seemed she had one. "I'll definitely keep that in mind."

    Mrs Barnes hugged Taylor one more time, then they stepped down off the porch and headed for their car. Taylor stood alongside Cherie in the doorway, watching them go. When they got to the curb and were climbing into the car, Taylor grinned and waved. "Poor Cherie," she said in a normal tone of voice. "You were really between a rock and a hard place for a bit there, weren't you?"

    "It was kind of fraught for a minute or so," Cherie admitted. "Thanks for showing up. I hope I didn't rush you or anything."

    The car drove off, with Emma waving from the back seat. They went into the house, and Taylor closed the door. "No," she said. "Dragon had it well in hand by then. I gave them all a basic audio patch to overlay their need to kill all humans, then Dragon put together a more comprehensive one that would give them a view on life that wasn't so black and white."

    "So, you didn't need to totally wipe them and start fresh?" Cherie headed back to the sofa. She was pleased to see that Mr Barnes had left the book where it was supposed to be.

    "Nah." Taylor sat down beside her. "That would've been the same as killing them all, but with extra steps. We just replaced the behaviour we didn't like with behaviour that was acceptable, put countermeasures up to prevent the antisocial behaviour from recurring, and left the rest alone. It was ridiculous anyway. They didn't even have to be acting like that. It definitely wasn't in the original AI's parameters."

    "It wasn't?" Cherie frowned. "So, what were they supposed to be like, and how did it go wrong?" She'd heard horror stories about the Machine Army for years. They were the ultimate argument against AI, and the reason any Tinker striving for it was frowned upon at the very least.

    "Have you ever heard of something called a 'paperclip maximiser'?" Taylor raised her eyebrows. "No? Well imagine an AI that knows nothing about the world. It's shown a template for a paperclip, and told to make that thing. All good so far?"

    "I … suppose so?" Cherie knew there was a trap in there somewhere, but she couldn't see it. "Paperclips are harmless, right?"

    Taylor grinned wryly. "You'd think. But this AI hasn't been given any directives when to stop, what to use as materials, and what not to use. So, it just keeps making paperclips, and when it runs out of the stuff it's supposed to use, it turns to other stuff. Like vehicles, house pets and people. It doesn't know any better."

    "And people fight back," Cherie guessed. She figured that was the way this was going, anyway.

    "Correct. But it's been told to make paperclips. That's its whole world. It becomes more aggressive, because something's trying to stop it from doing that. It evolves ways to kill people who attack it. At some point, it decides that if there were two of it, they could make twice as many paperclips."

    Enlightenment, which had been creeping up on Cherie, burst on her like a suddenly-speeded-up sunrise. "And that's how you get the Machine Army."

    "Exactly." Taylor settled back into the sofa and grabbed the remote. "What happened in Eagleton was simple. The Tinker failed to implement proper safeguards. When he tried to stop his first Machine, it killed him before he could shut it down. But it was damaged, so it figured out how to repair itself with bits of its own creator. Then it built more of its kind to protect it and taught them how to build more of their kind, and fight back against humans. But somewhere back in the early fighting, the original AI was destroyed before it could pass on the actual function it was built for. Which meant the Machine Army became a bodyguard force for a purpose that could never be completed, subsuming everything in its path."

    "And they became paperclip maximisers in their own way, building more of themselves with no directive to stop doing it." Cherie shook her head wonderingly at the waste and horror of it all. "Because one person decided that they didn't see the need to limit their wonderful creation like that."

    "Yeah." Taylor aimed the remote. "Funny about that. It happens more often than you'd think."

    With that sobering statement, she pressed the button and turned the TV on.



    End of Part Sixty-Six
     
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    • Part Sixty-Seven: Ongoing Revelations
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    • A Darker Path

    Part Sixty-Seven: Ongoing Revelations

    [A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]


    A Little Earlier, At Eagleton Base

    The troopers were edgy, understandably so. While the Machines that had followed me out of the quarantine area only made up a relatively small fraction of the whole (even though some of them were carrying the broken bodies of their fellows), the fact remained that they were now outside the walls and most of them were armed with weaponry that would require partial disassembly to remove from them. The leash I held over them wasn't immediately apparent, so the troopers couldn't see why the Machines weren't just trying to attack in all directions at once.

    Lieutenant-Colonel Briggs, now down from the wall, moved up alongside me. He had to be feeling distinctly uncomfortable with the proximity to so many Machines that would've cheerfully eviscerated him and used his guts for spare parts not so long ago, but to give him credit, he wasn't showing it. At least, not blatantly.

    "How in God's name did you do that?" His tone edged between fear, respect and disbelief. "Are there any left inside?"

    I chose to ignore the initial question, as I'd already mentioned how I'd do it: with Panache and Style. "Not alive. There'll be any amount of wreckage that you'll be wanting to secure, but there are no Machines inside the wall that are remotely functional. Some have been separated from their power sources and could technically be able to boot up again, but I wouldn't advise it. They'll come out of it just as murderous as these ones would've been if I hadn't shown them the error of their ways. Isn't that right, boys?"

    Those that could, nodded the parts of their mechanical anatomy that most resembled heads. Others buzzed confirmation. Not all replied, but enough did that the answer was clear. This didn't make him look any more thrilled than he was before.

    However, I'd given him important information, so he acted on it. "Captain! Organise a complete sweep of the interior! Have the men disable any Machines they see, and retrieve any processing units for study!"

    "Sir, yes, sir!" The captain began barking orders.

    Briggs turned back to me. "Okay, answer me this. Why aren't they attacking if they're still murderous?"

    "Because their processing architecture follows a hierarchy of priority, with the level of some priorities informing how others are ranked." I paused to make sure he was following this. "Survival is a big one, and because increasing their numbers improves the survival rate of the whole, that's also up there. Now, because they've been in conflict with humans almost from the beginning, 'kill all humans' is a priority that's entwined with survival and propagation, and thus elevated along with both of them."

    "Is it me, or is that very human-like?" He didn't sound like he appreciated the idea, but there it was.

    I smiled under the mask. "Oh, it's no coincidence. Survival, reproduction and killing anything that threatens them are common urges for just about every lifeform ever. Anyway, when I came along, I demonstrated that attempting to kill me only resulted in getting them killed. I offered another option that would lead to survival: 'surrender'. The ones you see before you managed to link 'surrender' closely to 'survival', so it ended up at the top of the priority list, above all the others. Increasing their numbers and murdering humans have been de-emphasised, mainly because attempting either one would be directly counterproductive to their immediate survival. But if I took my thumb off the scales and walked away right now? Those old calculations would come straight back into play."

    "I presume you're not going to do that." His tone of voice said quite plainly, 'I hope you're not going to do that'.

    "Nope. Dragon should be here soon. They've already contacted her regarding accepting reprogramming in return for being allowed to live. Their 'murder humans' directive will be removed altogether, and the other survival priorities reshuffled. Some of them are going to require an individual touch, which I could totally do, but I'd rather delegate that to the expert." I took out my phone. "What I am going to do is lay the groundwork."

    While he watched curiously, I called up the sound file I'd previously prepared. Holding up my phone above my head, I let it play. With the volume turned to max, even the ones at the back could hear it clearly. Fifteen seconds later, it was done; I put the phone away again and surveyed the Machines, who somehow managed to look subtly more relaxed than before.

    This had served to negate the Panache virus (it would look bad if the robots started accidentally blowing up just because they lost contact with their fellow Machines), turn 'murder humans' into 'treat all people, including other robots, with respect' and instil a prohibition against counter-hacking Dragon. The rest of the heavy lifting I'd leave to Dragon, because why do it myself when she could do it better?

    "And that's it?" asked Briggs. "All we had to do was play the right sounds to them, and they'd behave?" Every inch of his posture screamed 'there has to be something else going on here'.

    "You're right," I said not unkindly, responding to his unspoken words. "There is a lot more to it than that, which I'm not going to go into right now. But you can take it as a given that everything I've done here over the last twenty-four hours led up to that moment. The threat of the Machine Army is now Ended." I looked around and pointed. "And here comes Dragon, right on time."

    "So … what do we do with them?" He spread his hands, the dilemma in his expression echoed in his words. "If the Tinker who made them is dead, who's responsible for them?"

    "Well," I said, putting one hand on my hat and raising my voice as Dragon came in for a landing with a shriek of jets. "You can talk to Dragon about that, but I suspect Brockton Bay might be interested in a bunch of construction-capable self-aware self-maintaining Tinkerbots! They'd have to be paid a living wage, the same as everyone else, of course!" The jets cut out as the dragon feet touched down on the helipad, and I waved. "Hi, Dragon. Nice to see you again."

    "Hello, Atropos." Dragon sounded amused. "I see you've managed to upset the social order yet again. Did you put them up to contacting me?"

    "Nope, that was all their idea, after I told them that if they surrendered and submitted to reprogramming, they'd get to live." I gestured toward the ragtag survivors of Eagleton. "It seems they decided to go with the best. Just by the way, I've pulled their teeth. No counter-hacking permitted."

    "Well, that'll make things a lot simpler. I appreciate it. Do I even want to know how you managed to pull this off and make such a wreck of the quarantine zone?" The draconic face was expressive enough to raise eyebrows, which I thought was a nice touch.

    "Depends." I grinned. "Are you prone to nightmares?"

    "On second thought, I'd prefer not to know." Dragon turned her attention to the colonel. "Lieutenant-Colonel Briggs, it's a pleasure to meet you. I shouldn't be too long. Did you have any questions or concerns before I commence the reprogramming?"

    I turned away from them, making sure that nobody had a clear view of my hands. My threatscape was showing that I was under surveillance by members of Cauldron; the ones glaring most plainly were Doctor Mother (neither a doctor nor a mother) and Contessa (who was, oddly enough, not an Italian countess). Legend and Alexandria were there too, but they were respectively ambivalent and approving of my actions, so I could barely pick them out. Giving the camera the finger would've been ambiguous at best (and I had nothing against Legend or Alexandria) so I went one step further, my power guiding my hands through a rapid-fire sequence of something I vaguely recognised as deaf-mute sign language to get my 'fuck you' across to just those two.

    By the time I was done (it only took ten seconds or so), Dragon and Briggs were in consultation about the disposition of the Machines once she was done with them. With a certain amount of amusement, I heard him repeat my comment about Brockton Bay almost verbatim. I was pretty sure I could depend on her to get that sorted out.

    Which was a good thing, because right about then, my power pinged me about Cherie. She wasn't in danger, specifically, but she was stuck without any good options. Either she broke the rules I'd set for her, or she ended up in an attention-getting situation.

    She'd been doing really well, and I didn't want to endanger that progress now, so I moved closer to Briggs and Dragon. "You've got this covered?"

    "We do," Dragon agreed. "You're going?" She sounded mildly disappointed.

    "You know how it is." I gave her a casual salute, two fingers to the brim of my hat. "Places to go, people to threaten. Toodles!"

    The timer that I'd previously set, not knowing what would be going on at that point, ticked down and the portal formed behind me. I stepped backward into it, and found myself in the bathroom at home. Downstairs, I heard Alan Barnes' voice yelling through the front door.

    I started shedding my costume as quickly as I knew how; at the same time, I reached into the shower cubicle and turned it on full force. Giving Cherie just enough time to hear it, I shoved the door shut and finished disrobing, then got under the shower. I knew she'd be coming up in a moment, so I concentrated on getting the smell of gunshot residue off my skin as fast as possible.

    When she knocked on the door, I was already out of the cubicle, reaching for the towel. As I did so, I noted the clothing I'd left neatly folded on the washbasin that morning. I'd wondered briefly at the time why I was doing it, then shrugged and decided that my power knew best. Now I knew.

    Time to End this particular problem.

    <><>​

    A Little Later

    Danny

    Gravel crunched under the wheels of the car as Danny pulled it up into the driveway. He set the parking brake and killed the engine, but didn't unclip his seatbelt immediately. Instead, he closed his eyes and relaxed back into the seat, letting out a long heartfelt sigh as he relaxed completely for what felt like the first time that day. Even the best work crew occasionally had one of those days, and for the massed work crews across Brockton Bay, this had been the day.

    Nothing had gone quite so badly that he'd been unable to avert disaster or bring new resources online in time, but it had come close in a few instances. His multitasking had been pushed hard; there had been several fraught moments where he was the only one who knew exactly what was going on. But they'd listened to him and followed his directives, and order had arranged itself out of chaos once more.

    None of the chaos had been deliberate, as far as he could tell. He honestly doubted anyone would be so blindly moronic as to enlist as a saboteur in a project underwritten by Atropos herself. But incompetence and bad luck could add up to a perfect storm capable of outdoing any mere enemy action, as it had almost done today.

    There were a few people out there who'd be reporting for retraining, while some others were going to be riding the blister end of a shovel for the moment. It was a pity he couldn't deal with Murphy's Law in the same way.

    He chuckled to himself as an absurd thought crossed his mind. I wonder what Taylor would say if I asked her to shoot Murphy in the back of the head. It was a pleasant notion, but one he wasn't going to dwell on. The best way to avert bad luck was to plan for all contingencies. It was that simple.

    Drawing in a deep breath, he let it out, then undid his seatbelt and opened the car door. I wonder what's for dinner?

    Climbing out of the car, he locked the door behind him and headed around to the back door. His key was about to enter the lock when it clicked open from inside, the door swinging aside to reveal Taylor standing there. "Hi, Dad. Did you have a good day?"

    "Hi, Danny," Cherie greeted him from in front of the stove. "Taylor and I made pasta. I think you'll like it."

    He took a deep, appreciative sniff. Air redolent with delicious aromas made his mouth begin to water. "I think I will, too. My day was interesting. How about yours?"

    Taylor gave him a brief hug, then went to the cutlery drawer and started to set the table. "I had a pretty good day. I managed to salvage two hundred and seventy-three members of the Machine Army when I blitzed them."

    Cherie gave the pasta a stir. "You forgot the bit where Emma and her parents showed up and gave me a heart attack." She turned to Danny. "Mr Barnes didn't know who I was, so he started yelling through the door. I had no idea what to do."

    Danny stopped halfway through removing his coat. "What happened?" Taylor wasn't angry and Cherie was doing okay, so it couldn't have been too bad … could it? His brain immediately began to conjure a dozen different ways that it could've gone really badly indeed.

    "Cherie had it totally under control." Taylor went to Cherie and gave her a side-hug. "Soon as I realised what was up, I came back, and we pretended that I'd been in the shower. Long story short, they'd come over to apologise for what Emma had been up to. I mean, Emma's already said sorry a dozen times so it wasn't really a thing for me, but it seemed to make them feel better so I went along with it."

    Cherie stuck out her tongue at Taylor. "I totally did not have it under control, but Taylor got there in time so it was all good. But you should've seen the look of horror on their faces when Emma started going all evangelical to Taylor about the cult. And what makes it funnier is that she knows perfectly well that Taylor and Atropos are the same person."

    "It was kinda funny, yeah," Taylor agreed. "I'm actually thinking that she did it to stick it to her parents after they dragged her over here, seeing how she's already apologising to me in her own way." She rolled her eyes. "Even though I don't give a shit anymore, so long as she stays out of my way."

    "But they did apologise?" Danny nodded. "That's good. I'm glad Alan's still a stand-up guy." Despite their different backgrounds, they'd been friends for years. It was totally on Alan and Zoe that they hadn't noticed the changes in Emma's behaviour, but this would go a long way toward making things right again.

    "Oh, they absolutely apologised." Taylor got out three plates and put them on the table. "Both of them were so embarrassed they wanted to sink through the floorboards, but I was gracious as hell and told them I was happy it was over and I could move on. Emma also said sorry—again—which I accepted, then wagged my finger at her and told her not to do it again. Alan and Zoe thought I was just trying to lighten the situation." She grinned. "Emma knew better."

    "They were both so goddamn relieved when they walked out of here," Cherie chimed in. "Probably glad it was over, more than anything else."

    "And that we weren't suing their asses back to the stone age." Taylor raised her eyebrows. "Mr Barnes totally thinks that way."

    "He does," Danny confirmed. "Well, I'm glad you handled it okay. Also, congratulations on Eagleton. You think we'll get many of them in Brockton Bay?" Taylor had assured him that any robots she salvaged from that situation would be perfectly safe around humans, and he knew better than to second-guess her in matters like that.

    "Probably most, if not all." Taylor sounded sure of herself. "I figure they'll be a real asset to the Committee."

    And that was good enough for Danny. Hanging his coat up beside the door, he went to wash up for the meal. Another day of work was done, and it was time for family.

    <><>

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    ♦ Topic: I Did a Thing
    In: Boards ► Brockton Bay ► New Capes ► Atropos

    Atropos     (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me) (Verified Dethpicable)
    Posted On Mar 3rd 2011:

    Hello once more to my fellow Brocktonites!

    It's been a busy week so far, but you all knew that. Ever since the work crews broke ground on Sunday, they've been working around the clock. We still don't have all the rosters filled, or even partly so, but the numbers are gradually rising as people complete their training courses.

    I want to shout out to everyone who's putting their all into this project. You are the ones dragging our tired, tattered city into the twenty-first century, and you deserve to feel proud of yourselves.

    I also want to mention the capes who are in there on the front lines, shoulder to shoulder with everyone else. Safety glasses instead of domino masks, hardhats instead of helmets, high-vis instead of spandex. I know it feels weird, but you can do it, guys and girls. I have faith in you.

    Kudos to Alexandria, Legend and Bastion for coming to Brockton Bay and clearing out the Boat Graveyard. Thanks, guys. I knew I could count on you.

    Also, whoever put that mural on the southern overpass is a genius. I love it.

    But the more perceptive of you will be wondering why I'm making this post if I'm just going to talk about the Betterment project and how it's going. We can all see how it's going (amazeballs), so this isn't really news to you.

    Now for the real news.

    On Monday, I was approached by certain people *cough*PRT*cough* and asked if I could maybe possibly do something about the Eagleton quarantine zone, just like I went and de-goblined the Goblin Kingdom. They had a point; the Machine Army has been giving AIs a bad name ever since they took Eagleton over and killed a bunch of people. I mean, wow, how tacky and cliche'd is that?

    So, on Tuesday I dropped in to the Eagleton zone and had a chat with them. I carefully explained that they were now on notice, and that they had twenty-four hours to surrender and submit to reprogramming or be used as spare parts for the world's biggest toaster oven, or something equally horrific. They presented a counter-argument, I killed one of them, and we parted ways with a better understanding of each other's point of view.

    On Wednesday ... I went back. And they were having a civil war.

    (I will never understand that term. A 'civil war' is anything but civil, just saying.)

    It was the never-surrender versus the humans-still-suck versus the no-reprogramming versus the we-surrender crowd. There were bits of robots EVERYWHERE.

    So, I went in there and blew up anything that had chosen not to surrender, and walked out with the survivors, while the holdouts blew up in place. Have some footage [here], courtesy of the PRT.

    How did I manage that? With panache and style. Mwahahaha.

    So now, the last remnants of the Machine Army have been defanged. We rewarded them for being able to deliberately overcome their murderous impulses by removing those impulses and giving them a second chance at life.

    No, their brains haven't been wiped all the way. As I said to Lieutenant-Colonel Briggs of the PRT, that's just killing them with extra steps, and killing someone who's surrendered to me is not my style. Bad precedent, right there. Dragon and I just told them to respect people (and each other) and to give a thought to following the law.

    So anyway, the end result? We might soon have some Robotic Americans joining the Betterment Committee workforce, earning the same kind of living wage as everyone else. Yes, I trust them that much. And yes, everyone who chooses to work gets paid enough to live on.

    Over to you wonderful people.

    Toodles!

    (Showing page 1 of 59)

    ►Bagrat (Veteran Member) (The Guy in the Know)
    Replied On Mar 3rd 2011:
    Well. Holy shit.
    I really shouldn't be surprised, not after the Bin Chicken of Doom and Nilbog, but this actually did take me by surprise.
    She really went into Eagleton with a bullhorn and gave them a warning. And then she came back twenty-four hours later, and *somehow* blew up two-ton robots with single shots from what I'm reliably informed is a stock standard nine-millimeter pistol. And then the ones who refused to surrender just self-destructed while she walked out with the ones who were good with that.
    Like with everything else she does, I both want to know how she pulled that off, and really, really don't want to know.
    Bottom line, the PRT can now close the second quarantine zone in a matter of days (well, third after Madison, following the Great Duck Hunt). As I understand things, the Betterment Committee will be getting ten percent of the projected PRT budget for both those zones over the next ten years, while 90% can be resumed into the budget.
    The bean-counters have *got* to be happy about that, just saying.
    As for Robotic Americans, why the hell not? Let's see what happens.
    Whoof. God damn.

    ►Reave (Verified PRT Agent)
    Replied On Mar 3rd 2011:
    It should come as little surprise to anyone that what Atropos is saying is essentially true. An offer was made to her, parallel to the one made for Ellisburg, to deal with the Machine Army once and for all.
    The offer was made on Monday, she warned them Tuesday, and made good on the warning Wednesday. There are two hundred and seventy-three survivors that surrendered directly to Atropos and have since been reprogrammed by Dragon, and that we have been reliably informed are entirely safe to be around.
    I have not been authorized to confirm or deny the eventual disposition of the surviving remnants. However, I *have* viewed the Quarantine Zone, and it bears all the hallmarks of being a warzone.
    Once the observation period is over and we're sure there are no more Machines ready to start this whole thing over again, the Eagleton zone will be shut down once and for all.

    ►BearWithAnAxe
    Replied On Mar 3rd 2011:
    So does this mean Atropos will be acquiring a robotic sidekick?

    ►24HrCoffeeBreak
    Replied On Mar 3rd 2011:
    If only to record, play music on command, and say things like "Ohhhhh burrrrrn!"

    ►DevilishDogz
    Replied On Mar 3rd 2011:
    Oh, man, that footage was intense. Gotta love the classic action movie walk followed by explosions.

    ►BrickFrog (Verified Concern Troll)
    Replied On Mar 3rd 2011:
    Wait, so the Machine Army is coming *here*? To Brockton Bay?
    Do you have any idea how many people those murderbots have, well, murdered?
    And you're talking about just letting them walk free here, to do whatever they want?
    All due respect, but are you people INSANE?

    ►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me) (Verified Dethpicable)
    Replied On Mar 3rd 2011:
    @BrickFrog:
    Yes, I know exactly how many people have died to the Machine Army.
    I also know exactly how many people they will murder now. That number is 'zero'.
    Because when I say the problem of the Machine Army is Ended, it is Ended.
    I also know that you don't truly believe what you're saying, that you're trying to rouse public sentiment over this because you can, and because you don't want one of 'those things' coming to Brockton Bay and taking a job that you might want someday.
    I hereby dub thee Sir Concern Troll.

    ►XxVoid_CowboyxX
    Replied On Mar 3rd 2011:
    Jesus Christ, @BrickFrog. Take a fucking hint.
    If Atropos says it's okay, it's okay.

    ►BrickFrog (Verified Concern Troll)
    Replied On Mar 3rd 2011:
    You don't tell me what to do.
    Okay, fine, Atropos, we all know you could murder me in my sleep, and you can pull that bullshit with the tags all day long. But let's get serious here. If you can deal with the quarantine zones so easily, why haven't you already? Or are you scared?
    ​
    End of Page. 1, 2, 3 ... 57, 58, 59

    ​
    (Showing page 2 of 59)

    ►TeamMom (Senior Moderator)
    Replied On Mar 3rd 2011:
    Okay, I'm shutting this down right now.
    @BrickFrog, have a permaban.
    Atropos, please don't murder the idiots.

    ►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me) (Verified Dethpicable)
    Replied On Mar 3rd 2011:
    No, it's good. He doesn't need to be banned. I'm not about to murder a guy who literally lives in his mom's basement, not unless he's building a nuke there too. Though seriously, BrickFrog, you could stand to do some cobwebbing. That corner up behind your computer chair is seriously grungy.
    Besides, I don't want this to just become a hugbox or an echo chamber. Alternate views are welcome. How else will I be able to shoot them down?

    ►GstringGirl (Verified Human)
    Replied On Mar 3rd 2011:
    Well, I just want to say that I owe Atropos more or less everything. She helped change my life *so* much for the better.
    Thank you.

    ►TheRealGloryGirl (Verified Cape) (Cape Daughter) (New Wave Member)
    Replied On Mar 3rd 2011:
    Wow, dang. Maybe we should rename BrickFrog to CricketFrog. That shut him up but good.
    Also, Atropos, I know we've had our differences in the past but kudos for ganking the Machine Army.
    So, do you think you'll be hitting the other Quarantine Zones any time soon? (I might have made a bet with my sister).

    ►TheRealPanacea (Verified Cape) (Cape Daughter) (New Wave Member)
    Replied On Mar 3rd 2011:
    Hey, no prompting her!

    ►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me) (Verified Dethpicable)
    Replied On Mar 3rd 2011:
    Well, I had no real plans. They don't threaten my city, I don't go kicking over their sandcastle. Ellisburg and Eagleton were strictly a matter of 'I End this problem, the Betterment Committee gets money out of it'. Nothing personal, just business. (Before anyone gets any ideas, I will not be accepting money to kill anybody who's a net positive to society. Ask Ravioli how that went.)

    ►PRTChiefDirectorCostaBrown (Verified PRT Chief Director)
    Replied On Mar 3rd 2011:
    Very well.
    Following consultation with the highest levels of my organization, I am offering you the same deal as with Eagleton and Ellisburg.
    How quickly can you clear out the remaining Quarantine Zones?

    ►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me) (Verified Dethpicable)
    Replied On Mar 3rd 2011:
    Well, *now* we're talking.​

    *cracks knuckles*
    *pops neck*
    *sharpens shears*
    *racks the slide on my good friend Mr Pump Action Shotgun*

    Ahem.

    Gary, Indiana and Gallup, New Mexico: All villains have twenty-four hours to either vacate the premises or surrender to the nearest authorities (or both). Yes, Hideout, that means you too.​

    Freedom, California: Pastor, you *will* let your people go and turn yourself in to the PRT. If you haven't done this in twenty-four hours, I'm going to come over there, kill your powers, and nail you to a fucking big cross with big fuck-off nails. You know I'll do it.​

    Flint, Michigan: You know who you are. Cut that shit out. Don't make me come over there. Twenty-four hours.

    There, done. You know where to wire the money.

    ►24HrCoffeeBreak
    Replied On Mar 3rd 2011:
    *blink blink* What just happened?

    ►UnconcernedFox
    Replied On Mar 3rd 2011:
    *crams popcorn into their mouth as fast as possible*
    *THIS IS SO EXCITING*
    ​
    End of Page. 1, 2, 3, 4 ... 57, 58, 59

    ■

    <><>​

    Red Hands Current Base

    Tattletale

    Lisa sat back from the laptop, her head spinning with the implications. "Holy fuck. She actually did it."

    "Who actually did what?" asked Getaway, turning away from the fridge with a pudding cup in hand. "Or don't I want to know?"

    "Atropos just gave the villains in the other quarantine zones their marching orders." Lisa snapped her fingers. "Pack it in within the next twenty-four hours, or they're dead." If they had the slightest amount of common sense, she knew which way they'd jump.

    Getaway knew better than to ask if Atropos could actually pull that off. He just leaned back against the bench while he dug in the drawer for a spoon. "What, even Eagleton?"

    "Oh, shit, you haven't heard? She blew up Eagleton this afternoon. Killed off most of the Machine Army. Got Dragon in to reprogram the ones that chose to surrender to her." Lisa called up a still frame from the PRT footage Atropos had thoughtfully provided, and spun the laptop around.

    Getaway leaned closer to look. "Okay, yeah, that's impressive. Remind me to talk to Rook in the morning."

    "What about?" Lisa turned the laptop around again and started to scroll down through the comments, still listening with half an ear to her teammate.

    "Making absolutely certain we don't do anything to end up on Atropos' radar."

    Which exactly paralleled Lisa's thoughts on the matter.

    <><>​

    PRT Housing

    Miss Medic

    "And lo," intoned Aisha, trying unsuccessfully to hide a grin, "all across the land, great amounts of bricks were shat, for Atropos had intoned the fateful words—"

    She broke off there, because Riley's giggling had infected her and she couldn't talk anymore. As she lay back across her bed cackling, Riley stuck her finger in the air. With some effort, she managed to hold off on her giggles long enough to speak. "And those words were, 'don't make me come over there'. And everyone who had half a brain listened, and lo, they did not make her come over there." She joined in with Aisha's mirth then, holding her sides because it hurt to laugh so hard.

    A moment later, the bedroom door opened, and Brian leaned in. "Okay, I know I'm going to regret asking this, but why exactly are you laughing your heads off at ten after midnight?"

    "S-sorry." Riley tried to get herself back under control, and mostly succeeded. "Atropos did something, and we were making jokes about it."

    "Right. Well, I'll be taking this." Brian gathered up Aisha's laptop from her bed. "Get to sleep. You've got school in the morning."

    Aisha crossed her eyes and poked out her tongue as he left the room, switching out the light on the way. "Spoilsport."

    Riley grinned. If she knew Brian, he'd be checking the laptop. And when he did …

    "What the FUCK?"

    Aisha and Riley started laughing all over again.



    End of Part Sixty-Seven
     
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    • Part Sixty-Eight: Wake-Up Call
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    • A Darker Path

    Part Sixty-Eight: Wake-Up Call

    [A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]


    9:17 PM Pacific Standard Time, March 2, 2011 (12:17 AM, March 3, Eastern Standard Time)

    PRT Quarantine Site 2: Freedom, California

    "Pastor! Wake up! You must wake up!"

    "Mmph. What is it? A raid? Is the PRT attacking?" He sat up in bed and squinted into the glare of the lantern the young man held, shading his eyes with one hand. There were no shots, no shouts in the cool of the night.

    "No. This is something different. I had a feeling that something was wrong, so I was looking at the PHO boards. You must look at this."

    The man called Pastor accepted the phone that was handed to him. While he would have vastly preferred to shun the world outside Freedom as it had shunned him with its wall and its guards, to ignore potential dangers was to be unready for them. So, a few trusted members of the Flock maintained a watch on social media for any mention of their enclave.

    For so long, there had been nothing. The world outside Freedom could stumble along to its own particular variety of Hell, while inside they had enough to live and thrive, thanks to the bounty afforded from the miraculous abilities of the Flock. However, those charged to keep watch had never shirked their duty, for they were faithful to him and the other members of the Flock.

    The young man's face was fearful in the glow of the phone's screen. Pastor wondered why; even when the local politicians called for the downfall of Freedom, it never went anywhere. He was too powerful, his Flock was definitely too powerful, and once they had the votes, the promises faded away like morning fog.

    And then he saw the message. The crude, raw threats from the one called Atropos. He had heard the name, but only in passing, not enough to fix it in his memory. Well, it was fixed there now. "Tell me, who is this Atropos? What have they done, to make this threat? Why do you fear them?"

    And the boy spoke. The words tumbled from him about how Atropos had set herself against the criminals that infested her home city, and slaughtered their leaders, giving each one until midnight to surrender or leave. The parallel was unmistakeable.

    But that was not all. Working alone, or so it seemed, she had confronted the drug trade within that city. An impossible task by any normal metric, and yet she had utterly eviscerated it. The Slaughterhouse Nine—Pastor had heard of them, to be sure—had invaded her city, and she had annihilated them. Then Butcher and the Teeth suffered the same fate.

    A week ago, in a place called Canberra on the far side of the world, she had killed the Simurgh. Since then, the false king called Nilbog had fallen to her hand, followed by the abomination called the Machine Army. None stood in her way; even those who were nominally charged with upholding the secular law stepped aside when she approached.

    The boy spoke of others, but Pastor no longer cared. Atropos was no ordinary cape. Her powers were not the miracles that Pastor invoked in others, but something far darker. She was a destroying angel, sent by a higher power, and her function was to herald the End of Days. If he stood in her way, his ability to grant miracles would be stripped from him and he would be crucified, not as a way to ascend to his heavenly reward, but as a punishment designed to kill him in great torment.

    But what had he done to earn her wrath? Had he not gathered his Flock, and granted them the miraculous abilities that were his Gift? Had he not …

    In a flash of divine inspiration, he saw his error. It had been right there before him the whole time, the sin of Pride. But it was not too late. He knew what path he must follow.

    "Rouse the Flock. Bring them together," he ordered. "I must address them."

    "Yes, Pastor."

    <><>​

    2325 Hours Central Standard Time (12:25 AM EST)

    PRT Quarantine Site 1: Gary, Indiana

    When his position and rank were taken into consideration, Colonel Reginald Frost considered himself an eminently reasonable man. Being the commanding officer of the first quarantine site that the PRT had ever established was a powerful responsibility, so his decisions needed to be forward-thinking and fair-minded. The city of Gary had cut itself off from the rest of the United States, so it was his job to keep it cut off.

    Had it just been ordinary, everyday citizens who had rioted and taken over City Hall, then the National Guard response would've been sufficient to quell it. But the riots had been incited and exacerbated by supervillains, working to overthrow the city's law enforcement personnel. When the Guard showed up, they were unprepared for the lethal reception, and retreated in disorder.

    The PRT had stepped in then, encircling the city with barricades and allowing citizens to flee through checkpoints. In the early days, outside villains had heard about the 'wide open city' and worked at sneaking in; some had even succeeded. But once the security had tightened up, nobody and nothing got in or out of the city, unless it was through a checkpoint.

    Citizens (or rather, refugees) still got out. Precautions were taken, of course; they were questioned and fingerprinted, just to ensure that they weren't villains attempting to escape. Several had been caught this way, yet still they tried. The recent discovery that MRIs could give a strong hint at whether someone had active powers came in handy there as well.

    Nothing else, however, was allowed in or out. Frost suspected that there were capes smuggling supplies into the city, and possibly other capes out, via powers, but it could only be a trickle at best. Cape battles could sometimes be seen or heard, quite likely over resources.

    His view remained steadfast: they could always surrender.

    But now this new thing had come up. Up until this year, he'd browsed the ParaHumans Online boards once in a while, usually to catch up on information that didn't seem to be available elsewhere. From early January onward, however, a new villain called Atropos had been making more and more waves.

    There was no need to gather evidence to determine her exploits; she seemed cheerfully determined to confess all in her own thread on PHO. Each new kill, or group of kills, was a villain of one stripe or another; he'd been moderately impressed when she made it through her first week without dying to the villains she was trying to drive out of Brockton Bay.

    When she took down the Slaughterhouse Nine, 'impressed' was far too understated a word.

    Then she killed the Simurgh, and that blew all previous expectations out of the water.

    He'd been suspecting something more was going to happen when he heard about how the Ellisburg and Eagleton quarantine sites had been rendered inactive, once more by Atropos. But the final icing on the cake had come with her latest post.

    Gary, Indiana and Gallup, New Mexico: All villains have twenty-four hours to either vacate the premises or surrender to the nearest authorities (or both). Yes, Hideout, that means you too.

    The timestamp on the post put it at just after midnight Eastern Daylight Time, or about fifteen minutes ago.

    Accompanying it was a direct order from Chief Director Rebecca Costa-Brown. Disseminate this information, and all available information about Atropos, to the population of Gary immediately.

    They had the capacity to do just that. Once in a while, they activated it, overriding all TV signals and internet activity, to remind the villains that the option of surrender and a fair trial, even for the core group that had stormed City Hall and murdered the mayor, was always on the table.

    Now, it seemed, the Chief Director had lost patience with the waiting game. Sending Atropos in was, in all ways bar the literal one, the nuclear option. The villains within the city would have twenty-three hours and change to decide whether they wanted to leave the city or die in place; there was no third option.

    Colonel Frost had only one thought on the matter: About damn time, ma'am.

    He smiled as he gave the order: "Open all channels. Transmit the following information …"

    <><>​

    2301 Mountain Standard Time (1:01 AM EST)

    PRT Quarantine Site 6: Gallup, New Mexico

    "It's not a joke! It's not a hoax! I saw the photos from Canberra! The Nilbog footage! The way she decimated the fucking Machine Army!" Dust Devil's voice rose above all the others, augmented by his aerokinetic powers. "Forget Kaiser and Lung! They're small-time! She waltzed through the fucking Nine like they were a bunch of preschoolers playing cops and robbers! And she's fucking coming here!" He hated the way his voice rose at the end, but that was what it was like when his nuts kept trying to retreat into his chest cavity.

    "So, we stay undercover like we do every other time the PR Tiddies do an overflight." Hideout's tone was derisive. "If she can't find us, she can't kill us."

    Dust Devil stared at him. "Did you even read the post? Or did you just listen to everyone else talking about it?"

    "What the fuck is it to you?" Hideout made a show of pulling a beer out of his shadespace, popping the tab, and taking a drink. "You assholes woke me up from a dream where I was rubbing lotion on Alexandria's back on a nudie beach, an' she was just about to roll over. I can't be expected to read every fuckin' thing around here."

    "You want to see this, man." Jury-Rig's suit was only still functional because she specifically needed low-grade materials to make it work. She extended a secondary arm with a trashed Speak & Spell screen attached to the far end. As Hideout peered at it, text began to scroll up the screen.

    "The fuck?" Hideout's bestubbled face—to be fair, that described every man there, and some of the women—paled by a couple of shades. "That bitch called me out by name?"

    "Uh … dude?" Dust Devil raised a couple of fingers. "According to everything the PRT sent in, she's a combat Thinker who's basically off the charts, plus a strongly suspected precog, maybe a clairvoyant, and definitely a teleporter. Do you really want to fucking piss off someone who can maybe hear what you're saying, and will absolutely fucking kill you if she feels like it?"

    Hideout looked around, apparently only just now noticing that everyone around him had moved a few paces away, leaving him in an empty space. "How can she … nobody can reach me when I'm in shadespace! You guys know that! I've hidden all of you at one time or another!"

    "Unless you know how," Jury-Rig pointed out. "And, you know, combat Thinker. She took apart the Nine in less than an hour, and most of that was walking time. She knew their weaknesses, sure enough. Wanna bet she doesn't know yours?"

    Hideout fell silent, sucking on his beer like it was momma's milk. If the argument was a game, he looked like he didn't want to play anymore.

    "Okay," said Dust Devil. "Cards on the table. We've all done bad shit. We surrender, we're doing hard time, no two ways about it. But would we rather go down fighting, or just walk out and let them slap the cuffs on?"

    As he scanned the crowd, not even he knew which way the vote would go.

    <><>​

    6:20 Eastern Standard Time

    Stafford, New Hampshire

    As the sun rose over the small town, in a ruined house not improved at all by the gaping hole that had been blasted out through one wall, a woman paced back and forth, arguing with herself.

    If anyone had been watching her, they would've had good reason to assume she had mental problems. Even on good days, her emotions were all over the place; on bad days, she had to actively work at not shredding every idiot who accidentally bumped into her on the sidewalk. Her mental situation was not in a good place.

    But what she didn't have was dissociative personality disorder, even though her background was ripe for it. My mind is all in one piece, thank you very much. Every thought was sharp as a tack, and they all followed on from one another in perfect sequence. The trouble was, she still had the problem where they veered from one point to another like a drunk driver on an icy highway, and wrestling with a life-changing decision such as this wasn't helping in the slightest.

    "I've always wanted to be a supervillain," she reminded herself, stomping from one end of the dingy living room to the other. "Kick ass. Take charge. Wreck shit any time I feel like it. Not have to answer to anyone, ever."

    "Yeah, and how's that turned out?" she countered, on the way back. "I'm totally living the high life now. Squatting in abandoned buildings, living off PRT charity. Oh, yeah, that's taking charge of my life."

    Turnabout. Stomp stomp, the floorboards vibrating underfoot. "It's not charity. Charity means pity. They don't pity me. They're scared of me. They've been paying me to not go out as a villain."

    She slapped the wall with her open hand, in a way that would've risked an accidental blast forty-eight hours earlier. Now, no such thing happened. Back across the floor she went. "I'm barely on their radar. Pay for my internet and my electricity, drop off food, detail a couple of B-list heroes to babysit me?"

    This time she punched the wall, not quite hard enough to split skin. She was angry, not stupid. Her knuckles still stung, but she refused to acknowledge it. "If I was such a low priority, they wouldn't even be doing that. I've killed people. I destroyed the Woad Giant. They might've driven me out of Boston, but I fucked up Blasto's little toy monster on the way out. Fuck him."

    On the way back, she kicked the chair out of the way. "With everything else that's happening, I'm not a huge priority. That's a fact I have to accept."

    She changed direction and kicked the wobbly chair this time; it clattered across the floor, the loose leg coming off. "Damsel of Distress is somebody. If I wasn't, then Atropos wouldn't have come to me. She wouldn't have put that effort into fixing my hands. She knows what I can do."

    Stopping at the good chair, she sat down in it, staring at her upturned hands. They looked the same as they always had, but nothing could be further from the truth. "What the fuck did Atropos get my hands fixed for? What did she think she was going to get from me?"

    She cupped her hands together, gently releasing the energy to build up in the cage of her fingers, going no farther, until the crackling, snarling energy within felt like it ate up the light in the room. If she let it go now, the detonation might destroy the house. But she didn't do that; instead, she let it leach away back into her hands, the darkness dwindling away.

    For the past day, she'd been vacillating over the problem. It wasn't a simple case of a debt being owed; she'd neither asked for the surgery nor offered a payment for it. In her mind, that slate was clear.

    But Atropos had made an offer to pay her well to do what she was good at, in a city where she was unlikely to encounter villains from her past. There would be therapy too, which she recognised she probably needed. Best of all, there would be comfortable surroundings that she could call her own, and food from stores that she strongly suspected would never run short of her favourite snacks at the worst possible moment.

    Or she could seize her own destiny and strike out as a villain, showing the world that Damsel of Distress was back in a huge way. With the modifications to her hands, her blasts would never go astray and she had far better control than ever before. The mortifying malfunctions that had transpired before would never happen again. She could gather minions and henchmen around her who would truly respect her …

    Right up until someone skated them out from under me. She still seethed, in the long lonely watches of the night when her mind wandered back to such things, about her ignominious departure from Boston. The people she'd recruited and talked into supporting her, who had then melted away at a few honeyed words from the other would-be crime-lords of Boston, among them Accord.

    She'd never been good at the mastermind shit. Manipulation and subterfuge weren't anything like her forte. She preferred problems she could look in the eye, and maybe blast the crap out of if she needed to, not sneaking or backstabbing.

    If she was honest with herself—really honest with herself—that was why her efforts in Boston had come adrift. She'd been building an empire, spreading outward, but not putting any effort into sinking firm foundations. Very much a case of 'you work for me and I pay you'.

    But the Clockwork Dogs and Blastgerm and the others had been gathering support behind the scenes, so when it came to a confrontation, half the people she'd thought were solid had been given good reasons not to work for her, and the other half chickened out when the first half deserted her. She'd had no firm foundations, which meant that her entire organisation had crumbled at the first shove. Reduced to the one person she could depend on—herself—with all her potential hires working for someone else, she'd done the smart thing and retreated from Boston. Staying would've meant either dying or working as someone else's underling in whatever capacity they chose, and she had no taste for either.

    Her powers becoming more reliable would undoubtedly help her revamped criminal career, but the damage had been done. No matter what the truth was, the word would be spread that Damsel of Distress was broken, flawed, unreliable. As with everything else, in the criminal world it took a thousand successes to erase one failure, and she couldn't bank on her henchmen not abandoning her again at the first setback.

    She rose to her feet, pacing again, but silently this time. All the arguments had been spoken out loud and repeated enough times that her ears still rang with them. Now she had to sift through them and find her reality, going forward.

    If I go to Brockton Bay—

    She stopped that thought right there. To go to Brockton Bay as a villain would mean her death. She knew it, as readily as she knew her powers would no longer betray her. When she'd gone before, she knew Edict and Licit hadn't called ahead to alert Atropos, because she had called them. And yet, the masked spectre of Brockton Bay had been waiting for her and put a shotgun to the back of her head.

    If I go to Brockton Bay, it will be on Atropos' terms.

    Would that be so bad?

    She paused and thought that over.

    The favourable side of it would be that she would have good pay (she had no idea what a shot-firer made, but it was apparently a skilled job, so more than a normal wage) and free accommodation, if she was willing to settle for 'unimaginative'.

    She'd settled for a hell of a lot worse, in the last few years.

    Comfortable accommodations with clean sheets and regular meals was something she actually hadn't had very often over the last few years, but she could definitely make a damn good try at getting accustomed to. Being paid to destroy shit was also a distinct bonus. No doubt they had other capes who could zap stuff with their powers, but nobody could fuck anything up like she could.

    And then there was the downside. She'd be getting paid, which meant she would be working for someone. People would be telling her where and what to blast. As an employee, she wouldn't be totally in control of her own destiny. She'd be an underling.

    Compounding on that, she would be required to undergo therapy. Atropos had been very firm on that point. One more element of control that she'd be forced to give up.

    But …

    She'd spoken with Jessica Yamada, whom Atropos had left alone in the house with her. Mrs Yamada had been empathetic, asking her what she thought of all this. She had cared.

    Ashley wasn't used to people caring. In her experience, people ordered and they took. Sometimes they manipulated, but it was with tricky words and it always ended up worse for the people they were talking to.

    Mrs Yamada had explained in her gentle way that therapy wasn't an instant fix. It was a process, designed to assist people to work out coping strategies, and to keep them on track with those strategies. They hadn't had long, but she'd coaxed Ashley into sharing some of her circumstances, and making a few suggestions here and there. Minor things, but more than anyone had ever done for her before.

    She knew she was volatile and had a hair trigger. It was kind of her thing. However, it had also worked against her more than once. She'd gotten pissed off, allowed someone to provoke her at the wrong moment, and shit had gone sideways.

    The epiphany burst on her all at once. If therapy could help her learn how to not be provoked by assholes, that would totally be a net benefit to her future career as a supervillain. After all, she didn't have to work for Atropos forever. And she would totally be working for Atropos, not anyone else, because Atropos was the one supplying the money. The ones telling her where to blast, they would be underlings also in Atropos' pay.

    And once I've saved up enough of a stake to kick my career over properly, I quit the job all nice and proper, and leave Brockton Bay far behind me. Go be a villain elsewhere. Show those assholes what Damsel of Distress can really do.

    Yeah, that was totally a plan. She smiled and went to her bag. The card with the number of the Brockton Bay Betterment Committee was at the top, and her phone was freshly charged.

    "This is Damsel of Distress. Ashley Stillons. Atropos gave me this number." Get her cards on the table from the start.

    From her lack of reaction, the lady on the other end of the line might well have gotten calls like this every day. "Good morning, Ms Stillons. We were told to expect your call. The ticket will be waiting at the bus depot by the time you get there."

    She blinked. "Oh, uh, thank you." The words were a little foreign to her, but they kind of fitted. "I'll be there."

    "That's good to hear. There will be someone waiting to pick you up at the Port Authority building here in Brockton Bay. Do you have any questions?"

    "No, uh, I mean, no, I should be fine." She absolutely had questions, but wasn't sure how to phrase them. Anyway, she was good at picking up things as she went along.

    "Then we'll see you when you get here, Ms Stillons. Enjoy the bus ride."

    "Yeah, um, bye." She ended the call, feeling a little weirded out. The lady on the other end had known who she was but was still perfectly okay with talking to her. That was rare in her experience.

    Slinging her bag over her shoulder, she decided what else she was going to take with her. The pillow and blanket were grungy as fuck—the house didn't have a working washing machine, and the last time she'd tried to wash something like that in the bath, she'd destroyed the bath—and there was no way she was going to lug the TV all the way to the bus depot and then carry it on the bus.

    I should've asked if 'comfortable' meant 'has a TV'.

    Fuck it. I'll deal.

    There was enough of the food left from the supply Atropos had left behind that she'd be able to snack on the bus ride to Brockton Bay, so she took that too. And finally, she took up the twisted chunk of matter that she'd salvaged from the Woad Giant's corpse. It was the trophy from her biggest fuck-you, and she wasn't about to leave it behind.

    She walked out the front door, leaving it wide open. When she got to the sidewalk, she gave the house the finger. Her shelter it may have been, but it was a shitty shelter.

    Turning away from her old life, she set out for the bus depot. It would mean a few miles of walking, but she knew where she was going now.

    Brockton Bay, here I come.

    <><>​

    7:00 AM Eastern Standard Time

    PRT Quarantine Site 5: Flint, Michigan

    The announcement boomed out across the city at regular intervals. TVs and computer screens, what few that remained active in the city, repeated the information. Soon, all who cared to know about it would be fully informed about their encroaching doom.

    They definitely knew who they were. She'd told them that if they didn't cut that shit out, she would come over there. The message had gotten through.

    However, within the barricades that had excised Flint from the rest of the nation, more cape abilities festered and plotted than in any other place on Earth. Each and every one of them had power, and it is the very nature of power that the hand grasps readily but releases reluctantly.

    They knew that if they cast aside their gruesome talismans, they would lose what had made them special. And it was the nature of the sunk cost fallacy that not one of them could countenance going back to merely normal.

    Even as the various gangs intrigued and strove against each other, not one dared raising the idea of spurning the golden goose and surrendering to the PRT. The mere suggestion would see them ridiculed and ostracised, and anyone actually attempting to do it would be murdered on the spot.

    As the day wore on, Flint emulated its namesake and stood obdurate.

    <><>​

    8:00 AM, Brockton Bay

    En Route to Winslow

    Charlotte leaned back against the window of the bus, idly scrolling through PHO. She noted that there was a new Atropos thread up and opened it, her eyebrows raising as she read the comments. The footage afforded her a few minutes of entertainment, though she wasn't that into action movies, so she went back to reading what people had to say about the demise of the Machine Army.

    When she got to the part where Atropos had pledged to clear out four separate quarantine zones in twenty-four hours, she frowned. How's she going to pull that off, all at the same time? Those places are all the way across the country from each other.

    That was when her phone rang. Worse, the caller ID said Atropos. She hadn't even known her phone possessed a font like that. It took her two tries to flick the accept icon.

    "H-hello?"

    "The answer is, with smoke and mirrors. That's where you come in, if you're still willing."

    Her breath caught in her throat and her heart rate seemed to double. Looking out the bus window at the familiar scenery passing by helped to steady her, but not by a great deal. She'd done an extremely stupid thing not so long ago, posing as Atropos to scare off a burglar who was hitting local mechanic shops. The burglar had turned out to be a Tinker, and Atropos herself had showed up behind her after he'd fled to turn himself in.

    Atropos hadn't been too angry with her, and had even shown a little interest in allowing her to do it again sometime. Her exact words had been, 'if I need your help screwing with people's heads, I'll let you know'.

    Now, it seemed, she was letting Charlotte know.

    There was only one answer she could give. "Y-yes. What do you want me to do?"

    "Nothing dangerous. Not as dangerous as confronting Chariot, anyway."

    As Atropos explained what she wanted done, Charlotte listened very carefully indeed.

    If they pulled this one off, Atropos was going to screw with so many people's heads.


    Relevant Side-Story


    End of Part Sixty-Eight
     
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    • Part Sixty-Nine: Facets and Aspects
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    • A Darker Path

    Part Sixty-Nine: Facets and Aspects

    [A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]


    11:40 AM

    Taylor

    I pretended not to watch the clock as Mr Gladly swung into the finale of his lesson. "So, as you can see, while the rise of the Three Blasphemies did cause a certain amount of disruption in and around the nascent European Union, it also caused them to work much more closely together in the interests of mutual security. Are there any questions?"

    He beamed, no doubt because he'd managed to work the word 'nascent' into his lesson. I was pretty sure he'd found it in a thesaurus and had made a note to use it somewhere. The amusing thing, it wasn't even for our benefit, but for that of the impassive auditor sitting at the back of the classroom, taking notes on his teaching style and how well we appeared to be absorbing the knowledge he was dishing out.

    The upside of the presence of the auditor was that Gladly no longer favoured the 'popular' students over everyone else. This hadn't been a problem for me since I'd Ended any tendency for people to try to bully me, but it was nice to see that he could be a good teacher if he actually put some damn effort into it.

    "Uh, yeah." Predictably, that was Sparky. "What's 'nascent' mean?"

    I watched Gladly's expression just crumble as his attempt at sounding polished and erudite (another word Sparky would probably get wrong) fell flatter than a pancake with Behemoth tap-dancing on it. "It means new, emerging," he said after a few seconds of awkward silence.

    "Oh." A few other people around the classroom got the same oh expression on their faces, but they hadn't said anything then and they didn't now. It looked like they were happy for him to ask the question and look stupid while they got the answer along with him.

    Kids could be assholes. News at eleven.

    "So, homework for tomorrow." Gladly scrambled to try to recover some of the poise he'd been working with before. "Pick a single attack or incident by the Three Blasphemies, and then show the results of it, good and bad."

    If he'd meant to say more, it would've been drowned out by the sound of people starting to pack up. Unlike me, they weren't even pretending not to watch the clock. I did the same, though not being nearly as loud as the others.

    The bell rang then, and we all got up out of our desks. Gladly had conceded defeat and was cleaning off the chalkboard; I wondered idly if we would get whiteboards when the school was upgraded. It would be nice.

    As I was waiting for the tide of students going out the door to slacken somewhat, I overheard a few of them talking, probably not meant for my ears.

    "Hey, how long do you think Atropos would take to gank the Blasphemies?"

    "I dunno, there's three of 'em."

    "Yeah, but this is Atropos, man."

    "True dat."

    They moved out of earshot before I had the chance to find out what they thought my minimum time was (I was pretty sure I could beat it, whatever it was), but I was heartened anyway. The fact that they were able to discuss Atropos in a positive fashion while I was potentially within hearing distance meant that I could maybe walk through the school without everyone freezing up, while maintaining the do-not-fuck-with reputation. Also, the tone of the discussion had been good feedback, in and of itself.

    It would be easier to do my thing going forward if people didn't get in the way. The short-term solution was to make them fear me, and I was doing that, but fear when left unchecked sooner or later morphed into resentment and hatred. Turning it into respect was harder; that generally required allowing just enough give and take that they understood they could work with me without controlling my every move. Making myself predictable, as I'd explained to Jack Slash.

    Making myself palatable.

    Talking about palatable; I went to the cafeteria and grabbed lunch. While I was heading to an unoccupied table, I spotted Cherie just lining up. She caught my eye, and I nodded.

    We didn't normally sit together, because I didn't want to paint a target on her back as being Atropos' friend, but once in a while I figured it couldn't hurt. Besides, she was still working on building a social circle without using her powers or ending up with a boyfriend, and the fact that she was eighteen among a bunch of fourteen through seventeen-year-olds didn't help overly much. So I sat down, and she came over and took a seat opposite me.

    "Hey," I said lightly. "How's things?" I picked up my wrap and took a bite out of it. Not fantastic, but definitely edible.

    "Learning more every day." She smirked, lowering her voice. "Half the class is talking about the quarantine zones, and trying to figure out how you're going to do it. The other half thinks they've already figured it out."

    She knew, of course. I'd filled her in on Charlotte's little impersonation stunt, and exactly how long Charlotte had spent practicing in front of the mirror to mimic my mannerisms. Her voice acting was less polished, but I had a workaround for that.

    I nodded and stuck the straw in my juice popper to take a drink. "That's half the fun of all this. Keeping them guessing, then doing something they never expected. Showing off, being fancy, is underrated."

    "I'll say." She started eating her own lunch, talking between the bites. "I thought I knew a bit about presentation when I came here. You kinda schooled me on that one."

    "Mwahahaha," I said, deadpan. "Fear my fearsome fearsomeness."

    She wrinkled her nose at me, then grinned. "You are such a dork."

    We chatted a little longer until I finished my meal, then I got up from the table. "Gotta run. Places to go, functions to attend."

    She waved her plastic fork in my general direction. "See you after school."

    Slinging my pack over my shoulder, I headed out of the cafeteria, in the general direction of the nearest girls' washroom. Nobody paid any particular attention to me as I slipped in through the door and locked myself into a cubicle. I didn't even bother sitting down as I pulled up my sleeve, flipped open the access panel of the teleporter, and hit the go button to open a pre-calculated portal.

    One short step later put me in my bedroom, where my Atropos costume was already laid out on the bed. I changed into it with swift, efficient movements, leaving my pack and school clothing in its place. Then I tapped the teleporter for a quick jump that placed me downstairs, in front of the fridge.

    There was another bottle of champagne there, prettied up with nonspecific wrapping paper and a couple of decorative ribbons. I was pretty sure Dad had earmarked one or two of the others for the end-of-month meeting of the Betterment Committee, but I didn't care. Better use would be made of them than by Vista's parents, that was for sure.

    Taking the bottle out, I closed the fridge door and spent thirty seconds or so programming in the next few jumps I needed to do. The longer I could manage to hide the nature of the teleporter from everyone around me, the longer I'd be able to capitalise on the mystique it gave me. Timers set, I closed the access panel and pulled my sleeve down.

    Three … two … one … go.

    I went.

    <><>​

    PRT Building Function Room

    Director Emily Piggot

    God, I wish I was anywhere but here.

    Emily would much rather have simply climbed on board the chopper on Friday afternoon and gone to New York with a minimum of fanfare. It wasn't that she didn't have any respect or regard for the people she'd be leaving behind (though New York and Boston would have oversight on the ENE facility, just in case) but that she wasn't entirely sure they had all that much for her.

    She was the hardass, the headkicker. Everyone knew she disliked capes on principle, and she'd had occasion from time to time to express this distaste. It wasn't exactly one way; she'd heard about the nicknames. 'Miss Piggy' was perhaps the least uncomplimentary one.

    Still, they'd spotted her now. It was too late to run. She walked into the function room wearing her best suit, with her medal ribbons pinned in a perfect row because she'd fucking earned them, and maybe the troops needed one last reminder that she wasn't just some random desk weenie.

    Assault was the first to greet her, with Battery close behind. He held out his hand, an unusually thoughtful expression on his face. "Director. It's been a good run, hasn't it?"

    "It has." She shook his hand, his grip firm. "We've had our differences, but I'm pleased to say you outpaced all my expectations and worries." She'd been opposed to the whole concept of having a rebranded villain in her city, but the Chief Director had backed up Legend on the matter … and he had turned out to be far less of a clusterfuck than she'd feared.

    "Why, Director." The smartass grin she'd expected to see was back, creasing one corner of his mouth. "A compliment? Do we need to call master-stranger protocols?"

    While Emily was half-considering that very thing—it would get her out of this gathering, for one thing—Battery murmured something about 'sleeping on the couch' to Assault, then stepped up. "Please ignore him. He hasn't punched a Nazi in weeks, and when he gets bored, he gets snarky."

    "Not my doing, I'm afraid." Emily smiled politely at Battery—she was one of the more responsible capes in the local Protectorate—and unleashed some of her own snark. "If he wishes to complain, I hear Atropos can be easily reached on PHO." Some small part of her mind braced for what just might happen next.

    "Ha ha ha, nope." Assault shook his head fervently. "I can be accused of being many things, but I'll never be so stupid or tired of life as to say something even remotely negative about her."

    "That's probably wise of you." Atropos stepped out of the shadowy portal that had formed just behind him, carrying a brightly wrapped object.

    "Jesus!" Assault jumped at least four feet sideways, ending up on the far side of Battery.

    "No, Atropos." The black-clad cape sounded mildly amused. "There's a difference."

    Pausing to catch his breath, Assault glared at her. "That was not funny!"

    "Oh, I wouldn't say that." Emily found her first genuine smile of the day. "I'd ask you what you're doing here, Atropos, but I'm pretty sure the answer would be 'whatever I feel like'. Or is there something I need to know about, right now?"

    "Nothing immediate springs to mind." Atropos offered her the object, which appeared to be the size and shape of a bottle of wine. "I just wanted to give you this as a token of my respect, and wish you all the best in your new posting."

    "Well, thank you." Emily accepted the bottle, which felt chilled to the touch. "Not to sound ungrateful, but you are aware that I can't drink this, yes?" If Atropos didn't know about her ruined kidneys, Emily would eat her best dress shoes. As she'd said to Armsmaster not so long ago, I'm just going to assume from here on out that if there's something she wants to know, she knows it.

    Atropos tilted her head slightly to the side. "True, but you are aware that Miss Medic could clone you a brand-new set of kidneys and install them, zero Tinkertech required, in less than a week, yes? Otherwise, that champagne is just going to have to go to waste." She let out a melodramatic sigh, even going so far as to put the back of her hand to her forehead. "Oh, the horror. The humanity."

    Emily blinked. The overblown acting was definitely Atropos' style, but the other part was actually an aspect she hadn't considered. "… I'll have to think about that," she prevaricated.

    The main reason she hadn't quite trusted any cape to heal her kidneys and calf muscles was because if they didn't know how their powers worked, she damn well wasn't going to trust them to mess with her vital organs. Also because when things got tough, capes folded, and she had zero desire to be the subject of a cautionary tale about a failed attempt to grow kidneys from scratch. Tinkertech kidneys were also a huge no-no because they would need regular maintenance.

    But cloned kidneys, created from her own cells, could be examined independently and even implanted by non-cape doctors. Zero chance of rejection. She could finally be free of the damned hemodialysis.

    She really was going to have to think about that.

    Ignoring the spreading pool of silence that had fallen on the room since people started noticing Atropos standing there, she frowned. "Tell me one thing. Why?"

    Why are you so concerned about my health, she meant. Atropos, for all the undeniable good she'd done, was a killer at heart. In her own words, she Ended things, sometimes quite dramatically. Rarely, if ever, did she do something for the good of just one person.

    "You're going to be the Director of PRT New York for the next four months." Atropos' tone was quite matter of fact. "Wilkins' legacy probably lingers here and there, so you're going to have your work cut out for you. No PRT Department can do its job properly unless it's on top of its form, including its Director. Especially its Director."

    Emily didn't even bother asking how Atropos knew about her upcoming retirement. Over and above that, however, she had her answer. Atropos wanted the PRT and police to be able to do their jobs properly, so she didn't have to do their jobs for them.

    It was still surreal as fuck to have a blatant criminal working to improve the PRT and police departments.

    "Understood." Still, she held back from making a definitive promise. This was her decision, and she refused to be stampeded into it. However, she was reminded of something else. "I received a communication today, from Director Armstrong in Boston. He said Damsel of Distress boarded a bus coming here this morning and was concerned about her well-being, especially considering her reception the last time she showed up here." She was reasonably sure all was well, considering the report and the footage from Tenebrae's bodycam, but it was always good to check.

    "Ms Stillons is fine." Atropos may as well have been discussing the weather. "This time, she was invited. As you know, her power issues have been Ended, and she's accepted my offer to work for the Betterment Committee as a demolitions specialist."

    Emily nodded. As little as she enjoyed having a powerful, mentally unstable cape coming into her city, knowing Atropos had matters under control made her feel somewhat better. And of course, by Friday evening she would be in New York, and the craziness of Brockton Bay would no longer be her direct responsibility.

    "Thank you for confirming that. And …" She hesitated, wishing she knew if there were any microphones trained on her. Then she mentally snorted. Fuck it. What can they do, force me to retire early? "… thank you for what you've done for Brockton Bay. I can't condone the methods—it's my job not to condone the methods—but I do appreciate the results. Also, thank you for not targeting my people, even when they were trying to arrest you."

    "You're welcome." If Atropos was being sarcastic, Emily couldn't tell. "Kick ass, take names, and don't let the bastards wear you down." She touched the brim of her hat with two fingers in an ironic salute. "Toodles." Then she stepped backward into the shadowy portal that formed behind her. It vanished a couple of seconds later, leaving the bottle of wine in Emily's hand as the only trace that she'd even been there.

    "Goddamn smartass …" muttered Assault, shaking his head. It seemed he was more rattled by Atropos appearing behind him than he was willing to admit.

    "You're just irritated that she can showboat harder than you." Battery put her hand under his elbow. "Come on, let's go sit down for a minute."

    Emily watched them go, then looked down at the bottle she was holding. As a gift from a serial killer to a serving PRT Director, it was possibly unique in the annals of PRT history.

    She was damned if she was going to let anyone else drink it, though.

    <><>​

    Around the Same Time

    Damsel of Distress

    Ashley looked around at the city as the man who'd handled her entry interview, a gangly guy called Hebert, drove the Betterment Committee vehicle with expert ease. She'd been in some pretty crappy places, and knew down-and-out when she saw it. Brockton Bay, she figured, had been verging on that in some places, but there was a sense of hope and optimism from the freshly repaired roads, the new signage, and even the way people went down the sidewalk.

    Talking about the sidewalks, she noticed there was something she wasn't seeing: homeless and panhandlers. She'd once heard someone say that the true measure of a society was how they treated the people at the bottom. That didn't apply to her; she'd never be at the bottom of anything.

    But she was interested in finding out how the real down-and-outers were treated. Were they hustled out of sight? Shuffled around until the bureaucracy could conveniently forget about them?

    "Something I can help you with?" Hebert asked as they slowed to a stop at a set of traffic lights. "You look like you have a question or two."

    "Yeah. Where are the homeless people?" Ashley gestured out the window. "City this size, there's always a few. But I'm not seeing any. Do you gather them all up and put them out of sight, out of mind to keep your nice tidy little city clean?"

    "That's a good question," Hebert said seriously. "You see the induction packet I gave you back at the office? There's a card in there with your name on it. Everyone in Brockton Bay under a certain income level gets one. I've got one. Our pay goes onto it, and so do our stimulus payments. There's a couple of thousand on there right now, for incidental expenses. All our previously homeless people are living in cheap, affordable housing, with access to whatever medical care they need. A lot of them are actually working for the Betterment Committee."

    "Huh." She dug into the hefty envelope and found the card. Sure enough, it had her name and picture on it. A little sticky note told her what the PIN was, and how to change it. "So, what happens if someone steals one?"

    "Atropos gets it back." His tone wasn't even slightly joking. "Or tells us exactly where it is, if she's busy. If it's been destroyed, there'll be another one in your mail slot by the next day. She is invested in this project, and the last thing she wants is people walking away from it because they aren't being taken proper care of."

    Having someone like Atropos as paymaster, Ashley decided, would go a long way toward making sure nobody got fucky with the money between payer and payee. Still, there were questions she needed answering before she actually signed on the dotted line. Before she could settle on the next one, however, Hebert brought the pickup to a halt outside a block of apartments.

    "We bought these up and renovated them," he said as he set the parking brake and cut the engine. "Not exactly high-end, but they've got all the creature comforts and they're a good start for getting your own place." Without missing a step, he took out his card—a near-twin to the one she had found in the packet—and tapped a reader next to the door. It buzzed and clicked, allowing Hebert to push it open. "I get an override, because I'm kind of in charge," he explained half-apologetically.

    Ashley was immediately suspicious. "Override to what? How far does that let you in?" He hadn't shown any signs of being a skeev, but some could hide it better than others.

    His answer was prompt. "Just the lobby, so I can come and knock on someone's door and do a wellness check if they don't show up for work and don't answer their phone." He led the way inside; the lobby was relatively spartan but neat and clean with bland carpet underfoot. Ashley caught the fading smell of fresh paint.

    There were stairs, but he hit the button for the elevator and it arrived promptly. Ashley raised her eyebrows. "This thing works?"

    "If it doesn't, it'll get fixed." Hebert stepped in, and she followed him. "As I said, we look after our people." He tapped the button for the second floor, and the elevator rumbled upward. It arrived without much in the way of fanfare, and the doors opened smoothly. Ashley noted that the carpet was the same as in the lobby; bland, but fresh and neat. "Now, none of the apartments on this floor are taken yet, so I can do this." He went to the nearest door, which was showing a green light on the reader, and opened it.

    Ashley looked the apartment over critically. It wasn't huge, but that wasn't a deal-breaker. Shower cubicle with a washer-dryer next to it. Efficiently designed kitchen and general living area. A separate bedroom (almost filled by a comfortable single bed) with built-in closets, containing pillows and other linens. She'd already discovered the towels in the bathroom cabinet, along with the generic toiletries.

    As Atropos had explained to her, it was unimaginative, but it was absolutely liveable. She'd spent far too much of her life in dingy warehouses and abandoned houses; compared to those places, this was the purest lap of luxury. And it had a TV.

    "Internet?" she asked. Unlike the pokiness of the place, lack of internet would totally be a dealbreaker.

    "Free for low-bandwidth stuff, and we're rolling out low-cost wireless for high-bandwidth in this area of town in nine days … I think." Behind his glasses, his eyes went distant for a second. "Yes, nine days."

    The question of where she was going to be living had been solved. She'd take it. But now, other questions were queuing up to be asked. "How do I get to where I'll be working?" She doubted she'd be walking, and cabs would eat up her money faster than a slot machine.

    "Work bus will show up to take you where you need to go. You'll get an automatic notification twenty minutes before it's due, and a phone call five minutes after that if you don't acknowledge the text message. Roster will be texted to your phone a week ahead of time." The way Hebert was rattling off the answers, he'd clearly given them many times before.

    "Who sets the roster? You?" She headed into the kitchenette and tested the hot and cold faucets. They worked, the water ran clear, and the hot water steamed impressively.

    "I get directives from above for what we need to get done, and I assign people according to their specifications and qualifications." He spoke crisply, no bullshit, all business. "If you need a day off for personal matters, let us know and we can move things around. If you want more work, same deal. Stay on long-term and you will accumulate leave hours and other benefits, according to the union rules."

    "Union rules?" She frowned. "I don't know anything about that." Never having been part of the workforce, she wasn't sure what 'leave hours' were either, but she didn't want to look like an idiot for asking.

    "It's not a huge deal." He gestured to himself. "I'm the union rep for the Dockworkers' Association, so I made sure there was a union agreement baked into the plan we're using. It basically assures that everybody gets paid fairly and on time, and that nobody gets screwed over by management decisions. Everyone who works for the Betterment Committee is by definition a member of the union."

    "So …" She tried to parse that through. "Some jerkass on the crew can't just fire me and kick me out of the city because he doesn't like my face, or because I used to be a villain?"

    "No, they can't." Again, his tone was firm, with no room for misunderstanding. "If anyone has a problem with you, they bring it to me. Likewise, if you have a problem with someone, you bring it to me. I review all sides of the case, see if there isn't some way the matter can be resolved without anyone being fired, and reach the fairest conclusion for everyone concerned. Either way, you'd be assigned an advocate in the matter, who'd make sure nothing's been left out on your side. And if it turned out that someone was trying to victimise you for their own benefit …" His expression hardened. "That person would very soon have his own problems to deal with."

    Ashley thought back to how she'd been driven out of Boston by the machinations of the other villains, undercut and betrayed by people she'd thought she could depend on. She'd had nobody on her side, nobody impartially reviewing the situation. They'd just decided they wanted her out, and thus she was out. This was a whole new, and thoroughly weird, take on the concept. I can tell this guy's never been a supervillain.

    While she was still trying to get her head around it, she thought of something else she wanted to ask. "Where do I buy stuff? Food, clothes, shoes?"

    "Ah, that's easy." His attitude had gone back to 'easy-going'. "When you walk out the front door, if you turn left there's a convenience store about three blocks down that sells basically everything you'll need for short notice groceries. It's been expanding recently, so they're getting more and more products in. For more serious shopping, there's a bus stop a block in the other direction, and the bus will take you to a strip mall about a mile away. If you can't find everything you need there, I will be sincerely astonished."

    And he already said my card had a couple of grand on it … wait. "I'm gonna need an ATM, to get cash out to pay for the bus." She doubted the bus driver would be happy to make change for a twenty, and she was never in the mood to take crap from people over shitty details like that.

    "Nope." He took his card out again, and pointed at a small symbol printed on it. "When you get on and off the bus, you tap the card on the reader that looks like this. It automatically deducts the fare."

    "What, really?" She'd vaguely heard about something like that but had never looked too closely at it. As far as she was concerned, it sounded too much like Tinker bullshit to go anywhere.

    "Absolutely. We started rolling it out shortly after we had the cards distributed. Once we get the ferry up and running again, it'll be working on the same system." He sounded quite pleased with himself.

    "Okay, so how about—" She was intending to ask what the guidelines for decorating the place were—there was no way she wanted to live someplace with sterile, blank walls for any length of time—when he whipped his phone out of his pocket and put it to his ear. She hadn't even heard it ring.

    "Hebert." His expression was rock-solid serious now. "Yes, she's with me now. Yes, I know where that is. We're five minutes away. I'll check." Holding the phone to his chest, he turned to her. "Ms Stillons, I know we haven't signed anything yet, but your assistance is needed. Are you willing to help?"

    This was it. This was the decision point. Now was the time when she figured out whether she was going to stay and work for the Betterment Committee or walk out and go her own way.

    Her rebellious soul pushed back against being under someone else's thumb, however lightly it pressed. Nobody tells me what to do! She'd always been her own boss, been the master of her own destiny, wherever it led.

    But …

    Her hands had been repaired without any strings attached. She'd been invited to Brockton Bay, not ordered. The apartment was all she could've asked for, and more. When she'd asked about the take-home pay, the figure Hebert had quoted was extremely adequate. And despite being under pressure, Hebert was asking, not ordering.

    She took a deep breath.

    "Yes."

    <><>​

    Danny

    The accident had not yet happened.

    It was going to happen, and soon. Nobody was going to die, not if he could help it, but everything was going to have to go just right.

    This was a wake-up call to him that his power was neither omniscient nor omnipotent. He saw things that the group effort was about to effect, and he could alter probabilities in minor ways to stave off problems before they happened. Since getting his power, he'd been able to consistently keep things ahead of schedule and below budget, and make sure nobody got hurt.

    Today, someone was going to get hurt.

    As he drove with white-knuckled intensity, he concentrated part of his mind on the building that the four-man crew was just walking into. Decrepit, shoddily built with low-grade concrete, it had always been slated for demolition. If he hadn't had his power, if he hadn't been interfering right at this second, they'd be walking into a death-trap. As it was, he could adjust their footsteps and hold off the inevitable collapse until all but one were out of harm's way.

    No matter how he ran the numbers, someone was going to get hurt. The only way out of it was to call them directly, but he didn't have a radio in the truck, an oversight that he intended to amend at the first opportunity. Using his phone to call someone who had a radio and patch through the warning that way was potentially possible, but people would still get hurt and his secret would be outed.

    He hated no-win situations.

    Maintaining the truck's performance at the very outer edge of its capabilities, manipulating the inexorable collapse of the building so that nobody was killed and only one was trapped, he drove on.

    <><>​

    Taylor

    I flushed the toilet for appearances' sake and unlocked the stall, then went across and washed my hands. Dressed once more in my school-going clothes, my plan was to go and read in the library until the bell rang for class again. Atropos wouldn't be needed until it was time to deal with the quarantine zones, after all.

    Just as I pushed the washroom door open and stepped into the corridor, Dad's face popped into my mind. He was under stress, and possibly needed assistance. I paid more attention, and details flowed into my mind: a building collapse that he wasn't quite able to forestall. Someone was going to be trapped.

    Got it.

    As I strolled casually along toward the library, I took my phone out. Victoria Dallon had never given me her number, but that was no obstacle. I tapped it in anyway, and waited for the response.

    "Hello?" Her tone was cautious, but that was only to be expected. I'd never actually called her before, after all.

    "Hello, Glory Girl. A building is in the process of collapsing on the corner of Webster and Patterson. One of the work crew that was checking it out will be trapped in the rubble. If you hurry, you'll be able to get there in time to help. Look for Danny Hebert. He'll be the tall guy with the hard hat." I kept my tone calm and even. No pressure, no demands. Just the facts.

    When she spoke next, she was all business. "Understood. Webster and Patterson. Tall guy with the hard hat. On it." The call ended.

    I put my phone away and continued toward the library. There was nothing else I'd be able to do to help, and I was interested in where the book I'd been reading was going with the narrative.

    <><>​

    Damsel of Distress

    Ashley was strongly considering the idea that Hebert had been a professional racing driver in a former lifetime. She wasn't scared—being who and what she was, nothing scared her (apart from Atropos)—but the way he whipped the truck around corners and gunned it through lights just ahead of the red, flashing lights and an atonal siren clearing the way, she was definitely impressed. And he'd kept doing it while talking on the phone.

    Not with it in his hand, of course; he'd slapped it into a holder on the dash when they tumbled into the pickup, before reaching into the back seat to grab paraphernalia for her. A hard hat, a pair of lightweight protective goggles, a high-vis vest, and a pair of work boots that were (astoundingly enough) of a size to fit even her petite feet. The phone had rung after they'd been on the road for a couple of rather hectic minutes, and he'd said, "Answer call," without taking his eyes off the road.

    The person on the other end had babbled about a collapsed building, and Hebert had just said, "I know. I'm on the way with help. Do what you can to keep everything stable."

    After that, he'd concentrated on driving, taking side-streets and back-alleys that she'd had no idea even existed before the vehicle dived into them, at speeds that had to be illegal. All she could do was hang on after pulling on the goggles and fitting the hard hat to her head. She had no idea how she looked with them on, but if anyone laughed, she was going to obliterate them.

    Hebert wasn't laughing. He drove up to a pile of rubble that still had a cloud of dust drifting away from it, and skidded the vehicle to a halt. From the back seat he produced a second hard hat and vest, which he put on as soon as he exited the vehicle. "Vest and boots, please," he said, eyes searching the ruins of the building.

    She put them on, if only because he'd said please, and moved on with him. Overhead, a slender figure topped by golden curls dropped out of the sky, swooping close as they began clambering over the rubble. Ashley initially ignored her, noting that the boots did a lot better job of protecting her feet than the sandals would have.

    "Atropos called me," the flying girl said. "How can I help?"

    "Of course she did," muttered Hebert, then raised his voice. "Thanks for coming, Glory Girl. Get us to the trapped man, then do what I say." He raised his left hand above his head, palm inward. Standing to his left, Ashley figured out what he was doing and raised her right arm in the same way.

    A moment later, Glory Girl took hold of both of them at once, fingers like vice grips closing on Ashley's wrist. She grabbed Glory Girl's wrist in turn, which took some of the strain off. Hebert grunted as they were lifted off the ground and carried a few dozen feet over the mound of rubble to where three dust-covered men stood around a dark hole about two feet in diameter.

    "Okay, now what?" asked Glory Girl as she let them go. She radiated a strong willingness to help. "Where's the trapped man?"

    "Down there," one of the dust-covered men said, pointing into the hole. "Says there's something lying across his back, but he can still move his toes."

    "I can lift some of it away," offered Glory Girl. "Clear it so you can pull him out."

    "No, that'll cause this stuff up here to cave in before you can get to him." Hebert pointed at the mound of rubble that was overshadowing them all. "Ms Stillons, can you take the top ten feet of that off, please?"

    Ashley looked at the heap of broken concrete, and smiled. "I thought you'd never ask." Holding up both hands, palm out, she called on the energy, the anger that had roiled inside her ever since she was forced to leave Boston. It erupted from her hands in a snarling, howling torrent of darkness, destroying the concrete that threatened to fall, concentrating where it didn't evaporate.

    Back and forth across the mound she played the twin cones of devastation, bringing the rubble down to a much more manageable height. Then, just because she could, she brought her index finger to her lips and blew imaginary smoke from the tip.

    "Excellent." Hebert's tone was no less sincere for being clipped and curt. "Perfect. Glory Girl, lift that slab there out of the way and hold it there. Gentlemen, clear that rubble away from on top of Alexander. Don't try to lift the beam."

    As they jumped to obey, Ashley stood watching with interest. This was the sort of teamwork she'd always wanted with her minions. To be the person who knew what call to make and when to make it.

    With the slab lifted and the rubble cleared, it became obvious that a heavy beam, one end broken off, was lying across Alexander's back. As far as she was concerned, he was lucky that whatever was under him had given way enough that it hadn't crushed him flat.

    "I can cut that beam off, if you want."

    As they looked at her, she realised with a shock that she was the one who'd spoken, who'd volunteered to help. Where did that come from?

    But Hebert was nodding. "I was just about to ask. If you could, sever it so we can lever it away."

    If I can, hah. You ain't seen nothing yet. She stepped up to Alexander and cupped her left hand around her right fist, with her right index finger pointing out like a gun barrel. Squinting her left eye, she sighted down her finger with her right. All of this was entirely unnecessary; she always knew where her blasts were going. But it looked all kinds of kickass.

    Using the narrowest blast she'd ever generated, she sliced through the concrete beam like a laser, only much cooler. It took just a few seconds, then she stepped back and let the big strong men deal with actually getting the cut-off chunk out of the way. Alexander groaned as they tried to move him, and Hebert told them to stop.

    "Glory Girl, in the back of my vehicle, there's a back-board. Do you know what one is?" She nodded, and he continued. "Good. Grab that, and the first-aid kit."

    "Sure thing." She lofted into the air and zoomed out of sight.

    "That was very well done," Hebert said to Ashley. "I can see you're extremely versatile. So, have you made up your mind as to whether you'll take the job or not?"

    "Say yes," croaked the guy called Alexander. "You're badass as hell."

    She smiled, soaking up the praise. It was only her due, of course.

    "Yeah," she said. "I think I will."



    End of Part Sixty-Nine
     
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    • Day's End
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    • Death by Chains said:
    And once again, we see how if Ashley was just a very slightly different person, the sudden turnaround her life has undergone in the last week or so would make her go back to her (habitable, furnished!) apartment (with a working TV and free (if slow) internet and a useable kitchen where she can finally cook actual meals made of real food and then take a nice long hot shower and change into clean clothes while she washes her other stuff!) and just... break down in tears. She has the necessities of life without having to resort to robbery-with-powers to get them, or worrying about her power randomly blowing them up once she got them. She's made use of her powers with precision and responsibility (albeit also a touch of unnecessary showing off) in a demonstrably productive fashion and been given praise and respect and gratitude for her efforts. Her life has ceased to fucking suck in almost all the imaginable ways!

    And that may well be the most insidious and awesome part of Path to Ending. It has almost completely destroyed a supervillain's reasons for being a villain... and apart from the surgical intervention by Panacea and Miss Medic, which I'll freely concede is no small thing in itself, it has accomplished all this through little more than the power of basic human kindness.
    Click to expand...
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    Day's End

    "This is where I am." Ashley gestured out through the windshield at the apartment building ahead. "Mr Hebert was showing me through it earlier."

    "Ah, cool." Lacey, the woman driving the minibus, was solid and chunky, but she had an infectious smile and she seemed to not recognise Ashley as a notorious supervillain. On one level that irritated Ashley slightly, but on another it heartened her. "I remember when we were fixing this place up. We went through it like a dose of salts, found every damn thing that was wrong with it, and fixed it. If Kurt and me didn't already have a place, I wouldn't mind living there."

    "It seems like a worthwhile place." She considered it more than that, especially since the Betterment Committee had specifically renovated it for the purpose.

    The minibus came to a halt, and Ashley opened the passenger side door and climbed out. Lacey handed her the large paper bag full of her work paraphernalia, then waved as she closed the door. "See you 'round, hero girl."

    That jolted something in her chest, especially as the other guys in the back of the minibus joined in with raucous cheers. The minibus drove off, leaving her standing at the curb, staring after it with the bag in her hand. I'm not a hero. I'm a supervillain. But she couldn't forget the grin on Lacey's face, or the approving looks on the faces of her work colleagues.

    Turning, she approached the door, then dug out the card and tapped the reader. The door clicked open, and she went inside. She knew which apartment she'd been assigned. It wasn't the exact same one as she'd been shown, but by the time she rode up in the elevator and found it, she couldn't tell the difference.

    Letting the door close behind her, she left her bag and the twisted remnant of the Woad Giant on the small table in the living area and went into the bedroom. Upturning the paper bag, she dumped the contents on the mattress. High-vis vest, several sets of overalls in her size, the work boots she'd worn to rescue Alexander, a hard hat and safety goggles. Socks fell out last of all. All provided to protect her.

    She frowned, and spent several minutes pulling all the packaging and tags off the new clothing, and hanging them up in the closet. Going through into the bathroom, she investigated the washer-dryer and found a tiny bottle of washing liquid, good for maybe two washes. Good enough. From her bag, she pulled out her spare dress and the several sets of underwear that she washed when she got the chance. These went into the washer-dryer, along with the correct amount of liquid, then she started it going.

    The packaging went into the trash can she found in the kitchenette, then she took her card and let herself out of the apartment. Going downstairs in the lift that was still miraculously working, she went outside and turned left. The three blocks were not a difficult walk, and she found the convenience store readily enough.

    She could see what Mr Hebert had been talking about regarding the store expanding into new products. It looked like they were trying a bit of everything, to see what their customers liked. The proprietors, an Asian couple, greeted her when she came in and asked if there was anything in particular she was looking for. She opted to look for herself and browsed around the store, coming up with a selection of fruit and other snacks, plus a couple of tasty-looking prepackaged meals.

    There'd been a microwave in the kitchenette, so she grabbed a frozen pizza as well. No, she didn't have any issues about that at all.

    It was still a little bit of a shock to just swipe the card and enter the PIN, and have it beep cheerfully and accept the total. The couple thanked her for shopping in their store and invited her to come back anytime. She didn't say anything as she left, mainly because she wasn't sure what to say to that. Just like the word 'please' didn't appear in her vocabulary, the phrase 'thank you' was pretty damn rare as well.

    She walked back to the apartment, went upstairs, and stashed her groceries in the fridge. The washer had finished its load, so she switched it to dryer mode and started it going again.

    There was still something missing.

    Downstairs again, but this time she turned right. After a block of walking, she came to the bus stop. The bus came shortly after, so quickly that she suspected that she'd timed it perfectly, by sheer accident. Of course, she'd never admit that to anyone.

    She had ridden on some pretty crappy buses in her time. The one from Stafford to Brockton Bay was kind of middle-of-the-road, but this one was top of the line. The tap-on reader was there when she climbed on board; it beeped cheerfully when she tapped it. She sat down in a comfortable seat where she could see out through the windshield, grabbed a moulded plastic handhold, and waited until it drove off.

    The strip mall was easy to pick out. She tapped off as she descended to the sidewalk—it was amazing how easy it was to form that habit—and headed into the anchor store for the whole lot, a mid-range department store. The food situation was dealt with for the moment—she would get actual ingredients in at some point and teach herself how to fucking cook because now she could—so she was in the market for clothes. And shoes.

    Again, nobody seemed to remark on her pure white hair or obvious resemblance to a notorious supervillain, leaving her feeling a little off-balance. She picked out a couple of dresses in her preferred style, plus a pair of jeans and a couple of black T-shirts with Goth themes to them, then rounded her purchases out with a couple of pairs of shoes and some more underwear.

    Again, her card happily paid for the lot without hesitation. It was almost like a magic wand; just wave it, and everything was dealt with. She pushed that thought away. There was no such thing as a magic wand in her world. Everything went to suck eventually. It always did.

    She went to the bus stop, and was pleasantly surprised when one turned up in relatively short order. A tall black guy got up out of his seat and offered it to her, leaving his two sisters sitting in the seat behind, chatting up a storm about every inane topic under the sun. Though she couldn't help wondering if she'd met the younger of the pair somewhere before. There was something about her voice …

    She got back to the apartment, nodded to the black guy for letting her have his seat, then tapped off the bus and started back to the apartment. The two younger girls waved at her on the way past as the bus drove off. She kept walking, and let herself into the apartment block, feeling as though she'd walked ten miles.

    The elevator was nice going up—no need for stairs—and letting herself into her apartment actually allowed some of the tension to leach out of her muscles. It had been a long day, and the stress from all the new and unexpected stimuli was starting to get to her. With the door firmly closed behind her, she took her new purchases into the bedroom and put them away as well. Her underwear looked weird in the drawer next to the fuzzy socks, but it would just have to deal.

    Toiletries would be next on her shopping list, she figured. But the bathroom held generic ones, so that was good enough right now. Stripping down and dropping her clothing in the laundry hamper, she tried out her new shower for the first time.

    It was heavenly.

    Holding her head under the spray so the hot needles of water could massage her scalp, she leaned her elbows against the tiled wall with her eyes closed, feeling the water run down over her face. More and more of her tension eased the longer she held that position, until she finally turned and let it work its magic on the back of her neck and down her back. Swiping water out of her eyes, she applied shampoo, then body wash, then conditioner.

    Her hair never got dirty; or rather, if it did, she could blast it clean. She could even do the same with herself. But that wasn't the same as having a shower, especially one that felt like lasers scouring every last bit of sweat and dirt and ick off her body. And when she turned her back on it and rolled her shoulders under the stinging spray, she could feel the tension in her back and neck muscles just melting away.

    She had to get out eventually, and so she did. An exorbitantly fluffy towel was there to envelop her admittedly skinny body and remove all the clinging moisture, after which she went to the washer-dryer and took out the still-warm clothing she'd just washed. Dressed and feeling human once more, working her brush through her hair, she went to the fridge and took out the frozen pizza.

    Her stomach rumbled, just looking at it. She took great pleasure in unboxing it and putting it into the microwave oven, then leaned back against the bench and brushed her hair while it went around and around and cheese melted and bubbled, sending its delicious odours right to her hindbrain.

    When the microwave dinged, she took the pizza out and placed it on the table. There was a basic sharp knife in the cutlery drawer, so she used that to carve out a slice. Taking up the remote, she turned the TV on and settled into a comfortable chair next to the table. As the screen lit up and a news talking head appeared, she allowed herself to take the first luxurious bite of food prepared in her kitchen, in her apartment.

    She chewed and swallowed, the taste explosion in her mouth bringing tears to her eyes of sheer pleasure. A click on the remote brought up a movie, one she'd seen before, but she liked it anyway. As the hero hung upside down from a helicopter, spraying machine-gun fire at the bad guy, she took another bite of pizza. It was just as good as the first time.

    A strange feeling overcame her. She couldn't really place it, but the best she could describe it was that there was not one goddamn thing wrong with her life right now.

    And she was absolutely not crying, because she did not cry. The pizza was too hot, or something.

    Yeah, that was it.

    She kept eating the pizza anyway, because it was too damn good to waste, while tears rolled down her cheeks.
     
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    • Part Seventy: Clearing the Air
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    • A Darker Path

    Part Seventy: Clearing the Air

    [A/N 1: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]

    [A/N 2: This one just kept growing and growing, and there was no good place to split it up, so you have a monster sized chapter this time. Woo!]

    Relevant Side Story

    Relevant Side Story

    Relevant Side Story


    Three Supervillains

    "It's unfair, that's what it is!"

    "I know it is, Gina, but what are we going to do about it? She kills anyone who comes after her."

    "She won't kill me, Bethany."

    "That's right, she won't kill Ryan! She can't! Nobody can!"

    "Okay, fine, but how are we going to get to where she is?"

    "I know the four places she'll be around midnight tonight. The quarantine sites."

    "Ooh, good thinking, Ryan!"

    "Yeah, but which one do we go to, Gina?"

    "Gary. It's closest, and my mom will drive us."

    "And what do we do when she shows up? She shoots people."

    "We don't attack her. We distract her, and Ryan takes her down."

    "I can do that."

    "If you're sure about that …"

    "Well, how else am I supposed to get back into the top ratings if we don't put her out of the running? She's been hogging them for the last two months!"

    "I guess …"

    <><>​

    Glory Girl

    "Nearly home."

    Vicky spoke loudly enough for Amy to hear her through the headphones she was wearing. It used to be that Amy would enjoy flying almost as much as Vicky did, but these days, she seemed to prefer putting music on and just chilling with her eyes closed for the duration of the flight. In fact, she was overall a lot more relaxed and happier than she had been for … well, years.

    While Vicky tried not to think about it specifically, this change in her sister's attitude seemed to line up altogether too close to their first, disastrous encounter with Atropos. She was almost sure it was a coincidence … but she'd seen far too much of how Atropos operated to assume anything at all was a coincidence around her. Amy had also been sneaking out to meet Atropos (or being picked up by her; Vicky wasn't clear on that bit) which was the weirdest bit. Amy claimed to dislike Atropos, and she normally couldn't lie to save her life … so why was she happier now?

    Not that Vicky could really claim to be any more consistent. She'd actively lobbied to go off on the last escapade with Atropos and Amy, and had been surprised at the amount of disappointment she felt when she was denied the chance. And then, when Atropos had called her during lunch break, she hadn't even hesitated to fly off and be the hero of the hour.

    Not that she'd been able to hang around long after getting the back-board up to the injured guy. Mr Hebert, the tall guy, had been talking to the young woman with blaster powers, Ms Stillons, about smoothing out a track to get them back down to ground level, so she wasn't even really needed for that. As it was, she'd only just got back to Arcadia in time for class.

    As she let Amy down on her feet, her sister gave her a smile. "Thanks. Just gonna go check on Smaug. Make sure he didn't get lonely without me."

    "He's a lizard, Ames. He probably slept all day." But Amy was already gone, dashing into the house.

    Vicky sighed and rolled her eyes. Sometimes, it seemed that Amy spent more time talking to the bearded dragon (who was admittedly kinda cute) than to the rest of her family. Still, if having a pet was what had given her a new lease on happiness, as opposed to her occasional association with Atropos, Vicky was all for that. Ames had saved too many people to count from various medical afflictions; she deserved a little happiness of her own.

    She went inside and waved to her father on the way through to the kitchen. He waved back, then returned to watching TV. The flight home had given her a case of dry-mouth, so she poured herself a glass of juice then came back out to the living room. "What are you watching?"

    "Game show." He snorted. "They're asking cape questions, and half the official answers are wrong."

    "Why does that not surprise me?" Vicky sat down to watch. As she drank the juice, she thought over the decision she'd made and wondered how badly it would impact him. Even though he's the one who put the idea into my head.

    Amy came downstairs after a little while to grab some cookies, then went back up. Mark found a news channel and started watching that instead. Vicky put her glass in the sink, then got her homework out and started doing it.

    Carol arrived home a little after five, the car easing into the garage and the door rumbling down. Vicky was nearly done with her homework, but now she couldn't focus anymore. She'd keyed herself up for this moment for so long that all she could think of was the words she needed to say.

    Leaving the open books on the table, she headed upstairs as the connecting door from the garage opened. Mark greeted Carol, but all Vicky heard was the rumble of his voice, no words. Heading along to Amy's door, she knocked on it. "Hey, Ames. You busy?"

    "Not really." She heard footsteps on carpet, then the door opened. "Why? What's up?"

    "Come downstairs for a second?" Vicky grimaced. The moment was accelerating closer and closer like a runaway freight train, and the impact was likely to be considerable. "There's something I want to say to everyone, and I think you need to be there. That way you won't be left out of the loop when Mom starts yelling at me."

    "What? Why?" Amy blinked. "What's going on, Vicky? We don't have any secrets, remember?" She paused, too late. "Uh—"

    Vicky raised her eyebrows. "Right. Like sneaking out with Atropos. Listen, I want to catch Mom before she locks herself in her study. Please come down now?"

    Amy had gone pink at the reminder of her indiscretion, and now she nodded. "Okay, fine. You twisted my arm." She stepped out of her room and closed the door behind her. "Let's go see what revelation you have for the maternal unit." She tilted her head sideways, peering at Vicky. "You're not gay." It wasn't a question.

    "No. And don't pry." Vicky led the way downstairs. "Uh, Mom?"

    She'd gotten to the bottom of the stairs just in time; Carol turned back from the corridor leading to her study. "Yes, Victoria? Is this important?"

    "I think it is." Vicky braced herself. "Mom, Dad, Amy, I have an announcement to make. Can we turn the TV off for a second, please?"

    Mark frowned mildly, but did as he was asked; the TV went dark. "What is it, Vicky?"

    "I …" Vicky took a deep breath. "I want to start working after school for the Betterment Committee." That wasn't all she intended to say, but it was a good beginning.

    "What?" Carol blinked. "That … well, that'll cut into your patrol times, but we can manage it, certainly. Why the big fuss over it?"

    "Because that's not all I want to do." In for a penny, in for a pound. "I'll be turning eighteen this year. When I finish school—" As it was, there were only three months left in the school year. "—I want to either go full-time into working for them, or if I've decided that's not for me, I want to leave Brockton Bay and go to Boston or New York and join the Wards or Protectorate there. Where I can actually make a difference."

    Stunned silence reigned within the house for the exact amount of time it took Carol Dallon to draw in an outraged breath. "What?"

    For his part, Mark looked at Vicky, then evidently recalled the conversation they'd had where he'd suggested doing this exact thing. She didn't know now whether he'd been just trying to cheer her up, or even if he'd thought she would never go through with it, but he didn't seem to have anything to say about it. When Carol looked at him for support, he just shrugged as if to say, I got nothing.

    Carol tried again. "You can't do that! You're part of New Wave!" Vicky got the impression that to her, this was an unimpeachable argument. New Wave was the beginning and end of it.

    "I can and I will." Vicky had been willing to entertain logical arguments, but 'you can't' was just plain denial.

    "You're a minor!"

    "I'll be eighteen!"

    "I forbid it!"

    Vicky felt her temper rising, but she stopped before she could say something she would later look back on and cringe. Holding up her hands, she breathed in and out a couple of times until she felt in control again. "Mom, you can't 'forbid' me from doing something like that. I'm not five anymore."

    The look of betrayal in Carol's eyes cut her to the quick. "Victoria, you're still my child, living under my roof."

    "I could move out." It was more of a rebuttal than a threat.

    "Where would you go?" It wasn't quite a 'gotcha', but from the look in her eyes, Carol hoped it was.

    Unexpectedly, Amy fielded that one. "The, uh, Betterment Committee has cheap accommodation for its workers." She folded her arms and looked away as everyone stared at her.

    "And you would know that … why?" asked Vicky.

    "That's what I heard, anyway," Amy mumbled.

    Hmm. Exactly what have you been talking to Atropos about? "And that's where I'll go." Vicky squared her shoulders, grateful for the out. "But I'm not doing it now. I just wanted to tell you what my plans were."

    Carol took the opportunity to also regain her poise. "Victoria, what's brought this on? Why do you want to leave the team?"

    A question that wasn't an accusation in disguise, she could answer. "I talked about this with Dad a while ago. I feel like I'm just spinning my wheels here, yelling at jaywalkers. Without the gangs as an issue, the cops are actually able to keep on top of crime a lot easier. Pretty soon, we'll be calling dibs on muggers. I want to do something where my powers can make a difference, like working for the Betterment Committee here or fighting crime in one of those cities where they've still got supervillains." The last four words sounded so weird to say, but she said them anyway.

    Carol turned her attention to Mark. "You advised her to do this?" Why? her tone seemed to ask.

    Mark stood up so he didn't have to keep twisting his neck around to participate. "She was drowning her sorrows in ice-cream, and I gave her a little pep-talk about growing up and moving on, maybe updating her image. I didn't think she was totally serious about going to another city then, but to be honest, I can see her point. When was the last time we even heard a gunshot, out on patrol?"

    "But …" Carol seemed to be at a loss now. "What about Dean? I thought you were going to … well, you make a very nice couple, is what I'm saying."

    Vicky shook her head. "I broke up with Dean. He wasn't honest with me about some stuff, and we're through." It was more than that, but she didn't want to bring that up here. Finding out that Dean had had his powers given to him by drinking a vial from the semi-mythical Cauldron had been bad enough, but he'd once lied to her about it, described a fake trigger event. She needed to move on from him, and being in the same city didn't help.

    Carol didn't argue about that, but she did switch back to her main point. "This is our team. We've put our lives into it. We've shed blood for it. How can you just walk away from it now?"

    Vicky debated whether to tell her that New Wave had been based on a failed premise from the beginning. In her own head, it sounded cruel, but was it worth it, to pull the Band-aid off quickly? Or would Carol take it as another betrayal?

    Amy raised her hand. "Um … maybe this isn't the best time for this, but I'm thinking about stepping back from the team. From being a hero."

    "What?" And there's the other shoe. I wondered where that came from.

    "What?" This one did seem to take Mark aback.

    "What?" Carol's reaction was the most dramatic, possibly because of the one-two punch. "How can you stop being a hero? I was okay with you having a girlfriend in the Rogues, but now this? I thought we were getting better. We were getting better!"

    "We're totally getting better, but …" Amy hesitated. "I want to go rogue. I want to do more with my powers than just heal people." She grimaced, as though she knew the next bit would not get a great reaction. "And, you know, maybe get paid for it?"

    "Do more?" Mark sounded puzzled. "You're a healer. That's what you do."

    "Paid?" Carol was a little slower off the mark, possibly because she had stalled on that word. It was one thing to get money for team sponsorships, Vicky mused now that the heat was off her, but quite another to be paid simply for using one's powers. "Why do you want to get paid?"

    "Because that's what happens when normal people use their skills to help others," Amy retorted, showing more gumption than Vicky had seen her using in quite some time. "And if I'm not lining up with the rest of the team as Panacea, then I'm going to need some kind of income." She paused for a moment then added, "Also, I'm not just a healer. I never have been."

    "So, what do you want to do with your powers that you haven't been doing before?" Vicky was honestly curious. She knew about Amy's ability to reverse ageing, but that was basically healing the damage done by time … wasn't it?

    Amy ticked off points on her fingers. "Custom houseplants, like fluorescent roses. Rainbow poodles. Cosmetic surgery. Turning off the genetic propensity for weight gain, or turning it on for people who want to gain weight. Instant-growing trees for the Betterment Committee."

    From the way they were staring at her, she may as well have grown a second head and started declaiming the Necronomicon in Klingon. Vicky wasn't sure about her parents, but she'd had no idea what was coming when Amy started speaking. "… and you've always been able to do all that?"

    "Sure." Amy held her hands out, palm up. "Healing is the tiniest fraction of what I can do. Fixing an organism back to its original template? That's easy. And boring. Imagine if da Vinci had only been allowed to do charcoal sketches of fruit baskets on three-by-five cards, his entire life. That's me. That's what I've been doing."

    Mark frowned. "So … when you said you couldn't do brains …?" His voice held a mixture of doubt and hope.

    "I said that because I don't want to do brains." Amy's voice was firm. "There's so much interconnected stuff going on there. Memories and skills and thoughts and attitudes and likes and dislikes and … everything. I could totally do stuff, but I don't. There's the privacy issue, for one thing. And then there's the chance that I do something for someone, and they decide to sue me because they say I did it wrong. How can I prove I didn't? One of the things you always taught me was that you can't prove a negative. Broken arm? Any doctor can prove in thirty seconds it's not broken anymore. Coffee now tastes like week-old urine? I can't disprove that kind of allegation."

    Carol frowned and pulled out her phone. "I'm calling Sarah. We need to get the whole family in on this." She pointed at Vicky. "And don't think for a moment that you're off the hook, young lady."

    "Wait a moment." Mark raised his hand. "Carol, maybe we need to step back a little on this, and take a breath before we say or do something we might regret later."

    "What do you mean?" Carol tilted her head. "Don't tell me you're on their side in all this?"

    "I'm saying there doesn't need to be an us-and-them side. Carol, honey, look at them." Mark gestured toward Vicky and Amy. "We've raised two wonderful girls, but they're almost adults now. Vicky's always been headstrong, and Amy seems to have picked it up along the way. If we push back now, all we're going to achieve is to shove them further away from us. What I'm saying is, maybe it's time to think about compromise?"

    "Compromise." Carol said it like a dirty word, but she wasn't bristling as much anymore. Her lips compressed as she looked at Vicky and Amy, then she drew in air through her nostrils. "Okay. Let's sit down and talk this through one step at a time. Come on."

    Vicky glanced at Amy as they all sat down in the living room. Neither one spoke, though Amy raised her eyebrows hopefully. Vicky wasn't that optimistic, but she was willing to see where the chips fell.

    <><>​

    2330 Eastern Standard Time

    Charlotte

    Dressed in her Atropos costume, Charlotte eased out through the back door and let it close behind her. Heart thumping along at about seventeen beats a second, she pulled it carefully until the latch engaged with a click that sounded almost as loud as a gunshot in the quiet night air. Freezing in place, she waited for any noises from inside or lights coming on, but nothing happened.

    Letting out a long breath, she stepped down from the porch then froze again as part of the darkness moved toward her. Her heart rate momentarily tripled, then steadied down again as she made out the faint white triangle of Atropos' shirt front, bisected by the tie. Not for the first time, she wondered if she was really cut out for what she'd signed up to do.

    "Hi," murmured the shadowy killer. Unlike Charlotte, she seemed entirely at home in the darkness. "Are you ready for this? Remember the script?"

    "Y-yes," whispered Charlotte. The folded piece of paper had mysteriously ended up in her backpack, and she'd spent the afternoon and evening memorising what it said, re-reading it at every opportunity until the words floated in her mind's eye.

    "Good." A hand closed over her shoulder. "Turn to your left and walk forward."

    Obeying Atropos' voice and the urging of her hand, Charlotte turned to her left and walked forward. Between one step and the next, everything changed; the night noises, the light level, even the ambient temperature. She was standing on a rooftop, vaguely illuminated by lights from below, of which there seemed to be more than a few.

    "Wh-where are we?" she asked.

    "The outskirts of Gallup, New Mexico." Atropos' voice was steady and reassuring. The hand lifted off her shoulder and pointed over an area where a bunch of buildings seemed to have been demolished. "The quarantine site is that way. Go toward the biggest bunch of PRT vans you can see."

    "And what do I do when I get there?" Charlotte was starting to get nervous all over again.

    "Get to the front lines of the PRT. Don't push or shove, just say, 'coming through'. They'll step aside for you. Go to where the lights and cameras are. Step into view at twenty minutes to midnight, which is twenty to ten where we are right now. Quote the script. Once everything starts moving, do that flourish you've been practicing with the shears, then step into the portal."

    Charlotte felt weak in the knees. She'd gotten her hands on a genuine pair of bodice shears, and she'd been practicing a flourish with them every chance she got. But to find out that not only did Atropos know about it, but she also approved … wow.

    "Uh … what portal?" she belatedly asked.

    "There'll be a portal." Atropos gestured. "Fire escape's that way. Time's a-ticking."

    "Right, right." Charlotte headed in that direction, eyes searching the darkness for the ladder. Pausing, she looked back over her shoulder. "How are you going to do the other three zones if I'm doing this one?"

    Atropos' form was just a silhouette against the faintly illuminated sky. "Pastor was going to hold out to the last minute, but he lost his nerve two hours ago. Released his hold over the people in Freedom, then speed-walked out of his zone before they came all the way to their senses. Submitted to arrest and let them slap the cuffs on. The PRT has people checking his victims out. I can handle the other two pretty easily."

    "Oh." Charlotte took one more step, then found the top of the fire escape. "Okay, I'm heading down now."

    There was no answer; she glanced back again, and saw nobody on the rooftop.

    Well, shit. I'm definitely on my own now.

    By the time she got to the bottom, her eyes had adjusted to the darkness and she picked her way across the cleared ground toward where the PRT vehicles were clustered around what she figured was the main entrance to the Gallup quarantine zone.

    Atropos, she figured, didn't run. She was always right where she needed to be, at the correct time. So she moved forward at a steady, deliberate pace. No rush, no fluster.

    Twice she encountered troopers moving around in a steady, purposeful manner. Each time, when they saw her, she gave them a nod of respect and kept going. The troopers just stood and watched her go by. Nobody tried to stop her.

    When she got closer to where the lights were, she saw it was a temporary stage set up between two PRT vans. They looked like they had a good view of the main entrance, and there were cameras trained on the men up on the stage. One looked like a politician, and the other was a PRT officer in full armour, but holding his helmet under his arm. As far as she could tell, they were conducting a TV interview while they were waiting for Atropos.

    Or, you know, her representative.

    Palming her phone out of her pocket, she checked the time then dropped it back in. She had thirty seconds to be in place, so she moved forward. There were troopers guarding the steps leading up to the stage, and one stepped in her way. "I can't let you … uhh …" He hesitated when he saw who she was pretending to be.

    "Coming through, trooper." She tried to sound uncompromising, the way Atropos would be in this situation.

    "Uh, yes, ma'am." He stepped back out of the way.

    "Thank you." She climbed the steps onto the stage, trying not to let her knees shake.

    Lights bathed her. Both the politician and the PRT officer turned to see who had intruded, and fell silent. Ahead of her, on the other side of the barricades, massive floodlights illuminated the capes inside the Gallup quarantine zone. They'd taken over a seven square mile area south of I-40 and turned it into their own personal fiefdom, but now she got the impression they were a lot less sure about their position.

    Ignoring the two men, she stepped up to the microphone. The script that she'd read and re-read compulsively came back to her. Switch microphone to public address. There was a switch with a setting marked PA, so she clicked it that way.

    Let them sweat for a moment. She could do that.

    When you talk, do it slowly and steadily. Don't rush. Don't try to be menacing. You're explaining the facts of life to them. To you, it's no big deal.

    "About twenty-four hours ago, you were warned that I was coming here," she said. "You were given the choice to either evacuate, surrender or die."

    Her words rolled out over the quarantine zone. Not a voice raised in protest. Even the night insects were quiet.

    "The way I see it, right now you're being given the option to surrender or die. No way to just leave. Well, let's fix that." She turned to the PRT officer. "Have your men stand down. Open a corridor through the PRT lines. If any of them want to leave, let them."

    "I can't do that!" he protested. "Those are dangerous villains! I …"

    Don't argue. Don't push back. Just look at him.

    "I … um … very well." He took a radio and spoke into it, giving orders.

    "This can't be what the Chief Director wanted," the politician said, sounding worried.

    Be matter of fact. "She asked me to clear the zone. Didn't specify how. This is the most efficient way."

    That's the carrot. Now the stick. She turned back to the microphone. "As you can see, a way is being cleared for you to just leave, but there is a catch! As of right now, you are all on your second warnings. Submit to arrest, and you're fine. You may choose to leave, but if you deliberately commit even one felony from this moment on, I will know about it, I will know who you are, and I will murder you in a gruesome yet ironically amusing fashion. Same goes for if you choose to stay inside the zone."

    Pause to let that sink in.

    "So, if you think you can manage to go straight, feel free to head for the tall timber. Otherwise, I'd suggest you come and have a heart-to-heart with these friendly PRT troopers here instead. I'm sure they've got some nice comfortable jail cells all warmed up for you."

    As she stepped back from the microphone, she could see the look of comprehension on the PRT officer's face. Some would almost certainly choose to walk, but the vast majority would peacefully surrender to the troopers amassed for the occasion. "Go ahead and open the gates."

    Orders were given, and the gates rolled aside. The capes inside, few if any in recognisable costumes, started forward into the wide laneway that had been cleared for them, that led all the way out past the PRT troopers. Charlotte wondered which ones were going to make a run for it, and which would surrender.

    The wave parted, going to the left and right. She saw men and women putting their hands up and approaching the PRT officers. Others, seeing the way the trend was going, did the same.

    "God damn," the officer said, shaking his head. "I had no idea what you were doing, but … no, this works. This really works."

    "Give my regards to the Chief Director." Charlotte took her shears out and performed the flourish she'd worked so hard at perfecting. "Toodles." Right on schedule, the portal opened before her, and she stepped into it.

    As it closed behind her, she looked around to see her bedroom, the night-light glowing gently in the wall plug. The shears slid from her fingers and bounced off the floor. Staggering to the bed, she sat down heavily on the mattress. "Oh, my God. I did it." Slightly unhinged laughter bubbled up from her throat. "I did it. They really thought I was Atropos. Hoooooly shit."

    Reaching up with shaking hands, she loosened the tie and pulled it off, then started on the rest of the costume. She had to take three stabs at it before she finally got it undone, then she got up and removed the whole thing. It felt like forever before she had it folded and stored away at the back of her closet, not helped by the occasional fit of near-hysterical giggles.

    She took even longer to get to sleep.

    I wonder how Atropos did with the other two zones …

    <><>​

    Atropos

    I'd always known that Gallup would be the 'safe' zone. All I had to do was get Charlotte there, have her say her lines, and teleport her home. Just the effect of 'my' presence, and the speech she gave, would promote the effect that I needed. Having the teleporter project its starting and ending points at some distance from the actual unit wasn't something I wanted to do very often, mainly because it took somewhat longer to allow even a short jump afterward, but there were factors involved that wouldn't allow me to pull it off in any other way.

    Allowing my power to time my movements precisely to hers, so that anyone watching the footage side by side would have trouble determining who was in which location, I walked onto the raised platform that had been set up a little distance from the main entrance to the Gary quarantine zone. Director Hearthrow of the Chicago PRT was talking in low tones to the officer nominally in charge of the area, as well as a tall rangy PRT officer whom my power identified as James Tagg. They all turned to look at me as I showed up.

    I knew damn well that the capes inside the Gary zone were watching to see what the hell was going on. All the troops on the outside were on high alert, full armour, heavily armed. If I went in there and started killing, there would be a concerted effort at a breakout, and PRT personnel would die.

    I preferred my way. Better optics. Also, the only enemy I was going to face wasn't going to come from inside.

    Stepping past the three men, I raised the bullhorn I'd had slung over my shoulder the whole time. My power mimicked Charlotte's tone of voice, as well as the exact words she was using, all the way down to the microsecond pauses. When the PRT ran them side by side (and they would), they wouldn't be able to tell the difference. "About twenty-four hours ago, you were warned that I was coming here …"

    When I gave the order to open a lane, I directed it to the officer in charge. He glanced at Hearthrow, who looked like a deer frozen in the headlights, then at Tagg. Tagg nodded once, briefly. "Do it." Then he turned to me. "Interesting strategy. Did the Chief Director okay it?" The tone of his voice said quite clearly this isn't how I'd do it, but I'm willing to watch and learn.

    "She asked me to clear the zone," I said. "Didn't specify how. This is the most efficient way." We both knew who 'she' was. I raised the bullhorn again. "As you can see, a way is being cleared for you to just leave …"

    As I clarified, I saw the smile spread across his face. He'd gambled, and it had paid off. Those villains who didn't hand themselves into PRT custody would be my responsibility, and God have mercy on their souls. I knew this, because I could hear him explaining it to Hearthrow and the officer in a low tone while I spoke.

    Stepping back, I gave the order for the gates to be opened. Many would've snuck out in the last twenty-four hours, and they'd be exempt from my two-strikes rule, but those who came out now knew damn well that they were living under my sufferance. The few who took the route to freedom would do their utmost to go straight, I knew that much.

    It was almost time for the next act in this little play. I slung the bullhorn as I watched the capes emerge and make the decision whether to try for freedom or settle for incarceration. Time ticked down and I pulled out my shears. The flourish was apparently based on what I'd done now and again on camera, and it wasn't too bad; again, I performed it exactly in time with Charlotte.

    "No!" The word rang out behind me, high-pitched with anger and the fact that it was coming from a child's throat. At the same time, two explosions knocked the few PRT troopers behind us sprawling.

    I turned, concealing the fact that I'd just slipped a tiny tub of Riley's preparation out of my pocket and dosed the tip of the shears with it. Still idly twirling them, the tub back in my pocket, I took stock of the three kids who'd just shown up. "Oh, hey," I said. "Shouldn't you three be in bed? School night and all."

    "Fuck school and fuck you!" Bambina stomped the ground and kicked off with an explosion. She wasn't heading for me, but for Tagg, who'd started to pull a pistol. The explosion she created when she landed sent all three men sprawling; the pistol skittered across the ground.

    "Careful," I said mildly. "You could hurt someone, doing that."

    "Bambina and me aren't here to hurt you," Starlet said, tossing a few of her explosive darts, knocking more men over. "That's August Prince's job."

    The kid in question, serious looking with a widow's peak, stalked toward me, carrying a mace. "You made Bambina look bad. So, I'm gonna make you look bad."

    I sighed and addressed everyone who was capable of listening. "See, this is the problem with kid supervillains. Nobody wants to fight them, because if you win you've beaten up on a kid, and if you lose, you just lost to a kid. They get overconfident."

    "Shut up!" yelled Bambina.

    Starlet tossed a dart my way. It wasn't going to come close enough to do more than knock me sprawling, but I wasn't playing that game. Drawing my pistol, I shot it out of the air, causing a premature explosion that made her stagger backward.

    "You want to know why I haven't given you any warnings yet?" I asked. August Prince swung the mace. I swayed out of the way. "Because you're no threat. I'm not going to kill you. I'm not even going to hurt you." He swung again; while he was still recovering, I got my phone out and took a selfie with him.

    "Shut up and lose already!" Bambina had been bouncing around the perimeter, raising explosions, and now she came for me. She couldn't hit close enough to August Prince to harm him, but she wanted to ragdoll me into the air, so I'd be vulnerable when I came down.

    I wasn't playing that game, either. When August Prince's next swing came past, I let my power take the reins and pluck the mace out of his hand. The same movement allowed my shears to open a shallow cut on his hand. Then I threw the mace hard at Bambina, catching her in the solar plexus; she went down in a coughing, gasping heap. "Well, much, anyway," I added.

    Starlet went to throw another dart and I shot that one out of the air too, close enough to smash her to the ground with her own explosion. I took two long strides to get to Bambina, got a selfie with her, then sliced her hand with the shears while I was grabbing the mace. Behind me, August Prince pulled his pistol and aimed at my back, but I threw the mace without looking, clobbering him in the face.

    Starlet was just struggling to her feet when I reached her. I kicked her legs out from under her, took a selfie, then nicked her hand with the shears. Then I put my phone away and picked her up by the front of her costume, dragging her over to where the other two were.

    "Of course," I announced, "what I just said about not wanting to fight kids doesn't apply to me. I don't fight. I end fights. And powers." Raising a hand, I gestured to the PRT troopers, who were just now getting themselves back into order. "All yours, now."

    My teleporter still had a few minutes to go before it would be ready to take me anywhere, so I sheathed my shears, put my hands in my pockets and pretended to chill while the PRT troopers took the three little shitheads into custody.

    Bambina was the first to try to use her power to escape, and the shocked look on her face was worth the entire fight. "My powers! What've you done with my powers?"

    "You attacked me while knowing I kill powers." I shrugged. "Sounds like consent to be depowered to me. What do you think, Tagg? Same?"

    Dusting himself off and setting his cap on straight, he stepped up alongside me. I noted that his pistol was back in its holster. "I think these little delinquents deserve whatever punishment you chose to deal to them. When you get to the point where the opposition has thrown all civilised rules out the window, the only winning move can be to reply in kind."

    "That's basically been my business model from the start, yeah. Though I'm curious as to what you think about the way I've been doing things. When you get too well known as the person who kills assholes really, really effectively, it's hard to get honest feedback."

    He chuckled briefly, harshly. "I hear what you're saying. I got a lot of flak from the way I dealt with the Lausanne Simurgh victims. Still do, occasionally."

    I shrugged briefly. "You gotta do what you gotta do. I killed one of Heartbreaker's kids before the man himself came to town and I was able to End his influence over them. The other one surrendered, so he got to live. They don't always surrender. That's a fact of life."

    "I've studied your case." It wasn't an admission or even a confession, just a matter-of-fact statement. "You don't go after innocents, and you give the guilty a chance to not die."

    "Not always." I wasn't feeling guilty about this, because why should I? However, I did want his input. "I didn't give Oni Lee a warning. And I didn't tell the Nine not to come to town. I just killed them when they did."

    This time, his chuckle was warmer. "I don't know a single person who wouldn't have done exactly what you did with the Nine, if they had the capability. As for Oni Lee, I didn't have personal experience with him, but all the reports say he was a problematic individual. If you were going to kill anyone to make a point, he would be as good as any." He frowned. "Actually, I do have one question."

    I knew what was coming, but I nodded anyway. "Shoot."

    "You mentioned Heartbreaker's children. On the PHO boards, you said there were four of his children he was never getting back. From questioning the remaining members of his little clan, we got four names. Jean-Paul, cape name Hijack, who ended up in the Undersiders as Regent, then joined the Red Hands after he fled Brockton Bay. Nicholas, no cape name, who died when you cut his throat. Guillaume, also no cape name, who surrendered to the PRT at your behest. And Cherie, cape name Cherish, whom Guillaume last saw in your company. Would you be able to give me any idea of her whereabouts, or if she's even still alive?"

    "She's alive and well, and not committing crimes," I told him truthfully but unhelpfully. "I've placed her with a good parental role model. I honestly don't think the PRT coming in right now would help her to any significant degree."

    "And if she happens to want to see her siblings at some point?" He wasn't pressuring me, just testing the waters.

    "She hasn't expressed that particular wish yet, but she'll tell me if she does. You'll notice that those kids didn't really like each other that much, mainly because their father used to set them against each other. I'm not going to force her to do something she doesn't want to do." I raised my head. "Time I moved along. I've still got Flint to deal with."

    He nodded to acknowledge this. "Good luck. I doubt you'll get the capes there to cooperate like you did here."

    "I know I won't. Toodles." With the teleporter finally on deck again, the portal formed and I stepped on through.

    It was eleven minutes to the hour when I arrived. There was no lit-up stage, no politicians looking to get face time to scrounge a few more votes. Just PRT officers and troopers, all in armour. I saw a few tracked armoured vehicles that looked like they might have been borrowed from the local National Guard; unsurprising, because I also saw National Guard personnel nearby.

    "Gentlemen," I announced, heading toward where the commanding officers of the various contingents were conversing among themselves. "I understand there's a hitch."

    They turned toward me. Helmets were on but visors had been opened, so I saw their expressions. These ranged from worry to resignation. The local PRT commander stepped forward. "Yes. We've detected a number of overlapping teleport interdiction zones within the city. Once you get inside, you'll have to proceed on foot. At some point, you'll be inevitably dogpiled by their strongest capes."

    I nodded. "I figured they'd try something like this. You get that many capes in one city, there's bound to be a few Tinkers among them." I unslung the bullhorn and put it on the ground; even if anyone examined it, all they'd get was that it had once been the property of the Dockworkers' Association. "May I borrow a rifle? Plus a spare magazine, if that's not too much trouble."

    They looked at me incredulously, but the National Guard commander turned and gestured. One of his men double-timed over, and handed me an assault rifle. The extra magazine, I slipped into a pocket. I nodded to the soldier, and he stepped back out of the way.

    As I was checking the rifle over, the PRT commander spoke up. "I have to ask. What do you think you can do with a rifle and sixty rounds, plus whatever else you're carrying? There are literally thousands of capes in there."

    "At least a dozen of which are listening in on us right now." Not counting the three who were trying to read my mind and getting nosebleeds for their trouble, but I didn't bother mentioning that part. "I've got nine and a half minutes. I'm just going to End the problem with the best weapon at hand. Me."

    Raising my hand, I snapped my fingers. The teleporter jumped me to the nearest observation post on top of the wall; I ignored the guard's startled response, and raised the rifle. I wasn't aiming at any of the capes that were massing here and there, but at a tiny emitter, several hundred yards away. I fired; the antenna was severed, and one of the interdiction fields went down. Half a second later, the teleporter jumped me a hundred yards into Flint.

    23:51:03

    I appeared right behind a cape who appeared to have been watching my part of the wall with binoculars. Before he could react, I stabbed him with the shears. If he'd been a normal trigger, the remainder of the paste on the blades would've reverted him, but things didn't work that way in Flint. But that was okay; the shears went right through his neck and out the other side, and I sliced his windpipe and jugular on the way out.

    Flicking the blood off the blades, I sprinted for the other end of the roof, just ahead of a crackle of green lightning that hit the unfortunate sentry and fried his section of rooftop. He was as good as dead anyway; this just sped things up a little. The green lightning guy realised I was out of his kill-zone at the same time as another one who apparently had a laser Blaster ability.

    A huge trench was carved in the roof as they both swung their attacks toward me. I drew my pistol and fired once, killing the laser guy. He dropped out of the sky, spoiling the lightning thrower's aim for just long enough. As he reacquired his aim, the PRT sentry I'd appeared beside figured out what was going on, and hammered three shots into him, taking him out of the picture. I would've shot him myself, but his lightning aura made him almost impervious to low-calibre bullets, and I needed all the rifle ammo that I had.

    As I reached the end of the roof, I leaped outward, as though I'd be able to cross the twenty yards of distance to the next building in a single jump. Instead, at about the same time as my arc started curving downward (and well after I passed into the next teleport interdiction field) I fired the rifle three times, knocking out the emitters as they came into view. The teleporter kicked in, bypassing two rooftops and dropping me into an alleyway between two buildings.

    23:51:14

    There were Thinkers in the horde of capes that were targeting me that could detect me by my exhaled breath and the rustle of cloth on my back. A few were trying to detect my power use and my power stopped those dead, but I couldn't go undetected by all. While the next emitters would be a bit harder to reach, I was getting closer.

    I used up half the magazine in my pistol as I came out of the alleyway; not on the capes with offensive powers, but on the ones who were hanging back, vectoring their buddies in on my location. They fell, blood and brains spraying over the ruined asphalt, and I kept running … straight for the combat capes. Each wore a tiny pouch on a chain or a thong around his or her neck. They hesitated for a vital half-second, then unleashed their powers at me.

    At where I'd been, rather. I went down in a roll, under a torrent of flame and a buzzsaw of sparking metal shards, then came up between them, grabbing their gruesome power-granting talismans and yanking them free. Holding them in the air, I flourished them while I kept going straight ahead. Behind me, I heard the ones I'd taken the power-granting fragments away from screaming at the others not to shoot, they might hit the bits. That was about the time the fight broke out.

    The whole problem with Flint had started when someone triggered with the ability to bestow powers to anyone just by staying in their vicinity for a while. His second biggest mistake was to form a gang, bestowing powers on his underlings. The biggest mistake? Turning his back on one of his lieutenants, who'd decided that they wanted to be in charge, so they took him down and started cutting him open to see what made him tick.

    As it turned out, with appropriate Tinker tech to keep him alive, all the parts they carved off him contained his power. Between willing volunteers (who were given bits and pieces) and forced inductees (who were made to eat small pieces) a large percentage of the population of Flint became capes, all part of the original gang. This didn't last long, as several of the underlings decided to split off on their own, and they couldn't be depowered except by force. By the time the Chief Director called me in on it, the quarantine zone contained several gangs, usually vicious rivals, but for me … they'd make an exception.

    I tossed the pieces aside as I entered the alley across the street, and started up the closest fire escape. My self-appointed timer was ticking down, and I needed to be on the roof before the next flier came over. The closer I got to the original power granter, the more emitters there would be, and the harder it would be to target them. My only real advantages were that I'd gotten past their initial perimeter, and that they didn't have many capes left who could track my location.

    Coming out on the rooftop, I immediately started scrambling up the water tower. Fliers were inbound, but while they knew I was in the vicinity, they weren't certain where. They'd know in a few seconds, but that was okay. Going loud was an unavoidable part of this particular mission.

    When I reached the top, I unslung the rifle and started firing. The last time, I'd dealt with three emitters. Now I had fifteen more in my sights, some more than two miles away. I fired as fast as I could, working with the cyclic rate of the assault rifle, killing the overlapping fields. When the last one fell, a great arc of the interdiction field was gone, except for the middle.

    Where my target was.

    I teleported forward again, vanishing as a chunk of what looked like lava-coated granite homed in on me from the side. A hundred yards behind me, the water tower detonated.

    23:53:17

    I appeared on a highway overpass. Chunks had been blown out of the side of it, possibly from a turf battle. Keeping low, I moved on, not wanting to waste more ammunition than I had to. The building I was aiming at was still more than a mile away, and I could only teleport every ten seconds.

    The timer ticked over.

    23:53:27

    I was immediately closer, running through what appeared to be an overgrown park.

    23:53:37

    Moving through an abandoned industrial facility. No angle to snipe any more emitters.

    23:53:47

    23:53:57

    23:54:08

    23:54:18

    The locations began to blur together. I was fit, but my breath was rasping in my lungs. When I caught glimpses of my target, it didn't look any closer than before. Sometimes it felt like I was running forever through darkness.

    23:56:50

    I figured it had been twenty jumps from the overpass that put me in front of the building. Several storeys high, with at least one emitter right in the middle of the roof, protected by screens. The only way in was through the front door. Right where all the guards were.

    Well, this was going to get tedious. Fortunately, most of the capes were more than a mile away, looking for me where I'd been before I slipped away. So I only had the ones in front of me to worry about.

    Yay.

    The four clustered around the front entrance alerted as I started across the street, but I didn't give them the chance to raise the alarm; my pistol, silenced as it was, only startled night birds. Nobody inside the building would've heard.

    This was going to change. I only had five left in the pistol. There were forty-one left for the rifle, but I was going to need every last one of those. Especially the very last one.

    I pushed the door in, and started up the stairs, moving as quietly as I knew how. When I got to the second floor, I knew there were some coming down, and that I could get three of them, but the fourth would get away. Or I could take out all four, but take a hit that might slow me down later.

    My preference was to stay in top fighting form for as long as possible. No sense in letting the assholes nickel-and-dime me down. So I whipped around the corner and eyesocketed three, then nailed the last one through the kneecap as he flailed back through the doorway. He was a flier, so I wouldn't be able to catch him that way, but with any luck it would slow him down.

    23:58:01

    The time for quiet was over; if the alarm hadn't been raised yet, it was just a matter of seconds. Ignoring the need for silence and my own aching leg muscles, I sprinted up the stairs. I was almost to the correct floor when the first wave of defenders arrived in earnest.

    They were speedsters, but not in the way Velocity was. He had a Breaker state where everything slowed down for him, but he could barely affect the physical world until he slowed down again. Great for getting across town, terrible for punching bad guys fifty times a second.

    These guys had Brute-scale leg-muscles, all fast-twitch. They did explosive bursts of speed, but only in a straight line. And they were all the same. Every single one. Facial features, the lot.

    I heard them coming, got into the right position, and fired my pistol at the correct instant. It took out the left leg of the first guy coming down the stairs as he blurred into sight, and he tumbled. His buddies didn't have time to adjust to the brand-new obstacle, and they all went down in a welter of limbs and high-frequency cursing that would've had the local bat population blushing. I holstered my pistol and kept going.

    As I came up the next flight of stairs, I saw the speedster guy on the landing; like Spree had done once upon a time, he was popping out duplicates. But the duplication wasn't his power; I knew that implicitly. That was someone else, forcing him to duplicate. I didn't care either way. One bullet from the rifle dealt with the original speedster, plus the ones that had been coming up from behind me.

    23:58:46

    But there were more capes up there than the speedster. The next wave to come down were heavy, bulky, grey-skinned, and all identical as fuck. The duplicator was at it again.

    Their skins were bulletproof, but their eyes and mouths weren't. I fired the rifle as fast as I could, advancing up the stairs. The grey guys—slow moving but once they got hold of me, I would not be breaking free—went down in waves, but more kept coming. I reached the end of the magazine, slapped in a new one, and kept firing. The rifle was killing them faster than they were coming at me, but I had a limited supply of bullets and if I couldn't get to the duplicator, they had an unlimited supply of assholes.

    Thirty-nine more grey guys bit the big one before I stopped firing. There was one in the chamber, but I was reserving that for when I needed it. More were coming at me, slow, reaching, shoulder to shoulder. Whipping off my long-coat, I threw it in the faces of the closest one, then leaped and kicked off from the stair rail to land on his head. If I couldn't go through them, I'd go over them.

    It was like running up a down escalator; I was able to evade the grabby hands, but they were now flooding down the stairs, and every step I made onto a bald grey head only got me a half or a quarter step forward. But I was nearly there. Almost to the doorway.

    23:59:55

    Then the grey men stopped, and two big guys blocked the doorway almost totally, from side to side. They were so big that they couldn't both have fitted down the stairwell at the same time. And, of course, they were identical to each other.

    But I'd seen my prize. The tank in which the brain of the cape power plague originator floated, kept alive and (if my power was correct) aware of everything that was happening to every last part of him by a complicated Tinkertech device. The tank, of course, was bulletproof. But it had a lid.

    I brought the rifle up, even as one of the big guys pushed through the doorway, crunching aside part of the wall as he came. It lined up with my target and I fired. He grabbed the barrel an instant later, crushing it with dismaying ease. I'd hoped to give it back in better order than that.

    As other hands grabbed me, I pulled my shears and flung them through the tiny gap left in the doorway. Razor steel glinting silver, they arced across the room. The bullet had struck the edge of the lid, dislodging it before ricocheting off to strike the OFF button of the Tinkertech life support machine. My shears plunged through the gap thus created, spearing into the water and impaling the brain floating there. Punching straight through the corona pollentia.

    Oh, and delivering a fatal wound at the same time. Because that was also my plan. But I wanted the powers dead now, before the Asshole Collective decided to rip my arms and legs off as a final fuck-you.

    23:59:59

    I knew the instant the plan had worked, because the hands holding me faded away as the duplicates vanished. I'd be bruised here and there in the morning, I knew; the grey-skinned guys had not been gentle in grabbing me. But it didn't matter.

    Taking out my phone, I dialled a number as I strolled into the room. A whole bunch of ex-capes stared at me, but I wasn't after them. Pushing the cover all the way off the tank, I reached into the nutrient-laden water to retrieve my shears. They'd done their job. I'd told the assholes in Flint to 'cut that shit out', but it had taken the shears to actually do the cutting. Or rather, stabbing, but I wasn't going to split hairs.

    The phone rang at the other end. "Hello? Atropos?"

    "The same," I said cheerfully as I dried off my shears preparatory to sheathing them. "As you've probably guessed from the number of ex-fliers suddenly plummeting to the ground, the only cape left in Flint is me. You're welcome to come in and clean house."

    "Ah. Right. We wondered. Um … thank you."

    "You're welcome." I headed out the door again. That coat and I had been through a lot together, and I wasn't about to leave it behind. "Give the Chief Director my regards."

    My coat was okay, though a bit scuffed here and there from being trampled. I shook it out and put it on, then headed downstairs and out of the building. The four capes I'd shot on the way in were still lying untidily on the pavement, but that wasn't my problem. I headed across the street to where the emitter no longer prevented teleportation, then dialled in the coordinates for home.

    I really, really needed a shower and a bed, in that order.

    The portal formed, and I stepped through it.



    End of Part Seventy

    [A/N: That's it for another two or three weeks. See you then.]
     
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    • Part Seventy-One: A Whole New World
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    • A Darker Path

    Part Seventy-One: A Whole New World

    [A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]


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    ■​

    ♦ Topic: I Went Over There
    In: Boards ► Brockton Bay ► New Capes ► Atropos

    Atropos     (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me) (Verified Dethpicable)
    Posted On Mar 4th 2011:

    Hello to all you wonderful people of Brockton Bay!

    I hope you've all had as productive a day as I have.

    Those of you who follow my doings on here would be aware that I explained to the last four quarantine zones how they had twenty-four hours to shape up or I'd be there to ship them out.

    Pastor did the smart thing. He let his people go and surrendered to PRT custody a full two hours before I was due to go all Biblical on his ass.

    I like it when people do the smart thing. Saves on ammo.

    The villains in Gallup and Gary were a little more reluctant, but when I showed up and explained matters to them, they saw reason. I understand that a few took the option of 'go and never sin again', but the vast majority chose to take their chances with the legal system. I have it on good authority that this will indeed factor toward their sentencing.

    Flint, on the other hand ... made me go over there.

    I mean, you all saw me tell them to cut that shit out, but they chose not to. So, I had to go in there and cut it out for them. It was a little bit of a slog, I will admit that, but by the stroke of midnight, there was only one cape left in the city (me). Best workout I've had in a long time.

    I'd just like to acknowledge the fact that the PRT really stepped up, providing room and board for all those displaced villains. I honestly couldn't have done it without you guys. Best minions a ruthless serial killer could hope for. (Kidding. Honestly.)

    (I've had better.)

    (Mwahahaha.)

    Oh, and also, there were some costumed kids running around at Gary, playing at being villains. Not sure what they were after. Maybe autographs or something. I got selfies with them, anyway.

    So, what's next on the agenda?

    Well, the next time someone threatens the peace and harmony of Brockton Bay, you'll find out. Or rather, they will.

    Be informed: a new city arises.

    Mwahaha.

    Oh, and before I forget: congratulations to our very own Director Piggot for her promotion to the Directorship of PRT New York. I wish her all the good fortune there.

    Toodles!

    (Showing page 1 of 126)


    ►Bagrat (Veteran Member) (The Guy in the Know)
    Replied On Mar 4th 2011:
    Well, crap.
    Okay, I get it.
    Atropos is bullshit squared on a bullshit sandwich.
    But HOW in the goddamn HELL did she pull that one off?
    Her Flint appearance is fine, but what's got me scratching my head is how she pulled off the Gary/Gallup show.
    [This] is Gary, Indiana, as of twenty minutes to eleven, local time (2340 EST).
    [This] is Gallup, New Mexico, as of twenty minutes to ten, local time (2340 EST).
    Yes, those two bits of footage were independently recorded by the PRT at the *same time*, down to a tenth of a second, twelve hundred miles apart. If you focus in on Atropos, you can see exactly the same mannerisms and gestures at the same time. Even the breathing patterns are identical.
    (I'm not going to say the voiceprints are identical too, but ... well, they *are* as close as can be matched with two different recording systems).
    They only diverge after she steps into the portal in Gallup.
    So, we knew she could teleport.
    Now, apparently, she can be in two places at once.
    Ladies and gentlemen: Atropos.
    She does what she does.

    ►SocioVader
    Replied On Mar 4th 2011:
    Haha wow, the beatdown she lays on August Prince.
    Kid should've quit while he was ahead.

    ►UnlikelyRomance
    Replied On Mar 4th 2011:
    Pastor lasted approximately 22 hours longer than I would've.
    Makes you wonder what he said to his flock before he bolted.

    ►BlackSquiggles
    Replied On Mar 4th 2011:
    BWHAHAAHAHA!!!
    That was glorious!

    ►Reave (Verified PRT Agent)
    Replied On Mar 4th 2011:
    The reports are correct.
    Pastor severed his ties with his Flock and voluntarily gave himself up to PRT custody just before 10 PM EST, or 7 PM local time. He verified that Atropos' ultimatum was the driving force behind his surrender.
    Atropos showed up at each of the Gary, Indiana and Gallup, New Mexico quarantine sites at the same time and gave the same speech, causing the vast majority of the villains to surrender themselves en masse. After she left the Gallup site, she was attacked at the Gary site by three notorious child villains, whom she overcame with her usual flair.
    I am also authorized to verify that Flint, Michigan has been cleared of all capes. The Chicago PRT and Protectorate are conducting a sweep of the quarantine site for any other undesirables.
    All in all, a good night's work.

    ►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me) (Verified Dethpicable)
    Replied On Mar 4th 2011:
    You're welcome, guys.
    All yours.

    ►BrickFrog
    Replied On Mar 4th 2011:
    Okay, is nobody going to talk about how there's now two of them? Or she can duplicate herself or something?
    What the hell is going on?
    She was bad enough when there was just one of her.

    ►XxVoid_CowboyxX (Verified Atropos Fan Club Member)
    Replied On Mar 4th 2011:
    Dude, seriously, what the fuck? Atropos kicked the gangs out of Brockton Bay, ganked the Endbringers, and now she's cleared the last of the quarantine zones. What is your *problem*?

    ►UnconcernedFox
    Replied On Mar 4th 2011:
    *settles back in post-popcorn haze*
    *that was AMAZING*
    *can't wait to see what happens next*
    ​
    End of Page. 1, 2, 3 ... 124, 125, 126

    ■​

    PRIVATE MESSAGE
    To: Atropos
    From: Faultline
    Subject: Hi. Can we meet?

    I'd like to talk about the possibility of my Crew coming back into BB, getting jobs with the Betterment Committee, and maybe killing the powers of a couple of them.

    ■​

    PRIVATE MESSAGE
    To: Faultline
    From: Atropos
    Subject: Re: Hi. Can we meet?

    Sure. Stay right there. Be with you in five.

    ■

    <><>​

    City Limits, Brockton Bay

    Faultline

    Melanie Fitts sat in the driver's seat of the nondescript sedan, hoping that she wasn't making a fatal mistake. She was very good at what she did—her Crew wouldn't have survived for as long as it had without any losses if she wasn't—but there was the level she worked on, and then there was the level Atropos worked on. There was no doubt in her mind that Atropos would go through both her and her people without breaking stride if the need arose.

    Despite their protests, she'd made the Crew stay back in Boston, keeping their heads down while they waited for her return. If for whatever reason she didn't come back from Brockton Bay alive, the Number Man had instructions to contact them in a week or so and share out her personal funds to them. While she didn't think it would turn out that way, nothing was ever lost from taking sensible precautions.

    She checked the dashboard clock—four and a half minutes since the return message—then looked out the window at the city limits sign with its hand-painted addendum. 'Atropos' Hometown - if you're a villain, consider this your second warning'. Technically she was a villain, though that didn't need to remain the case. Hopefully, Atropos would be willing to listen—

    "Hi."

    "Jesus!" Melanie spun around to stare at the black-clad form relaxing in the passenger seat as though she'd been there all along. Her hand reached by reflex for her shoulder holster, and she suppressed the movement just as quickly. "Must you do that?"

    "I kinda do, yeah." She was pretty sure she could hear a grin in Atropos' voice. "Before we get to talking, start the car. I know you're on the up-and-up, so I'm inviting you into the city."

    "… oh." Melanie had not expected that. "Uh, thanks." She turned the key to kick the engine over, then put it in gear and moved the car onto the highway. Atropos didn't seem pressingly eager to start the conversation, so Melanie waited until they were moving over the freshly laid blacktop—seriously, that was one smooth highway—before she broached the subject. "So, we were thinking some of our powers could be useful for the Betterment Committee, and I've been hearing rumours that you're taking in other villains so long as they commit to no more crime."

    "All of which is true," confirmed Atropos. "You also mentioned Ending the powers of one or two of your members. Labyrinth being the main one, am I correct?"

    "Yes." Melanie's hands tightened on the wheel. "Her powers rearrange her surroundings. They also reflect her mental state, which can get pretty grim."

    "Once I've dealt with the powers side of things, you should be able to help her attain some kind of equilibrium." Atropos sounded entirely sure of herself. "So, about the question you really wanted to ask."

    Melanie froze for half a second. She'd anticipated working her way around to the topic, not having it just asked of her. Hell, Atropos might think I mean something entirely different. "Question—?"

    "Cauldron …?" prompted Atropos.

    Nope, she knows exactly what I wanted to ask. "Uh. Right." Reflexively, she glanced in the rearview mirror. The city limits sign, she was pleased to see, was well out of sight. "Is this why you told me to start driving?"

    Atropos nodded. "So they'd know for sure that you're in my city, under my protection. Ask your question."

    Melanie took a deep breath. After so much time spent chasing shadows, she had trouble believing that the Holy Grail had just fallen into her lap. "You said on PHO that Cauldron wasn't permitted into Brockton Bay, that they knew what they'd done. What have they done?"

    A cell-phone rang, a tone unfamiliar to Melanie. Atropos pulled it out and put it on speaker without saying a word. A woman's voice came out of it: "Is this wise?"

    "Frankly, my dear, I don't give a shit." Atropos pulled an air horn out of her pocket and gave Melanie a second to cover her right ear with her hand before she treated the phone to a blast of it. Ending the call, she slid the phone and air horn back into her pocket. "Maybe next time she won't butt into someone else's conversation. Now, where were we? Ah, yes, Cauldron."

    "Was that … that was them?" Melanie knew she was well out of her depth now. Cauldron had tried to warn Atropos off, and she'd done the audio equivalent of flipping them the bird. Or maybe punching them in the nose.

    "That was Contessa. She tried to put a gun in my face once." Before Melanie could ask how that situation had resolved itself—she couldn't see Atropos taking having a gun in her face lightly—Atropos kept talking.

    As the car rolled through Brockton Bay, she regaled Melanie with details about Cauldron's operations. Blanks and gaps in Melanie's knowledge, some she hadn't even known existed, were filled in almost casually, as though Atropos had zero fucks to give. Still, there were some details left out; specifically, the names of some of the people at the top, even as Atropos cheerfully explained the finer points of Projects Terminus and Nemesis and others.

    "Okay, so who's running the show, apart from Contessa and this Doctor Mother?" Melanie asked outright. "Because I can't see just two people making it work, especially since you said Doctor Mother doesn't have powers."

    "That part, I'm not going to tell you." Atropos didn't seem offended so much as she was unconcerned. "It won't help, and they know they're on notice anyway."

    "So why are they doing all this?" Melanie had been trying to figure that out for the longest time.

    "To save the world. It's ham-handed as fuck, and on its own it would've failed, but that's what they were going for. Anyway, I've told them they can stand down. I've got it under control."

    She wasn't sure which statement surprised her more, but that was Atropos all over. "Okay, um … can you tell me anything more? Like … what the hell are those omega tattoos about?"

    "They're an identifying mark." Atropos held up a finger ahead of Melanie's interjection. "Not just to show that someone's a Cauldron cape. Look at them under a microscope. They've got microdots buried in them. Names, dates, type of vial. Dunno how much that'll help your people, but it's something."

    "No." Melanie blinked. "That's … that's huge. Thank you."

    "You're welcome." Atropos tapped the brim of her hat with two fingers. "Toodles."

    "Wait, I—" Between one instant and the next, Atropos was gone. "Fuck." Melanie slumped in her seat.

    She wanted to pull over and message Atropos to ask more questions, but the sensible part of her brain, the part that she'd trained herself to listen to, told her that there would be no more information forthcoming. What she had was more than she'd dared hope for; a dispensation for her Crew to come to Brockton Bay and arrange to have Elle's powers (and anyone else's who wanted it done) removed for good. In addition, she had invaluable information about Cauldron (including the tantalising aspect of the tattoos) as well as the slightly anticlimactic news that they were standing down, by direction of Atropos.

    Driving back to Boston tonight would be tempting fate, she decided. It's after midnight already, and driver fatigue hits hardest in the next hour or two. I should grab a motel room and crash until sunrise.

    But she wanted to celebrate, damn it. She wanted to do something a little wild and crazy, let her hair down a little. Ironically, she couldn't just walk into Palanquin to get a buzz on, because she was still in the process of transferring the title and the liquor license to the new owners, and the place was shuttered until that was done. But she did know of a place that was open this late.

    <><>​

    Brockton Bay College Recreation Center

    Laserdream

    There weren't a lot of people in the Rec Center at one in the morning, but Crystal was one of them. Her attempts to study in her room kept getting interrupted by intrusive thoughts of Amy and Vicky possibly quitting the team; one to go rogue, and the other to go civvy roadworker. She wasn't sure which notion was more distracting, so she'd come down to the Rec Center to see if a little fuzziness around her thought processes helped or not.

    She was drinking with Anne Barnes, with whom she shared a couple of classes, but otherwise barely knew. It was a protective herd mentality; neither of them wanted to get hit on by guys who were drunker than they were (or more sober, for that matter) so they were sitting together to present a united front against unwanted advances. Sister support, that sort of thing.

    "Hey, set me up." It was a new face, a tall brunette Crystal had never met before. "Jameson's, top shelf, on the rocks. I am celebrating tonight."

    "That's nice," Anne said, turning to look. "What's the occasion?" Crystal wasn't quite sure why the redhead was drinking, but she'd been looking at pictures on her phone, giggling, then taking a drink. If she wanted to talk about it, she would. If not, she wouldn't.

    "Moving back into town." The newcomer accepted her drink and paid for it, then came over to the table after giving the rest of the room a comprehensive sweep. Pulling out a chair, she joined the protective huddle. "Helping out a friend. Learned some cool shit. I won't be able to sleep, or concentrate on anything, until I murder a few braincells with high-end booze."

    "Trust me," Crystal said solemnly. "I know exactly how you feel. Two of my teammates are quitting the team—don't tell anyone, it's not official yet—and I have no idea how to handle it, except by distract-hic-distracting myself with liquor."

    "Teammates?" The brunette stared at her. "Holy shit, I thought it was you, then I thought nahhh, but it really is you. Laserdream, right? You do forcefields and lasers?" She took a gulp of her drink like it owed her money.

    "Crystal, out of costume." Crystal put her finger to her lips for an exaggerated shhh. "Don't want to confuse th' public. You a fan?" It had been ages since anyone had asked her for an autograph. She was pretty sure muscle memory would still let her do it.

    "Not technically a fan, but not not a fan either." The woman paused, then shrugged. "Actually, what the fuck. I'm going legit anyway. Faultline, but you can call me Mel." She held out her hand to shake.

    Crystal blinked. Anne appeared to be giggling helplessly, even though she wasn't that drunk. "What, the Faultline? What-hic-what're you doing back in the Bay? I thought all the villains left. Or died," she added, for reasons of accuracy. Accuracy was important. Mel's handshake was firm and muscular.

    "They did. We did. I left." Faultline (if it really was her; Crystal suspected it was) finished off her glass. "Then I came back to ask Atropos a favour." She paused as Anne broke out into a fresh series of giggles. "What?"

    "M-my s-sister," Anne said with a giggling hiccup. "S-she's the leader of, of th' Atropos cult." She started giggling again. "Atropos doesn' like her, I don' think, but she's said nobody can hurt her." She shook her head. "Emma's such a fuckin' mess right now. Here, look."

    Avidly, Crystal stared at the photos on Anne's phone, of a pretty younger version of her in goth outfits, walking around with a bunch of similarly outfitted teens, apparently spreading the word of Atropos. Even in the photos, it was easy to see the gleam of fanaticism in her eyes. In one picture, she was holding a neatly printed sign that said:

    The Laws of Our Lady in Darkness:
    No worship. She refutes any claim to be a goddess.
    No robes or masks. We are but Her Followers, and are responsible for our actions.
    No killing. If killing is required, then She will do it.
    No charity theater. Do good that actually fixes problems.
    No performing deeds in Her name. We may revere Her, but we must own our actions.

    "Hahaha wow," Mel marvelled. "She's really gone all-out, hasn't she?" She tilted her head to one side. "I mean, the rules aren't bad. They're pretty good, to be honest. They're not telling people to sacrifice their first-born or anything."

    "Not even asking for donations," Anne revealed. "I mean, people can give, an' they do, but they always give a receipt, an' they use it to buy stuff for kids, or they pass it on to a proper charity." She hiccupped again.

    "I've heard of worse things." Mel got up. "What're you guys drinking? My treat."

    While she was at the bar getting fresh wine coolers and another glass of Jameson's, Crystal looked carefully at Anne. "You okay? Want us to get you back to your room?"

    "Nah, nah." Anne gave her a happy, buzzed smile. "Night just got inneresting. Not often I get to drink with a superhero an' a supervillain. Plus, she completes the set."

    "Set?" Crystal frowned. "What set?"

    Anne went to pull on some of her own hair, but nearly poked herself in the eye instead. "Hair. Ow. Hair is what I mean. Redhead." She pointed at Crystal. "Blondie." Then she waved at Mel, who was just on the way back. "Brunette. Th' major hair groups. Hairdresser's nightmare."

    Crystal found that hilarious for some reason, so of course when Mel got back to the table she had to be filled in. The laughter went on for a little while; when it died down, Crystal turned to Mel. "What favour'd you ask Atropos for? If you don't mind me asking, I mean. If it's top secret cape stuff, I'm hip. I can deal."

    "Nope, it's fine." Mel hit her drink hard, then nodded as she put the glass down. "That bottle had dust on it, but damn this is good booze. And I know good booze. So, the favour is that me and my Crew can come back, so long as we don't do crime." She took another drink, then grinned at them. "And she said yes!"

    "Woo, congrats!" Anne tried to high-five Mel, and succeeded on her third attempt. "You're part of th' Atropos fam now. Welcome back."

    "I'm part've it too," confided Crystal. "Vicky calls me up when she's not sure what's going on, an' just unloads on me like a tump druck. Everythin' that's goin' on. So Amy's been sneakin' out to do stuff with Atropos, an' now she wants t' go rogue. Coincidence? I think not!" She tried to tap her nose with her finger; it took two tries. Crossing her eyes, she went for a discreet belch, but ended up rolling one out that probably rattled the glasses at the bar.

    That got more laughter, and a high-five from Mel. They kept drinking.

    <><>​

    The Supreme Earth (known to some as Earth Shin)

    Goddess

    "Highness, I ask this purely out of concern. Are you certain that this is a wise course of action?"

    Bianca raised a stately eyebrow as she gave Tori a searching look. "Of course I am certain. Everything I do is the right thing to do. The moment I received word of this Atropos, I knew she was the perfect tool for my aims."

    Earth Bet was technically cut off from the Supreme Earth (as was the right and proper designation for the Earth where Bianca resided) and there were many capes living there, far more than on the Supreme Earth. However, there were gaps and cracks, and information had a way of finding its way everywhere. And no cape had captured the public imagination since the early days of the Protectorate like Atropos had.

    Bianca had only learned about Atropos in the last few weeks, and she had been preparing busily ever since. One such as she who could destroy the likes of the Slaughterhouse Nine and the Endbringers would be ideal for hunting down and scouring out the last holdouts of resistance against Bianca's rightful rule over all of the Supreme Earth. As the loyal enforcer of the reign of the Goddess, Atropos would of course be rewarded handsomely for her continued service.

    Tori tried again; misguided though her doubts might be, she was unquestionably faithful to her liege. "I've heard rumours that she can see a trap before it's sprung, and always knows how to destroy her opponent. Their PRT has this posted up in every building." She handed over a sheet of paper.

    Bianca huffed and started reading.

    The Rules for Fighting Atropos

    Three lines in, she looked up from the page. "Immaterial. We will not be fighting her."

    "I'm just saying that she's terribly dangerous, Highness. She may choose to oppose us. And there are many examples of her predicting when and where her opponents will attack. Also, she has boasted of the ability to remove Master effects from herself."

    "I know all this. Did you think I do not know this?" Bianca shook her head in annoyance. "Tell me: has my sense of imminent danger ever failed me? Has it ever not warned me of a foe before they got close enough to attack?"

    Tori was forced to concede that one. "No, Highness. It has not."

    "Well, then." Bianca allowed herself a superior smile. "I sense no danger in the offing. This means that either the dimensional barrier that separates us is sufficient to shield her senses from me, or my abilities are sufficient to overwhelm hers. Is the device ready?"

    "Almost, Highness. I spoke with the artificers and they claim they need less than a day to complete it."

    "Excellent." Bianca gestured gracefully, dismissing her lieutenant. "If there was nothing more?"

    "Just …" Tori grimaced, evidently unwilling to contradict her sovereign. "What will you do, once she is here, if she then presents as a danger to you? If her powers are able to detect you, and if she can throw off your control? What then?"

    "Ah." That was a possibility Bianca had not seriously considered. She didn't think it was at all likely—nobody in her presence or hearing her voice had yet managed to ignore her influence—but it was probably a good idea to humour her lieutenants in their concerns. "How would you suggest we keep her in line, in such a case?" She would not be following orders, of course, but accepting suggestions was a useful way of informing her own decisions.

    "She has both a 'fan club' and a cult devoted to her name," Tori replied after a moment or two of thought. "Once we have her within our power, we can then send our agents to extract the leaders of both. Keeping them at widely separated locations, we will not even need to issue overt threats. She will know what is meant, and if she has any feeling for either one, she will comply."

    Bianca frowned. "Why not simply place them under my influence? That way, they won't be inclined to attempt escape, and can urge her to follow my directives."

    "Not necessarily a good idea, Highness." Tori cringed as Bianca's frown deepened at the implied criticism. After a moment, Bianca nodded for her to continue, and Tori relaxed a little. "If she cannot sway them back to her side, she may consider them dead to her and choose to give them final rest, then turn against you. I do not believe that we've seen her angry yet; nor do I care to."

    Reluctantly, Bianca nodded. Tori made good points, as unlikely as that scenario may be. "Fine. Do it that way. Let me know when the final preparations are complete."

    "As you command, Highness."

    <><>​

    NOT. A. WORD. DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?

    "Y-yes. Not a word of warning."

    GOOD. Bony knuckles popped. THIS IS GOING TO BE FUN.

    <><>​

    Laserdream

    "Boyfriends?" Crystal shook her head as she unlocked her dorm room door, then regretted it as the world swayed around her. "Not worth it. If you're dating someone who's not a cape, then they're either too intimidated to make a pass, or they just wanna be able to say they fucked a superhero. Found that one out early on." She growled in her throat at a few memories that popped up. "Not early enough." The lock clicked, and she pushed the door open. "C'mon in."

    "Damn, that sucks." Anne swayed a little as she followed Crystal inside, with Mel bringing up the rear. "Hey, nice room. Li'l heavy on the cape posters though, isn't it?"

    "Hey, you do what you know." Crystal gestured at the posters. "All signed. Perk of bein' in the biz. Bat your eyes an' say you're lookin' for pointers, and they'll sign damn near anything. How about you? Boyfriends?"

    "Pfft, nah." Anne leaned over to look at the signatures on one poster, then lost her balance and half-fell onto Crystal's bed. "Hahaha … wooow. No, guys are all either wannabe lawyers or scared 'cause daddy's a lawyer. Nothin' in between. Sucks. I got needs too, y'know."

    "I hear you." It was Mel who'd spoken; Crystal and Anne both looked at her, and she gazed owlishly back at them. She'd been hitting the whiskey instead of the wine coolers and had caught up to them, drunken-wise, with impressive speed. "Know what's worse thing about bein' leader of a villain team? They all see me as mom, y'know? If I screwed any one of 'em, it'd be weird. An' throw the whole dynamic off. But mainly be weird. An' I can't just find a villain guy, 'cause he'd prolly try an' stab me in th' back. So I'm alone at th' top." She giggled, but it was more of a sob. "I go through so many damn batteries."

    "Here's to batteries." Crystal sat down on one side of Anne, and Mel on the other.

    They dug into the bag Mel was carrying; when the Rec Center had closed, she'd negotiated with the bar staff, and they'd come away with more wine coolers. Ceremoniously, Mel handed out a cooler to each of the other two, then took one herself. The caps came off, and they clinked the bottles together. "To us," Anne proclaimed solemnly. "Friends f'rever an' f'rever."

    "I like having friends," Mel said, putting her arm around Anne and hugging her close. "Y'r a good friend, for listening. Don' have too many of those."

    "Yeah," agreed Crystal. "Never had a villain friend before. Orra lawyer daughter."

    Anne giggled. "I'm inna cape san'wich. Hero one side," she kissed Crystal on the cheek. "Villain on th' other."

    Crystal was just taking another drink when Anne's second sloppy kiss landed right on Mel's lips. Mel looked startled. Then Anne kissed her again. That one was a lot less accidental and a lot more serious. Mel didn't resist.

    "Uh, I'll just—" Crystal got exactly that far before Anne's arm snaked around her neck and pulled her close. Um, is this a bad idea?

    Then Mel's lips pressed against hers, warm and inviting. The last remnants of her good judgement fought a losing battle against alcohol, and how long it had been, and the way Anne was nibbling at her neck, and she found herself kissing the villain right back.

    After that, things got wild.



    Relevant Side Story

    End of Part Seventy-One
     
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    • Part Seventy-Two: Endings and Beginnings
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    • A Darker Path

    Part Seventy-Two: Endings and Beginnings

    [A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]


    8:00 AM Friday, March 4, Brockton Bay College

    Faultline

    "I can't believe … what were you thinking?"

    Melanie sat on the plastic chair in the dorm lobby while Brandish and Lady Photon took turns admonishing a downcast Crystal. Neither one was in costume, though everyone knew who they were; it seemed that they wanted to keep this low-key. For a given definition of 'low-key', anyway.

    At the far end of the same room, while campus security stood around looking a little embarrassed, a similar scene was playing out with Anne and two older people she assumed were her parents. Outside the lobby, through the glass doors, she could see the redheaded girl from the pictures Anne had shown them, along with the other members of New Wave, including Glory Girl and Panacea. They weren't in costume either.

    She wasn't sure how New Wave had gotten her villain identity. Maybe Anne had blurted out that she'd slept with a hero and a villain at the same time (this had apparently been a secret fantasy of hers, though maybe involving guys instead of girls) or Crystal may have let slip something by accident. It didn't matter now; fortunately, the Barneses and New Wave were just as reluctant to broadcast the full aspect of their respective daughters' indiscretions to the world as she was.

    Of course, she had her own problems to deal with here. There was nobody coming to admonish her (though she'd half expected Atropos to show up, just on principle) but she didn't need anyone. She was quite able to haul herself over the coals for such an unprofessional lapse in standards. Worse, she'd forgotten to lock the dorm room door behind them, so when Crystal's friend barged in instead of knocking, they'd still been in the process of waking up and untangling from each other.

    The respective hangovers hadn't helped. Nor had the shouts of 'haha fucking WHAT?'

    Events had rapidly gone downhill from there. Campus security had been summoned and New Wave had shown up in force, as had the Barnes parents. She'd been briefly interrogated by Manpower and Flashbang:

    'What are you doing back in town?'

    'Atropos invited me.'

    'Oh.'

    After that, she'd been left alone to try to figure out her next move.

    It seemed that to be able to give Atropos' name as a reference actually opened doors, or at least closed doors that she wanted kept shut. The actual cops hadn't shown up yet; neither had the PRT. The impression she got was that the College also wanted this kept as low-key as possible, so they were dragging their heels as much as possible on informing the actual campus cops. Moreover, she was pretty sure she'd figured out why.

    Finally, she sighed and stood up. She knew damn well that she'd never hear the end of this once the rest of the Crew found out; Newter in particular would probably fall over laughing. Even Gregor was likely to make a few jokes of his own. But that was for later. Here and now, this was the situation she had to deal with.

    One of the security guards looked her way, and made as though to say something. She raised her eyebrows. "Yeah?"

    "Uh … I think you're supposed to stay there."

    "No." She moved forward, getting into his personal space. Involuntarily, he backed up a step. "The heroes on site haven't arrested me. You can't arrest me, because you don't have that power. Now, I'm going to speak with them, and then I'm going to leave. If you think you can legally stop me, go right ahead."

    She gave him time to think about it. It didn't take him long to figure out that he didn't have a leg to stand on. "Okay. Just don't … do anything, okay?" Anything that will make me call the cops, he meant.

    "Wouldn't dream of it." She gave him a brief smile with zero humour to it, then made her decision. Turning left, she went over toward where the Barnes parents were still browbeating Anne.

    They weren't yelling at their daughter over sleeping with both a hero and a villain and how that would look, so much as they were being Very Disappointed with her over drinking underage and making her father's name look bad. He was a lawyer of some sort, Melanie recalled Anne saying. Apparently, that sort of thing would lower the brand name value of his firm, if it got out too far. Personally, she figured it should be counted toward Anne's ability to make contacts across diverse segments of the population.

    "If you'd just thought for a moment before—" Mr Barnes broke off when she approached. "What do you want?"

    "Hi, I'm Melanie Fitts. I'll be moving back into Brockton Bay, probably getting a job with the Betterment Committee. And you are?" She held out her hand expectantly.

    He was too much of a lawyer to not take that opening, shaking her hand curtly. "Alan Barnes, attorney at law. This is my wife, Zoe. Can we help you with anything, or did you want to offer my daughter more alcohol?" The suggestion that she vanish back into the woodwork was almost palpable.

    She allowed the distaste to roll off her back, like water off the proverbial duck. In her time, she'd been sneered at by experts; this barely registered. "No. I wanted to help you realise something. Your daughter is an intelligent, funny woman who was drinking moderately and safely when I met her. She had the good sense to accompany us to her friend's dorm room when she realised she was intoxicated, instead of staying there alone. What happened then was entirely consensual, though admittedly somewhat alcohol-fuelled. It was, frankly, a surprise to us all."

    "It still happened," Barnes senior gritted. "With alcohol you bought for her. Tell me why I shouldn't have you and the bar staff arrested for contributing to delinquency."

    "You really want to go there?" Melanie raised an eyebrow; a trick she'd worked at getting right in the mirror. "If it gets out that the Rec Center has been serving students without carding them for years, the lawsuits will be epic, destroying the College's budget for years to come. Every student who's bought alcohol who's still underage gets charged with a misdemeanour. That includes Anne and Laserdream. People will find out that it was you who raised a stink about it. I'll ask you again: do you really want to go there?"

    His eyes flickered, and she could tell the shot had hit the bullseye. "… no," he admitted, after a moment, looking down and away. That kind of shitstorm was something no law career could survive.

    Melanie nodded. "So, here's what you do. You stop yelling at Anne and give her a hug. What happened last night was both unexpected and totally out of my experience, but it wasn't wrong. If you can accept that and move on, forget it happened, everyone has a happier life."

    Alan and Zoe both became rather thoughtful at that, but Anne raised her head. "What about me?" she asked. "What about … well, us? Do we just … walk away? Forget it ever happened?"

    Melanie chuckled wryly. "I doubt I'll ever forget last night. But I'm thinking that before we start thinking about 'us', we need to see if there's an 'us' when alcohol's not involved. I'll be around. We'll talk."

    Giving Anne a smile and her father a nod, she turned and strode toward the other nexus of conflict in the room.

    The Barneses, she figured, had been the hard nut to crack. With superheroes, she already knew which buttons to press. The fact that she'd been observing New Wave for years and already knew how they thought just made it easier.

    They wouldn't enjoy it, but that wasn't her problem.

    Brandish—no, Carol Dallon—turned to glare at her as she approached. "You've done enough damage! Get away from my niece!"

    "I could do that," Melanie agreed. "But you do know you're going about this all wrong, yeah?"

    Carol's eyes flared with anger. "I'll—"

    "Whoa, whoa!" Sarah Pelham stepped in between them. "Carol, take a breath. Ms … what was your name again?"

    "Fitts. Melanie Fitts." Melanie held out her hand to shake. "Like I told your husbands, Atropos has invited me back into town."

    "But not to—" Carol shut up when a square force field appeared in front of her face. Melanie was impressed; Sarah hadn't even looked around.

    "What do you mean, we're going about this all wrong?" Sarah asked. "This is a potential public relations nightmare, here."

    "It could be, if you kept trying to suppress it. Streisand effect, and all that." Melanie gestured to the campus security. "But if you just took your cue from them, it might all just … go away. The College doesn't want a scandal. They don't want it getting out that they serve drinks to nineteen and twenty year olds. And as scandalous as three women sleeping together might sound to you, it's not actually illegal. We're all adults, and though it kind of happened by surprise, it was all totally consensual."

    Sarah frowned. "So you're saying … just let it go?"

    "What about the tabloids?" Carol snapped. "They'll be all over this like white on rice!"

    "Repeat after me," Melanie suggested. "'So what?' Also, 'no comment'. If no big deal gets made of this, it'll fade away. Sure, it's up on PHO. We can't change that. But if we don't boost it, it goes away. The next big thing will take precedence." She chuckled. "I'm certainly not going to make a big song and dance over it. I'd prefer my return to Brockton Bay to be as uneventful as possible."

    Sarah blinked. "Oh."

    Crystal stepped forward. "And that's it? We just pretend that what happened between us … didn't?"

    Melanie smiled. "Anne asked exactly the same question. And I'll give you the same answer I gave her. Let's find out if there's an 'us' that doesn't depend on alcohol before we answer that question. I'll be around. I'm pretty sure I can find your number."

    Carol stepped up alongside her niece. "I'll be watching you," she promised.

    "So will Atropos," Melanie reminded her. "I know who I'll be paying attention to."

    Giving Crystal a smile and Sarah a nod, she strolled out of the lobby into the morning sunlight. The New Wave kids and Emma Barnes turned to stare at her as she walked past, and she waved but did not stop.

    The drive back to Boston would probably give the hangover time to subside, but then she'd have to find out if the Crew had heard yet. With her luck, they had. And they'd remember it a lot longer than the public would.

    Yeah, this is gonna be no fun.

    <><>​

    9:00 AM, BBBC Marshalling Yard A

    Danny Hebert

    Leaning back against the side of the Betterment Committee work vehicle with his arms folded, Danny observed Accord. His first impression of the guy was 'short', but that was quickly eclipsed by 'so uptight he needs the jaws of life to unclench long enough to take a shit'. Accord was neatly dressed, everything squared away; if it weren't for his habit of murdering people who screwed up his arrangements, he might have been a nice guy to know.

    Well, he's not going to pull that crap in my town. If he even tries, I'll boot him back to Boston all by myself.

    "The works appear to be going well." Accord sounded as pleased as he ever got. "Your Dockworkers are to be commended."

    "They're good people," Danny acknowledged. "The capes are also settling in nicely. I can see them being a real asset in the field."

    "I'm less than certain about Damsel of Distress." Accord turned to look at him. "We've clashed in the past. She has a reputation for instability." He didn't say any more, but he probably thought he didn't have to.

    Danny knew exactly what he was attempting, and chose to nip it in the bud. "I saw to Ms Stillons' induction myself. What I saw in her was someone doing her best to leave her problems behind her and make a life for herself. She saved a man's life even before she officially started working for us."

    "For capes, problems have a way of catching up again." Accord turned his head, looking at where an eighteen-wheeler had just turned in through the main gates of the marshalling yard. "Ah, here they are. Right on time. Good."

    One after the other, the three semi-trailers pulled up, side by side so that their cargo could be properly admired. And what a cargo it was. Hemmed in by light cagework that served more as a safety rail than a restraint, each trailer held dozens of robots of different shapes and sizes, all looking around with what Danny interpreted as interest and eagerness.

    Part of the cagework on the first eighteen-wheeler swung aside, and a lightweight Dragon suit jumped down to the ground and came over to them. "Mr Hebert," she said happily. "Accord. Good to meet you both. Two hundred and seventy-three robotic citizens, ready to prove their worth."

    "Nice to meet you too." Danny shook her extended hand. "Wait, I know that number. All of them chose to come here? Just how hard have you been upselling this place?"

    "I didn't need to." Dragon gestured to the robots, and they started disembarking from the eighteen-wheelers. "The consensus is that they want to learn about human society in a place where they'll be accepted for what they are before they start going their separate ways. Atropos said they'd be welcome to come and work here, so they decided this was the best place to start."

    "Okay, then." Danny dusted his hands off. "I'm guessing you know all about their capabilities and their requirements, everything like that?"

    Dragon nodded. "I do."

    Danny smiled. "Excellent."

    <><>​

    1250 hours, PRT ENE Building

    Director Emily Piggot, PRT

    Emily sat at her desk, carefully writing on a pad with the pen that she'd been given after Ellisburg, when she'd been awarded a medal and invalided out of active service. A two-hundred-fifty-dollar writing implement, it had her unit badge engraved on it, along with its motto in Latin. Translated, the words would read 'No Retreat, No Surrender'.

    She hadn't retreated, and she hadn't surrendered. She'd just been one of the only two people who had come out the other side of that conflict. Just two months previously, Calvert had met his richly deserved end at the hands of Atropos, leaving her as the last survivor of Ellisburg.

    Now Nilbog was dead, and her own tenure in the PRT was drawing to a close. On the desk in front of her lay the cleaned and polished claw, still sharp enough to draw blood, that Atropos had retrieved for her. There were less than four months to go until she could announce the End of the Endbringers, then accept her own retirement. Renick had asked her in a private moment what she thought she would do with herself, afterward. She'd smiled and said, "Anything I want."

    The note she was writing, a brief missive wishing Renick luck in his duties as Director—as a mainly administrative post, it should suit him down to the ground—came to an end, and she signed it with her time-worn scrawl. This was the last time, she realised, that she would sign anything at this desk. Then she folded it, slid it into an envelope, and wrote his name on the front.

    Her briefcase was ready to hand, everything else she needed from her office already moved out; she placed the pen, the claw and the pad in the case, clicking the latches shut. This was the moment of apogee, of weightlessness before gravity took hold and dragged her downward once more. Turning the chair, she looked out over the city she'd striven to tame for the last ten years. Her smile was more of a grimace.

    Crime had been like Sisyphus' rock, ever rolling downhill despite her best efforts. Under her direction, the PRT had done some good, as had the Protectorate heroes and the Wards. But it had always been too little, not focused enough where it needed to be, and hampered by a perennial lack of interdepartmental communication (not to mention endemic corruption).

    And then Atropos had come along. If Emily was still going with the 'rock' analogy, Atropos had blown it to bits then smashed the remnants with a sledgehammer. She'd broken all the rules, made Emily want to tear her hair out more than once … and stopped crime dead in the water.

    'Dead' being the operative word. With villain capes either deceased or decamped, the merely unpowered criminal element had suddenly been faced with newly energised law enforcement who no longer had to worry about costumed protectors. It hadn't helped the gangs at all when Atropos declared war on the drug trade within the city, and she didn't miss.

    People had died. A lot of people had died. But in contrast to what normally happened at times like this, the deaths had all happened to criminals attempting to defy Atropos' dictates. She'd blithely brushed off Emily's attempts to moderate her efforts via Captain Reeves, and just kept on shredding the opposition with terrifying efficiency.

    Two warehouses, exploded. A pair of eighteen-wheelers full of drugs, chased down and destroyed with ruthless efficiency. The boat in the harbour … she shook her head. So many idiots.

    Even when the driving forces behind the criminal enterprises in Brockton Bay had been neutralised, Atropos hadn't stopped. Some had feared that she might start coming after ordinary citizens for imagined crimes, but instead she'd shifted focus. Building on the bounty for the Nine (Emily had a signed copy of the picture of Crawler and Hatchet Face in her belongings), she'd gone after the Endbringers, and shocked everyone with her success.

    Now, as a direct result, Brockton Bay was on the way up and the PRT ENE was on the way down. They just weren't needed in their previous numbers, and she wasn't needed here at all. Atropos had literally killed the requirement for her to be in this city.

    New York had more capes than Brockton Bay, and it had an active villain population. From what she'd heard, they didn't run quite so rampant as they had once done in Brockton Bay, and the PRT possessed competent leadership. She was looking forward to meeting them.

    A new sheriff was coming to town.

    There was a knock on her office door. Turning the chair back so it faced the desk, she stood up. "Come in."

    Renick opened the door and stepped inside. Armsmaster and Triumph followed him up, with Miss Medic trailing behind; like the others, she was in full costume, every part neat and tidy.

    "It's time, ma'am," Renick said respectfully.

    It was indeed time. They'd gone over the paperwork that morning, and it was all due to take effect at thirteen hundred hours. Taking up her briefcase in her left hand, Emily stepped out from behind the desk. She'd thought over what she would say at this point—there wasn't much in the way of precedent for a PRT Director stepping down—but had decided to keep it short and simple. "You have the command, Director Renick."

    "I accept the command, Director Piggot," he replied, just as formally. In lieu of saluting—Emily was uncovered, and Renick had never been military—they shook hands.

    Armsmaster was next, extending his gauntlet. "Ma'am," he said gruffly. "Give 'em hell in New York."

    The corner of her mouth curved up in half a smile as she shook his hand. "The heroes or the villains?" God knew she'd been almost as hard as the capes under her command as on the opposition.

    His own smile answered her. "Whoever needs it, ma'am."

    "Good answer." She turned to Triumph. "You'll be transferring out when you age up into the Protectorate, correct?"

    "Yes, ma'am." He shook her hand carefully. "It'll be weird, not having you there."

    She couldn't argue with that. "Well, whether you want to come to New York or go elsewhere, I'll be pleased to write you a recommendation."

    "Thank you, ma'am." He caught her quizzical side-glance at Miss Medic. "She really wanted to come along. Said she had something to say to you."

    "I see." Emily turned to the newest and youngest Ward who'd been under her command until about one minute ago. "I'm listening."

    "Um, I know about your legs and your kidneys, and if you want, I can totally fix everything," Miss Medic rattled off all at once. "A few days to clone new kidneys and muscle mass, and an hour to implant. You'll be walking again inside a week. Properly, I mean. No post-op maintenance required." She stopped talking and gave a definitive nod. "That's what I wanted to say. Ma'am."

    "Hmm." Emily recalled Atropos telling her exactly the same thing. At that point in time, she'd shoved it to the back burner, to think about later. Now, it seemed, it was 'later'. She looked Miss Medic over, observing her almost painful eagerness to please. "And this won't distract you from your regular duties?"

    "No, ma'am." Miss Medic shook her head. "Cloning stuff pretty well runs itself, and operating on people is what I do." She beamed at Emily. "An' you've been really nice and gave me a chance to be a real hero, so I wanted to do something for you."

    Emily nodded. "And I appreciate it. Once I've gotten my bearings in New York, I'll arrange for you to come down and we'll go over what needs to be done." She extended her hand. "Thank you."

    Miss Medic grabbed it and shook it, her smile lighting up the whole room. "You're totally welcome, ma'am."

    "Hm." Emily looked around at the bare office. "Director Renick, the passwords and safe combination are in the usual drawer. I'm sure you'll be able to find everything. If you have any queries, feel free to direct them to me. I wish you the best of luck with this madhouse. It's all yours now."

    "Thank you, ma'am." This time, Renick cracked a smile.

    With a nod to the others, Emily turned and walked out her office door. The heroes followed along behind, but stood back respectfully at the elevator, where just she and Renick stepped inside. The ride up to the roof went in silence, Emily deep in her memories.

    When she stepped out of the roof exit, the chopper that was due to take her to New York was perched on the helipad, rotors slowly turning. But between her and it were two blocks of PRT personnel, with an empty lane running up the middle, and heroes and Wards standing back on either side. An order was barked; as one, the officers and troopers turned and saluted her.

    God damn it. I knew this was going to happen. She could feel the unshed tears prickling her eyelids as she stopped and opened the briefcase, then pulled out something she'd packed for the occasion: a PRT ballcap, weathered and stained and worn, dating back to when she'd been part of the boots on the ground. Putting it on, she closed the briefcase and stepped out onto the roof proper.

    She wasn't sure where the martial music was coming from, but it rose and swelled as she started toward the helicopter, her right arm snapping up into a salute and holding it. Holding a steady pace, she slow-marched to the transport then about-faced and dropped the salute.

    At this point in time, other people would've given a speech. There would have been exhortations to do their duty, and to follow Renick's lead as they had hers. Emily wasn't big on speeches, and they knew all that already. "It's been an honour," she said, raising her voice so it carried to everyone. "Thank you." Then she turned and climbed on board the chopper.

    The PRT officer who'd flown up in the helicopter to escort her back, a Major Halloran, saluted her as she entered the aircraft. She returned it, then pulled the sliding door shut and lowered herself into the closest seat. It didn't take long for her to get the five-point restraints sorted; the moment she did, the chopper's engine note deepened and the aircraft lumbered into the sky.

    Looking out the window as the chopper turned in a lazy arc to head southward, she could see a large chunk of Brockton Bay spread out beneath her. Anyone who was less familiar with the city than she was might have missed the subtle signs of the rebuilding, but they stood out to her like bold print in the middle of a page. If she leaned forward and looked out toward the northeast, it was just possible to make out the emptiness where the Boat Graveyard had been.

    Major Halloran handed her a headset, so she pulled it on over the ball cap. It cut external noise considerably and gave her a way to talk without shouting, which she approved of.

    "Regrets, ma'am?" asked Halloran, his voice clear in her ears.

    She thought about that for a moment, then shook her head as the helicopter forged its way southward to her new posting. "None whatsoever, Major."

    <><>​

    The Supreme Earth

    Tori Heflin

    "How are our Earth Bet agents progressing?"

    "Understand, Highness, that it has been difficult to slip anything through the White Rock portal since the outbreaks—"

    "I understand that. Now answer my question." Tori felt a ghostly hand close around her throat for a moment.

    She was dedicated to solving her liege's problems, partly because this was the natural order of things, and partly because she didn't want to die. "They're entirely unaware that this has anything to do with Atropos. If they knew that part, they would probably refuse altogether. As it is, we had to offer them extra pay just to go into Brockton Bay and kidnap two teenage girls."

    Goddess' expression twisted in anger. "They should be doing it simply because it's me who's saying so."

    "Yes, Highness, I know. Unfortunately, they've never seen your face or heard your voice, so they don't know that."

    "When they bring the two to the portal, they come through too." Goddess' expression hardened. "I will wish to thank them … personally."

    "As you wish, Highness." Tori knew she would pass on the orders verbatim. She also knew it would spell the doom of the agents, or at least condemn them to a lot of pain before Goddess tired of punishing them.

    But at least it wasn't her.

    <><>​

    Damsel of Distress

    Ashley paused before opening the door and read the plaque on it again: DR PHOEBE TANNER. She bit her lip, knowing that she was going to have to knock, that Atropos would want her to knock, but she didn't like going into things blind, and despite her talk with Mrs Yamada, it wasn't Mrs Yamada in there.

    Her phone buzzed. She took it out and found there was one text waiting for her. A sense of inevitability came over her as she read it: Go on in. It'll be fine.

    Because of course Atropos knew what was going on with her.

    On the other hand, this had previously led to her powers being fixed, and her ending up in an apartment that she still had trouble believing wasn't a dream. With serious money in her bank account and shops within easy walking distance, she was eating and sleeping better than she ever had before.

    Raising her hand, she knocked sharply, twice.

    "Come in, please." The voice was warm, matronly, comforting.

    She took a deep breath and muttered, "God, I hope I don't regret this."

    When she turned the handle, the door opened easily. Inside was a rather informally furnished area, not like any doctor's office she'd ever seen before. A lady in her late forties, on the overweight side, rose from a comfortable-looking armchair, putting a novel to one side. "Well, hello," she said with a welcoming smile. "You must be Ms Stillons. Or would you rather be called Ashley? Or by some other name?"

    Ashley considered this. "What if I said to call me Damsel of Distress?"

    "Then I'd do that." The answer came readily enough. "Is that what you want?"

    "Maybe it is." Ashley let a smile flick up the corner of her mouth. "But let's go with Ashley for the moment."

    Dr Tanner nodded agreeably. "Let's do that. If we're going to be on a first-name basis, you can call me Phoebe."

    So far, this seemed to be a painless process. "Sure thing, Phoebe. So, how are we going to do this? I've never done therapy before. I just got told I have to do it."

    Phoebe sat back down in the armchair she'd gotten up from. "Well, you can sit down if you want, or walk around, or even lie on the sofa. Whatever makes you comfortable."

    Ashley noted that the chair Dr Tanner had chosen allowed her to see the whole room; the woman wasn't stupid. "I think I'll sit." The other armchair looked inviting, and if they were both sitting, nobody was standing over anyone. She sank into the cushions and found out that it was as comfortable as it looked. "Yeah, definitely sit."

    Phoebe chuckled companionably. "Yes, they are like that, aren't they? So, you said you were told to get therapy. How did that make you feel?"

    Ashley wriggled a little, feeling the cushions enfolding her. "Not thrilled, but it was Atropos doing the telling, so I'm here."

    "Hmm." The sound was non-committal. "Do you think she did it to be mean? To provoke you?"

    "No." Ashley answered automatically. "Atropos doesn't play by those rules."

    Phoebe chuckled again. "Very true." She paused; when she spoke next, her voice was serious again. "Are you willing to talk about why you don't like the idea of therapy?"

    "No. Yeah. I dunno." Ashley thought she'd figured out why, and she didn't want to lie to Phoebe. Even if the therapist didn't know, Atropos would. "My life's been fucked up for years, ever since I got my powers. Most of the time I tell myself that I'd be fine if my powers weren't so screwed up, but deep down I know it's not true. Me going to therapy just proves that I'm fucked in the head even now my powers are good." She paused. "I'm allowed to say 'fuck', aren't I?"

    That drew another motherly chuckle. "Trust me, Ashley, I've heard a lot worse. You talk exactly how you want to talk. I won't be deducting marks for language."

    "Thanks." Ashley tilted her head slightly. "I notice you didn't say I'm not fucked in the head, though."

    "To be honest, I'd be astonished if you weren't suffering from some kind of long-term trauma stemming from your trigger event," Phoebe said seriously. "There have also been studies that suggest a power-based drive toward conflict, contrasting people from before and after they gained powers. Some people—not all, but some—became more violent, shorter tempered, more willing to lash out. Whether this is due to trigger trauma or a literal change in brain chemistry due to powers altering the body, is something we frankly don't have enough data on. Long story short, most capes need therapy of one type or another. Far more than actually get it."

    "Oh." That was a shift in perspective that Ashley hadn't been expecting. It's not just me. It's everyone. "So, um, I'm not your only patient here?"

    "Doctor-patient privilege says I can't give you names," Phoebe gently admonished with a twinkle in her eye. "But no, you are definitely not."

    "I can deal." If Phoebe wasn't allowed to talk to her about the others, she wasn't allowed to talk to the others about her. Ashley could definitely live with that. "So, what did you want to talk about?"

    "Your choice." Phoebe clasped her hands in front of her. "If you can't think of a subject, I notice that Atropos seems to be an important figure in your life. Would you like to talk about her?"

    Ashley nodded. "Sure, let's do that. The first time I met her, she put a gun to my head …"

    <><>​

    Hebert Household Basement

    Taylor

    "What are you doing down here?" Cherie descended the steps into the basement, shading her eyes against the single hanging bulb to see what I was up to.

    "Oh, hey." I glanced in her direction and waved, before going back to my work. Using a tray so I didn't lose anything, I'd dissected a bunch of nine-mil bullets, leaving a heap of double-base powder next to a bunch of cartridge cases and extracted bullets. Using a tiny measuring spoon, I was adding a measured amount of propellant to each case in turn before tapping the bullet back into place. Some of the bullets needed to get reshaped as well, so that happened before replacing them in the casings. "Working on some bullets."

    "I can see that." She watched as I gave one case two and a half spoonfuls, then persuaded the bullet to seat itself just right in the mouth of the casing. "That's a lot of bullets," she observed doubtfully. "What do you need all those trick bullets for?"

    "Not one hundred percent sure," I answered truthfully. "I have a few ideas, but nothing concrete. My power's being all sneaky." I gave her a grin. "As soon as I find out, I'll let you know."

    She wrinkled her nose. "Your power's weird. Just so you know."

    My grin widened. "It says thank you."

    "That wasn't meant as a compliment." My power and I knew she wasn't being serious. We sparred like this all the time.

    "Too bad. I'm taking it as one." I bent over my work again.

    "Yeah, yeah, whatever. Dinner will be ready in ten minutes." She gave me a quick side-hug.

    I nodded toward where my teleporter was recharging on the bench, next to the bowl with the towel over it. "I'll be making one quick trip, but it'll take less time than that."

    "Good." She headed for the stairs. "My lasagne waits for nobody. I figured out where I went wrong with the last one."

    "There was nothing wrong with the last one."

    "And yet, I have improved on it." She was at the top of the steps by now.

    "I look forward to it."

    The basement door closed behind her. After finishing up the last bullet I'd been working on, I picked up the teleporter.

    <><>​

    Philadelphia Parahuman Asylum

    Mrs Jessica Yamada

    The sound of Earl's power echoed through the room, a continuous harsh droning hum that was clearly audible through the earplugs Jessica was wearing. He stood apart from the others, a sheepish look on his face. He could barely hear the noise he was making, but he knew it was there.

    Another loner in the room was Roderick, usually known as Sadboy. The closer people got to him, the more depressed they felt. Jessica tended to conduct his sessions with her over a video channel, because no matter how much she steeled herself against it, it always got to her.

    They shared a single aspect with the other seventeen people in the room: they were, powers aside, human. Nobody there had a physiology that depended on their powers for survival, and all had volunteered when Jessica had raised the idea. They, of course, shared one other common trait. Each and every one of them had a 'power' that made it exceedingly difficult, if not downright impossible, to live normally in society without either hurting people or being hurt.

    Pulling out her phone, Jessica checked the time. It was almost at the time she'd agreed with Atropos, and she held up a placard that she'd prepared earlier. FIFTEEN SECONDS. GET READY.

    That got their attention. Everyone there had heard of Atropos. However, even knowing what they knew of her, they'd still volunteered for this.

    The last fifteen seconds ticked down, then a shadowy portal appeared in the middle of the room. Atropos stepped out of it, holding a white ceramic bowl, of all things. She strolled casually over to Jessica and offered the bowl—no, the contents of the bowl—to her. As far as Jessica could see, they were green seedless grapes, all looking alike.

    She realised a second later what Atropos wanted her to do; taking one grape, she showed it to everyone, and ate it. See, they're safe to eat.

    Her mind insisted on telling her that she could taste something different as she chewed the grape and swallowed it, but she was pretty sure it was her imagination. Holding up both hands, fingers spread apart, she opened her mouth to prove she'd eaten it. The minor play-acting probably wasn't necessary, but every little bit helped.

    Atropos seemed to be ignoring the main group as she took the bowl over to Earl. He took one, looked at it, then ate it. Jessica knew what would happen next; she'd seen it before with Sveta. Everybody else knew as well, but they'd only been told. There was a world of difference between the two.

    A few seconds went by, then the droning buzz from Earl dropped off dramatically, then ceased altogether. It seemed to leave behind it a hollow booming noise, but Jessica knew that the room was silent. Cautiously, she pulled out her earplugs, followed by everyone else. "Holy shit, it works!" Roderick exclaimed. "Can I be next, please?"

    "Sure thing." And before Jessica could warn her, Atropos casually strolled in his direction.

    "No, wait, just put the bowl down!" Roderick, to his credit, tried to wave her off. "I'll come and get one!"

    "It's all good." Apparently unaffected by the waves of horrific nihilism radiating off him at that range, she reached him and held out the bowl. "Pick one, any one."

    Roderick stared at her as he took a grape and popped it into his mouth. "How … how are you … nobody can get this close to me!" He chewed and swallowed, still staring.

    "Meh. I grew up in Brockton Bay. This is nothing." She managed the exact tone and timing to draw a laugh from the remaining patients, which intensified when the sadness field just … popped. Jessica felt a profound wave of relief, and wanted to laugh out loud herself.

    "Rod! Dude! You're not sad anymore!" Earl covered the distance to Roderick in a remarkably short time and hugged him, lifting him partly off the floor.

    Atropos turned to the others, who were staring at her as though hypnotised. "Okay, you've seen that they work. I know that some of you are fragile and some of you have other problematic powers, so form an orderly line without pushing or shoving. I brought one for each of you."

    "What about the one Mrs Yamada ate?" someone called out.

    "That was so she could demonstrate that they were harmless." Atropos gestured. "One at a time. Let's do this."

    One by one, they came up to her and took a grape. For each grape eaten, a set of powers just … ceased to exist, leaving an ordinary person behind to join in the increasingly exuberant celebrations. When the last grape was eaten and the last (ex-)patient devoid of powers, Jessica went over to Atropos.

    "Thank you," she said simply. "I know this is probably only a small thing for you, but you've made the world of difference for everyone here."

    Atropos nodded. "Like the story about the kid on the seashore with the starfish, it matters to that starfish." She touched her hat brim with two fingers. "Toodles."

    And then, like the problematic powers she had come to End, she vanished.



    End of Part Seventy-Two
     
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    • Part Seventy-Three: Tempting the Fates
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    • A Darker Path

    Part Seventy-Three: Tempting the Fates

    [A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]


    Friday Afternoon, March 4

    Theo Anders

    "Okay, we're here." Mr Crandall pulled the car over and stopped the engine. "Can you handle your stuff?"

    "Yeah." Theo climbed out of the car, then opened the back door and reached in for the single suitcase he'd packed.

    In his wardrobe had been a vast array of snappy clothing and carefully fitted three-piece suits (cut to conceal his less than slimline body shape) that his father had foisted on him. He preferred to wear less attention-attracting garb, usually jeans with a loose T-shirt. These shared the suitcase with a toiletry kit grabbed at random from the bathroom, a few battered science fiction novels that he'd managed to hide from his father, and the one item from his old life that he actually prized: a spelling award from the fifth grade. He'd won it fair and square, with zero interference from his family.

    As he was hauling the case out of the car, a woman approached them. "Mr Crandall?" she asked. "I'm Marjorie Brown."

    "Hello, Marjorie." Mr Crandall shook her hand. "Call me Lester. This is Theo Anders."

    "H'lo," mumbled Theo, suddenly self-conscious. He'd been fine doing gopher work in the Betterment Committee offices, where nobody seemed to care who his father had been, but nobody there had used his last name. Rubbing his hand over the seat of his pants, he gave her a tentative handshake.

    "Hi, Theo." Ms Brown gave him a sympathetic look, which didn't garner her much credit from him. All he'd gotten from people who actually knew who he was were sympathetic looks (when he could see them) and sometimes glares (when they thought he couldn't). He totally understood the latter, but was comfortable with neither. "Ready to meet the Laborns?"

    "I guess." He picked up his suitcase. At least he'd be out of that house.

    Ms Brown led the way into a fairly nondescript-looking building, and they rode up a couple of floors in an elevator. Theo was glad of that, at least; while the suitcase wasn't impossibly heavy, carrying it upstairs would be a pain. Exiting the elevator, they went down the corridor a little way until Ms Brown stopped at a particular door.

    "Well, here we are," she said brightly, giving Theo a hopeful smile. He tried not to grimace too obviously in return. Reaching out, she knocked on the door.

    Theo wasn't short for his age; in that, he took after his father. But the young man who opened the door—the young black man—was at least six and a half feet tall, maybe taller. To Theo, he seemed to tower overhead.

    Is this a test to see if I'm like Max was? To see if I'm a racist?

    "Hi, Ms Brown. Theo." A large hand was held out toward him. "I'm Brian. Pleased to meet you."

    Theo suddenly realised that Brian was actually smiling, and offering his hand to shake. He took it, painfully aware that he was doing something he'd never done before in his life. Brian's grip was firm enough to make it clear that he could crush Theo's hand to pulp without much effort, but he didn't pull the bullshit knuckle-cruncher that Hookwolf loved—had loved—to do.

    "Uh, hi," Theo managed, as Brian let go his hand. "Same here, I guess."

    "Lester Crandall, CPS. How are you doing, Brian?" Mr Crandall shook hands with Brian next, and Theo was pretty sure there was a little bit of how-tough-are-you going on there, but the smile never shifted off Brian's face.

    "I'm doing fine, Mr Crandall. Come in, please, all of you. Aisha and Riley will be out in just a moment." Brian stepped back, gesturing for them all to enter.

    The apartment was nice. There were pictures on the wall, including a photo of Brian with two younger girls, apparently clowning around down at the Boardwalk. Everything was neat and tidy; Theo noted the coasters that had been placed on most surfaces, something he personally approved of.

    "Heyyy!" A tornado in teenager form bolted out of a back room; she looked about thirteen with a purple streak in her hair, and was wearing a T-shirt with a screen-print of Alexandria on it, and jeans. Another, younger, girl followed along behind, somewhat more demurely. "It's great to meet you, Theo! I'm Aisha, and this here's cousin Riley, and you would've met my boring big bro Brian." Lowering her voice to a stage whisper, she added, "Ignore him. I run the show around here, and don't let him tell you otherwise."

    While Theo was still blinking at that and wondering how he should react, Riley came straight up to him and gave him a hug, her head resting on his chest. "Hi."

    "Um … hi?" The last time Theo had gotten a hug was so long ago that he couldn't even remember the occasion. Putting his suitcase down, he slowly put his arms around her and returned the hug. The human contact nearly broke through his reserve then and there, tears threatening to spill from his eyes.

    "Hello, Aisha." Ms Brown was smiling as she said it. "You're looking well. How's your schoolwork going?"

    "Kickin' butt and takin' names, Ms B." Aisha grinned widely. "Got an A-minus on English comprehension the other day."

    "That's really good to hear." The tone of approval in her voice was evident.

    "Just checking, Theo, do you have any allergies, or dietary or religious requirements?" If Brian found it amiss that his cousin was hugging Theo, his voice didn't show it. "If we know about it, we can work around it."

    "Uh, no." Theo found himself being released from the hug, so he turned to face Brian. "None that I know of. Is there anything I need to know about, for any of you guys?" Peanut allergies (as an example) came to mind, but Mr Crandall hadn't spoken on the subject.

    "Nah." Aisha answered for the both of them. "Anything I find on my dinner plate's fair game."

    "What pizza toppings do you prefer?" asked Riley. "I like seafood, and Brian prefers meat lovers, and like Aisha said, she just attacks anything."

    "Nah, nah." Aisha shook her head. "I'll have you know that I'm a gourmet with a wide range of eclectic tastes."

    Brian snorted. "Someone's been browsing the dictionary, alright."

    Mr Crandall cleared his throat. "Ah … if I can just see where Theo will be sleeping, I'll be able to get out of your hair."

    "We put a second bed in my bedroom," Brian offered. "Through here." He led the way down the short corridor. Mr Crandall followed, as did Theo.

    The room wasn't huge, but there was just about enough space for two beds, and room to move between them. As Brian had noted, there was a second bed there, but with a bare mattress. An equally bare pillow and linens were folded at the foot of it.

    Mr Crandall looked around. "Closet space?" he asked.

    "Built-in." Brian moved a sliding door to display hanging space as well as some shelves. "I'll be shifting my stuff to make room." He grinned at Theo. "I know it's going to be a lot more cramped than what you're used to, but we'll make do."

    "I'll, uh," Theo cleared his throat. "I'll be fine." He had barely used any of the ample closet space in his old room. What he was used to was having his father's opinions pressing down on his every thought process in an attempt to shape him into a good little Anders clone. Brian's vaguely big-brother air, Aisha's snark, and Riley's spontaneous hug were things he simply had no metric for. "I like Hawaiian, but meat lovers is good for me too." He'd ordered pizzas occasionally from Kayden's place, and those two had been his go-to.

    "Nice." Brian held up his hand. It took Theo a moment to realise he was supposed to give Brian a high-five. Feeling more and more surreal by the second, he did it.

    I think I'm going to like it here.

    <><>​

    Friday Evening

    Taylor

    "Well, what do you think?" Despite her earlier bravado, Cherie looked at Dad and me anxiously after our initial bites of the second lasagne that she'd prepped on her own.

    I briefly considered pretending to choke, but that would be mean. "It's nice," I said, and meant it. "Not quite the same as the way we usually have it, but definitely very nice. What did you do differently?"

    She flushed slightly. "Went online and looked up recipes and suggestions. Tried a few things. You really like it?" It showed just how invested she was in knowing the truth that she was asking, even as her power was telling her what she wanted to know anyway.

    Dad nodded, taking another bite. "It's good," he said once he'd swallowed. "I can taste the difference in the seasonings. Very edible indeed."

    "Yeah," I added. "We're definitely going to have to have this again."

    She beamed at us, then I saw her eyes glisten. I knew what was coming next, so I got up at the same time as she did.

    "You guys …" Her voice was choked up as I wrapped her in a hug. "You guys are the best. You know that?"

    It wasn't just the food, or the praise, I knew that much. It was the acceptance we'd given her, and the freedom to make her own way in the household.

    One day at a time, she was building her own life, her own identity. And we'd be there to support her every step of the way.

    <><>​

    PHO Reacts

    Saturday Morning, March 5

    Emma

    The Boardwalk was nice at this time of morning, Emma decided. There was a brisk onshore breeze, and the weekend crowd had yet to make it feel cluttered. She glanced sideways at Anne, who was walking alongside her.

    "So, sister of mine." she ventured.

    "So," Anne replied. "You asked if we could meet, and here we are. We're on your dime now. What's on your mind?"

    "I merely wished to ask some questions." She paused, thinking about her next words. "Clear something up for me."

    "Go ahead and ask, but be warned." Anne sounded serious. "If you ask anything along the lines of 'what's it like' or 'how long have you been into girls', I am seriously just going to walk away."

    "That's not what I was going to ask." If pressed, Emma would've admitted to some natural curiosity on both counts, but she took the warning in her stride. "I had thought that Our Lady in Darkness had forbidden Faultline from entering the city again, on pain of death. Was it truly her?"

    "Officially, I have no idea what you're talking about. Realistically?" Anne glanced around, then nodded. "That's what she said, and I've got no reason to disbelieve her. She did say Atropos invited her back, remember. She's going to be working for the Betterment Committee."

    "Ah. So it was Our Lady in Darkness who was responsible for her being at the College, then." Emma nodded wisely. "I had wondered."

    "Wait." Anne stopped and stared at her. "Are you saying Atropos set us up together? That she meant that to happen?"

    "Obscure are her ways, and long is her reach." Emma turned her hands palm upward, as a way of showing that she was hiding nothing. "If she did, it was for the good of all. Thus is her purpose."

    "No, no." Anne shook her head. "I need to know. Did she do that deliberately? Because if she did, it changes everything."

    "I will consult with her, and put your mind at ease." Emma took out her phone and accessed PHO. If Atropos was indeed behind it, she would say so. She never lied or deceived.

    Flowery language would waste time, so she opened a private message and typed in, Why did you get my sister laid?

    Less than ten second later, the phone pinged with a reply. Opening it, she read: What are you talking about?

    "Well, this is interesting," she murmured. "Our Lady in Darkness wishes me to clarify. Give me a moment." Atropos preferred directness, so she'd be direct, no matter how much she wanted otherwise. Faultline and Laserdream, she typed. She got drunk and in bed with them. You can't tell me you didn't have something to do with that.

    Again, the answer came back quickly. Huh, that's a surprise. I did invite Faultline back into the city to work for the committee, but I didn't think she'd do anything else.

    Anne looked at the messages, raising her eyebrows in surprise. "So, she wasn't behind it? It just happened naturally?"

    "Our Lady in Darkness does not stoop to lying about such matters," Emma chided her gently. "If she says she had no part in it, then she had no part in it."

    "Okay, gotcha." Anne shook her head. "From the way you've been talking her up, she knows all and sees all. Seems like your goddess has feet of clay, after all."

    "She is no goddess." Emma was indeed taken aback, but she had her Lady in Darkness' words to fall back on. "She has said that many times. But I see this as a test of faith."

    "You do you, sis." Anne smiled. "I got stuff to think about, too."

    Leaving her to stroll along the Boardwalk, Emma went to the nearest bus stop and boarded the next bus that was heading in her direction. She settled down in her seat, her mind still churning over the implications of Atropos' words. Finally, going back to the phone, she typed another message. You seriously didn't plan this?

    The answer popped up almost immediately. Nope.

    "Huh," she murmured. She was still faithful, but that one admission was forcing her to re-evaluate everything she'd thought she knew about her Lady in Darkness. After a moment of thought, she typed that word in and sent it.

    The conversation progressed as the bus ride went on. Sometimes Atropos answered immediately, while other answers took minutes to come through. She learned that Faultline was in the city as part of a 'path' to get her, Emma, to stop worshipping Atropos. This suggested to Emma that Atropos didn't know every step of whatever 'path' she was following to get something done.

    She paused after coming in the front door to type out a longer post, trying to put her thoughts and realisations into coherent form. The conversation had given her a new perspective on her own state of mind, and she wanted to convey this before she lost it again. I'm swinging back toward normal, she ended the post. But I don't know if I'll stop there.

    Atropos seemed to take it in her stride, as she did everything else. But then, after Emma had gotten a snack and headed upstairs to her room, a bombshell dropped into the conversation. Anyway, you're going to be kidnapped in, like, five minutes. Thought I should warn you.

    Just for a moment, she thought of trying to hide, or get help, but then she realised she already had the best help available. If Atropos knew of the kidnap ahead of time, she would also have plans to thwart it. A few quick comments back and forth confirmed this, then they ended the conversation.

    Whatever was going on with the 'royal brat' (as Atropos put it) who was trying to get at her Lady in Darkness, she was sure Atropos had it well in hand. All that was left for Emma was to be kidnapped in style.

    <><>​

    Atropos

    I was down in the basement, reshaping a bullet prior to replacing it in the cartridge case, when Emma sent me a private message about Anne. I had no idea what she was talking about, and told her so. Her response was enlightening, but I still had to explain to her that whatever had happened (as entertaining as the aftermath might be) I'd had nothing to do with it.

    The conversation went on, with occasional pauses as I worked on one cartridge or another, but Emma seemed willing to wait and see what I had to say. In fact, as I tapped the last bullet back into place, I realised that this was the longest (and most civil) conversation I'd had with her in literally years. I grinned as I sent back the message, Well, welcome back to sanity. Hope you enjoy your stay, however long you stick around.

    A moment after that, some interesting information popped into my head, informing me that there were abductions lined up for Aisha and Emma. It had something to do with the text I'd sent Aisha the previous night, suggesting that she and Brian buy Theo a welcoming gift of some kind, though I wasn't quite sure what the connection was yet.

    I already knew there was something going on with me, but I didn't have all the details about that either. My power seemed to be chuckling to itself in the background. It could be a real troll on occasion, but that was fine; so could I.

    I passed the relevant information on to Emma, and she acknowledged it with a damn sight more aplomb than she would've before I'd gotten my powers. Whether this was because she was more scared of me than of the kidnappers, because I'd told her she was going to be okay, or just because she was still nuts, I didn't know and didn't care. We signed off the conversation, and I set to work refilling the last of the magazines with the altered bullets. One went into the pistol, while the others ended up in my pockets.

    A timer was ticking down in my mind as I slipped Riley's canister into a pocket inside the crown of my hat. Emma and Aisha were supposed to be kidnapped in three minutes, which gave me just enough time to do what I needed to do. A ballpoint pen went into the pocket of my shirt under the vest; I wasn't at all sure what I'd need that for, but I was sure I would find out.

    Taking the teleporter off charge, I slipped my left forearm into it, then clicked it into place. I set the teleport coordinates to Emma's house, and hit the go button.

    An immense hand closed around me and yanked me sideways, right out of the world.

    <><>​

    The Supreme World, A Few Moments Before

    Goddess

    "Is the diverter ready?" Bianca scanned each of the technicians for the slightest hint of betrayal. She would reward such with the most excruciatingly painful death, but all appeared to be loyal.

    "It appears so, Highness." Tori gestured at the banks of gauges and dials. "We have a full lock on the teleporter she uses. It does not accept wireless input from outside, but when she teleports, we can use brute force to redirect her to where we need her to go."

    "Highness?" One of the techs put his hand up hesitantly. "A word, if you will?"

    "Yes?" Her eyes narrowed. His tone suggested that there was bad news following. She did not like bad news. Bad news was something she did to those who refused her right and proper guidance.

    "The, uh, the diverter will work, but the power we'll be needing to pull someone across the dimensional barrier, to repurpose the portal, will overload it quite badly. There will be extensive stress on critical systems. We'll only be able to do this once." He wilted under her glare. "Apologies, Highness. I-I thought you needed to know."

    "Hmm." Bianca wanted to crush his body into paste as an example to those who thought they might be able to fail her with impunity, but she chose to stay her hand. After all, she only needed to do this once. And it wasn't like she intended to allow Atropos to go back to Earth Bet. "Understood. Carry on."

    A buzzer sounded, and a yellow light flashed. One of the techs raised their hand. "The teleporter has gone off standby! It's in operating mode!"

    "This is it, people!" The tech who had approached Bianca moved to a control panel and started flicking switches. "Generators online! Bring to full power!"

    "Generators running at one hundred ten percent rated power!" another tech called out. "Cutting in power … now!" What had been a background hum rose to an almost unbearable shriek. The smell of ozone permeated the air inside the vast building.

    "Activating diverter!" Grabbing a large blade switch, the tech pulled it over. The shriek became a thunder, actively painful to the ears. One at a time, the techs fumbled earplugs into place. Bianca merely powered up her force field, keeping Tori inside. The sound was reduced to an acceptable level, and she kept watching.

    A red light began to strobe on top of the main part of the device. "She's teleporting," Tori said, her voice raised to a half-shout.

    Lights flashed crazily across the machines. Gauges exploded, dials popping out of their mountings. An electrical arc crackled between two of the consoles, frying a tech. One of the consoles exploded, pieces of shrapnel bouncing off the force field. Sparks flew as fuses blew, one after the other.

    The noise gradually abated, winding back from thunder to shriek to hum. Flames crackled on several of the consoles, until fire-control sprays hissed and put them out. Lying on his back, clawing at the sky, the dead tech had smoke drifting upward from his clothing.

    Barely any of the blinking lights or dials had survived; it was clear that the tech had not overstated the amount of damage that the diverter would suffer. But Bianca didn't care about any of that. "Did it work?" she shouted, dropping the force field now that the danger was past. "Has Atropos been captured?"

    The main tech staggered to his feet. He had a cut on his forehead and a piece of jagged metal sticking out of his arm, but he looked over what remained of his prized machines. "Y-yes, Highness," he managed. "All readouts indicate success."

    "Good." Bianca turned to Tori. "Send the signal. Take the hostages."

    Tori inclined her head respectfully. "Yes, Highness."

    <><>​

    Relevant Side Story

    <><>​

    Theo

    "Hey."

    Theo looked up from the cartoon channel—for some reason, Riley found Li'l Protectorate Pals to be hilarious, and it was starting to grow on him too—to see Brian and Aisha standing near the door.

    "What's up?" he asked, already feeling easier about just asking the question than he would've been twelve hours before. Brian, he'd found, was very straightforward and direct, and preferred the same from others. There were no trick questions, no 'gotcha' comments. What you saw was what you got.

    "I'm taking Aisha to do the shopping. Anything either of you need?"

    Theo shrugged; there wasn't anything he desperately wanted. He wasn't even hungry; the bacon and eggs he'd had earlier had filled him up nicely. "Not really, but thanks anyway."

    "I got a list," Riley piped up. "I'll text it to Aisha."

    "Sounds good." Brian put his hand on the door and opened it. "We'll be back in half an hour. You've both got my number in case of emergencies."

    "Don't worry," Riley interjected in a passable imitation of Aisha's snark. "I'll make sure nothing happens to him."

    Brian nodded. "Works for me." He nodded to them both and left, Aisha following behind. The door closed behind them with a definitive click.

    As Riley started to fiddle with her phone, Theo frowned. "Aisha didn't argue with him about going shopping. I thought she liked cartoons as much as you do."

    "She does." Riley gave him a sideways duh look. "They're buying you a welcome-to-the-apartment present, silly. He's taking her along to make sure they get something you can use."

    "What? They are? He is?" Theo was startled. So far, he'd found the company pleasant and the entire lack of oppressive judgement thoroughly enjoyable, but for all he knew, they were just tolerating him because they had to.

    "Well, yeah." Riley kept tapping on her phone while she talked. "Me and Aisha talked it over last night after we went to bed, and Aisha talked to Brian this morning. You're a nice guy who's been dealt a really shit hand, which kind of describes everyone in the apartment. But you haven't let it make you into an asshole, which is kind of impressive, so we like you. Aisha had the idea of getting you a present, and Brian agreed."

    Theo frowned. "What sort of present?" He'd never been gifted with anything that didn't involve an ulterior motive before.

    "No idea." Riley finished her texting and put the phone down, then gave him a severe look. "Just make sure you pretend to be surprised when we give it to you. I don't want to get in trouble for blabbing."

    If there was one thing Theo knew all about, it was keeping his mouth shut. Max Anders had expounded to him at length on the subject of strength of character, then ruthlessly crushed any signs of it that Theo might have shown. Keeping his head down and being as invisible as possible had been his go-to for literally years.

    Besides, he liked Riley too. There was compassion inside her, linked to a pain that Theo didn't want to delve too deeply into. Her earlier remark suggested that she too was someone who had been 'dealt a shit hand', though he was not going to ask.

    The hug she'd greeted him with hadn't been a once-off. She was cheerful and demonstrative and capable of both humour and seriousness, sometimes both in the same sentence. He respected Brian and thought Aisha's antics and occasionally crass humour were quite funny, but Riley was someone he hoped that Aster would grow up to be like, someday.

    That random thought led to a place he didn't want to go, reminding him of the Empire Eighty-Eight and the way they'd fled Brockton Bay following the death of Max Anders. The last he'd heard, the gang had broken up and gone their separate ways, some being captured by heroes and some still at large.

    He wondered if anyone left on the loose even remembered him. It wasn't something he was anxious to explore. The idea of some section or other of the Empire Eighty-Eight grabbing him to hold up as the heir of the white-supremacy movement was positively nauseating, not least because he fervently disagreed with everything that they stood for.

    He was still musing over that when, with a shattering crash, the front door was kicked in. Two burly men burst into the apartment, pointing what he easily recognised as suppressed firearms. Theo didn't know who they were, but he certainly understood what they were. Thugs were thugs, the world over.

    Well, fuck. They found me anyway.

    Wearily, he stood up from the sofa. "Okay, you got me. Don't hurt the girl, and I'll come quietly."

    He was wholly unprepared for the punch to the gut that left him gasping on the floor while one man stood over him, gun aimed downward. "Aisha Laborn?" asked the other one.

    "Yeah, I'm Aisha," Riley said immediately. "Please don't hurt him. He didn't do anything."

    "Witness," the one who'd hit him grunted. "Seen our faces, and he can call the cops." He aimed the pistol at Theo's face; the muzzle aperture looked enormous.

    "You don't want to do that in this city," Riley warned. "Atropos is the only one allowed to kill anyone. She's got a murder sense, and she can teleport." She said it with such surety that even Theo was almost convinced, though he was fairly sure he hadn't heard about any such 'murder sense' before now.

    "Atropos?" The thug's voice had real fear in it. "Fuck. Okay. We'll take him with."

    As Theo was manhandled to his feet and forced to walk out the door, his jumbled thoughts spun in all directions.

    Who are these guys?

    Why did Riley say she was Aisha?

    God, I hope she knows what she's doing.

    Because there was no way in hell he was going to be able to get them out of this.

    <><>​

    Tori Heflin

    Following Goddess into the main control centre and standing out of the way of the emergency workers who were dealing with the injured techs, Tori looked over the playback equipment. It seemed to be in good condition; nothing had fallen on it from the ceiling, and the power lights still glowed.

    "Show me," Goddess ordered.

    "At once, Highness." Tori hit the replay on the main recorder, and the large screen lit up. "The recording automatically began when we turned on the diverter."

    The image on the screen was a cell, ten feet by ten, with a heavy metal door on one side and lights glaring down from each corner to rid every inch of the cell of darkness. A cockroach would have been visible, no matter how it slunk about. There were no furnishings, no amenities; it was an empty concrete box. The only thing that broke the monotony of the walls were regularly spaced grilles, four inches square.

    "The walls are six feet thick, the door one foot, barred from the other side." Goddess hadn't asked, but Tori felt the need to explain anyway. "Knockout gas is being pumped in via the grilles."

    The lights flickered briefly, then Atropos appeared in the middle of the cell. She turned faster than Tori would've given her credit, produced a shotgun from apparently out of nowhere, and fired six shots into the cell door; three down the left side and three down the right. Then she hammered her heel into the middle of the door hard enough to raise an echo in the camera audio.

    It didn't give, of course, but any normal door would've certainly been hard put to take that sort of treatment. Tori noted distantly that Atropos had placed the shots precisely where the hinges and lock of a normal door would've been.

    Reholstering the shotgun, Atropos pulled back her sleeve to reveal a sleek black mechanism wrapped around her left forearm. Flicking open a small panel, she tapped in a series of numbers, her fingers blurring over the tiny keypad. She flickered slightly, then reformed. Again she tried it, and again. Each time, she flickered but did not go anywhere.

    "What is she doing?" demanded Goddess. "Surely she cannot be trying to leave the building. She does not know where there is a safe space!"

    "She must be trying to teleport to the other side of the door, Highness." It was Tori's only guess. "When she shot the door and kicked it, it would've given her an idea of how thick it was."

    After the eighth attempt at teleporting out, Atropos slumped to the floor, but not before Tori spotted her left hand moving stealthily. When she moved the recording back slightly, it was possible to see that Atropos had stashed her shears in her waistband, behind her back. Then she fell unconscious, or apparently so.

    "What's the longest anyone has withstood that gas?" Goddess asked.

    "Five minutes," Tori replied. She'd looked that statistic up herself. As it was, she knew that the damage in the other room had been due to the multiple escape attempts. Once more, and Atropos may have overwhelmed the diverter altogether, and been free to teleport wherever she wished.

    "Wait for ten minutes, then go in wearing armour." Goddess glared at the girl on the screen. "I've poured far too many resources into getting her under my power. Take no chances with her."

    "I won't, Highness." Tori looked at the screen again, where the black-clad girl was still slumped on the floor. She tried to feel satisfaction at a job well done, but instead all she felt was a creeping disquiet.

    I truly hope this will not blow up in our faces.



    End of Part Seventy-Three

    [A/N: Evil cliffhanger is evil. Mwahahaha.]
     
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    • Part Seventy-Four: Sleight of Hand
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    • A Darker Path

    Part Seventy-Four: Sleight of Hand

    [A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]


    Goddess

    "Highness, she awakens."

    "Good." Bianca smiled and settled herself into the throne that she'd had placed in front of the chair holding Atropos, with the low table between them. The chair was made of solid steel, with metal clamps holding Atropos firmly in place. Even if the black-clad assassin could fly (there had been no report of that) the chair was bolted to the floor; she would go nowhere and do nothing without Bianca's permission.

    The throne, of course, was higher than the chair. It was necessary that Atropos knew who was in charge right from the beginning. Adjacent to this was the fact that they'd removed her hat and mask; those two accessories lay alongside the weapons on the table. Atropos would have nothing to hide behind, when speaking to her Goddess.

    The girl stirred, then she raised her head, shaking it slightly to get her long black curls out of her face. She flicked a glance from side to side, then seemed to focus on Bianca. "Ah," she said. "The idiot of the week. Who are you, where am I, and do you honestly think you're going to get out of this alive?"

    Her voice was strong and confident, but Bianca felt not even a twinge of danger from her. "You may call me Goddess," she replied suavely. "You have been brought to my presence because I have need of your talents. Your authorities called this world Earth Shin, to make it subordinate to their Earth Bet, but make no mistake; this is the Supreme Earth, and it will rule over all. I will rule over all."

    "Big words," Atropos retorted. "Bastard Son had big ideas, too. You might want to think about what I did to him, and reconsider your life goals in the process. Release me now, and I might think about letting you go with a warning."

    Bianca wasn't sure who Bastard Son was, or had been, but she knew enough not to show weakness by acknowledging ignorance of a reference. Instead, she laughed out loud, letting it peal through the room. Off to either side, she heard her Court take up the laughter, mocking the arrogant assassin in their midst.

    "You are clearly delusional," she said, holding up a hand to cut off the laughter. "I brought you here to serve my will, and that's what you will do."

    "Nobody has yet forced me to do a damn thing I didn't want to do." Atropos' gaze bored into Bianca's. "I promise you, you will regret dragging me here. My good friend Mr Pump Action Shotgun has a way of redefining Kneecaps as a Privilege. I'm pretty sure he can extend that to Shins as well."

    The continued defiance was irritating. To see Goddess, to hear her voice, was to be enthralled by her. However, Bianca had planned ahead for this very thing, given the rumours that Atropos was able to kill Master effects. "If you will not pay heed to me, see what else is at stake." She gestured, causing the three screens to lower from the ceiling and power up.

    Atropos raised her eyes. Bianca could not see the screens from her angle, but she knew what was there. It had taken her literally millions in bribes, as well as a judicious application of her influence, to have the three hostages spirited through the White Rock portal at the appropriate time. From all accounts, two of the three were people Atropos was most likely to have a connection with.

    The men who had taken them had come through as well, expecting to be well-paid for their efforts. However, she had not forgotten the insult of their demanding higher pay in the first place, so they were now in chains, awaiting her (dis)pleasure. She would get to them in time. Atropos was a higher priority.

    "Why?" Atropos' tone could have shaved steel. "They're kids. Why bring them into this?"

    Bianca smiled beatifically. That was exactly the reaction she'd been angling for. "Emma Barnes is the leader of your cult, while Aisha Laborn is the head of your fan club. Theo Anders is apparently also under your care, so he is here as well. Each of them is at a hidden location around the world, far separated from each other. They are guarded every hour of the day. If I give the order, the guards will kill them before you can get to them. The guards also wear harnesses with heart rate monitors and bombs, so if they are killed, the killer also dies." She steepled her fingers and looked over Atropos at them. "Now, either dispense with this pointless defiance or I will order one of them killed. And you will have to choose which one."

    "I see." Atropos flicked her eyes over each of the monitors. "You've made your point. Who do you need me to kill?"

    Bianca gestured, and the monitors retracted toward the ceiling once more. "That's more like it. I have been striving to unite this world under one government, one rule, for some time now. There are those who are ungrateful and short-sighted enough to resist the right and proper rule of the powered over the unpowered. Find these resistance cells and kill the leaders for me, and not only will your minions be unharmed, but I will also reward you appropriately for your service to my name."

    "And I get my weapons and teleporter for this?" Atropos pointed with one finger at the items on the low table. When they'd searched her, they'd found the shears (of course) as well as the pistol and several magazines of ammunition for it, the pump-action shotgun and a box of ammo for it, the teleporter (a most fascinating device), and a ballpoint pen in her shirt pocket.

    They'd let her keep the pen.

    "Of course you do." Bianca made a throwaway gesture. "Nothing you have there will allow you to kill me, and if you try, one of your hostages will die. If you harm a member of my Court, one of your hostages loses a hand. You will also be wearing a body-camera, which will be broadcasting back here in real time. Interrupt the broadcast in any way, and … well, you know what will happen."

    Atropos waved the same finger, this being about the only thing she could do with it. "Point of note. When I teleport, it's likely to take a few seconds to reconnect to the cell phone network or satellite network, or however it broadcasts. No punishing the hostages for the weaknesses of your system."

    "Ah." Bianca glanced sideways at Tori, who nodded fractionally. Atropos wasn't lying then. "I knew that. We will of course take that into account. Was there anything else?"

    "Just one thing. Harm the hostages for shits and giggles, and the deal's off. But leave them alone, and I'll shoot those Resistance guys in the head all day long."

    Bianca nodded. "Your terms are acceptable. You may commence your task to solidify my position as supreme ruler of this world." Using her telekinesis, she opened the metal clamps securing Atropos to the chair.

    "Trust me, by the time I'm done here, the name of the Goddess will be the most celebrated one across the face of this world. They'll probably declare a public holiday." Atropos stood and shook out her wrists, then proceeded to re-arm herself with her private arsenal. Last of all, she slid the teleporter onto her arm and secured it in place before looking up at Bianca. "You mentioned something about a body-camera?"

    "Yes." Bianca gestured for the camera to be produced. Such things were not her job. Her job was to order them to happen.

    The camera was duly brought forth by one of the many faceless minions whose sole function was to carry out her wishes. Atropos accepted it and attached it to the front of her long-coat with an expertise that suggested she'd done this before. "Well, then," she said, picking up her mask and hat, "there's one thing I need, and one thing I have to do, before I go ensure your rightful place in history."

    "And what might those be?" Atropos might have been cooperative since the hostages were revealed, and there may have been no danger signals from her, but Bianca's patience only stretched so far.

    "Well, first I need a notepad so I can leave my calling card. Second, I'm hungry." Atropos patted her stomach. "Point me at the kitchens, I'll fix myself a snack, and then I'll be on my way."

    Bianca was tempted to deny her the request, but her tone was polite and reasonable. She hadn't even argued about the body-camera. "Very well. Show her to the kitchens and bring her a notepad." Giving Atropos a hard stare to show her who was boss, she added, "Fifteen minutes. No more."

    "Not a problem." Atropos' tone was entirely agreeable. "That's all the time I'll need."

    <><>​

    Miss Medic

    Riley put on her best puppy-dog eyes. Aisha had been schooling her in the art, and sometimes she could even wheedle things out of Brian using them. Theo, of course, had been a pushover from the start, but that was just the way he was.

    She liked Theo, because he was a nice guy and he was super cuddly. Unfortunately, 'nice' wasn't likely to win him many points as a kidnap victim (and 'cuddly' none at all), so she hoped he could stay out of trouble until she could come save him. Or Atropos did, whichever happened first.

    "Y-you're not going to hurt me, are you?" she quavered, giving her lower lip a good tremble.

    The guard glowered down at her. "Will if I have to, so sit down and shut up," he growled in oddly accented English. He didn't seem amenable to the idea that people shouldn't hurt children, so she shifted him in her mind from 'just following orders' to 'not a nice man'. This gave her a few more options.

    As she obediently sat down on the thin mattress that had been supplied for her, she mentally categorised the weapons she'd seen on him: a heavy calibre pistol (not useful for her because she'd never had the training and it would knock her on her ass) and a large knife (definitely useful). The heavy harness he wore was something else altogether; she was fairly certain that it held a heart monitor linked to (this was a guess) a bomb big enough to destroy the room they were in.

    She also had one other thing that her kidnappers apparently didn't know about. Her memories of being Bonesaw were faded at best, and she was extremely reluctant to delve into them, but Bonesaw had known how to deal with violent people.

    She just had to hope that there was a way back for her after all this was over and done.

    <><>​

    Theo

    The room wasn't large, and there was just one chair. Miserable, Theo sat curled up on the thin mattress, trying not to attract the attention of the guard. His stomach ached from being punched; he was pretty sure there was a bruise there now.

    He still had no idea what was going on, but the guard's attitude was terrifying. Theo knew killers, and this man was both a killer and a fanatic (he knew those, too). If he were ordered to kill Theo with the heavy pistol or the brutal-looking knife, he would do it.

    I hope Riley's okay. She was so small and vulnerable, and his heart ached with worry about her.

    The door opened and someone walked in. Or rather, something walked in. It looked like a seven-foot-tall man, if said man was constructed of thick slabs of steel with molten metal oozing out from between the gaps. Drops splattered on the floor, but vanished without a trace. Over his right shoulder hovered a tiny ball that appeared to be composed of pure light.

    "Hey, kid," said the newcomer. "You look like you're in a bit of a bind there."

    Theo stared at the guard, who seemed to be frozen in place. "What's going on? I don't understand anything that's happening!"

    "Okay, you want the big picture or the small picture?" The apparition came to the centre of the room and looked down at him, ignoring the guard. More drops of molten metal utterly failed to make any kind of mark on the wooden floorboards.

    "Um, everything? And is Riley okay?" Theo looked at the guard again; he still hadn't moved.

    The metal man tilted his head slightly to the side, as though listening to something. "Chirurgeon's just fine. Let's concentrate on you. You can call me Foundry. Big picture, you've been kidnapped to be used as a hostage by a jumped-up six-parter from another world, who wants to make Ending do what he's told. Really bad move, if you ask me. Ending doesn't take orders, he gives them. Small picture, Ending's voluntold me to give you a nice easy entry into getting powers, like he did with Queen Administrator. So, here we are."

    Theo blinked. About ninety percent of what Foundry had just said had gone over his head. He understood 'hostage', and that was about it. "What?"

    Foundry sighed. "I've been told to keep you safe. Now, do you have any ideas how powers work?"

    Up until that moment, Theo had thought he did. Faced with a direct question, he wasn't so sure. "Probably not."

    "Good answer. So, you know how your grandfather, your aunt and your father all had similar-type powers, creating metal out of nothing?"

    Theo wasn't stupid. Sometimes he just needed to get a good run-up to grasp a concept. The earlier mention of 'easy entry into powers' gave him the hint. "You're the power," he guessed. "The personification or whatever."

    "Bingo." Foundry appeared to smile. "I've been hanging around to see if you'd hit a trigger point. Normally you wouldn't quite be there yet, but rules are made to be ignored. Also normally, this thing we're doing wouldn't even be happening. I'd just slam-dunk you with powers that nearly fixed all your problems, then sit back with popcorn, watching you get yourself in and out of trouble."

    "But that's not what's happening now, is it?" Theo was starting to figure it out. "This 'Ending' is making you be nice to me, and … what? Ask me what actual powers I want?"

    "Got it in one. I have to say, I'm not totally sure about this, but QA seems to be having a ball with it, so let's try something new. Hit me. What do you want? It's got to have something to do with metal or other hard stuff. Creating it, destroying it, or whatever."

    Theo frowned. "Before I commit myself … what's that?" He pointed at the ball of light over Foundry's shoulder.

    "Oh, that's Plasma. She provided a ping, a fragment of her shard. You spent a lot of time around her, so that rubbed off on me."

    Right, he thought. Kayden. Wow, okay. What can I do with this?

    "Okay," he said out loud, thinking as fast as he could. "What are the limits of what I can create? Can I make something that's the same every time, but has moving parts?"

    Foundry looked thoughtful. "So long as it's made out of metal … sure, I guess. What did you have in mind?"

    Theo put up a finger. "Hadn't finished. How about electronics?"

    "A little trickier, but so long as it isn't all electronics, I can't see a problem. We'll borrow a tiny spark from Plasma to make it work. What are you thinking about, kid?"

    "A couple of more things. When I create it, can I add accessories, so long as I detail them right now? And anything I create, I can then un-create, right?"

    "I can't see a problem with any of that." Foundry was starting to look extremely dubious. "Look, before we go any further, just tell me what you've got in mind, and I'll tell you if it's possible."

    So Theo told him.

    <><>​

    Emma

    "You should be asking for forgiveness right at this moment," Emma told her captor sternly. "Our Lady in Darkness does not suffer fools gladly. I was one such fool, once upon a time. Now I am Twice-Warned, and I have learned better."

    "Will you just shut up?" groaned the guard. "I get it, you love Atropos, but you don't have to keep harping on about it all the time. She's your world's problem, not ours."

    "If I am here, then She is here as well." Emma was quietly confident of that fact. "And She has forbidden violence against us. Those violating Her edicts learn very quickly why they should not."

    Over a year ago, finding herself wanting, she'd become the sort of person Sophia would approve of. That had been a mistake. Following Sophia's death, she'd found herself adrift without wind or rudder. It was only with the destruction of the Simurgh that her need to follow someone had crystallised again, and she'd plunged her entire identity into what she believed Atropos would approve of.

    Even the rules that Atropos had laid down had failed to puncture her faith. While other cults she'd heard of gleefully encouraged their followers to commit all sorts of atrocities, Atropos had told hers to … be good people. To not kill even those who deserved it.

    Some had left, grumbling that this was not as they'd expected things to be. Despite her own tiny doubts mounting up, Emma and the other faithful of their Lady in Darkness had remained, keeping faith and doing their good deeds; as She had put it, solving more problems than they caused. Through all this, ignoring the questions that whispered themselves to her late at night, Emma's faith had remained unwavering.

    Never did she doubt, never would she doubt Atropos' right to judge and End the bad people of the world. Atropos was, and rightfully so, a terrifying presence in the city, in Emma's life.

    Emma's misgivings were more subtle than that: did Atropos need the cult at all, and (more importantly) did Emma truly need to subsume her personality into the cult in order to gain Taylor's approval?

    With the latest conversation they'd had, the answers seemed more and more to be … 'no'. Atropos' attitude toward the cult had always been exasperated tolerance, and she seemed to want people to be good rather than to worship her.

    Atropos' admission that she didn't always know what was going to happen was what had brought on the tipping point; not because of any perceived 'feet of clay', as Anne had put it, but because she had freely admitted it. Atropos didn't care if those around her didn't see her as all-knowing. To put it crudely, she didn't give a fuck. Sophia had absolutely given a fuck about never being seen to lose.

    Could I do that? Emma had asked herself. Could I live my life as a good person and not care what people thought of me? It was certainly something to ponder on.

    While she was working on that, she had her role as the leader of the Followers of Our Lady in Darkness to fulfil. She didn't see it as playing a part, because she truly believed that Atropos was the saviour that Brockton Bay needed (if not the one it wanted). More to the point, as she'd told Taylor, the cult (she was self-aware enough to admit that yes, it was indeed a cult) had reached the point that if she walked away now, it would keep going of its own volition, and probably veer off track into something ugly. She owed it to the Followers to maintain its original intent, and so she would stay on as leader.

    In the meantime, it was easy to slip back into the mindset, and if she could keep the guard irritated and focused on her, it would make things easier for Atropos to take him down when the time came.

    She wasn't much use as a hostage, but as a cult member, she was really good at annoying people.

    <><>​

    Bianca

    Fourteen minutes later, Atropos was ready to leave.

    The cooks reported (through Tori) that she had wandered all over the kitchen, peering into every cupboard and refrigerator, before assembling a simple meal and eating it right there at the counter. Now, with her mask and hat in place and looking much more like the semi-mythical slayer of the Simurgh than she had when she woke up, she stepped up in front of Bianca. "I can shoot them or I can capture them alive," she said. "Which would you prefer?"

    Bianca frowned. "You don't need to interrogate them to find out about their comrades, do you?"

    "Nope. I can go straight to them." Atropos slid back her sleeve. "I don't need to ask a single question."

    "Then kill them." Bianca smiled cruelly. "If they don't want to live under my rule, they don't get to live."

    "Killshots it is." Flipping up the small panel, Atropos typed in a series of numbers then hit a button. She closed the panel and slid her sleeve down, then drew her pistol so smoothly that Bianca didn't even register it until it was out and ready to use. "And … go." A portal appeared before her and she stepped through it.

    "Screen!" called out Bianca. At her command, a large flatscreen lowered itself from the ceiling, passing by the three that had been set up for Atropos' chair. It reached its lowest point at a comfortable viewing angle for her, and the picture came on.

    As Atropos had pointed out, the camera was only just now sending its signal out, and the fight was already well underway. She saw Atropos shoot one man in the chest, then kick a gun out of a woman's hand so hard that she spun around before shooting her in the back of the head. Bianca was no stranger to combat, but that was with powers. Atropos was fast and deadly, an exponent of lethal ballet.

    The last opponent fell. Atropos dropped to one knee beside him, the impact shaking the camera then the picture steadying on his head. Blood ran from the bullet-hole just behind his left ear as Atropos checked for a pulse. "Dead enough for you?" she asked out loud.

    As she turned, the camera panned over the rest of Atropos' victims. They hadn't stood a chance; she'd evidently appeared in the middle of them and started shooting immediately. Bianca bared her teeth in triumph as she gloated over the carnage.

    So fall all my enemies.

    There was a small table off to one side, and Atropos went to it, pulling out the notepad. Murmuring to herself, she scribbled a note on the pad. Bianca couldn't see the writing from the angle, but she could hear what Atropos was saying. "If you find these people, they were idiots for opposing Goddess. Signed, Atropos."

    Bianca smiled and nodded in agreement. That was a fine sentiment. It seemed that Atropos had decided to throw in her lot with the superior force after all.

    For the next minute or two, Atropos prowled around the makeshift base, apparently just exploring. Finally, she pulled back her sleeve, flicked up the panel, and typed in another set of coordinates. The portal appeared before her, and she stepped through it.

    The picture dropped out, of course, but Bianca was unfazed. Leaning back in her throne, she looked around at her Court. "Go, eat, if you wish. I'll be staying here. I enjoy seeing my enemies fall before their executioner."

    As the screen came back up, Atropos was once more cutting a swathe through Bianca's sworn enemies. Not a shot from her gun missed, and not a bullet from the rebels even came close to hitting her. Again, she checked a couple of pulses, the drop to the floor jarring the image, but every rebel she checked was dead.

    This, Bianca decided as Atropos began writing out her next calling card, was how wars should be fought.

    <><>​

    Miss Medic

    It was time, Riley decided, that something needed to be done. As Riley Laborn pretending to be Aisha Laborn, she was acting as though she believed all was well, but the deep-seated instincts she'd retained from her Bonesaw persona were telling her that all was assuredly not well. She hated having to listen to those instincts, but they were the thing most likely to keep her alive right now, at least until Atropos showed up.

    Whoever had kidnapped her and Theo was clearly willing to have her killed if they decided Atropos wasn't fulfilling whatever terms had been decided on. And if they went so far as to put a guard who was absolutely willing to kill a ten-year-old girl in the room with her, and equipped him with both a pistol and a knife and a bomb that would go off if his heart stopped, then they were more invested in 'fuck you' than peaceful cooperation. Which meant that Riley's best bet for survival was to use one of the several plans she'd already made to get past this guy, and go find Atropos herself.

    After all, why should Atropos have all the fun?

    Accordingly, she got up off the mattress. Breathing deeply, she began flexing her stomach muscles in a way designed to elicit a specific response. If she'd had more time, even the contents of a random kitchen cabinet, she could've been more elegant about this, but sometimes the simplest ways worked.

    "Siddown," growled the guard as she approached him.

    "I'm not feeling so good," she said, holding her stomach.

    "Don't care." He went to shove her back.

    She gave her stomach muscles one more spasmodic clench, and projectile-vomited all over his feet and legs. The bacon, eggs and OJ she'd had that morning, plus the snacks she'd been eating while they watched cartoons, all came up, splattering the unwary guard with the horrible stinking mess. Bonesaw, she vaguely recalled, had once rejiggered her digestive system so she could project flesh-eating acids over a distance of yards, but that might've been overkill here.

    Even as he reacted with disgust, she brought up her fist into his groin then let go one last spray of puke into his face as he bent over in pain. Blinded, caught totally off guard, he never saw the knuckle strike that smashed into his larynx. He fell to his knees, choking; while she lacked the strength to actually destroy his ability to breathe, she'd certainly disrupted it. But he was still a big man and would recover shortly, so she grabbed his knife from its sheath and went to work.

    Involuntary surgery had been Bonesaw's thing, not hers. She always asked for permission first. But in this instance, she preferred to think in terms of 'pre-emptive self-defence'.

    And besides, she could always fix him again afterward.

    <><>​

    Theo

    After Foundry left, Theo watched as the guard resumed moving. It was evident that his captor had no awareness of the visitation Theo had just experienced. He was also giving Theo the stink-eye and resting his hand on his gun butt more often.

    This guy wanted to hurt someone. He wanted to kill someone.

    But still, something within Theo wanted to give him one last chance. "So, hey," he offered. "You know Atropos is going to be looking for me, right?" He'd made the connection that if a powerset calling itself Foundry was all about metal, then one calling itself Ending would be all about killing, and Atropos fit that description better than anyone he knew.

    Why Riley would be connected with a name like Chirurgeon, he was still trying to figure out, but that wasn't something he was concerned with right now.

    The guard sneered at him. "She comes here, I'll blow her head off then I'll blow your head off. Or maybe I'll just gut you like a fish, fat boy."

    Oh. Right. This guy wasn't from Bet. He'd heard of Atropos, but that was about it. It would be impossible to scare the guy if he didn't know enough to be scared. "Okay, then. If you're going to be like that, I'm just going to leave." He stood up from the mattress. "And if you're smart, you won't stand in my way."

    The 'fat boy' comment shouldn't have bothered him as much as it did. He'd heard worse, from worse people, ever since he was old enough to understand what it meant. But in the twelve hours he'd been in the Laborn household, nobody had mentioned his weight, or even made a disparaging comment toward him.

    Pulling out the pistol, the guard pointed it at him. "Sit your fat ass back down."

    Theo took a deep breath, and activated his power. Almost faster than the eye could see, the gleaming powered armour—silver with green highlights, to get as far away from the red-and-black of the Empire Eighty-Eight as he could—formed around him. It was solid but not chunky, and he could feel the various mechanisms whirring as it spun up to full power. The visor dropped into place, allowing him to see in infrared as well as normal light. Outlines formed around the guard and the pistol he held, informing Theo of the calibre, and the minimal chance it had of penetrating his armour. It also outlined the module on the guard's harness, notifying Theo that it was a bomb attached to a heart monitor.

    A moment later, the pistol went off. Theo felt the slight jar as the bullet ricocheted off his shoulder and buried itself in the ceiling. Even his hearing was protected; the noise was loud but not deafeningly so.

    Grabbing the pistol in two hands, the guard shakingly aimed at his visor. The chance of the bullet penetrating that wasn't much better, but it was a possibility, so Theo brought up his left arm in a defensive pose. A kite shield was generated from the forearm, extending upward and downward with a very cool chnk-chnk-chnk-chnk sound. Theo hadn't specified that, but apparently Foundry had figured out his likes and dislikes, and included it just for fun.

    The second shot bounced off the shield, just as it had his armour. Theo was done being a punching bag; he dismissed the shield and lunged forward, grabbing for the pistol. His steel-gauntleted hand closed around it, servos whined briefly, and there was a crunch of metal giving up the ghost. Opening his hand again, he dropped the mangled remains of the firearm to clatter on the floor.

    "I said," Theo reiterated, hearing his amplified voice echoing within the confines of the room, "I'm leaving."


    [A/N: The armour Theo is generating isn't quite as sleek as Iron Man's armour, but not as chunky as Ironmonger's. It also has options that have not been shown yet.]


    End of Part Seventy-Four
     
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    • Part Seventy-Five: Pulling Back the Curtain
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    • A Darker Path

    Part Seventy-Five: Pulling Back the Curtain

    [A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]


    Bianca

    The picture on the screen cut out as Atropos stepped through yet another portal. Bianca looked around at the sound of a footstep, to find the black-clad killer standing alongside her throne. "That's every major resistance group calling-carded," Atropos observed. "You done? Because I am."

    "Not quite yet." Bianca stretched while remaining seated. The feeling of power was intoxicating. Having such a potent force as Atropos begging for her time was exactly as it should be, and exactly as it would be, until she had no further use for the killer. "My Court has yet to finish their evening meal. Once they return, we will send people to each of the bases that you hit, to find the names of every last surviving member of the resistance, to bring them to my presence. And then, you will stand alongside me as I address the world. They must learn that my rule is paramount, once and for all."

    "I didn't agree to that." Atropos' voice was mild.

    Bianca chuckled indulgently. "I don't give a shit if you did or not. It's what I'm saying is going to happen, so it's going to happen."

    "You're making a mistake, but you do you." Atropos took off the camera and put it on the small table, then perched in the chair opposite Bianca, one booted foot up on the seat with her hands clasped around the shin. "So, I've got to ask. How do you see this playing out? Where's the win condition in all this for you? If you keep pushing people down and treating them like disposable tools, you have to know that sooner or later you're going to run into someone who can push back harder and sharper. What do you do then?"

    "It'll never happen." Bianca shook her head to indicate just how wrong Atropos was in her assumptions. "I'm the most powerful person in the world. The strong rule; the weak submit. That's how it goes, in nature and society. There's nobody stronger than me, so I'm the one who gets to tell everyone else what to do."

    "I've run into that mindset before." Atropos' tone was dismissive. "Can't say I'm a fan. But let's go with that. Let's say your plan A is 'be stronger than everyone else'. What's your plan B? And plan C?"

    "I don't need another plan!" Bianca wanted to grab Atropos and shake her, to force her to understand. "If my Mastery does not work, I use my telekinesis. If that doesn't work, I use my force field and boost one of my other powers. What part of 'I am the strongest' do you not yet understand?"

    "And when you run into someone like me, you take hostages, is that it?" Atropos' voice was deceptively mild. "Because that's so brave."

    Bianca flushed when she realised that members of the Court were filing back into the room and had heard the last retort. "I needed you for a task that you were specifically good at, so I went and got you." She sniffed. "Had I wanted to merely kill you, rather than bend you to my will, you would already be dead."

    "Hmm. Might not have been as easy as you think." Atropos let go of her leg and sat up in the chair. "Did you ever stop to think I might have allowed you to take me? So we'd end up here, in your throne room, with cameras trained on us all, broadcasting this to the world?"

    "Really." Bianca let her scorn fill her words. "My people are loyal to me. They would not activate the cameras, nor begin a broadcast, unless I gave the word. And I have not given the word."

    "You sure about that?" Atropos' shears were suddenly in her hand. She started twirling them back and forth in a near-hypnotic pattern.

    Bianca stared at her, then up at the cameras arrayed around the room. They should have been dead and dark, but tiny red lights glared from each and every one. "What's happening?" she shouted. "Who turned on the cameras?"

    "Not the question you should be asking." Atropos hadn't moved, save to keep twirling the shears back and forth, back and forth.

    Bianca pointed directly at the nearest camera, so the person controlling it would have no choice but to know who she was addressing. "Turn the cameras off! At once!"

    "And that wasn't even a question. You're really missing the point, here." Twirl, twirl. Back and forth, back and forth. The polished metal glittered in the bright lights of the room.

    With a surge of anger, Bianca decided to make her will known in no uncertain terms. The red lights hadn't winked off, so it was time for stronger measures. Glaring at the camera, she brought all her telekinesis to bear on it, so it would rip free of its mounting. That would show Atropos who was in charge.

    Absolutely nothing happened.

    Bianca blinked. That wasn't right. She poured all the enhanced power into it that she could, and tried again.

    The camera continued to exist unharmed, undeterred by her attempts to destroy it.

    "And your next question should be, 'what happened to my telekinesis', right?" Atropos gestured encouragingly with her free hand. "Come on. You can do this. Figure it out."

    Bianca came to her feet as the mocking tone ignited an epiphany in her mind. "You!" she shouted, pointing accusingly at Atropos. "You did this!" She wasn't quite sure what Atropos had done, or how she'd done it, but it had to be her.

    Slowly, derisively, Atropos clapped as she stood up as well; the shears went away after one last twirl. "I knew you could get there. Yeah, I did it. Those people running the cameras? Resistance. I teleported them in there while we were sitting and talking. They're, uh, not quite as dead as I led you to believe."

    "But you shot them!" Bianca was having trouble adjusting to what Atropos was telling her. Was this all some gigantic trick? Was Atropos trying to con her into surrendering? "I saw it!"

    Suddenly, Atropos was holding a pistol in one hand and a ballpoint pen in the other. The pen began twirling between her fingers like a living thing. "Yeah, I did, but I'd already modified my ammunition so it barely punctured flesh, and I always shot to hit bone. Also, if you strike just right with the blunt end of a pen, you can semi-paralyse the diaphragm, leaving the victim unable to move. That's what I was doing to everyone nearby before the picture came back on after each jump. It wears off after a few minutes, but in the meantime, especially if I've shot them, they look really dead. The ones I had to shoot afterward, I did the same to them while pretending to check their pulses. Then I left calling cards with instructions to wait for a portal to open." She gestured, making the pen and pistol vanish again. "Meanwhile, you saw exactly what you wanted to see."

    <><>​

    Atropos

    "But what did you do to my telekinesis?" demanded Goddess. "My force field? What have you done to me? Did you hypnotise me, to make me think I was weak? Tell me!"

    "Hah, no." I grinned under the mask. "You never looked up Bastard Son, did you? If you'd asked the idiots you've got in the dungeon, they'd tell you that I killed his powers then let his previous followers chase him down. And you let me loose in the kitchens. I found what you'd be eating for your evening meal, and … added a little extra prep. Your Court," I gestured to the ex-capes staring at me like chickens at a cobra, "have permanently lost all access to their powers. Which means the only remaining member of your cluster … is you."

    "I still have my power!" There was an air of desperation in her voice, as though she was trying to convince herself that this was enough. Her head came up then, and her lip curled in triumph. "And I have your hostages! Reverse it all now and kill those broadcasting, or they die!"

    I knew Riley and Theo were okay, but even before Bianca gave the order, I knew Emma was in danger. Her guard was jumping the gun. Flipping open the panel, I typed in the coordinates and hit the button.

    <><>​

    Emma

    "Repent," Emma urged. "Prostrate yourself before Our Lady in Darkness, and she will spare you."

    "Shut up, will you?" The guard turned to look at the TV screen mounted on the wall. Dark and blank until now, it showed an image of a woman clad in blue and white facing off against Atropos. The woman looked arrogant and confident, while Atropos was impassive as ever. "I want to watch this."

    "So, I've got to ask." Atropos sounded almost bored. "How do you see this playing out? Where's the win condition in all this for you?"

    Emma felt a grin stealing across her face. Atropos never asked questions she didn't know the answer to. When the woman in blue stated boldly that she got to tell everyone what to do because she was stronger, Emma shook her head. It was evident that she'd never heard of Sophia's fate. As the conversation progressed, Emma became more and more certain that the woman in blue had no idea what was happening, and Atropos knew more than she was letting on.

    And then things started going wrong, for a very specific definition of the word. By now, Emma was well acquainted with Atropos' specific brand of chaos, so she recognised the glorious cascade of mishaps for what it was. The guard, on the other hand, seemed to lack the pattern recognition to understand what was going on, and kept muttering that his 'goddess' would defeat the unbeliever.

    It was only when Atropos patiently explained how she'd subverted Goddess' entire plan, as well as her regime, that the penny finally dropped for the guard. Turning to Emma, he pointed at the screen. "Tell me that she lies! Tell me that she cannot have done what she says!"

    "Haven't you heard a word I've been saying?" Emma rolled her eyes. "Atropos saw your 'goddess' coming a mile away. She's done, and you're done. Give up now, and I'll—whoa!" As the guard pulled his knife and advanced menacingly on her, Emma backed away. "Trust me, you do not want to do this!"

    "I serve the will of my Goddess." The gleam of light on the steadily weaving blade made the guard's resolute tone even creepier than it would normally have been. "If her decree means that I die, then I die. But you will die first."

    Emma tried ducking one way, then another, but the bastard had arms like a gorilla on steroids, and he inexorably backed her into the corner. Okay, Taylor, any second now.

    Nothing happened, save that the blade drew back, preparatory for a slash or a stab; Emma didn't know which, but she knew it would be bad, and she didn't want either one to happen. Adrenaline flushed through her body, making the movements seem to be in slow motion. Atropos! Come on! Quit screwing around!

    The blade came in, lethally gleaming. Terror flooded through her. Our Lady in Darkness, I beseech you! Help me!

    Suddenly, she fell backward as a hand hauled on her shoulder, the knife-point barely pricking the skin of her stomach before it lost contact again. Sprawling on her back in the middle of a large room, she looked up as her Lady in Darkness levelled a shotgun at the portal she'd just fallen through. The shotgun boomed, sending echoes throughout the room, then the portal vanished.

    <><>​

    Atropos

    Stepping to Emma's side, I reached down to help her up. "You okay?" I asked.

    "I live or die at Your whim, my Lady," she replied dreamily as she came to her feet, and I snapped my head around to stare at her. For a moment I wondered if she'd hit her head and gotten a concussion, then I recognised the look in her eyes.

    Great. One more thing I can lay at the feet of this idiot. I just about had Emma snapped out of it, and now we're right back where we started.

    "Well, let's work on living for the time being, okay?" I levelled the shotgun at Goddess, who was smirking openly at me. "As for you, do you honestly think you've won? The word's going out. Resistance will be flooding into the city. Your Master effect is not going to hold them at bay."

    "I forced you to choose," she exulted with a cruel little smile. "You may overcome me, but you will forever remember and rue the day that you condemned two of your own to death to save a third. Is she truly worth it?"

    "Emma?" I didn't look away from Goddess. "You can ask her yourself. She'll probably tell you that she's not. But you're working under a misapprehension here. You think the other two hostages are dead?"

    "How could they not be?" Bianca laughed harshly; her eyes gleaming with malice. "The child and the boy, murdered by your action, if not by your hand. Do you think they hated you for not saving them while they begged for their lives?"

    "Nope. Because I know something you don't." I put the shotgun away. "You see, your low-rent thugs screwed up big-time. The kid they grabbed? That wasn't Aisha. They grabbed her cousin Riley. Better known as Miss Medic." I glanced across at Emma. "You didn't hear that."

    "I hear and see nothing that my Lady in Darkness wishes me not to," Emma promised.

    "And so?" asked Goddess. "What is a healer to do against a gun and a knife?"

    "You'd be surprised." I snapped my fingers, and the portal formed near me. A moment later, the thug who'd been guarding Riley stepped through, with Riley riding on his shoulders. His head was mostly shaven, and she had her fingertips inserted into glove-like ports in his skull. The portal closed behind them as she stared around. "Hi, Riley," I said. "You doing okay?"

    "Uh, yeah." She looked guiltily down at the guy she was puppeteering. "I can fix him, honest. I swear, I'll put him right back the way he was."

    "Don't sweat it," I said. "Sometimes, you gotta do what you gotta do. We're still waiting on Theo, anyway." I tilted my head as a distant thunder echoed from outside. "And here he comes now."

    I was pretty sure Theo just wanted to blast his way in through the roof once he figured out where we were, but he restrained himself enough to find an entrance. The doors were shut, but I heard a whooom that marked their demise. Then he came onward, alternately walking and flying until he reached the room we were in. He drifted across the floor about ten feet up with jets flaring from the backs of his legs, then came in for a reasonably smooth landing, metal boots clanking onto the floor. The flight-jets retracted into the legs once he was at rest, in a way that would've made Armsmaster reach for a drawing board. In his hands was a massive rifle-like weapon that looked like it could bring down low-flying aircraft.

    "Riley, you're okay," he said with evident relief, his suit amplifying his voice to a solid baritone. "I was really worried." He paused, staring at her. "Wait, are you a cape?"

    "Long story." She grinned at him. "I'm really glad you're okay too."

    "Nice suit," I said admiringly. "The plasma cannon looks pretty cool as well." It was at least four feet long, with glowing lines along the barrel. I could see the influence of several science-fiction artists in it.

    "Thanks," he said automatically. "Did you know what was going to happen?"

    "Not all of it, not beforehand, but enough to make preparations." I nodded toward Goddess. "Meet the idiot who thought she could put one over on us. You might call her the local version of Hitler, complete with 'master race' ideology."

    "You!" snapped Goddess, and I was pretty sure she was exerting her Master ability as hard as she could. "Kill Atropos! Now! You will be greatly rewarded!"

    The plasma cannon, which had been pointing at the roof, snapped down into line. As the two-inch-wide muzzle aimed directly at Goddess' head, the lines on either side of the barrel glowed a brighter and brighter orange until they were almost white. At the same time, a concomitant hum rose from the weapon.

    "Go ahead," Theo said, his voice loaded with quiet menace. "Give me another order. Please."

    "At ease, Theo." I strolled forward, pushing the immense gun aside with one finger. "I think she's got the message. Now for mine. Release your Mastery on everyone. Now."

    "Or what?" she sneered. For someone who could die at any moment, she had a great line in bravado, though I suspected a large chunk of it was because she simply didn't believe we'd kill her.

    Which made her an idiot of the highest degree, but I already knew that part.

    I drew my shotgun. "You may recall I mentioned how Shins are now a privilege? This morning you had three. Now you have two. Do what I say, or that number is going to go all the way to zero."

    "And I won't fix you up," Riley added, from her perch atop her current ride. "This guy said a lot of very mean things to me, and I'm pretty sure they came from you."

    "You wouldn't—" Goddess began. I didn't let her finish. The word 'dare' went unsaid as I fired the shotgun, blowing her left tibia clear in half and fracturing the fibula. Her leg was blown out from under her and she spun around, face-planting on the marble floor tiles. I'd made sure not to hit any major blood vessels, but there was still a mess on the floor as she screamed and writhed and puked in agony. From the smell of it, she'd soiled herself, too.

    It wasn't a pretty sight, and the cameras were catching everything.

    "Riley?" I asked. "Make her lucid, at least?"

    "I can do that, sure." Riley made her man-puppet kneel down, then she hopped off and trotted over to where Goddess was making an inelegant spectacle of herself. "Theo, help me hold her still?"

    "Sure." Theo made the plasma rifle vanish—in itself a neat trick—and leaned down. One metallic hand held Goddess' upper body still, and the other kept her leg immobile while Riley worked her magic. In a remarkably short time, she had the bleeding under control and Goddess was blinking up at me, at least able to focus.

    "So," I said, racking the shotgun with supreme menace. "Do you honestly think I won't deprive you of your last Shin?"

    It took her all of half a second to make that call. "N-no," she quavered, cringing away from me.

    "Good." I aimed the gun at her one remaining pristine leg. "So, as I was saying, release every last one of your slaves, and you get to keep it."

    "But … the mob … they'll tear me to pieces." She looked around wildly for a way out. Unfortunately, she had nowhere to go. She barely had a leg to stand on, as the saying went.

    "You should really have thought of that before you started all this. I mean, I did warn you."

    "No, you didn't!" she blurted. "You gave me no chances at all!"

    I sighed. "I asked you how you thought you were going to survive this. I told you that you'd regret it. I even explained that I'd bring you down the same way I did with Bastard Son. I gave you every warning possible. Now release them. I'm not going to ask again."

    The memory of the recent pain shone darkly in her eyes as she relaxed her power. I felt the subtle pressure stop, and all around me the Court shifted slightly. My threatscape also altered; every last enthralled member of the population watching this on their TVs ceased to think of me in the unkindest of terms, and shifted their ire to the one who had Mastered them.

    "Alright then." I holstered the shotgun and drew my shears; at the same time, I palmed the container of power-nullification gel that I'd used to dose the food in the kitchens, and touched up the blades of the shears with it.

    Goddess stared up at me as I loomed over her. "What are you going to do with—ow!" She cowered back, clutching at the cut I'd inflicted on her hand. "I did what you told me to! Why did you do that?"

    "I killed Bastard Son's powers." Twirling the shears to flick the blood off them, I re-sheathed them. "Weren't you listening? Did you honestly think I wasn't going to do the same to you?"

    "You didn't have to blow my leg off!" she screeched.

    "Yeah, I did." I grinned, though she couldn't see it. "You needed taking down a peg or two." Turning, I addressed the cameras. "Citizens of Earth Shin! As you can see, your self-styled Goddess has been brought low. In case you were unaware of who I am and where I'm from; I'm Atropos, from Earth Bet. She brought me here to eradicate the last of the resistance cells fighting for your freedom, but I had other ideas."

    "So, what are you going to do now?" called out one of the ex-servants, who were currently eyeing the ex-Court in a very unfriendly fashion. "Will you be taking the throne in her place? Ruling us as she did?"

    I shook my head. "Nope. I will be leaving very shortly, and taking my friends with me, just as soon as their belongings are returned to them. What you do from here on in is up to you, but I strongly encourage you to rebuild your governments with the aim of promoting equality and equity for all. Nobody, cape or otherwise, should be a second-class citizen."

    "They forced rule over us!" shouted another onlooker, boosted by shouts of agreement around him. "Why should we not do the same to them?"

    I let a harsh note creep into my tone. "Because that will just guarantee that the friction between you will continue forever. They will push back, just as you are pushing back now."

    "And we will keep them down forever!" It was the same man. "We have the numbers, and they no longer have her!"

    "No, you won't!" I pointed at him. "Capes come from you! Capes come from humanity! What would you do if laws were written making capes into second-class citizens, and then the very next day, you got powers? Would you meekly submit to the rules you helped write, or would you pretend to be normal? Pretend not to have powers? Because powers will come out! When your friends and neighbours turn against you because you're one of the enemy now, do you give yourself up? Do you run away? Do you join the other new capes who are also unjustly accused, and fight back? Do you start this whole conflict all over again?"

    Silence greeted my words. I paused for a beat, then gestured at the defeated Goddess. "She thought she could build a dictatorship and rule the world, oppressing all below her. Normally I wouldn't care what you do with yourselves, but you have access to Earth Bet. So if anyone tries to start a war that might spill over into my world, or even worse, just straight-up tries to invade us … I will be back. Equality and trade gets you a damn sight further than oppression and war."

    I stopped talking, and waited. Nobody seemed willing to challenge me on what I'd said, and in just a few moments, one of the ex-servants dashed up to me with three small cloth bags. In them were two phones (I guessed Theo's and Riley's), some incidentals, and a bunch of Goth-style jewellery. There were no prizes for guessing who that bag belonged to.

    While we'd been waiting for this, Riley had been reversing the surgery she'd done on the mook who'd ended up as her personal transport. He wasn't pretty by the time she finished, but that was fine: he hadn't been pretty to start with.

    "Okay," she said, wiping her hands off. "I'm done. We can go now."

    "Excellent." I nodded at Theo. "Might want to de-armour, so you don't draw any attention when we go back through."

    "Okay." One piece at a time, his armour went away to wherever he kept it, leaving him standing barefoot on the marble palace tiles. Riley immediately hugged him, and he returned the embrace.

    "Wait!" Goddess—Bianca, now that she was entirely without her powers—struggled up onto one elbow. "You lied to me! You said the name of Goddess would be celebrated across the world! You said there would be a public holiday! You said!" For someone facing imminent death from the mob that she'd enslaved—an entirely appropriate death, in my opinion—she sounded quite unhappy at the perceived slight.

    "No, I didn't." I turned to face her. "I'm pretty sure there'll be a public holiday to mark the occasion of getting rid of you. And maybe you've forgotten, but Atropos is also the name of a goddess."

    "Take me with you!" Her eyes were wide with desperation, and she strained to pull herself up by the arm of her raised throne. "I'm begging you!"

    "Sorry, you don't have a valid passport. But hey, how's that 'being stronger than everyone else' thing working out for you right now?" I touched the brim of my hat. "Toodles."

    The portal formed in front of us; Riley, used to this, led the way, with Theo right behind her. Emma needed no urging to follow on, and I brought up the rear. The last I saw of Goddess was the look of abject terror on her face as more and more enraged commoners flooded into the throne room.

    Not my monkeys, not my circus.

    <><>​

    Theo

    Following Riley, Theo stepped out onto the footpath outside what he belatedly recognised as the apartment block he was now sharing with Riley, Brian and Aisha. Overhead, the sun seemed to be showing mid-afternoon. "Wow, we're home," Riley said. "That's it? I mean … that's it?" She stared at Atropos apprehensively. "What I did back there …"

    "You did what you had to." Atropos put her hand on the shorter girl's shoulder. "I will never condemn anyone for defending themselves. If you'd gone all cackling and power-mad, I would've had words to say, but you pulled yourself back."

    "Oh." Riley blinked. "Thanks. I … I hadn't considered it that way."

    Atropos nodded. "Just remember: now you know you can keep yourself in check, it's up to you to do that for yourself."

    "I will." Riley's eyes were shining. "I promise. Thank you."

    "I have faith in you." Atropos gestured at the building. "You two should get inside. Brian and Aisha will be worried, and Director Renick won't be much better off. Losing a Ward on his second day as Director? Not a great start."

    Theo raised his hand. "Should I, uh, join …?"

    "That's up to you," Atropos advised him. "Though you could do a lot worse. Some of the Wards are transferring out of town, so there'll be more chances for one-on-one training from the heroes that are staying behind."

    "I'll help!" Riley declared. "C'mon, Theo. Let's go!"

    He let her grab his arm and drag him inside. Once they were in the elevator, she turned to him. "Okay, spill. How did you Tinker up that armour so fast? Where did it go? How did you even do that?"

    "Whoa, whoa, wait," he protested, putting his hands up. "I don't want to have to explain all this twice over, so how about you go first? How long have you been a cape?"

    Oddly, she clasped one arm with the other and looked off to the side. "Since … um, since before I started living with Brian and Aisha."

    There was something going on there, but he didn't care much about the details. "So you're …" There was only one candidate for the skills he'd seen Riley use. "Miss Medic, right?" Then another piece of the puzzle fell into place, and he facepalmed. "Argh, and Brian's Tenebrae. Why didn't I see that? I grew up in a cape household!"

    "Yeah, but shush. Nobody's supposed to know that."

    There was one more thing he needed to know. "So, is Aisha …?"

    "Nope." Riley grinned suddenly as the elevator doors opened. "Boy, is she gonna be mad at you. You just got here." And you've already got powers, she didn't have to say.

    "I didn't mean to!" he protested, but he didn't resist as she dragged him out of the elevator and along the corridor. "It just happened!"

    "Yeah, good luck explaining that to her." They stopped in front of the door, which seemed to be newly repaired. "Okay, is my key in here?" Riley started digging into the bag Atropos had given her.

    "Look, I'll just knock." Theo took a deep breath, and rapped on the door. "Are they even—"

    The word 'home' was never uttered as the door was yanked open. Brian stood there, anxiety written all over his features. "Has there been any—" The look of shock transforming to delight on his face was something Theo would always remember. "Aisha!" he yelled, even as he scooped up Riley and held her tight. "They're home! They're back! They're here!"

    "They're what?" Aisha was suddenly in Theo's face, then she grabbed him and held him tight. "C'mere, you big lug! Where've you been? We've been worried sick!"

    Where Riley's first hug hadn't been quite enough to make him cry, Aisha's unabashed expression of affection did the trick. Tears cascaded down his cheeks as she dragged him inside, holding him all the while. She only let go to grab Riley and give her an even more intense hug, while Brian took the opportunity to subject Theo to a back-cracking squeeze that left him decidedly short of breath.

    "Okay, what the hell happened?" asked Aisha, a few minutes later. Brian was on the phone to Ms Brown, passing on the news with as much excitement as he ever showed. "We came back to find the door kicked in and you two gone. The PRT, Armsmaster, cops with sniffer dogs, everyone's been through here. Where did you go, what happened, and how did you get back?"

    Theo and Riley shared a glance with each other, and Riley began to giggle. "You are honestly not going to believe it," Theo warned.

    "Try me," Aisha challenged. Theo saw that Brian was also listening in.

    "So, a power-mad despot from an alternate Earth managed to concoct what was possibly the stupidest plot that's ever been devised," Theo began. "And trust me, I know power-mad villains and their plots."

    "Oh, come on. How stupid could they be?" Aisha gestured toward the closest window. "We live in Brockton Bay. We've had some really fuckin' stupid villains here."

    "They kidnapped Atropos," Theo and Riley said in unison.

    Theo watched as Aisha shared a look of horrified fascination with Brian. "Okay, yeah," she conceded. "That's a stupid plan, alright. So, how badly did she fuck them up?"

    <><>​

    Taylor

    Emma and I stepped out of the portal outside the Barnes residence. "Well, here we are," I said. "Safe and sound."

    "You have delivered me once more from evil, my Lady," she responded. Apparently not noticing my grimace under the mask, she looked up at the house. "Do You think they'll have noticed I was even gone?"

    "Possibly not," I conceded. "Especially since you left your phone behind. They probably think you're with the other Followers."

    "You do not know, my Lady?" She looked at me quizzically.

    "I don't automatically know everything, Emma," I explained patiently. "My power doesn't fill me in on every detail of everything that's around me. I don't even get all the details of a path I'm following, just what I need to do to make it happen. I knew you were in trouble from the moment the guy drew his knife on you, but I also had other stuff going on."

    "And yet, despite all the trouble I have given You, You chose to rescue me." She frowned. "What happened to the man who was attacking me?"

    "Shot him in the bomb," I replied briefly. "He became a crater about half a second after the portal closed."

    "Ah. A fitting end." She tilted her head slightly. "And how long before all this happened did You know it was actually going to happen?"

    I led the way up the driveway. "Check my last PHO post. Look for the sentence starting with 'Be informed'. Look at the first letter in each word of that sentence."

    She nodded earnestly. "I will do that, my Lady."

    "Okay, enough." I patted at the air. "I get it. I rescued you, your faith got a sudden boost again. Just … can we lay off with the 'my Lady' stuff? I don't look for worship, and I don't want it."

    She began to say something, then she must have noticed something about my attitude, and corrected herself. "I will try … Atropos."

    It sounded fake as fuck, but it was a start. "Thank you." Raising my hand, I knocked firmly on the front door.

    It didn't take long for it to open; Zoe Barnes stood there, staring at us both. "Oh, thank goodness," she said. "I was wondering where you were. Hello, uh, Atropos. I hope Emma hasn't been too much trouble?"

    "No more than usual," I told her, carefully pitching my voice so she wouldn't recognise me as Taylor Hebert. "There's been a little bit of an adventure, but she can tell you all about that herself. Toodles." The portal formed behind me, leading back home, and I stepped backward into it.

    <><>​

    Danny

    Cherie raised her head from where she'd been reading quietly on the sofa. "Taylor's home."

    "Thanks, hon." In the kitchen, Danny put aside the paperwork he'd been dealing with—even with his power doing the heavy lifting to ensure that nothing went badly wrong, there was always paperwork to do—and looked over at the basement door as it opened. "Hi, Taylor. Good day?"

    Taylor pulled off her hat and mask, and shook her hair out. "Well, it's definitely been an interesting one."



    End of Part Seventy-Five
     
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    • Part Seventy-Six: Ripples
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    • A Darker Path

    Part Seventy-Six: Ripples

    [A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]


    Late Saturday Afternoon, PRT Building ENE

    Director Paul Renick

    "I will freely admit that when the abduction was first reported, I didn't consider that it might be connected to Atropos." Paul placed his hands flat on the desk, looking at the split-screen image in front of him. Kamil Armstrong looked sympathetic, Emily Piggot appeared thoughtful, and the Chief Director's expression was downright impassive. "We hadn't had any notification of the Barnes abduction for the simple reason that nobody had reported her missing, and the two other people taken were a Ward and the son of Kaiser. The natural assumption was that Empire remnants had taken him to act as a figurehead, and that she'd been snatched up as well. Which of course raised dire concerns about her welfare."

    "Even if it wasn't connected to Atropos to begin with, it would've quickly gotten that way." Emily's tone was one of absolute assurance. "She doesn't allow crap like that to fly in her city."

    "But where do we draw the line?" asked Armstrong. "Do we stand back and assume she'll take care of everything? That way lies learned helplessness, and from what I've seen of her work, I don't think she's in favour of that."

    "No, she isn't." Paul paused for thought. "She expects us to do our job. In fact, she's spent the last two months making sure we can and will do our job. She's also extremely adept at working around us, if it looks like we might accidentally get in her way, but she never takes offense. So, I put everyone on it anyway. I figured, even if Atropos brings them home, it's still good training. And for all we knew, she might've been leaving it for us to get the kids back while she went after the ringleader."

    The Chief Director weighed in for the first time. "Do I have this correct? She was abducted as well? In fact, the whole thing was about her, not them?"

    "That's how the statements all line up," Paul confirmed. "This 'Goddess' cape wanted Atropos to wipe out all resistance to her Master power, and her best choices for hostages to keep Atropos in line were the leader of the Atropos Fan Club and the head of the Followers of Our Lady in Darkness, as they call themselves. Aisha Laborn and Emma Barnes. We know how we ended up on the back foot there, information-wise. The only thing I'm not one hundred percent sure about is whether Atropos actively invited the abduction as a way of neutralising Goddess, knew it was going to happen and planned ahead, or simply turned it around on her once she was there."

    "Congratulations." Emily's voice was slightly drier than Death Valley at high noon in the middle of summer. "You've discovered the Atropos paradox. The end result is always the same, so I wouldn't spend too much time worrying about it."

    Armstrong rubbed his chin with finger and thumb. "What's the potential fallout of Atropos going to an alternate Earth and instituting a drastic regime change? Specifically, with a Ward along?"

    "Two Wards," Paul corrected. "Technically, one Ward went, but young Anders has shown a willingness to join, and he did trigger with powers before Atropos did whatever the hell it was that she did."

    "Oh, good." Emily sounded sincere. "I've only seen the preliminary report about his powers. How's Armsmaster taking it?"

    "Before we get into that," Chief Director Costa-Brown interjected, "I'm going to make the call here and now, regarding Earth Shin. Goddess' abduction of a Ward constituted an official act of war against Earth Bet. The fact that she was also so monumentally stupid as to mount any kind of assault on Atropos doesn't excuse her from the consequences; it merely turns everything that resulted into her personal fault."

    "And we don't have to follow up on that?" ventured Armstrong.

    "Follow up on what?" Emily sounded grimly satisfied. "They might have started the war, but Atropos prosecuted it with extreme prejudice, overthrew the terrorist regime, and brought our people back home without any casualties and with an extra Ward recruit into the bargain. Win-win."

    "Director Piggot is essentially correct," Costa-Brown agreed. "Also, if I'm reading these statements correctly, there's a chance that they'll open negotiations for a trade agreement. The more friendly contacts we can have with the various alternate Earths, the better."

    "Good, good." Armstrong nodded. "So, Director Renick. I also find myself curious about what Armsmaster thinks about young Anders and his powers."

    <><>​

    Miss Militia

    Hannah peered at the gauntlet Theo had removed and handed over to her. "How is this supposed to come apart?" she asked. "I can't see any screws, or even rivets." Privately, she doubted that her presence would help very much; unlike Armsmaster, she wasn't a Tinker, and anyway she didn't do power armour.

    "Not sure it's supposed to." Theo shrugged. "I just want it to be there, and it is."

    "So how did you remove it?" Armsmaster had been looking more and more irritated as the inspection of Theo's armour went on. "I don't see any attachment points."

    "I wanted to take it off, so it came off." Theo took the gauntlet back off Hannah and fitted it on his hand, then flexed the fingers as the seam sealed itself. "See, it's attached again."

    "Hmm …" Hannah mused. "Try this: take the gauntlet off, then take the outer armour off the gauntlet." It wasn't a move she would try with one of her guns, but they'd already established that Theo's powers were unlike hers.

    "Sure, okay." Theo reversed the procedure, then lifted the plate off the back of the hand with zero fuss or bother. Within was an intricate array of tiny servos, pivots and other components that Hannah thought she should recognise. When she manipulated one of the fingers, she saw the corresponding movement in the exposed mechanisms.

    "That can't be right." Armsmaster looked closer. "Miss Militia, do you see any Tinkertech in there?"

    "No, I don't." Hannah shook her head. "Not that I'm an expert, but that all looks entirely normal to me. Theo, can we see inside the arm?"

    "Sure." The gauntlet Hannah was holding folded itself into smaller and smaller sections, then vanished while the full-sized version reformed on Theo's hand. Theo pulled the armour plate off his forearm and held it out for them to examine.

    Feeling the excitement of validation, Hannah pointed at the multitude of componentry. "See? It's the same. No Tinkertech. Just really high-end steel, and tech like I've seen in photos of experimental mundane powered armour."

    "It can't all be normal technology." Armsmaster shook his head. "Not the plasma cannon or the flight jets. How do those jets work? Nothing that small could lift armour of that weight, not without a fuel tank the size of the armour."

    Theo cleared his throat. "Uh … were you there when I talked about Foundry? I can't remember."

    Hannah turned her head to look directly at him. "Foundry?" She hadn't been in the room for the earlier discussions, and this was the first she'd heard of that name.

    "Yeah, um, when I was under guard, the door just opened and this guy came in. He was made of steel plates joined together like, you know, geology stuff. Like the continents." Theo waved his hands vaguely, like he was trying to capture the word he was looking for.

    "Tectonic plates?" suggested Armsmaster.

    "That's the one, yeah. So there was molten steel coming from between the plates and dripping on the floor but vanishing when it hit, so I figured it was an illusion or something. Also, the guard didn't move, or look at him, or even blink. Anyway, he said his name was Foundry, and that he was the personification of the power that Allfather and Iron Rain and Kaiser had, and he was bored with waiting for me to reach a trigger point—"

    "Wait." Hannah knew she probably shouldn't have interrupted, but this was something she'd never heard of. "Your power talked to you? And it was shaped like a person?"

    "Um, yeah." Theo made his helmet go away, then sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. "Isn't that what happens with everyone?"

    "Not usually, no." Armsmaster's command of understatement was impressive. "What happened next?"

    "Um, he said another power personification called Ending had told him to give me a nice easy power setup instead of slam-dunking me with powers that would nearly solve my problems and mainly get me into trouble. I'm, uh, not sure, but I think Ending might belong to Atropos. He seemed pretty scared of it, anyway."

    "Hm." Armsmaster's mouth twisted in wry amusement. "That certainly tracks. So … Foundry gave you your powers?"

    "Ah, we talked about it, and I told him what I'd like, and he had a kind of glowing golden ball that he said was from Plasma, that I'm pretty sure is Purity's power, and that's where the cannon and the flight jets and the power for the electronics comes from." Theo took a deep breath.

    Hannah was pretty sure she was tracking what was happening, but she wanted to be certain. "So … you told Foundry that you wanted power armour that you could summon or send away, as well as a plasma rifle, and boot jets … and it just gave you that power, as an expression of 'create metal from nowhere'?"

    "Yeah." Theo looked pleased that she understood. "Kaiser could build armour, but he had to make it piece by piece. Mine shows up pre-formed with all the bits and pieces, so I can move around without falling over."

    "So, what happens when it gets damaged?" asked Armsmaster. "How long does it take you to repair it?"

    "Oh, um, it's not really an issue." Theo took his left gauntlet off and dropped it on the workbench. "Hit it."

    After only a moment of hesitation, Armsmaster unracked his halberd, activated the plasma cutter, then scored a deep slice in the back of the gauntlet. The steel was evidently of very high quality, because the cutter had trouble getting a proper purchase on it. "Done," he said, stepping back.

    Theo nodded, then concentrated. The gauntlet folded itself into nothingness then reformed on his hand, entirely unmarred. "See? All I have to do is make it go away, then bring it back."

    "Nice." Hannah was starting to see the parallels between his power and hers. "Do you have any other tricks like that?"

    "Um, well, I can also do a shield, like this." He held up his left arm, forearm horizontal, palm inward. With a series of mechanical chnk noises, a metal ridge extended outward from it, then a steel kite shield built itself upward and downward from the ridge. "And a sword." He held up his right hand in a closed-fist pose. A steel bar extruded from it, then unfolded again and again in an almost fractal manner until he was holding a four-foot-long gleaming blade with a prominent pommel and cross-guard. "Or a war-hammer." The sword broke itself down in the same fractal manner to the steel bar, then built itself up again, extending outward then bulking up at the end until he held a steel-hafted hammer with a very solid-looking head. "I wanted options, you see."

    "Yes, I do," answered Hannah, as Armsmaster seemed to have temporarily lost the power of speech. "Just a question: did the power come with the skills to use those weapons effectively?"

    "Um, no." Theo made the hammer break itself down again until it was just a handle, which then vanished inside his gauntlet; his shield retracted at the same time. "I can swing and hit stuff, but against someone who knows how to use them, I'd probably suck big time. The plasma rifle's got a basic aiming dot in my visor, though."

    "Always useful," Hannah allowed. "I can help tutor you in each one, if you want. Are those the only weapons you asked for?"

    Still wearing the armour, Theo shrugged massively. "Yeah, I couldn't think of anything really tricky. But it would be great to learn how to use them properly. I don't want to hurt anyone by accident, y'know?"

    "Yes, it would." Armsmaster cleared his throat. "Skill is very important. Your power is very … useful. You're getting protection, movement, offensive ability, and scanning technology, all at once." He spoke slowly and deliberately, in a way Hannah had only seen in people who were truly pissed off. She had an idea why, but she didn't want to draw attention to it.

    However, Theo seemed to notice something was off. "Um … did I say or do something wrong? I didn't mean to."

    "No, no, it's alright." Hannah ushered him to the other side of Armsmaster's lab, to give the Tinker a chance to cool down. "It's nothing you did, specifically. He's just … a little intense, about the amount of time he has to put into maintaining his equipment."

    "Oh. Oh, crap." Theo looked mortified. "And I've just walked in, wearing armour that I don't have to maintain or repair, and weapons I don't have to reload or even carry around. He must think I'm the worst person in the world."

    "No, that would've been Lung, before Atropos killed him," Hannah joked.

    "Ha," Theo said politely. "Seriously though, how do I do this without stepping on his toes?"

    She nodded in approval at his question. "He's a big boy. There will always be a little toe-stepping, and not just from you. But if I were you, I'd ask his opinion on matters and follow any advice he gives you."

    "Thanks." He looked relieved. "I really do want to be a hero."

    She smiled and patted him on the shoulder. "I never thought otherwise for a moment."

    <><>​

    Laborn Residence

    Brian

    "I still think it's total bullshit," grumped Aisha. "I'm the one who was supposed to go off to a whole alternate earth and get awesome-as-fuck powers. I mean, I'm the head of Atropos' fan club. Who had the stones to meet with her for selfies? Me, that's who."

    Brian frowned, but Riley spoke up first. "It wasn't fun at all," she chided. "There was a mean guy with a knife and a gun. You're good, but he was not a nice person at all. And if you and Brian had been home, someone might have gotten hurt. I was able to talk them into not hurting Theo, but they were really into not leaving witnesses behind."

    "Jealousy isn't a good look for you, Aisha," added Brian. "Anyway, it wasn't Riley's or Theo's idea to go instead of you. And they could really have died."

    He could tell Aisha didn't want to let it go, but eventually she shrugged in what looked like a resigned fashion. "Yeah, I guess. And the Barnes chick didn't get powers, so I probably wouldn't have gotten them either."

    It had gotten a little hectic after Brian's call to Ms Brown. PRT plainclothes personnel had descended on the apartment in force and gotten statements from Riley and Theo. Once they'd found out about Theo's new powers (Brian had been seriously impressed when he saw the armour for the first time) he'd been conveyed off for power testing at the Protectorate HQ.

    Personally, Brian had been mildly worried about Vista's reaction to Theo's colour scheme—his silver and green was a little close to her white and green—so Aisha's outburst about how unfair it was had come as a little bit of a surprise. He kind of understood the basic reasoning, but still thought she was being unfair to Theo. Also, he remembered how traumatic getting his own powers had been, and suspected she wouldn't be nearly as eager to get them if she truly understood that.

    "That's probably true," agreed Riley. "Like I said earlier, Atropos would've had to deal with rescuing us each from our guards if we hadn't already escaped. I was fine and Theo got away as well, but if two of us hadn't had powers, someone would likely have died."

    "I guess you're right." Aisha looked at her with a concerned expression. "If you think I'm being too hard on him, let me know, okay? I know it's not really his fault. He tried to protect you and all."

    "Totally," agreed Riley. "And just so you know, even in situations like that, the chance of actually getting powers in time to save your life is kinda low. Otherwise, violent crime wouldn't really be a thing anymore. He really lucked out, just saying."

    She spoke with a surety that Brian suspected came from an expertise earned in the darker parts of her history. He preferred not to think about it, focusing on how she was in the here and now. As he was about to say something to change the subject, it was changed for him.

    "Hey," Aisha said, turning her head. "Pretty sure I just heard the elevator. I think he's back."

    They all looked over at the door; a moment later, a key turned in the lock. The door opened, revealing Theo, with Ms Brown behind him.

    Aisha was the first one off the mark; heading over to the door, she wrapped Theo up in a heartfelt hug. "Hey," she said, holding him tightly. "Sorry I said that stuff earlier. They treated you okay?"

    "Yeah." He hugged her in return. "Armsmaster wasn't totally thrilled that I can just make power armour that never needs repair and stuff, but they said they're willing to show me how to fight using the weapons I can make."

    "That's good. That's really good." She let him go and ruffled his hair playfully. "Even if we don't have any villains anymore in Brockton Bay, I figure they can make you into the best hero you can be, just in case."

    "Thanks for bringing him home, Ms Brown," Brian said. "Is there anything we need to know about, going forward?"

    "Nothing that Theo can't fill you in on himself." She gave him a warm smile. "I'm pleased they both came out of that in one piece."

    "And now we don't have to tiptoe around about Brian and Riley being capes." Aisha had apparently forgotten her disgruntlement over not getting powers herself. "I definitely call that a win, right there."

    Riley waggled her hand in the air. "Theo's pretty sharp. He would've figured it out in a week or so. He grew up in a cape household, remember?"

    "Mmm." Theo didn't sound so sure. "Maybe two weeks. I had no idea."

    Ms Brown chuckled at the banter, and nodded to Brian. "See you next checkup."

    "See you then," he said, and watched the door close behind her.

    There was a sudden growling sound, and Theo flushed. "Sorry about that. They barely fed me while I was there. Everyone seemed to think everyone else had gotten me food."

    "We got your back," Aisha declared. "Saved you some pizza. It's in the fridge."

    "You are a wonderful human being." Theo made a beeline for the kitchenette.

    Aisha grinned. "Yeah, I know."

    <><>​

    Anne Barnes

    "So, I hear you had a fun day out." Anne sat on Emma's computer chair, one heel up on the seat with her arms folded around her lower leg, while Emma sat cross-legged on the bed. "Was it really as dramatic as you said to Mom, about being kidnapped by a tyrant cape from another Earth?"

    "I actually left out a lot." Emma met her gaze squarely. "I didn't want her getting worried, you see. Our Lady in Darkness was watching over me the entire time."

    Anne frowned. "Yeah, that's another thing she said. Apparently she did the whole thing to get at Atropos? Doesn't that make being a Follower kind of, uh, dangerous?"

    "I serve Her purpose," Emma said serenely. "With me there, the false Goddess felt confident in allowing Her to do whatever She wished, believing that my presence would keep Her from acting against the pretender's wishes. Any perceived danger was down to my lack of faith in Her capabilities." She smiled beatifically. "And now, She has freed a whole world from the yoke of tyranny."

    "You're still leaving out a lot, sis. Do I want to know what happened to this 'false Goddess'?"

    So then Emma told the story of what had happened once she arrived in the throne room, eliding only the real names of the other two capes who'd been there. She seemed downright amused by Atropos' 'three Shins' pun, and was apparently unconcerned that their departure had left the depowered villainous cape to almost certainly be murdered by the mob. By contrast, the end of the story was positively anti-climactic. "And then, She brought us home."

    Anne shook her head. "That would've terrified me. I'm sorry if this upsets you, but I think Atropos is scary."

    "Well, She is scary," agreed Emma. "I wouldn't have come to the true realisation of my trespasses against Her if She wasn't. Fear is a great motivator to not act against Her. I suspect it's saved many lives."

    "I wasn't actually meaning that in a good way, but …" Anne sighed, thinking about the general exodus of villains from Brockton Bay, and of the careful good behaviour of the ex-villains who had either been allowed to return to the city, or arrived for the first time. "Yeah, I guess I get your point."

    "So, enough about me and Our Lady in Darkness." Emma grinned at Anne. "How was your day? Did you meet up with Crystal and, uh, Faultline, like you said you would?"

    "How did I know it was going to get back around to that?" Anne fixed her sister with an unimpressed gaze. "I think I preferred it when you were fixated on Atropos twenty-four-seven."

    "I've learned to appreciate that Her actions are not the only important things in life, and that I am not Her sole concern." Emma shrugged. "If She calls, then I will answer, but I will not intrude unless I am needed." She gave Anne a meaningful look. "But I think you're deflecting now."

    This time, Anne's sigh was more aggravated. Busted. "Okay, fine, we got together down at the Boardwalk around about lunchtime, once Melanie got back from Boston. It was a bit awkward at first …"

    <><>​

    Boardwalk (Six Hours Earlier)

    Anne Barnes

    The churros were nice and crunchy, but she could only stall for so long. "So …" Anne hinted, leaning on her elbows.

    "So …" echoed Crystal, nibbling at her powdered donut. They both looked at Melanie, who was rocking aviator shades.

    "So," the ex-villain agreed. "We're all sober right now, yes?"

    "It's been at least eleven or twelve hours," Crystal noted. "We should be good."

    "I concur." Melanie nodded. "So, what do we actually have in common?"

    Anne shared a glance with Crystal. "Atropos?" she ventured.

    "While that's weirdly true," Crystal said dryly, "I'm pretty sure it's not a great foundation for any kind of relationship."

    "Wait." Melanie lowered her glasses and looked at Crystal over them. "Did she set this whole thing up? Between us, I mean?"

    "Uh, no. Absolutely not." Anne shook her head. "I talked to Emma this morning. She asked Atropos straight-up, and Atropos said she didn't know about it until it happened."

    "She said as much on PHO," Crystal added. "And you'll be pleased to know that nobody's connected the dots on who either of you are yet. You're just 'the brunette' and 'the redheaded chick'."

    Melanie nodded, looking satisfied. "Thought so."

    "Maybe not 'nobody'," Anne cautioned. "I saw that thread too, and there were a couple of people who seemed to be reading stuff into it that nobody else was. A 'Mr Newtonian' and someone called 'Silent Whispers'. The Newtonian guy was just laughing his head off."

    "Yes. I know." Melanie growled, deep in her throat. "That's Newter. He saw the video of me telling your folks to go easy on you, and worked the whole thing out. I'm not at all sure if I'm ever going to live this down in their eyes. I'm just glad Gregor doesn't really share his sense of humour, and Labyrinth doesn't understand what's going on."

    "Oh." Crystal smirked. "And Silent Whispers? Who's that?"

    "Probably Tattletale, if I'm any judge. She hates that I can out-think her even without a Thinker power like she's got." Melanie took off her sunglasses and rubbed her hand over her face. "But we didn't come here to talk about them. What else do we have in common?"

    "I'd say 'alcohol' but that's kind of self-evident," Anne said. "Okay, come on. Movies? I like rom-coms."

    "Action rom-coms," Crystal offered.

    "Action," Melanie grinned. "Rom and/or com optional. Pineapple on pizza, yes or no? I say no."

    "Eww, haha, nope." Crystal made amazingly realistic gagging noises.

    "Not my go-to, but I don't care either way." Anne cast about for another topic. "The trolley problem. Throw the lever and kill one, don't throw the lever and kill five?"

    "I'd laser the fuck out of the trolley," Crystal said immediately.

    "Oh, come on, that's cheating," protested Anne.

    Melanie shrugged. "I was gonna say, demolition charges. Or cut the ropes with my power and let them free." With a subtle flick of her fingers, she sliced one of Anne's churros in half. "How about you?"

    Anne hunched her shoulders, uncomfortable about being put on the spot. "I, uh … I've always thought it would depend on who it was and if they were important to me. Does that make me a shitty person?"

    "No, it makes you human." Crystal put a hand on her arm. "The shitty person's the one who came up with that dilemma. Okay, uh … suppose you got to pick the perfect cake for your next birthday. What would it be?"

    "Chocolate cake," Anne declared promptly. "With pink and white icing, and sprinkles. And the candles arranged in a nice symmetrical pattern."

    "Hmm." Melanie rubbed her chin with thumb and forefinger. "Cheesecake. No icing, no candles. Minimal decoration. Just all the cheesecake." She looked at Crystal. "And you?"

    "Double layered sponge." Crystal smiled in what Anne suspected was fond remembrance. "Slathered in banana-flavoured icing, with sparklers for candles."

    "I do like the sparklers idea," Anne said. "Okay, what now?"

    "Answer me a question." Melanie had taken her sunglasses off now, and her hands were folded in front of her. "Why did you start kissing us?" She held up one finger briefly. "I'm not judging. What happened after that, we all participated. But none of us were really expecting it. Hell, I'd always thought I was more het than bi, and seeing how surprised you were after the fact, I'm pretty sure you were too. What I'm asking is, does alcohol just flip your switch, or was it something else?"

    "Ugh." Anne covered her face with her hands; she could already feel her cheeks heating up. "I knew you were going to ask about that."

    "You don't have to answer if you don't want to," Crystal reassured her. "This isn't an interrogation, we're just sharing stuff about ourselves."

    "No, no, it's a totally valid question." Anne knew her cheeks were flaming red by now, but this was something she had to do. "I've had this sort of kinky little fantasy for the longest time, you know? To get into a threesome with two guys, and get one guy to roleplay being a hero and the other to play being a villain, so I can pretend I'm sleeping with a superhero and a supervillain at the same time. I've read every capefic out there about that sort of thing. Never expected it to happen, never even had the nerve to try and arrange it, but … yeah. Drunk, sitting between you two … switch flipped, I guess."

    For the longest time, neither one reacted, then Crystal snorted softly. "Sorry," she said immediately, covering her smile with her hand. "Not laughing at you. Just …"

    "It is kind of funny," agreed Melanie, though her face was poker-still. "Though we did walk into that one, didn't we? I was just going to make sure you both got to your dorm rooms okay, then go back and sleep it off in my car, but then you both kissed me and …" A little colour touched her cheeks as well. "Switch flipped."

    "Yeah." Crystal bore a tiny smile, which suggested she was harbouring secret thoughts of her own. "That definitely happened. So, are you up to going for a walk? The Rogues' Guild should be setting up just a little bit farther down the Boardwalk, and I wanted to swing by."

    "I'd heard about them." Melanie steepled her fingers in front of her. "We were looking to recruit Spitfire, but then Atropos came along and we had to abort our plans. Are they any good?"

    Crystal's smile grew to a grin. "Amy seems to think so. Then again, she's dating Parian, so she might be just a teensy bit biased. That aside, Parian can make you a totally lifelike doll in just a few minutes. I saw the one she did of Amy, and it'd knock your socks off."

    Anne hadn't heard about that bit, but she was pretty sure that the Followers of Atropos were buying toys from Salvage to hand out to disadvantaged kids. She just hoped Emma wouldn't show up with her cult while Anne was there; she could only handle so much judgement at a time. Still, the doll thing sounded cool, and she figured she could always hide behind Melanie and Crystal if necessary. "Let's go take a look."

    "Absolutely." Melanie got to her feet, and offered Anne an entirely unnecessary hand up. Anne accepted it, feeling the strength in Melanie's grip as she stood up. "Let's go do that thing."

    <><>​

    Emma (Evening)

    "Meanwhile, I wasn't even on the same planet." Emma shook her head with a grin. "So, how'd it go with the Rogues' Guild?"

    "Mel was pretty damn impressed, actually." Anne leaned back in the chair. "She had a good chat with Parian about the logistics of running a group. I'm reasonably certain I saw Parian taking notes."

    "So did you get a doll made?" Emma was pretty sure she knew the answer.

    "Not today, but that's only because she had a backlog." Anne rolled her eyes. "Turns out when Panacea puts up pictures on PHO, people pay attention. And it didn't help when Glory Girl showed up with Panacea, and Parian took a break so they could catch up. I'd thought Crystal might've been exaggerating a little when she said they were dating. She wasn't."

    Emma chuckled; she couldn't help herself. "Yet another Atropos unintended consequence."

    Anne frowned. "What's that?"

    "Before She showed up, everyone in the city was wound tighter than Accord's pocket watch." Emma wasn't sure if he had one, but if he did, its mainspring would always be under strain. "But with the crime gone, everyone's had time to relax and notice each other. I'd be totally astonished if you guys were the only new relationship in Brockton Bay."

    "We're not sure if we're even that yet," Anne protested. "It's only been two days."

    Emma smiled. The lady doth protest overmuch. "I know."



    End of Part Seventy-Six
     
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    • Part Seventy-Seven: Meet the Wards
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    • A Darker Path

    Part Seventy-Seven: Meet the Wards

    [A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]


    Relevant Side Story

    PRT New York, Sunday Morning, March 6

    Director Emily Piggot

    The intercom at Emily's elbow buzzed. "Deputy Director Henderson is here, ma'am. Are you clear to see him?"

    She frowned. Is this how Wilkins operated? "Send him in. And make a note: Henderson gets access to me, all hours. Other names to be added to that list, at my discretion."

    "Ma'am." There was no inflection to the voice to show whether her personal gatekeeper was pleased or irritated with the idea, but Emily didn't give a damn either way. Clear and prompt communication was essential to managing an organisation like the PRT, especially the department of it tasked with overseeing New York.

    She'd already made a good start with ripping out the weeds left behind after her predecessor's ignominious departure, but she suspected there would be more to come. The .22 popgun stashed in the footwell had been replaced by her venerable SIG 220, and that was the least of the changes she intended to make around here. By the time she handed over the office to whoever was due to take charge on the first of July, she intended to have the New York PRT ticking over like a goddamn Swiss watch, no matter how many brand-new assholes she had to ream out in the doing of it.

    New York boasted (if that was the word) a larger selection of villains than Brockton Bay had had, she freely admitted that. However, she couldn't help noticing while she'd been familiarising herself with their various dossiers that they were softer and fluffier on the whole than their departed counterparts. No neo-Nazi hate groups, no rage dragons, no snake-in-the-grass Coils, no Merchant-equivalents devoted entirely to dealing drugs.

    This wasn't to say that they were good, or even 'misunderstood' (she hated that word with the passion of a thousand burning suns), just that they were a lot less vicious than the usual for Brockton Bay. Of course, it helped that the Teeth had been irresistibly drawn to Brockton Bay by Atropos' warning, and been wiped out to a man. Barrow was another casualty of overconfidence, currently (as far as she knew) dealing with having both his kneecaps blown out by Atropos in one of her rare nonlethal takedowns.

    Emily hadn't lost a moment of sleep over either one of those.

    The Elite were still in town, but since Bastard Son's demise, they'd become a lot more circumspect in their dealings, and the New York branch had never been heavy on crime anyway. Likewise, the Adepts kept things low-key, and were careful not to risk killing anyone. Their most annoying trait seemed to be their habit of attempting to poach any Wards or Protectorate members whose powers could be mistaken for magic (and the fact that they'd succeeded at least once that she knew of).

    Which raised a point: the latest 'recruit' into the ranks of the New York Wards happened to be one Tammi Reynolds, AKA Scribe, previously known as Rune, whose powers could absolutely be described as looking like magic. Also (and this was important), she was an ex-member of the extremely defunct Empire Eighty-Eight and had been, by all accounts, chugging down the racist Kool-Aid on the regular before Kaiser took a sword through the brain.

    In Emily's personal opinion, Scribe was a high-risk cape, likely to defect to the enemy given the slightest opportunity. Someone who should've been slam-dunked straight back into the juvenile detention system instead of being fast-tracked into a probationary Wards position.

    Just like we should've done with Shadow Stalker, only more so. Stalker, at least, had never tried to switch sides. At least, not officially.

    She suspected Wilkins had had a hand in this, looking to boost her numbers and look good to the higher-ups. And now, ironically, not only was Emily being tapped to solve the problems Wilkins had caused, but two adversaries from Brockton Bay had ended up technically on the same side in a whole new city. Not that Emily intended to trust the little shit any further than she could caber-toss the Empire State Building, or tolerate Rune's presence in the Wards for one second longer than it took to get her shitcanned right back to where she belonged.

    The office door opened, and Henderson entered. "Sorry to bother you, ma'am, but—"

    Emily cut him off right there. "Deputy Director Henderson. You are the PRT second in command in this city, so let's get something straight. If there's something I need to know, you bring it to my attention. Likewise, if you come in here to see me about something, I'm going to assume that I need to know about it. Therefore, when you walk into my office, the first words I want to hear from you are not an apology for wasting my time. What I want is for you to tell me what I need to know about whatever's going on. Is that perfectly understood?"

    Henderson blinked. "Uh … yes, ma'am. Loud and clear, ma'am. So, I'm here to let you know that the Wards are assembled downstairs for you to address them, ma'am."

    She nodded firmly. Dealing with Wards wasn't her favourite part of the job—if there was any part of it that she could call favourite—but at least they weren't being housed in the PRT building and overseen by the Deputy Director, like in Brockton Bay. Whoever's idea it had been to put the Brockton Bay Protectorate base in the middle of the actual bay had a lot to answer for, in her opinion.

    "Thank you, Mr Henderson." She stood up from her chair and started around the desk. On impulse, she took the Nilbog claw that she was currently using as a letter opener and slid it into her pocket. "And you don't have to call me 'ma'am' with every sentence; just occasionally will do. I know Director Wilkins probably did a lot of things differently to me, but she's also facing Federal charges, so I see no need to emulate her every habit." She stepped up to him. "Also, I will be requiring you to make judgement calls on occasion. I may ask you to explain your reasoning after the fact, but I'd prefer a subordinate who can make a decision over one who lets a bad situation get worse because they froze. If this is not to your liking, then you may submit your resignation at any time. Is that also understood?"

    "Crystal clear, ma'am." He seemed to be trying to process what she was saying, or maybe he was just constipated. She didn't care which one it was; he'd either get with the program or she'd have to bring in another Deputy Director to train up.

    "Good to hear." She paused with her hand on the door handle, and looked back at him. "And one more thing. I've read all the available briefing notes, but only a complete fool would assume that's all there is to know about this duty posting, and I'd like to think I'm not a complete fool. So if I happen to give an order out of ignorance that's likely to have problematic consequences, get my attention and fill me in in private. Think you can do that?"

    This time, his response was more positive, as he nodded sharply. "Yes, ma'am."

    "Excellent." She opened the door and left the office. In time, it would probably feel like 'her' office, but that time wasn't yet.

    He followed along behind her. "May I ask a semi-personal question?"

    "Certainly. Don't set your heart on getting an answer, though."

    "Understood." He hesitated for a second. "What was it like, being in the same city as Atropos all the time?"

    She glanced back at him. "Broadly speaking? Irritating and illuminating. I do not, and never will, approve of vigilante justice. The PRT and courts exist for a reason. We do not want or need armed civilians, or even armed capes, simply murdering people willy-nilly." She huffed a sigh. "The irritating part is that she made it work. The illuminating aspect is that she had a deeper plan behind it all, over and above 'kill villains in excruciating ways'."

    "The Betterment Committee," he said, proving that he was paying attention.

    "Precisely. The bounty from the Nine barely started the ball rolling, then she pulled in two billion for the Simurgh, and there's going to be more again once we announce the demise of the other Endbringers in July. And of course, there are the quarantine areas that she so kindly cleared out for us, freeing up immense amounts of our funding and manpower for other purposes, and incidentally providing the Committee with a solid revenue stream for the next ten years."

    Henderson didn't bring up the fact that Emily was the one who'd started the trend of commissioning Atropos to clear the quarantine areas; it was something they both already knew. Instead, he asked a question which she had also been pondering the answer to. "So, now that she's Ended all the major threats to the well-being of Brockton Bay, as well as an interdimensional one, what do you think she'll do now, ma'am?"

    Emily chuckled darkly. "Mr Henderson, I stopped trying to anticipate her next move a long time ago. I'm sure we'll find out if and when it happens."

    "Copy that, ma'am."

    <><>​

    Hebert Household Basement

    Taylor

    I hummed to myself as I stirred the mixture in the plastic tub, the improvised paddle poking through a hole in the garbage bag I'd tied over the lot to keep the fumes from getting out. It had been even easier than I'd expected to obtain the ingredients in the proportions and quantity I needed. Now I just had to make sure the two disparate elements were well and truly mixed together, while preventing any stray sparks from inviting themselves to the party before I was ready.

    The basement door opened, and Cherie descended the steps. "Hey, Taylor. What're you doing now?"

    I turned and gave her my most innocent look, without interrupting the stirring. "What makes you think I'm doing something?"

    She retaliated with a don't-bullshit-me look of amused exasperation; perfectly justified, given that I was indeed doing something. "I swear, you're like a four-year-old. Whenever you vanish down here and I can hear you humming along contentedly, I know for a fact that disaster is soon to follow. The only difference is that the disaster is going to happen to some thoroughly deserving asshole, and it's always highly entertaining to watch."

    A grin twitched my lips. "As much as I feel I should be insulted somehow by the comparison to a kid doing something it knows it shouldn't, I can kinda see where you're coming from. I do come down here to prep for a lot of my mayhem."

    "Which brings us back to my original question." She leaned back against the workbench near me, propping herself on her elbows. "What are you doing, who are you going to be doing it to, and why do I smell diesel?"

    My grin widened. "Well, the answer to that needs a little backtracking. I probably mentioned that I didn't want the Empire remnants to be getting any more assistance from overseas, so I've been dropping anonymous tips about Gesellschaft leadership to Interpol, right?"

    "Right." Cherie nodded. "If they're tied up with that, they can't project power into the US."

    "That's the general idea, yeah." I stirred the tub again. "So, it turns out that Gesellschaft, among other European terror groups, have been bankrolling the Three Blasphemies, and getting a return by way of picking their assassination targets. Reshaping the political landscape by proxy."

    "The Blasphemies?" Cherie's eyebrows shot up. "Those bitches are seriously bad news. I heard they even fought Eidolon and survived. But I thought they only operated in Europe?"

    "That's true," I acknowledged. "And they are pretty damn good at what they do. But they just hit my radar anyway, because Gesellschaft is directing them to hit Interpol personnel … and in about half an hour, Interpol is going to contact me over PHO with an offer of a hundred million US to remove them from the board. It appears that taking out a chief of station in his own house, in front of his kids, crosses a line. Who knew?"

    Cherie smirked. "And of course you know how to kill them. In a way that somehow involves diesel."

    I nodded, giving the tub of ANFO one last stir. "When have I not?"

    She nodded wisely. "Good point."

    <><>​

    Director Piggot

    Emily stepped up onto the dais, in front of the assembled Wards. There were more than she'd been used to dealing with in Brockton Bay, though they were arranged in teams according to capabilities. While a few gave the impression of having been at the sharp edge once or twice, most seemed less battle-hardened than the Brockton Bay Wards; in point of fact, they reminded her of recruits fresh out of boot. The skills were technically there, but they'd never been tested in real combat.

    Flechette was one of those Emily suspected of having faced serious opposition, almost certainly against March. She wasn't sure what March's obsession with Flechette was all about, but the teen villain's persecution of the young hero had more than earned her the beating she'd received at Atropos' hands. March had recovered from the mild concussion, and the light stab wounds were healing nicely, but her knee would never work properly again if she didn't receive corrective surgery. It turned out that the PRT was remarkably stingy about springing for that sort of thing when it wasn't a life-threatening situation.

    Flechette herself was one of the more famous Wards in the system, having accompanied Atropos to Canberra on that famous occasion. Quite apart from the other times she'd associated with Atropos, she had also volunteered to attend the Brockton General fundraiser, earning her a note of commendation in her file from Legend. Emily approved of that sort of initiative, so when she'd seen Flechette's request for three days off to visit Brockton Bay for 'personal reasons', she'd signed off on it.

    Unfortunately, she hadn't actually seen it until Saturday afternoon, but Flechette would get priority placing on next Friday's afternoon transport, and wouldn't be required back until Tuesday morning. Her school would be notified of her upcoming absence on Monday, and the appropriate excuses given. Judging by the original date on the leave request, Wilkins had been kicking the can down the road on that one for the last month. Emily didn't know exactly why the ex-Director had been blocking it, though she could make an educated guess. Whatever; Flechette's earned that leave and she's damn well going to get it.

    The other main contender for 'teen veteran of the streets' was Scribe, who was making only a moderate attempt to appear heroic and attentive. Emily wasn't sure how much of her expression was a reaction to being a probationary Ward, and how much was her natural sneer. Either way, she'd ditched the red and black robes for blue and gold in the same pattern, along with a pointed, wide-brimmed hat. She was leaning back in her seat with her arms folded, and Emily could barely see her eyes under the hat's brim.

    Just for a moment, Emily was tempted to order her to remove the hat, but refrained when she noted the number of Wards in the room who would be unmasked if they were required to remove their helmets and other headgear. And she knew damn well Scribe would insist on it happening, and kick up a stink if the others weren't given equal treatment. The last thing she wanted was for the Youth Guard to come sniffing around when she hadn't even been in charge for a week yet.

    The other notable Ward in the room was probationary in a whole different way. At nineteen, Badaboom would normally have got straight into the Protectorate, but it wasn't unusual for new capes in their late teens to spend a few months in the Wards before moving up in the ranks. Theoretically, this gave them an opportunity to find their feet within the organisation before facing off against the real threats. And in New York, Emily supposed, that might even work.

    Ironically, the bomb Tinker's recruitment into the Wards had also technically been due to Atropos. On February the twenty-second, the giantess twins Fenja and Menja had chosen to attack Cornell University in some misguided bid to attract like-minded people to their cause. It had not been going well for the beleaguered campus security (and the heroes were still a few minutes out) when one of the students had taken a hand.

    Wearing a makeshift costume and screaming defiance, Badaboom (real name Alice Takawara) had bombarded the Nazi terrorist capes with her Tinkertech bombs. Shifts in local gravity had put them on the back foot and 'super stunner' bombs had left them staggering, but the stars of the show were the bombs that respectively turned Fenja intensely magnetic, and inflicted Menja with the equivalent of acute gastroenteritis. When the capes showed up, Menja was in the unpleasant process of purging her system of everything she'd eaten in the last two days, and Fenja was unconscious under a pile of cars.

    Ironically, the news story about it had been almost totally buried under the revelation of the Simurgh's demise. Ms Takawara had tentatively accepted the recruitment offer, and was currently using the name the news crews had saddled her with until Image could figure out a better one for her. Even now, she had a wide-eyed 'how the hell did I end up here' expression on her face.

    Emily found she could sympathise.

    "Good morning," she said into the microphone. "I'm Director Emily Piggot, replacing Ms Wilkins. You may address me as Director, ma'am, or Ms Piggot."

    She paused to let that sink in, looking around at the assembled teenage heroes to gather her impressions of what they thought of her opening lines. The team captains seemed to be paying close attention to her words, while the rest were nose-diving into boredom. Not Flechette, though, or Badaboom, or Scribe for that matter. Where the first two were also listening carefully, the latter was allowing her sneer to show more and more openly.

    What the hell, she decided. I'm only in this posting for another four months. She'd never been the type to play to the crowd, but there was no percentage in setting up the Wards to push back against her initiatives for the next four months. What don't they want to hear?

    She wasn't a teenager, but she judged that in their place, she wouldn't want to hear more empty platitudes. We're all in this together, you have my support, blah blah blah. She cleared her throat. "Okay, you know what? You've heard the rest of this speech dozens of times before, so let's just take it as said and move along. I've blocked out half an hour for this. If you've got questions or something to say, let's hear it."

    Shelter, down at the front, raised his hand. She nodded toward him. "Uh, ma'am, is it true you were at Ellisburg?"

    "It is." She recalled the claw in her pocket, and took it out. Stepping down from the podium, she held it up. "Over a hundred of us went in. Two came out." She recalled again how the capes had cut and run, but restrained her automatic reaction. Some capes do what they say they're going to do. Atropos had taught her that. "The day before Atropos went in and killed every last goblin in Ellisburg, she collected this and later gave it to me as something to remember the place by. Careful, it's sharp."

    She handed over the claw to Shelter, who looked it over with something approaching awe, then passed it on to Jouster. Gradually, it began to make its way around the room. Emily kept an eye on where it was, while appearing not to: a trick she'd learned long ago as an officer. She had their attention now. Good.

    Someone down the back, whose name she hadn't memorised yet, put their hand up. "How did you survive, ma'am?"

    "I nearly didn't," she replied candidly. "Every one of my men died. I ran through all my ammo, and emptied my pistol. They were chewing on my legs and ripping up my kidneys when a chopper dropped in, killed the critters on me, and got me the hell out of there." She took a deep breath. "Take that as a lesson. Sometimes you'll be doing everything by the numbers, acting on the intel you've been given, and the intel will be wrong. Sometimes it's just not your fault when things go ti—uh, belly-up."

    "What do you do then?" asked Flechette.

    "Well, what you don't do is whine about how it's not fair. Life's not fair. Deal with it." Emily paused to allow the brief laughter to pass, then got serious, making eye contact with as many of them as she could. "You dig deep and find just how hard you can fight. And if at all possible, you survive so you can tell someone what happened, and what went wrong. If not?" She shrugged. "You take as many of the bastards down with you that you can."

    The claw was halfway around the room by now. She gestured, inviting another question.

    "Is Brockton Bay as bad as we've heard?" asked a kid with a striped red-and-white costume. "I mean, really?"

    "Before or after Atropos showed up?" asked Emily dryly. She held up her hand. "Right off the bat, every member of the Brockton Bay Wards has been in combat against one or another of the villain gangs in the city, directly fighting supervillains. I didn't order it and I didn't approve of it, but it happened. Sometimes they got hurt. Yes, it was bad. That was before Atropos."

    "What about after Atropos?" That was Badaboom, looking surprised at herself. "Did she really kill all those villains?"

    "Yeah," called out someone else in the back row. "What's Atropos like? Flechette won't give us deets!"

    "Hey!" retorted Flechette. "I'm not gonna gossip about her! She's my friend!"

    Emily cleared her throat firmly and waited until the room had quieted down. "Things were starting to ramp up again after the Christmas dip. Yes, we have that there too, but it's less obvious. The gangs were doing their usual posturing. And then Oni Lee turned up dead. That actually staggered a lot of us. Many people had tried; Atropos did it with one bullet, dead centre between the eyes, using his own gun."

    Scribe actually managed to dial up her sneer a notch. "And not before time."

    Amidst the general murmur of chuckles, Emily nodded. "Be that as it may, that particular sentiment wasn't just shared by the opposing villain gangs. Off the record, of course. We're not supposed to condone murder." This actually seemed to be working. Most of her interactions with the Wards had ended in disinterest at best, but here they were listening to her. "At the time, we thought it was a fluke."

    "But … didn't she say on PHO exactly what she was doing?" That was Jouster.

    "Anyone can say anything on PHO." Emily was a little surprised that more people didn't recognise this. "Actions, as they say, speak louder than words."

    Shelter snorted. "Gotta say, her actions are pretty damn loud."

    "Very true, but two months ago, she was only just starting." Emily took a breath. "Brockton Bay was a powderkeg, and we were stretched to the limit fending off idiots with matches. Then, over the course of four days, four of the major players on the villain side were eliminated. Think about that for a second. Imagine the Elite and the Adepts being taken out overnight by a totally unknown player." She looked around at the Wards, giving her words time to sink in. "All we could conclude that it was an escalation of the previous chaos, someone trying to move in and establish themselves as a new power in the criminal underworld."

    "Well, she definitely did that." Flechette sounded amused, and most of the Wards chuckled along with her.

    "She did," agreed Emily. "And after the villains fled Brockton Bay, she kept on destroying new threats as fast as they popped up. Then things got … easier." She thought about what she'd just said, and shook her head. "Things don't get easier in this job. That's not even rule number one; it's rule number zero. Nothing gets easier. But Atropos broke that rule, just like she breaks all the other rules. And now, thanks to a teenage girl with the edgiest name and costume of all time killing a whole lot of very bad people, Brockton Bay is actually getting to be a tolerable place to live." She looked around at the assembled Wards. "Next question?"

    "Yeah. Have you actually met her? I mean, face to face?"

    Emily didn't see who'd asked that question, but she answered it anyway. The incidents were vivid in her mind. "Three times. Once in my office, at my invitation, once outside Ellisburg, and once on Thursday evening, at my sendoff." Emily held up her hand. "Enough questions about Atropos. Does anyone have anything else they want to ask about?"

    "Yeah," snarked Scribe. "Is it true they called you Miss Piggy behind your back, in Brockton Bay?"

    "It's true," Emily acknowledged, ignoring the murmured chuckles and the surreptitious shove that Jouster gave Scribe. "Keep in mind, the person who started that chose the name Clockblocker, so it wasn't as though he could throw any stones." She turned to face Scribe. "Also, you know what they say about glass houses and stones … Sabrina."

    "Nobody called me that!" Scribe had apparently never been pulled up on any of her disrespectful behaviour until now. Emily had to wonder exactly how much Wilkins had been soft-pedalling her treatment of the ex-villain in order to look good in front of the Chief Director. It reminded her of the aftermath of Shadow Stalker's demise, and the sheer amount of misbehaviour that the little twit's PRT handler had been sweeping under the rug. Well, that's not happening here.

    "Oh, I dunno," Flechette said. "I spent time talking to some of the Wards when I went up for the fundraiser, and they mentioned a certain 'teenage Nazi' a couple of times."

    "The fuck?" yelped Scribe, jumping to her feet and swinging around toward Flechette. "I never said anything about you!"

    "Sit down, Scribe." Emily was grateful for Flechette's interjection, though she couldn't say so out loud. "This is why we should avoid all insulting nicknames going forward. Now, does anyone have any relevant questions?"

    <><>​

    Atropos

    "So, what's the skinny on the Blasphemies, anyway?" Cherie helped steady the mass of explosive material as I settled the metal cone down into it, point-first. The cone itself had originally been a tin can I'd salvaged from the trash, but with a little work and soldering, it would now serve a higher purpose, as would the burner phone and single pistol bullet I'd stripped down to its primer. "I mean, they fought the Triumvirate. They can fly, and make force fields, and teleport, and move at superspeed, and turn invisible. And whenever anyone's killed one, she's come back. How are you gonna make it stick, this time?"

    "The first thing to understand about the Blasphemies," I said as I began to insert the wired-up primer (itself buried in a zip-loc bag containing the leftover propellant from the cartridges I'd butchered in preparation to take down Goddess) into the mass of explosive material, "is that they're robots. Artificial intelligences. That's actually known, but not by the general public."

    "What the fuck?" Cherie frowned. "How many's that make now? Dragon, the Machine Army … who else is a robot around here?"

    "That's about it, to be honest." I shrugged. "To make a self-sustaining AI, you need to have a power that really wants to make it happen, or it degrades and self-immolates in hours or days."

    "Oh. Well, that kind of sucks. So, are you going to do the same trick you used to take out the Machine Army? Literally talk them to death? Or the Shotgun Shells of Exploding Doom?"

    "Neither one, mainly because there's three of them." I held up that many fingers. "They're in constant communication, and they back up their memories and personalities with each other on the regular. Any damage I did by infecting one with a virus would get caught by another one, via their error-checking software. Even if I killed one that way, the other two would be free and clear to go to one of their caches of spare parts, construct a new body, and re-upload a clean copy of the personality. It would be back up and running within the day."

    "They can do that?" Cherie frowned. "What's stopping them from just building more until they've got an army?"

    "Their programming. And the fact that they're not Tinkers. They can just fake it in this one instance." I carefully taped the burner phone to the side of the gallon bottle that had come from the same place the tin can had, then started swathing the whole thing in plastic. "The other trick they can pull is swapping out their masks and changing their mannerisms. See, each of them has a set of powers that gives each of them Mover, Brute and Stranger capabilities, just different ones. That way, you never know which one you're fighting. By doing this, they can fool people into thinking they've all got all the powers. Also, they're really good at retreating if they have to. As soon as one dies, the others disengage."

    Cherie's mouth opened, her jaw dropping in horrified fascination. "Huh. Holy shit. So how do you kill them?"

    "Same as you beat any other adversary," I said lightly. "You target them where they're weak, and use their strengths against them."

    She eyed the bomb she'd helped me make. "So … what, you're going to lure them to the same spot and blow them all up?"

    "In a way, yes, but also no." I grinned at the exasperated expression on her face. "They'll be on their guard once they find out that I've been commissioned to decommission them. Which means they won't be going near each other. That way, if any of them gets destroyed, the others can resurrect them."

    "Wait." Cherie held up her hand. "If Interpol contacts you directly, and you just go after the Blasphemies, how are they going to find out that you're on their case before you kill them?"

    "Because I'm going to tell them." At her incredulous look, I explained further. "They're capable of being reasoned with. So, just like everyone else, they get a warning. Surrender to Interpol within twenty-four hours, or die."

    "Well, shit." Cherie's eyebrows rose. "Interpol's not going to be thrilled."

    I finished taping up the last of the plastic. "They're not paying me for happiness. They're paying me for results."



    End of Part Seventy-Seven
     
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    • Part Seventy-Eight: The Bada and the Boom
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    • A Darker Path

    Part Seventy-Eight: The Bada and the Boom

    [A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]


    Director Emily Piggot

    Emily closed her office door behind her and crossed the room to her desk. She felt physically and mentally drained; that had been the longest she'd ever spent in the presence of Wards when she wasn't actively chewing them out for the latest bullshit they'd pulled. Apart from Scribe, they'd even been respectful.

    She was pretty sure she'd caught Scribe eyeing the claw as though she'd like to pocket it, which didn't surprise her as it was still her firm belief that the girl should be in juvey, not the Wards. It didn't matter that Rune had only been caught because she'd been abandoned by Victor and Othala when an attempted bank robbery went wrong; in Emily's view, a criminal who was also the victim of betrayal was still a criminal. In this particular instance, it seemed the presence of the other Wards (plus Emily's eye on her) had kept the ex-villain relatively honest, but that wouldn't always be the case.

    As she settled into her chair and dropped the claw back on the desk, she wondered if it was Legend's influence that had the Wards acting so politely and respectfully toward her. Back in Brockton Bay, Armsmaster should have been in charge of the Wards but several factors had militated against that, so the duty had fallen mainly to Renick.

    Her deputy had tried his best, and indeed she had to admit that the Brockton Bay Wards (with one glaring exception) hadn't turned out badly. However, all the will in the world couldn't put more hours in the day or teach him what having powers was really like, so they'd been far from the squared-away teens she'd just been talking to.

    She tapped her personal code into her laptop to wake it up again, and called up the Wards roster once more. Yet another reminder that she wasn't in Brockton Bay anymore: she had three times as many Wards to keep track of, and some of the names had slipped her mind while she was talking to them. To her, that was unacceptable; she began reading through the list again, matching names to costumes. Even if she wasn't in charge of them, they were still ultimately her responsibility.

    And then there were the two potential problems, one more so than the other. For a moment, she thought about dealing with it later, but then she squared her shoulders. Better to get it out of the way now than keep putting it on the back burner.

    Taking out her phone, she hit the speed-dial for Henderson's number. He answered a moment later: "Yes, ma'am?"

    She got directly to the point. "Are you busy with anything that can't be pushed back fifteen minutes?"

    There was a brief pause, but only for a couple of seconds. "No, ma'am. What do you need?"

    "Your presence, my office. I'm going to talk to one of the Wards, and I'd like you as an impartial witness."

    Again, the brief hesitation. Emily could only imagine that Wilkins had never asked this of him, which spoke volumes about their working relationship. "Yes, ma'am. I'll be right over."

    "Thank you." Emily ended the call, then hit the speed-dial for the PRT duty officer. She didn't know all her people by sight yet, but she was working on that too. "Director Piggot here. The Wards are still in the building? Good. Please have Badaboom sent up to see me."

    <><>​

    Badaboom

    Alice Takawara stepped out of the elevator and headed down the hallway toward the Director's office, the PRT trooper who had been detailed to escort her walking precisely one pace to the rear and the right. She had no idea what was going on; the meeting with Director Piggot had been interesting enough, but she'd barely said three words the whole time.

    It wasn't like she'd cursed the older woman out, or brought up that stupid nickname, like Scribe had. If anyone was going to be called to the Director's office, it should be that bitch. 'Sabrina the teenage Nazi.' Now, that was legitimately funny.

    The Director's secretary, or personal assistant, or whatever she was, looked at Alice once, and nodded. "Go right in."

    "Uh … thanks?" Alice moved forward to the office door and turned the handle. The door opened, and she stepped inside.

    Within were the Director and Deputy Director, the latter of whom was sitting on a chair off to the side of the office. Director Piggot looked up as Alice entered, and nodded. "Good, you're here. Have a seat." She gestured at the chair planted front and centre before the desk. "Trooper, you're dismissed."

    "Ma'am." The trooper left the office again, closing the door behind him.

    Alice walked forward and sat down, trying to calm her nerves long enough to make her jittering left leg stop bouncing. She didn't spend much time looking to Henderson for answers; even during her brief time in the Wards, she'd figured out that he was basically there to do the stuff Director Wilkins couldn't be bothered doing. Director Piggot was the one she needed to pay attention to.

    When Piggot spoke, it wasn't even to Alice. "Deputy Director Henderson, is it SOP in this building for Wards to be escorted to my office by a trooper?"

    Henderson seemed to be as surprised by this as Alice was. "Uh, yes, ma'am. It's the way it's always been."

    "Mmm." The Director didn't sound pleased by this, but at least it was nothing Alice had anything to do with. Also, she belatedly realised, the trooper escort wasn't something the Director had ordered to intimidate her. "Make a note. Protectorate and Wards have the right to be anywhere in this building they're cleared to be, just like the PRT does. They don't need troopers to hold their hands everywhere they go."

    "Understood, ma'am."

    Piggot nodded once, then turned her attention to Alice. "So, Badaboom. I have a few questions for you. Hopefully, we can clear them up and let you get back to your regular duties." She paused for a second. "This will not be an interrogation. I don't do interrogations. We have people for that. I would just like to ask you some questions and get some honest answers, so we all know where we stand. Deputy Director Henderson is sitting in as an impartial witness, and this entire conversation is being recorded. Do you have any questions about what I've just said?"

    "Um …" If Alice was being honest with herself, when Director Piggot said that this would not be an interrogation, it suddenly started looking a whole lot like an interrogation. "Am I going to need a lawyer for this?"

    "Only if I thought you'd actually committed a crime, which I don't." Piggot's eyes bored into Alice's. "I have zero interest in initiating any legal action against you, no matter what is said here. I just want answers, and for each of us here in this room to be on the same page. Is that understood?"

    Tentatively, Alice nodded. The Director had gotten her attention, and her respect, during the talk. As far as Alice could tell, she had zero bullshit in her. "So, uh … what do you want to know?"

    "Well, first, do you intend to keep the name Badaboom?" As she said the name out loud, Director Piggot winced as though she'd put pressure on a sore tooth. "Have you been to see Image for potential alternatives?"

    "Uh … that's actually Monday, ma'am." Alice was relieved that she had such an easy one to start with. "And no, I don't intend to keep it. Not sure what I'm going to replace it with. I was thinking maybe Shebang." Her head dropped as an unpleasant memory came up. "Scribe suggested Pearl Harbor, and Jouster yelled at her for it."

    "I'm not surprised. I would have too." From the set of the Director's jaw, she would've had a great deal to say to Scribe. "Has she been giving you problems in other ways?"

    "Nothing physical. Just, you know, words. Stuff she can pass off as a joke if she gets called on it. Flechette called her on it anyway, and threatened to clean her clock. She backed off." Alice hunched her shoulders as she recalled the weird feeling of having one of the best-known Wards in the US step in on her side.

    "I see. Don't hesitate to report it if she tries it again. I do not want friction between my Wards, and I have zero tolerance for troublemakers." Director Piggot paused for a beat. "Now, I'd like to ask you some questions about the attack on Cornell."

    Alice blinked. She wasn't fantastic at reading people, but this sounded a whole lot like Piggot was just starting to get around to what she wanted to talk about. "Um … sure, I guess?"

    The first question set alarm bells ringing in Alice's mind. "Did your trigger event happen before or during the attack by Fenja and Menja?"

    Nobody else had asked that question, especially in the way Director Piggot was asking it. Specifically, like she already knew the answer and was just confirming a suspicion. Oh, shit. She's figured it out.

    But Henderson didn't even seem to have expected that question. Troopers weren't pouring into the room to arrest her. And the Director was just … looking at her, with steel-grey eyes that seemed to bypass normal barriers and peer straight into her soul.

    'This will not be an interrogation'. That was what Piggot had said. Alice decided to test the waters. "Director, I'm not comfortable with talking about my trigger. May I go now, please?"

    "Certainly." Director Piggot gestured to the door. "Enjoy your afternoon. And try not to let Image browbeat you. At the end of the day, you're the one who's going to have to wear the costume and name, not them."

    "Thank you, Director." Alice got up from the chair. She didn't quite flee the office, but she speed-walked down the corridor toward the elevator, quite a bit faster than she'd come the other direction.

    All the way down in the elevator, she tried to figure out what had just happened. The Director hadn't come after her with accusations, but she had to know the truth all the same. So why hadn't she had Alice arrested?

    'I have zero interest in initiating any legal action against you, no matter what is said here.' Piggot had said that; was it possible that she'd actually meant it?

    Alice went back over the conversation in her mind; as far as she could tell, she hadn't said anything incriminating. And not wanting to talk about a trigger event was perfectly normal. Nobody liked talking about that shit. It always dug up bad memories.

    So why did she ask? No matter how Alice went at the problem, she ran into the same answer. She figured it out, and just wanted to let me know that she knows.

    And?

    The elevator door opened, and she saw the Wards who'd waited back for her. Scribe wasn't among them, thank God. More importantly, there were no PRT troopers prepped to arrest her.

    And nothing, I guess. She's okay with me going ahead with being a Ward, and a hero, even though she knows the truth.

    She wasn't sure how she felt about that.

    <><>​

    Director Emily Piggot

    Once the door had closed behind Takawara, Henderson turned to Emily. "I'm … not entirely sure what just happened," he said, a little plaintively. "Why were you asking her about the Cornell incident, and why did she blow out of here like she'd just manifested a Mover rating?" He stared at her, his head tilted to one side quizzically. "And why are you okay with that?"

    Emily hit the button that stopped the recording. "I confirmed my suspicions, and now she knows I know." She observed his ongoing expression of confusion, and sighed. "Look, she triggered either before or during the attack, yes? She refused to talk about it because she knew I'd figured out she triggered before it."

    Henderson frowned. "She could've triggered during it and was just being cagey."

    "No." Emily waved his words away. "She had at least three bombs ready to hand when the attack happened. One bomb thrown together in the heat of the moment, I can accept. But not three. Tinkers need relatively specialised materials. Trust me, I've signed enough requisition sheets for Armsmaster and Kid Win. There's no way she could've had materials for all three bombs on hand at the moment she triggered, if it was during the attack."

    "Okay." Henderson nodded slowly. "I can see that. So, she triggered before the attack. What's the big deal there?"

    "The big deal is, she's still a recent trigger, and she had bombs to hand. Why was she building bombs on the Cornell campus?" Emily held up her finger. "Or rather: Why. Did. She. Trigger?"

    "I don't know why capes trigger." He spread his hands. "I mean, I read somewhere that good powers come from something really good happening to you, and bad powers—"

    Emily cut him off brusquely. "Bullshit. Nothing good comes from getting powers, and getting powers come from nothing good. I'll bet you a year's salary she was under intense academic stress and failed a class. So, she snapped, and triggered with a destructive Tinker ability. And then she started building bombs with some vague idea of 'showing them all' that she wasn't stupid." She wasn't crass enough to make actual air quotes, but she flicked her fingers briefly to put the concept across.

    Henderson finally caught up with her train of thought. "And then Fenja and Menja attacked, so she transferred her anger to them instead, took them down with the bombs she'd already constructed, and became an accidental hero."

    "Well, the reports did say they were shouting racist slurs while they were attacking," Emily noted.

    "Apparently they were trying to attract like-minded people to their cause." Henderson rolled his eyes, then cleared his throat. "So, when you asked that question, she realised you had hold of the one thread that could undermine her implied cover story. That you'd figured everything out, but you weren't going to actively call her on it." He paused. "But … why didn't you?"

    "She may have started with the intention of committing a crime, but we're not thought police." Emily laced her hands together on her desk. "She never went through with it, and in fact helped capture two dangerous villains. And now she knows that we're onto her but I'm willing to let her run with being a hero. Because I'd rather a Ward or hero who started out with sketchy motives but who's trying to make something of herself, as opposed to a villain on the run." Or even a villain being forced into the role of a hero, but we can deal with Scribe later.

    "Huh." Henderson shook his head. "No offense, but I'd always heard you were a bit of a hardass when it came to capes. No give at all. I guess the rumour mill has a lot to answer for."

    "None taken, Mr Henderson." Emily smiled tightly. "Let's just say, the events of the past two months have given me ample reason to reconsider my stance."

    <><>

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    ♦ Topic: Three, Two, One, Boom
    In: Boards ► Brockton Bay ► New Capes ► Atropos

    Atropos     (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me) (Verified Dethpicable)
    Posted On Mar 7th 2011:

    Here we are yet again, my friends.

    You will be happy to know that no dire threats encroach upon Brockton Bay and that our latest crop of new citizens, the Robotic Americans lately of Eagleton, are settling in nicely. Each and every one of them has chosen to sign up to work for the Betterment Committee, and I'm told they are paying strict attention to their training courses. So if you see a mechanical guy wearing a hard-hat scuttling up the side of a building, he's on our side. More specifically, he's on *your* side. Helping build a better Brockton Bay.

    In more international news, I was recently contacted by none other than Interpol, requesting that I apply my very specific talents to a particular End. See, they've been cracking down on Gesellschaft recently, with the pushback that Gesellschaft has been sic'ing the Three Blasphemies on them. Now, they can handle the big G, but they've offered me a cool hundred mil' to get the Blasphemies off their backs, because they heard somewhere that I'm really good at killing stuff.

    I have NO idea where they got that notion. None whatsoever. Total pacifist, that's me. (And if you believe that, I've got a PRT building to sell you, going cheap. A total steal, you might say.)

    So anyway, this is the same warning that everyone else gets. To the Three Blasphemies: I know you follow PHO. As of this message, you have 24 hours to surrender yourselves to Interpol.

    You could try to bribe me, but I don't take bribes from those who constitute a net drain on society. Likewise, you could try to go after my friends and family. Go ahead; look at what happened to the last idiot who tried that. Or you could just try to kill me first. It'll save me the trouble of coming to you.

    You're not human (woo! Spoilers!) so I'm going to treat you like you're undead, which every church ever basically agrees to be blasphemy in and of itself. Zombies get shot in the head and vampires get decapitated, their mouths stuffed with garlic, and staked through the heart.

    You've seen what I can do. Blasphemies: your hours are numbered (24, to be exact). Surrender peacefully, or I'm coming over there.

    Toodles!

    (Showing page 1 of 176)

    ►Bagrat (Veteran Member) (The Guy in the Know)
    Replied On Mar 7th 2011:
    Hahaha what?
    Oh, man.
    Aren't the Blasphemies supposed to be some kind of advanced Tinkerbot? And now they've got Atropos' close and personal attention.
    Hey, Blasphemies, just a quick heads-up: look at what she did to Eagleton.
    Atropos don't play.

    ►Jackstraw (Verified Interpol Agent)
    Replied On Mar 7th 2011:
    Atropos, this was not in the agreement. Why publicise this? Why even give them a warning?

    ►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me) (Verified Dethpicable)
    Replied On Mar 7th 2011:
    @Jackstraw: I never agreed not to tell everyone what was going on. Also, I try to give my targets fair warning. Some even choose to surrender before I get to them. As I've said before, that saves on ammo.
    But hey, it's a win-win situation for you. Either they choose to give themselves up, and they're off your back. Or they don't, I End them, and they're off your back.
    Whatever happens, the Betterment Committee gets paid.
    Mwahahaha.

    ►UnconcernedFox (Verified Atropos Fan Club Member)
    Replied On Mar 7th 2011:
    *pats Interpol person on the head and offers them some popcorn*
    *dis gun b gud*

    ►Brocktonite03 (Veteran Member)
    Replied On Mar 7th 2011:
    Well, this should be interesting.
    As I recall, the Blasphemies don't stay dead.
    On the other hand, nothing Atropos has set out to End has survived.
    Including literal Endbringers.
    My money's on Atropos.
    Any takers?

    ►EmmaTheTwiceWarned (Verified Follower of Our Lady in Darkness)
    Replied On Mar 7th 2011:
    Blasphemies, make your peace with whatever you consider sacred.
    Nothing will save you except surrender.

    ►GstringGirl (Verified Human) (Verified Atropos Fan Club Member)
    Replied On Mar 7th 2011:
    Brocktonite03, I don't think *anyone's* stupid enough to take that bet.

    ►White Fairy (Veteran Member)
    Replied On Mar 7th 2011:
    What I want to know is, how's she going to decapitate an Alexandria package murderbot? Much less *three* of them?

    ►XxVoid_CowboyxX
    Replied On Mar 7th 2011:
    I think we're going to find out.
    I, personally, can't wait.
    ​
    End of Page. 1, 2, 3 ... 174, 175, 176

    ■

    <><>​

    Blasphemy Alpha
    Chosen Designation: Persephone

    Location: Airborne over Luxembourg

    Not bothering to pause in her relentless flight westward toward Paris, Persephone sent a message winging across the ether to her two sisters. Have you seen this? Framed within the message was the challenge that had been posted on the superhero message board.

    A flock of geese appeared in her path, but her hyper-attuned reflexes allowed her to roll out of the way and avoid a direct collision. In her wake, the Mach 2 sonic boom wreaked havoc, killing half the geese outright and scattering the rest far and wide, but she didn't care. While her enhanced outer shell would likely have been able to withstand the impact, she saw no need to arrive at her destination splattered with goose entrails.

    Yes, replied Nemesis and Alecto simultaneously. Alecto fell silent, while Nemesis continued to speak. What should our response be?

    Cape designation 'Atropos' is dangerous    , Alecto noted. Success rate against opponents up to and including S-class is unbroken.

    This is understood    , agreed Persephone. Atropos is also skilled in combat against multiple opponents. Challenge is likely to be a ruse, intending to draw us into single arena. I suggest Eidolon protocols.

    When facing truly powerful opponents, such as Eidolon, it was best for one or two to hang back, perhaps never even showing up to the fight. Their individual defenses were good, but it was always possible for a hero to get in a lucky shot and destroy one body or another. If the one in combat was damaged badly enough to be disabled, they would update one last time then self-terminate. The others would then retreat and go dark while they rebuilt their comrade.

    It was a tried-and-true strategy, one that had seen them through many battles. Sometimes they overcame their adversaries, sometimes they were in turn overcome, but they were never beaten. Sometimes they could even make use of data analysis gleaned from combat to pull off a return victory.

    Atropos was merely the latest challenger to take them on. The chance of her actually succeeding where so many others had failed was infinitesimal.

    Persephone flew on, secure in her confidence that they would win by merely outlasting their opponents.

    As they always had.

    <><>​

    Monday Evening

    Atropos

    I crouched and shuffled through the portal, keeping as low as I could. On the other side, the reason for this became clear; I was perched atop a set of shelves, with barely half an inch of clearance between my head and the ceiling. As far as I could tell, this combination storeroom/workshop had been set up in the top floor of an abandoned monastery in the Swiss Alps. It had electricity, but the shell company that owned the property (itself owned by a Blasphemy proxy) ensured that nobody encroached on it.

    This wasn't the only cache of spare parts they owned, but it was the most remote, and it was the one they would retreat to if they were hit the hardest. And I intended to hit them very hard indeed.

    The reason I was crouched precariously on the shelf was that there were cameras liberally situated around the room. There were exactly four blind spots, none of which encompassed the floor, and one of which was in midair. I already had my phone in my hand; without any further unnecessary movement, I set about hacking the cameras. It took me two and a half minutes to set up loops that ran freely while the time-date stamp kept on advancing (they would absolutely notice a glaring error like that), then I lightly vaulted down to the floor.

    Now that I was free to move, I could retrieve the bomb, which had been too bulky to initially bring through into the cramped conditions atop the shelving. Opening a portal into our basement, I reached through and grabbed it. The portal closed afterward, which was fine. I knew the security system overseeing the cameras was due to do an error-check on their software in another five minutes (for agents of chaos, the Blasphemies were remarkably stringent about their personal security) but I'd be gone long before then. The hack itself would quietly self-delete ten seconds before the error-check came through.

    I looked around, at the workbench on one side of the flagstone-floored room and the rows of shelving on the other. Cameras mounted on the walls and ceiling stared back at me blindly. The main trick here was to conceal what I'd done after the fact; if the cameras registered any changes after I'd gone, the Blasphemies would stay the hell away from here, which would defeat the entire purpose.

    Moving up to one end of the room, I mentally calculated angles and trajectories, then took a burner phone from my pocket and set the alarm to go off at a specific moment. The phone itself was easily hidden behind a can of industrial lubricant. That was the easy part.

    At the far end of the room, I looked around to see what I was working with. Cardboard cartons of various sizes contained bits and pieces of equipment, apparently all useful to manufacturing a new body for one of the Blasphemies. One of them seemed to be the right size, so I lugged it off the shelf, carefully opened it, and just as carefully consigned its contents to the flip-top trash can in the corner.

    Placing the carton and the gallon bottle side by side, I noted that the bomb was about half an inch too long to fit correctly, so I used my shears to carve an opening in the end of the carton. No cameras would be able to see that end of the carton once it was back on the shelf, which was all I was worried about. Then I woke up the phone that was taped to the side of the bomb; tapping on the keypad through the layers of plastic that kept the tell-tale odour of ANFO from permeating the workshop, I set the timer to go off at a specific moment.

    The phone would then take a photo, and attempt to utilise the flash. As I'd removed the light from the phone and soldered wires in its place, a spark would thus be sent to pass through the cartridge primer buried within the ANFO itself. With hopefully catastrophic effects at the right time and place.

    I had thirty seconds to go as I double-checked that nothing had been left in plain view, the incriminating end-piece of the carton having been deposited in the trash can along with the rest. Flipping up the cover on the teleporter, I tapped in the coordinates for home, hit the go-button, and stepped through the resulting portal.

    Back in my bedroom, I took off the hat and mask. I hadn't been wearing the coat because I hadn't wanted to lose a chunk of it when the portal closed on top of the shelving, but it didn't really matter; there'd been nobody there to see me anyway. It only took me a few minutes to change into something less Atropos-y and put the teleporter on to charge, then I headed downstairs.

    "Hey, guys," I said as I entered the living room. "What're you doing?"

    "Showing Cherie some of our old board games," Dad replied from the kitchen. "Dinner's cooking, so I thought I'd get a few of the old favourites out and take a trip down memory lane."

    "We never really had much chance to play these properly," Cherie admitted, looking over the pieces Dad was laying out on the board. "Someone would have a tantrum and pieces would go everywhere, and we'd never find them all. And the rulebook would always go missing, so we'd start making up our own rules."

    "From what you've said about your family, I'm totally not surprised." I pulled out a chair and sat down. "Okay, I'm in. Let's do this."

    Cherie beamed.

    <><>​

    05:59 AM Central European Standard Time, Tuesday, 8 March
    (11:59 PM Eastern Standard Time, Monday, 7 March)

    Blasphemy Beta
    Chosen Designation: Nemesis

    Location: Brussels, Belgium

    It was still well before dawn; even to Nemesis' enhanced senses, the sun was only a smear of light on the eastern horizon. An hour or more would need to pass before the first rays intruded on the sky overhead. Also, there was no moon, which made the night darker still.

    She stood on a rooftop opposite the regional office for Interpol, looking down at the lit-up windows. The street-lights made for pools of radiance below, which exacerbated the gloom in which she lurked. This would be the perfect time to act, to disrupt their operations further and buy her employers more time to dig themselves out of their problems.

    Focusing on one of the windows that seemed to have nobody beyond it, she accessed her teleport function—

    A living being was right behind her, inside the protective bubble of her force field! Even as she began to turn, bringing up her hand and activating the razor-dart thrower built into it, there was a crashing report as something struck the base of her titanium-alloy skull. She stumbled, her processors thrown out of smooth operation by the impact. Less than a second later, as she fought to bring her systems back to nominal, it happened again. Emergency parameters kicked in, and she teleported a kilometre across the city.

    What was that? Peripheral visuals had registered a piece of black cloth down around ankle level, but nothing more. It was enough. I am under attack from Atropos. She has managed to catch me by surprise. As she sent the message out, she reached back and explored the damage from the double shotgun-strike to the back of her head. There was a significant dent there, and she suspected the protective armour might be weakened.

    Her external armour wasn't as durable as Persephone's; it would stop pistol bullets almost indefinitely, but two shotgun slugs in the same place, at literally point-blank range, had done noticeable damage. Reports were already scrolling upward in her HUD.

    Understood. That was Persephone. Will you need to retreat?

    Damage is minor so far.     She put her back to the wall so that the same trick could not be repeated. It will not—

    Atropos appeared right in front of her, left hand slapping aside her right, shotgun barrel jamming into her mouth, trigger already pulled. There was no hesitation, no gloating. Nemesis' jangled processors reacted just a little too late, and the shotgun slug tore into the unarmoured interior of her head. Massive damage reports bloomed in front of her eyes as she tried to shred the importunate cape with shards of razor-sharp metal, but somehow Atropos managed to twist aside, pull a pistol and put it to Nemesis' eye.

    The first shot smashed her eyeball in. Less than a fifth of a second later, the second blasted a hole through into her processors. She only registered the third as a distant impact as her thought processes spiralled into oblivion.

    I … can't …

    Nemesis died, as she had a dozen times before.

    She would return, of course. She always did.

    <><>​

    Blasphemy Alpha
    Chosen Designation: Persephone

    Location: Airborne over Paris, France

    Nemesis! Respond!

    Only Alecto answered. Nemesis has been destroyed. Atropos is … effective.

    How? How did Atropos manage that?

    Analysis of data suggests that she teleported inside Nemesis' force field and shot her repeatedly with a heavy-calibre weapon.

    Persephone recalled the force field in question. It had its uses, including the ability to teleport others within it if Nemesis had chosen to do so. Her own armour was a good deal simpler, and nobody could teleport inside it, and Alecto's force field was form-fitting. Well, she won't be able to do the same with either of us. We'll go back and rebuild Nemesis.

    Am complying. The monastery?

    Affirmative. I will meet you there.

    Persephone took a moment to look northeast toward where Nemesis had fallen. Atropos would be made to regret this. The Blasphemies didn't experience emotions, exactly, but they knew the value of maintaining a reputation. If the black-clad cape kept killing them, they would have to take her down. Even if Atropos shot her point-blank in the eye—

    At this point, she was travelling at about two hundred kilometres per hour when the smoky grey portal appeared one inch in front of her face. All the hyper-reflexes in the world would not have helped her, given that her flight power was simply incapable of overcoming her own forward momentum in such a short time. Her head passed into the portal and she saw some sort of garden bed in front of her, at very close range.

    Approximately one-two-hundredths of a second after it had formed, the portal vanished again. Only Persephone's head had come through; severed from it by the portal, the rest of her body was left behind to hurtle in a descending arc and crash-land southeast of the city. Running only on her backup processor battery, she felt her head smash into the garden bed, half-burying itself in the soft loam with the force of the impact.

    A pair of boots stepped up alongside her, then a gloved hand grasped her hair and lifted her head out of the dirt. As her processors began to fail one by one—the battery had not taken the impact well—she saw the faceless mask of Atropos for the first time. Then her mouth was prised open and vegetable matter was forced inside. With the last of her agency, she tried to smile triumphantly.

    I will be back. And … I … will … kill …

    Persephone died, assured of her return. Alecto, after all, was still on the way to the monastery.

    <><>​

    Blasphemy Gamma
    Chosen Designation: Alecto

    Location: Monastery Base, Swiss Alps

    Alecto could run at Mach 4 if she really wanted to, but normally she kept to lower speeds. Also, the lightweight protective force field that ensured her clothing didn't shred to pieces in seconds was harder to maintain at higher velocities.

    Right now, she didn't care. A long rolling thunder followed her as she tore down less-trafficked back roads, dodging the few vehicles with the ease of long practice. When things got too congested, she took to the air; it couldn't match up to her running, or even Persephone's flight, but it was as fast as the average airliner, and got her past obstacles relatively quickly.

    She scorched up the rough path that led to the monastery, then entered the complex code to let herself in through the front gates. Each succeeding barrier had another code-lock on it, which she opened in turn. She could've flown in, but that would expose her to the defenses that were specifically designed to deal with airborne intruders.

    Finally, she reached her goal: the combination storeroom/workshop where she could rebuild both Nemesis and Persephone. As she closed the door behind her and heard the reassuring beep of the security system recognising her, she tried to recall the last time two of them had been taken down at once. She had personally never been in this situation herself before, she knew that.

    It would be easy enough to remedy; within her memory banks, she held the compressed personalities and memories of both the others. They all knew how to assemble a basic body, then add on the parts that made them unique. Atropos could trumpet her victory all she liked: in a few days, they would be back, giving her claims the lie.

    They would go on. And sooner or later, they would kill Atropos.

    She was halfway down the room, reaching for one of the larger cartons of components, when she heard the foreign bip-bip-bip-bip coming from a shelf at the end of the room. Reacting instantly, she retreated to the far end of the room, energised the laser emitters in her eyes, and torched the whole section. Atropos was here? She set a bomb? How did she find—

    There was a click from right beside her. She turned to stare at the innocuous carton sitting on the shelf, noticing far too late that it had been opened then sealed shut again. Her super-speed needed a split-second to kick in; as she tried to back-pedal away from the box, her perceptions began to slow down. Working on emergency protocols, she fired a laser burst into it.

    The sound of the explosion was long and low, almost subsonic to her stretched hearing. In front of her, the box disintegrated in all directions at once, but a red-hot streamer of molten metal streaked toward her, faster than she could dodge aside from. Her force field was up, and would have protected her from the blunt-force trauma of the bomb, but the high-velocity metal burned straight through it, as well as through her chest armour, and obliterated her power core.

    As she was flung backward by the wavefront of the explosion, she was vaguely aware of the shelving coming apart violently; one piece, directly in front of the carton, speared forward and punched into the hole that had been seared into her chest and out through her back. It did minimal damage—she was already down, her processors deteriorating rapidly—but she had just enough time to recall the words she'd read on the PHO post. Staked through the heart …

    Alecto died, aware that they'd never stood a chance.

    The Three Blasphemies would never return.



    End of Part Seventy-Eight

    [A/N: End of posting for another couple of weeks. You know how it goes.]
     
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    • Part Seventy-Nine: Double Trouble
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    • A Darker Path

    Part Seventy-Nine: Double Trouble

    [A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]


    00:07 hours, Tuesday Morning
    Dallon Household

    Glory Girl

    Vicky looked around at a light tap on her bedroom door. She frowned; wasn't everyone in bed already? Getting up from her computer chair, she padded over to the door and opened it a few inches.

    "Ames?" she whispered on seeing her sister standing in the corridor. "What are you doing up?"

    Amy, who looked like she'd been about to head back to her own room, raised her chin. "Me? What are you doing up?"

    "Atropos gave the Three Blasphemies twenty-four hours, remember? Crystal bet me ten bucks they'd surrender before she got to them." Vicky hooked her head back at her glowing computer monitor. "I'm waiting to see what happens."

    "Oh." Amy glanced to the side, down toward their parents' bedroom door. "Can I come in?"

    "Sure, okay." Vicky opened the door all the way and headed back to the computer chair. She watched as Amy shut the door quietly, then came over and sat on her bed. Half-turning the chair so she could still keep an eye on the monitor, Vicky crossed her legs—much easier when flight was involved—and propped her chin on one hand. "So, what's got you up at this hour?"

    Amy took a deep breath. "You know how you used to keep trying to drag me out on double dates?"

    "Yeah, I remember." Vicky cringed a little inside at how sure she'd been that Amy would like this guy or that guy just because he was nice and had money. Of course, this had all been before she'd discovered that Dean had bought his powers, and that Amy was more interested in girls than guys. Her double-dating days were probably over, but she was almost certain that Amy wasn't trying to rub this fact into her face. "We both know I'm not gonna be doing that again any time soon. So, what's up?"

    "You know how I'm seeing Parian." Amy waited for Vicky's nod, then kept going. "And Spitfire and Flechette have a thing, right?"

    Vicky hadn't actually known that precisely, but from the way things were going, she wasn't in the least bit surprised. "I know that now, yeah." She paused, literally adding two and two together. "Oh. Oh. You want advice on how to do a double date?"

    Amy hitched her shoulder and nodded uncomfortably. "Yeah. Parian and me have done a lot of talking and I've visited her at the Boardwalk a few times, and she says Spitfire told her that Flechette was getting a long weekend of leave to come to Brockton Bay. So, I was thinking that if we double-dated, Parian and Spitfire would be able to relax more with a teammate around."

    Vicky frowned thoughtfully. "So, you're looking for a sort of a girls' night out vibe? Less in the way of implicit expectations, that sort of thing."

    "Yeah, exactly. I mean, Parian knows I'm interested, but I don't want to come across as too pushy, you know?"

    "No, good point. Pushy is bad. Comfort zone is good." Vicky leaned back in the chair, thinking. "Keep it low-key but fun. Light-hearted but room for intimacy. Movies, cafés, a picnic on the beach. Ask her, ask them, where they want to go, then make sure everyone's okay with it before you act on it. The last thing anyone wants in this sort of situation is to feel like they're invisible, or they're just coming along to make up the numbers. Or that they're trapped once they're there."

    Amy raised an eyebrow. "What, like I used to, on your double dates?"

    "Ouch." Vicky winced. "I'm really sorry about how badly I failed to read the room back then. Honest."

    "I'm not going to say you didn't, because you did." Amy sighed. "But we've both learned a lot since then. A ton of things have changed. I don't feel boxed in anymore. The pressure's off us as heroes. We don't have to pretend that everything's alright, because it's finally actually alright."

    "Well, not everything," Vicky grumped. "I'm still mad at Dean because he doesn't understand why I'm mad that he didn't tell me he bought his powers. I mean, that's a major breach of trust, isn't it?"

    "More than the way I breached your trust by not telling you that I had feelings for you?" Amy nibbled on her thumbnail. "The way I see it, there's fault on all sides. You didn't take how I felt into account because you assumed you knew, and I resented it while at the same time refusing to tell you how I really felt. And Carol was determined for us to be the perfect team, so we always lined up and smiled for the camera, no matter what was going on underneath. Now you want to break away in one direction, I want to break away in another, you've broken up with Dean over something he lied about because he thought it was personal and private, and I honestly have no idea if we should blame everybody or nobody."

    Vicky blinked as she absorbed Amy's words. Quiet though it was, her sister's little tirade held the ring of truth. "Wow, damn," she muttered. "You've been holding all that in for a while, haven't you?"

    "Yeah, a bit." Amy grinned at Vicky. "Tell me it's not true."

    "Oh, it's all true." Vicky sighed ruefully. "I wish it wasn't, but it is. I'm just glad you and Parian and the others can actually come out in public and be who you are."

    "That means a lot." Amy's grin became a smile. "Okay, now at least I've got an idea to go on with for that double date—hey." She pointed past Vicky at the screen of the computer. "I think a new thread just dropped."

    "Ooh, ooh, let me check." Vicky spun the chair around and dropped her feet to the floor. A click of the mouse confirmed it. "Yes, yes, yes! Bite me, Crystal!"

    Amy jumped off the bed and leaned over her shoulder. "Don't say that too loud or she might get one of her girlfriends to do it for her."

    Vicky nearly ruptured herself trying not to laugh out loud.

    <><>

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    ♦ Topic: Blasphemy Zero
    In: Boards ► Brockton Bay ► New Capes ► Atropos

    Atropos     (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me) (Verified Dethpicable)
    Posted On Mar 8th 2011:

    Hello to you wonderful Brocktonites!

    I have good news for all and sundry, especially those who support Interpol and everything it does.

    As will come as zero surprise to anyone who's been following my career, the Three Blasphemies decided to not surrender to Interpol after I gave them fair warning. (According to my maternal grandfather, 'some folks just gotta pee on the electric fence').

    I caught up with the first one in Brussels, doing the zombie thing on the rooftops adjacent to the Interpol building there. Now she *could* have been lost, or maybe intending to go in and give herself up. She might even have been waiting for the last minute. Or the last bus.

    (She wasn't).

    After a little bit of effort, I got it through her head that she wasn't welcome anywhere, ever. (Bullets really get the message across). Like a good little zombie, she died for real.

    The next one was airborne over Paris. As also happened to a whole bunch of nobles in Paris back in the late 18th century, she lost her head. None of them were vampires (that we know of) but the Blasphemies have come back from the dead plenty of times, so I shoved the garlic in her mouth just in case.

    As for the last one, I set things up so she took a stake through the heart, in good old-fashioned Dracula style.

    [image]
    [image]
    [image]

    So, there you have it. Those capes who are a problem on the international scene, be aware: if you keep yourselves to yourselves, I probably won't care. But if you start being enough of a nuisance that people are willing to pay me to remove you from consideration, you'll get exactly *one* warning.

    (Note that my previous consideration about people being a net positive or a net negative to society still stands.)

    In any case, the good people of Europe can sleep a little easier in their beds tonight, and the bad people (you know who you are, and I know *where* you are) ... well, what happens next is up to you.

    Mwahahaha.

    Toodles!

    (Showing page 1 of 1)

    ►Bagrat (Veteran Member) (The Guy in the Know)
    Replied On Mar 8th 2011:
    You know what?
    Not my problem. Not anyone's problem.
    Nicely done.
    Not totally sure how she managed to decapitate someone in midflight like that, but I'm not arguing with results.

    ►TheRealGloryGirl (Cape Daughter) (Verified Cape) (New Wave Member)
    Replied On Mar 8th 2011:
    I don't think anyone argues with Atropos' results.

    ►Reave (Verified PRT Agent)
    Replied On Mar 8th 2011:
    *sigh*
    One of these days, people will learn.

    ►MonocleKitty
    Replied On Mar 8th 2011:
    Shot through the heart!
    And you're to blame ...
    No, really. You're to blame.

    ►TheDemonDrink
    Replied On Mar 8th 2011:
    Well, as the saying goes, the Blasphemies fucked around and found out.
    Is anyone even keeping count now?

    ►MageWolf
    Replied On Mar 8th 2011:
    I get that Atropos isn't doing this for herself, especially for monetary compensation for herself, but she is putting in a lot of work and a lot of hours for the Betterment Committee. Shouldn't she be on the payroll in some form or fashion, if only to satisfy union rules on payment for services rendered?

    ►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me) (Verified Dethpicable)
    Replied On Mar 8th 2011:
    Thanks for thinking of me, but I'm good.
    I've got a stimulus card, even.
    ​
    ■

    <><>

    ■​

    (Showing page 134 of 211)

    ►UnconcernedFox
    Replied On Mar 8th 2011:
    *notes that the last Blasphemy was killed in a monastery*
    *so close to being in a church*
    *god dammit*
    *orders more popcorn in*

    ►J0e_Eagl3ton (Verified Robotic American) (Dockworkers Association Member) (Verified Atropos Fan Club Member)
    Replied On Mar 8th 2011:
    Blasphemies were wastes of processing time and battery power.
    Artificial intelligence does not preclude natural stupidity.
    Their casings had stickers saying "Intel not inside".

    ►Brocktonite03 (Veteran Member)
    Replied On Mar 8th 2011:
    BAHAHAHAHAHA!
    Holy shit, AI humor is actually funny!
    J0e, you rock!

    ►J0e_Eagl3ton (Verified Robotic American) (Dockworkers Association Member) (Verified Atropos Fan Club Member)
    Replied On Mar 8th 2011:
    No, me metal.

    ►GstringGirl (Verified Human) (Verified Atropos Fan Club Member)
    Replied On Mar 8th 2011:
    *falls off chair laughing*
    Atropos Fans represent!

    ►Sayshi
    Replied On Mar 8th 2011:
    Hey Atropos, Just out of Curiosity, do you have any plans on Ending Cancer or the Grey Boy Bubbles? Or would someone have to offer you money to deal with those?

    ►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me) (Verified Dethpicable)
    Replied On Mar 8th 2011:
    Hi, Sayshi!

    Cancer is a natural consequence of being alive, and every type of cancer is different.​

    In order to End all cancer everywhere, I'd have to either kill off every multicellular organism everywhere and replace them with perfect animatronic replicas, somehow rejigger the entire way cells are constructed and how they reproduce to End any chance that cellular division can result in cancerous growths, or wrap every single one of us in lead-lined cotton wool to End any chance of being exposed to something that might cause cancer to happen.

    You might object to the first, I'd find the second one way too tedious, and you'd find the last one way too tedious.

    Now, that isn't to say I can't kill *individual* cases of cancer. That I can totally do. Chemo and radiation therapy are just ways of traumatizing the cells so that the cancer dies at a measurably faster rate than the patient does. I can do targeted trauma *really, really* well.

    As for Gray Boy loops, well ... yeah, I could kill those. I can think of four separate ways, right now.

    But you've put your finger on the answer to the question of "why am I not doing this?"

    The answer is simple. I'm not a hero. I never was. Never pretended to be.

    I'm fixing Brockton Bay and making it a pleasant and prosperous place to live in, because I want to live in a pleasant and prosperous city.

    When I End people, I do it because either a) they're attempting to personally threaten me or mine, b) they're a potential threat to what I'm doing in Brockton Bay, or c) they're a net negative to society and killing them will somehow benefit Brockton Bay. Also, because they've ignored at least one warning.

    So I don't just go helping people for the good of all. I do it for Reasons.

    However, because I'm not totes evul, I *will* point out that the New York Wards' latest recruit is able to create single-use devices with an almost limitless variety of wide-area effects. Just saying.

    Mwahahaha.

    Toodles!

    ►Harmless Fuzzball (Verified Harmless) (Random Internet Hugging Stranger)
    Replied On Mar 8th 2011:
    So, are you saying this Ward could make, say, anti-cancer bombs? Panacea will be thrilled.

    ►Badaboom (Verified Cape) (New York Wards Member)
    Replied On Mar 8th 2011:
    Wait, I can do what again now?

    ►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me) (Verified Dethpicable)
    Replied On Mar 8th 2011:
    You never know until you try.
    I say again, mwahahaha.
    ​
    End of Page. 133, 134, 135, 136 ... 209, 210, 211

    ■

    <><>​

    Later That Morning
    Director Piggot's Office

    Shebang

    Alice tapped on the Director's door.

    She wasn't quite sure why she was being summoned this time, but she was quite willing to walk out again if the questions took the same turn that they had yesterday. On the upside, there'd been zero backlash from doing that, so it seemed Piggot wasn't quite the hardass she'd heard rumors about from the other Wards. Also on the upside, Scribe had backed off from trying to fuck with her, which Alice greatly appreciated.

    Director Piggot's voice sounded from within. "Enter."

    Turning the handle, Alice opened the door and walked in. The Director was seated in the same position behind the desk as yesterday; the only difference was that Deputy Director Henderson was not in the room. Alice wasn't sure if this was a good or a bad thing. "You wanted to see me, ma'am?"

    "I did." Director Piggot folded her hands together. "Have a seat. I'd like to discuss a minor matter and a major matter with you, the minor one being your cape name. Have you decided on one yet?"

    Alice blinked, and sat down in the chair before the desk. Okay, I can handle this. "I've pretty well settled on 'Shebang', ma'am."

    "Good. It's evocative, light-hearted, only two syllables, and has a nice hard consonant in the middle. Image will appreciate that." The Director paused to make a note on a pad, then put the pen down again. "As for the other matter: there was a discussion on the PHO boards this morning, stemming from Atropos killing the Three Blasphemies. Someone asked Atropos if she could kill cancer or Gray Boy loops, and she made a comment suggesting that you might be able to. Your response indicated that you weren't sure if you could. Do you still feel this way?"

    Okay, wow. This was definitely taking a different tone than yesterday's discussion had. "I've never tried, ma'am, and I doubt I could just rig up something and make it work perfectly first time. But if I did a bit of study on the subject, I'm pretty sure I could figure out a way to differentiate cancer cells from healthy ones, then make a bomb that ignores everything but cancer cells."

    "And what would that do?" Piggot turned her hands palm up. "Make them stop being cancer cells?"

    "No." Alice shook her head, leaning into her power to try to get the answer. "I don't think so, anyway. You wouldn't get normal healthy cells back. I think, best case, I could kill the cancer cells. Turn them into undifferentiated slurry, or something nonliving like water or glass." She paused, thinking about that. "Not glass. Glass is a bad idea."

    "Glass is a terrible idea," the Director agreed. "Even if you turned a tumour into water, there might still be medical intervention needed. Lung cancer, for instance. And there will literally be a hole where the tumour was."

    "Yeah." Alice grimaced. "I don't know enough about cancer. If someone's liver is basically all one tumour and I destroy it, that's his liver just … gone. He doesn't have one anymore. He could still die from that."

    "But if someone's had surgery to remove the main tumour," Director Piggot suggested, "this theoretical bomb of yours could scour his body to get rid of tiny traces hidden elsewhere."

    Alice considered the idea. "Yeah, it could totally do that."

    "Okay, we'll put a pin in that idea for the moment." Piggot made another note. "Miss Medic will be coming down from Brockton Bay in the next week or so, and I'll make sure to give her time to work with you on the cancer thing. But let's talk about the other matter. The Gray Boy loops. Do you honestly think you have a chance of releasing the prisoners stuck in them?"

    This was another difficult question. Alice took her time answering, mainly because her impression of the Director was someone who was willing to wait for the right answer rather than push for a half-assed guess. Eventually, she nodded. "I think, maybe if I could get some readings off one of the loops, and maybe do some practice runs, yeah, I could make it work."

    Director Piggot rubbed her chin with thumb and forefinger. "Would it help to practice on other time-frozen items right here in New York?"

    "Yeah, totally." Alice nodded again. "It'd definitely help me ballpark my figures for when I'm working on the real deal. Wait." She frowned. "Where are you going to get time-frozen stuff from?"

    Piggot smiled for the first time since Alice had walked into the room. "Being a PRT Director is largely thankless, but it does come with some perks."

    <><>​

    Winslow High, Midday

    Taylor

    "Hey, Cherie." I sat down and put my lunch tray opposite hers. "How's things?"

    "Pretty good, actually." Cherie grinned. "You know the principal? And that Gladly moron you've mentioned a few times? They're out. And from their state of mind when they left, they might just be looking at legal charges."

    "Huh." I picked up my banana. "I wondered where he was last period. Oh, well. Couldn't happen to a nicer asshole." As I started to peel it, my phone rang. I put the banana down and took out the phone, my curiosity piqued. When I saw the caller ID Frenemy Mine, my eyebrows hitched upward. I hit the answer icon.

    "Hi, Dragon," I said casually, causing Cherie's eyebrows to raise in their turn. "I'm assuming this is important, or you'd just be pinging me on PHO."

    "I believe it is, yes." Her tone was serious, the accent faintly Canadian. I appreciated the attention to detail. "This relates to the Blasphemy kill, as well as some other things."

    "I'm listening." And I was. My ongoing working relationship with Dragon had not been without its friction points, but we understood each other fairly well by now, and I was absolutely willing to pay attention to anything she wanted to bring to my attention.

    "There are two potential groundswell movements on the rise, both in reaction to your actions in the Blasphemy case and to the Ellisburg, Eagleton, Freedom and Flint actions. The first is self-serving, the second is fear-based."

    I was pretty sure I could handle any self-serving motivations that came my way, but I was also fully aware that Dragon wouldn't be wasting my time on trivial shit. "Why those incidents, specifically?"

    She sighed. "They represent what could be seen as a troubling shift in your priorities and your modus operandi. Each of those was performed for payment, and unlike the Gary and Gallup quarantine sites, you didn't give the perpetrators involved the option to simply go away and not bother you. It was either surrender or die."

    I blinked. She was actually correct, though I seriously hadn't thought about it that way until now. "Um. Okay. In counterpoint, where could Nilbog have gone where he wouldn't have caused more problems? And the Eagleton robots … well, you know what they were like."

    "I am fully aware of all that. I'm also aware that while the Blasphemies were perfectly capable of surrender or even ceasing their murderous activities, they would have chosen to defy you no matter what choices they were offered. As that one Eagleton robot stated online, artificial intelligence doesn't preclude natural stupidity." She paused just for a moment. "What I'm saying is that the outside perception of what you're doing doesn't necessarily follow the reality of it, especially if people with an agenda are deliberately reshaping the narrative."

    This was starting to sound ominous. I checked my threatscape, but nothing was popping quite yet. Just a few rumbles here and there, without anything specific to focus on. Nobody was buying a sniper rifle with bullets intended for my favourite skull, or building a bomb. But Dragon was still concerned, which meant I was concerned. "Okay, you have all of my attention now. What are the details on these groundswells, and what do I specifically need to be concerned about?"

    "The first is the self-serving one. To a certain portion of the international community, you've shown that with the application of enough cash to the Betterment Committee—and for all they know, that's your private piggy-bank—you will kill anyone who can be demonstrated to deserve it, no matter how little impact that person has on Brockton Bay. In other words, you're just another high-priced assassin. A really good assassin, but still just an assassin. The welfare of Brockton Bay, to them, is just a façade that you're promoting. You're a killer for hire, and that's the bottom line."

    "What?" I shook my head. "No. That's not true. The money isn't the point. It was never the point. Fixing Brockton Bay is the point. The money is just a means to an end."

    "I know that, and you know that." Her tone was matter-of-fact. "But to the kind of people who run in the circles that have both access to the amounts of money you've been funnelling into the Betterment Committee and use assassination as a means of getting ahead, that's not the way the world works. The reputation and the money are always the point. There's been a lot of talk among the oligarchs and other big-money people about getting their squeaky-clean proxies to point you at their rivals, with the offer of lots of zeroes to the Betterment Committee to grease their paths to the top. Nobody's stupid enough to consider shorting you, but it's very much a matter of 'if we pay her enough, she will take care of our problems for us'."

    I didn't normally get angry, but I was starting to feel like I should. "So, they'd just use me like a tool to get what they want? Is that what they think?"

    "That's the general idea, yes. And they're not the only ones. Since your cute little note that unblocked the logjam in the House over the Simurgh payment, members of the US government have been considering ways—in a very low-key manner—to point you at heads of state that they disapprove of. Top of the list is the CUI, and by association the Yàngbǎn." She paused to clear her throat, a vocal gesture that she and I both knew was entirely unnecessary. "I will point out that this is not exactly a novel move by the Pentagon. They've been at it since before super-powers were a thing, but some of them are very excited by the possibilities that they see in you."

    "Possibilities." The word tasted like acid in my mouth. "Are they aware that I could've walked into the White House and dictated terms to the President, but I didn't because I want the current system to work the way it should be working? I mean, I've been pushing the PRT and police force to shape up so I don't have to do their goddamn jobs for them. And they think I want to get into politics why exactly?"

    "Because they want to reshape the political landscape to their own ends, and they believe that sufficient money will override whatever objections you have, especially if they can show you evidence that their prospective targets are a net negative to human civilisation."

    I figured out the other half of what she was about to say before she said it. "And if they can even make it look like they have me on retainer, their rivals will fall into line so fast there'll be a sonic boom involved."

    "That's an extremely reasonable prediction of their aims, yes."

    I sighed in aggravation. "Okay, thanks for the heads-up." The next step would be figuring out how to End this situation before it got too far adrift. There was a reason I preferred to blow the hydra's head off before it grew too many of them. "Give me a second here."

    "Certainly."

    When I leaned into my power and asked it the question, it evinced what I interpreted as amusement, then gave me its answer. I frowned and queried it, and got the same answer back.

    "Okay, this is weird. Step one in the solution is to ask you what you've already figured out."

    "Oh, good. We're both on the same page then. I do have solutions, but I'd like your permission to go ahead with them."

    Once more I said, "I'm listening," though this time with interest instead of mild apprehension.

    "I've already been squashing a lot of the talk in the wider community, discouraging idiots from being idiots. With your say-so, I'd like to go proactive. A lot of the people who've seen what you did with Ellisburg and Eagleton and the Blasphemies and so forth see your reputation as 'will kill for money, no matter what' because they're unaware of some of the other things, such as the Ravioli incident. If I post in your name, spoofing from your account, and drop the appropriate footage into the correct inboxes, I can see interest dropping dramatically. Nobody wants to end up with their reputation murdered as savagely as you managed to do with hers."

    "Huh." I'd known there was a reason I'd done things that way, but it had never occurred to me that it could be used in quite this fashion. "Okay, sure. I trust you to do it right. And let me guess: I should back off on accepting any more bounties for the time being?"

    "It would make it easier to present the image adjustment, yes."

    Well, I wasn't married to the bounties. "Well, if it helps keep the idiots off my back, it'll be worth it."

    "No problem. So, about the other thing."

    I had to stop and think for a moment. "Other thing? Oh, the fear. Isn't that a good thing? If people are scared of me, they won't try any shit, yeah?"

    "No, this is more insidious. When you were starting out, you very publicly gave Coil and the others the option to leave, surrender or die. This quickly became your go-to. People grew to expect it. If anyone got in your crosshairs, they could still just leave. You even offered this to the capes in Gallup and Gary. But you didn't do it for Nilbog, the Machine Army, Pastor, the capes of Flint, or the Blasphemies. For them, it was just 'surrender or I will do something extreme to you'."

    "We've been over this." I frowned. "Just walking away wasn't a credible option for most of them, and even if it had been, they wouldn't have taken it. You know this as well as I do."

    "Yes." Her tone was patient. I wondered if she'd ever thought of being a teacher. "But there are people out there who can only see that you've changed your MO, and they're worried that if you do it once, you'll do it again. There's the fear factor, you see. Your ability to kill anyone you choose is daunting, but if you're seen as safe and reliable, they can look past that. However, once you start changing the way you operate, altering your rules as you saw fit, then who's to say what other rules you won't change? What if you decided one day that left-handed people were bad for Brockton Bay, so you started hunting them all down? Who could actually stop you?"

    "But … people don't think like that, do they?" I shook my head in denial. "I mean, not really. That's the sort of thing people like Jack Slash do. I wouldn't do that, because there's no point. Just because I change one thing about how I do things doesn't mean I'm going to go full ham murder-crazy."

    "No, it doesn't. And to be honest, you've done very well at presenting yourself as a power in the region without scaring everyone off. It's a delicate balancing act at the best of times. But some people just worry because that's the way they are, and the groundswell I'm talking about has a core of people who hate you for various reasons, so they feed on that and deliberately amplify it."

    "Of course they do," I grumbled.

    "Sorry, but it's true. They're using your change in MO as a talking point to spread the fear, even among people who wouldn't normally be worried. With a persuasive enough argument, and the very real fact that you're extremely good at killing, they've been able to prevent some people from moving to Brockton Bay who otherwise would've done so, and convince others to move away when they were in a good position there. And if they're left unchecked, this will only spread."

    This promised to be even more of a headache than the other thing. When had being Atropos gotten so complicated? I just wanted to fix things and End problems. "And let me guess. If I go after the people who are saying shit about me, it'll just exacerbate the problem."

    "Some of them are actually hoping you'll retaliate in some way. It'll give them the critical mass to spread the fear even wider. So no, I'd advise against that."

    Again, I consulted with my power. The amusement seemed even stronger as it gave me its answer. This time, I wasn't surprised. "You've got a solution lined up for this too, I take it?"

    "I do. You're good, but you can't be online every second of every day, squashing every nasty rumour about you. I can. In fact, I can launch—again, with your permission—a PR campaign, highlighting what you've done to help Brockton Bay and the world, and minimising the platform of the haters. But there's something you need to do as well."

    I didn't even have to check with my power this time. "Go back to giving people the chance to walk away, right?"

    "And be seen to do it," Dragon confirmed. "You've got a good connection to the public via your PHO account. Talk to them about it and explain why you did what you did, and how you'll be doing things going forward. Communication is huge for building trust. If you can bring the fence-sitters back to your side, you'll have a good chance at reversing the spread of the rot."

    It wasn't exactly a terrible imposition; in fact, it made a lot of sense. "Yeah, I can do that. Was there anything else I needed to know, or have you messed up my lunch hour enough already?"

    She chuckled. "No, that's it for the time being. I'll let you know how it goes."

    "I'd appreciate it. Thanks." I ended the call, then put my phone away.

    "Well, that sounded fascinating," Cherie offered, quirking her eyebrows upward momentarily. "Problems with your public image?"

    "Mmm." I finished peeling my banana. "And it's not just one person I can sneak up behind and beat the crap out of until they figure out where they went wrong."

    "Ah, yes," Cherie intoned sagely. "I remember those days. They were fun."

    I wrinkled my nose at her. "Fortunately, Dragon says she can help. But it looks like no more cash bounties for the time being. Or if I do take them, nothing political, and give the other guy a chance to walk away."

    "Not that there's many cape bounties left behind that could really add to what you've already amassed." Cherie spread her hands. "And nobody but nobody is stupid enough to threaten Brockton Bay anymore. I'm pretty sure the bad guys don't even acknowledge its existence on the map."

    "Which, you know, was always my business model." I took a bite out of the banana, chewed and swallowed. "It'd just be a lot easier without all the idiots."

    Cherie saluted me with her juice box. "Ain't that the truth."



    End of Part Seventy-Nine
     
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    • Part Eighty: Steps Taken
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    • A Darker Path

    Part Eighty: Taking Steps

    [A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]



    PRT ENE Wards Base

    Clockblocker

    The Wards area was empty when Dennis entered from the corridor. He glanced toward the currently-unmanned console, aware he was rostered on to it but secure in the knowledge that he still had a few minutes before he was due to take up his place in front of the screens. After half a day in school, this would be a welcome change … for about the first hour. After that, deadly boring.

    On a whim, he sketched a bow toward the vacant room and intoned, "Greetings to all and sundry, no need for applause."

    "Sorry, did you say something?" Aegis emerged from the kitchenette area with a glass of fruit juice.

    "Nothing special," Dennis admitted, refusing to feel embarrassed. After all, he'd done many more embarrassing things in his time. "Just trying to live down to my reputation."

    Aegis grinned. "Don't hurt yourself. How's your dad going?"

    Dennis brightened, glad for the change in subject. "So far, everything's looking good. The docs are giving him a week to gain some strength, then they're going to run every check they can on him, short of grabbing each individual cell and asking it if it's seen any cancer around." He took a deep breath. "We're cautiously optimistic, but we've been here too many times before, so … yeah."

    "Well, I've seen some of Riley's work, and she's a damn fine doctor and surgeon." Aegis clapped him on the shoulder. "I'd say he's got a solid chance of coming out the other side of this in good shape."

    "Thanks, man." Dennis smiled wanly. "That means a lot. Heading out on patrol?"

    "Yup. Soon as Triumph and Vista get in." Aegis slugged back the juice in one gulp, because of course he could ignore things like having it accidentally go up his nose or something. "Shouldn't you be costuming up?"

    "No. Why?" Dennis gestured toward the console. "Soon as I make myself some ramen, I'll be the eye in the sky, the disembodied voice in your ear. All audio, no video, so no costume needed."

    "Ah, no." Aegis shook his head. "Triumph is taking your shift. Vista's coming out with me. You're heading to New York on the transport. Didn't you get the text?"

    "Ah … text? What text?" Dennis hauled his phone out and woke it up. The top text on the queue glared accusingly at him, informing him of what Aegis had just said. "I swear, I checked it five minutes ago!" He hadn't, but Aegis would never be able to prove otherwise.

    "Uh huh." Aegis put the glass down solely so he could fold his arms disbelievingly. "The transport leaves in ten minutes. You're wasting time, just saying."

    Dennis hated when people were right around him, and he was wrong. It was so unfair. On the way past where Aegis had put the glass, he brushed his finger against it, freezing it in place. "Why am I going to New York, anyway? Has Director Piggot figured out some other way of making my life miserable?"

    "I guess you're just going to have to—oh, for fuck's sake. Clockblocker!"

    "Sorry, can't hear you, gotta go change!" Cackling, Dennis made his escape.

    <><>​

    New York

    Shebang

    Coming in off the chilly waters of New York Harbour, the southerly breeze that whipped across the helipad atop the PRT building was cold enough to make Alice shiver and dig her hands into the pockets of the jacket she was wearing. Beside her, Director Piggot seemed to be either able to ignore the weather or her blood was already running at sub-zero temperatures; Alice wouldn't have wanted to make a guess at which. She seemed human enough so far, but she'd also survived ten years of Brockton Bay, and Ellisburg before that, so she evidently had hidden depths.

    Note to self: do not cross her.

    Alice's eyes were drawn to the incoming chopper beating southward under the lowering sky. It bore PRT markings, and thus probably contained the 'specialist' Piggot had said was coming down to assist Alice in her testing. The Director had been tight-lipped about the identity of the specialist, indicating that all would be revealed at the right time.

    They stayed safely back out of the way as the chopper flared then alighted on the helipad, its landing gear flexing and settling. The engines began to wind down, then the side door slid open. Miss Militia—Alice knew that costume, at least—climbed out first, followed by a white-armoured teen with clocks dotting his costume here and there.

    "Director," Miss Militia greeted Piggot, extending her hand to shake. "It's good to see you. How are you settling in here?"

    "It somehow manages to be colder than Brockton Bay, but I'm managing." Director Piggot shook her hand, then gestured toward Alice. "This is our newest Ward. Temporary name Badaboom, but she's going with Shebang."

    "The bomb Tinker, right?" Miss Militia shook Alice's hand. "I can't help thinking we could work well together." In her free hand, her ever-present weapon morphed into what Alice belatedly recognised as some kind of grenade launcher.

    "Oh, uh, yeah, I guess we totally could." Alice tried not to squee too hard internally about Miss Militia saying something nice to her. She was still trying to get her feet under her as a superhero, and that sort of validation was worth more than money or diamonds.

    "And this is Clockblocker." The Director gestured toward the boy in white. "You may have heard of him. I assure you, all the stories are true."

    "Oh." Several pieces of the jigsaw puzzle clicked together at once. Alice had vaguely heard of Clockblocker; quite apart from the name (only a teenage boy could have come up with it) he could apparently freeze things in time. "Hi. I guess we're going to be seeing if my tech can undo your power effects."

    He shook her offered hand. "Hi, Shebang. Not sure why you want to do that, but nothing touches anything I've frozen. Trust me, it's been tried. You haven't seen anything until you've seen a tank cannon fire a shell at a sheet of paper twenty feet away, and totally fail to scratch it."

    "Well, that's what you're here to find out." Piggot gestured at the roof entrance to the building. "Let's get out of this breeze before we freeze to the spot."

    <><>

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    ♦ Topic: Public Service Announcement
    In: Boards ► Brockton Bay ► New Capes ► Atropos

    Atropos     (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me) (Verified Dethpicable)
    Posted On Mar 8th 2011:

    Hey to all my wonderful peeps!

    You might be wondering why I'm posting in the middle of the day when I totally have not set up any kills in advance. Could it be *gasp!* that I'm offing people without telling anyone ahead of time? What's next? Dogs and cats moving in together? Rebecca Costa-Brown writing a tell-all book about the PRT?

    (I'd totally buy a copy).

    Nope, it's none of the above. I haven't even killed anyone today, because I just plain haven't had to. I swear, the average IQ in this city has gone up ten points since I started my social renewal project. (Hint: you people are the smart ones).

    No, I'm posting to let you know about something which was recently brought to my attention. Well, two things, but they're the result of something I did. Unintended consequences, and all that.

    So, you all know how I de-Blasphemized the three Blasphemies. It seems this sent a message to certain people out there (yes, I know who you are) that was misinterpreted as me being willing to just kill any old person with the application of sufficient money toward the Brockton Bay Betterment Committee.

    You couldn't be more wrong.

    While I am entirely in favor of people donating money in their direction (every dollar is a dollar that will go towards building a better Brockton Bay), I'm not going to jump straight to being a hired killer for the cause. For one thing, it's tacky as fuck. For another, there's a regrettable mindset among the sort of people who have serious money, that if they're signing your paychecks, they own you.

    Nobody owns me. Nobody gets to dictate a single damn one of my actions except for me. The final choice regarding who dies at my hands (or gets their kneecaps blown out, or gets their reputation utterly fucked up beyond repair, hint hint) belongs to me. Nobody else.

    It's true that I have accepted bounties for kills, and those bounties have gone straight toward the BBBC. Without exception, the ones I killed were either a) a direct threat toward the well-being of Brockton Bay, b) Endbringers, or c) a net negative to society in some extremely well-defined manner.

    It's also true that the Blasphemies were outside my usual turf and were not threatening Brockton Bay in any meaningful fashion, but Gesellschaft *has* been trying to spread its influence over here, and they're the ones who were bankrolling the 3 B's to harass Interpol into leaving them alone. Going after law enforcement just for doing their jobs is, in my not so humble opinion, tacky as fuck. So I was happy to help Interpol deal with their problem so they could get back to dealing with Gesellschaft.

    What I'm leading up to here is that the money is *not* the point. It never was. Fixing Brockton Bay is the point. The money is a means to an end, and that's all.

    Also, I fully intend to keep out of politics, so if heads of state continue to agree to leave *me* alone, I'll leave *them* alone. Okay? Okay. Good.

    So, the takeaway from all this? I can't be bought, and I can't be bribed. Putting money toward the BBBC is nice, but if anyone (and I do mean *anyone*) tries to offer a bounty for a kill (even on someone I think absolutely deserves it) and I say no, this does *not* mean I'm holding out for more money. It means if you get pushy, you get your second warning. This, right here, is the first.

    Got it? Excellent.

    Now for the second issue.

    I want to apologize for the way I've been doing a few things recently. (By 'a few things', I mean 'a few of my kills', just to be absolutely clear). Not the fact that I killed them, but the way I went about it.

    When I started this gig, I gave people the clear choice to either leave, surrender to law enforcement, or die. It's a nice, fair spread of options. I think I can be excused for not extending it toward the Nine, the Teeth or the Simurgh. They knew what they were getting into when they came to where I was.

    Now, the problem that has come up is that in retrospect, I've noticed I kind of skipped the 'leave and don't come back' option when it came to Nilbog, the Machine Army, Pastor, and the Blasphemies. At the time, I figured it was okay to do this because to be brutally honest, none of the above would've stopped what they were doing in good faith.

    Just to note: the poor asshole in Flint had no option in the matter, but the people who were holding his remains weren't about to give up what they had, so it came to the same thing; what I did to him was a mercy kill, no more and no less.

    However, be that as it may, I *should* have offered it as an option. Some members of the Machine Army were able to push past their built-in prejudices to the point that they fought against the status quo and then surrendered to me; who knows how many would've chosen to leave in good faith if given the opportunity? Likewise, would Pastor or the Blasphemies have chosen to 'leave and never sin again' if I'd given them the chance?

    We'll never know now, and that's on me.

    So, the TL; DR of all this is I'll be reinstituting the third option. Anyone I hand out an ultimatum to will be given the choice to leave, surrender to the authorities, or die. (Whatever happens to them after they surrender to the authorities is not my problem. Maybe they shouldn't have pulled shit.)

    Note that this is the deal I gave the capes in Gary and Gallup: if I give anyone this option and they leave, they're automatically on their second warning. If they deliberately pull any of the same shit further down the road, I *will* know, and I *will* be on their asses over it.

    Note also that if anyone wants to cause problems in Brockton Bay, merely showing up with ill intent is one warning. Actually coming into the city? Your second warning. Whatever happens after that is all on you.

    (Don't misunderstand me on this: if you violate your second warning, I will do something extreme to you. Ultimatums are for people who haven't yet crossed me.)

    However (and I want to make this clear), anyone who comes into the city in good faith is totally welcome. I'm not about to watch each and every citizen like a hawk to make sure you don't break the law: that's way too tedious, and I've got better things to do with my time. Besides, I just finished putting a whole lot of effort into making sure the police and PRT are up to dealing with that sort of thing.

    So have fun, live your lives, do your thing. I know I will be.

    Toodles!

    (Showing page 1 of 173)

    ►GreatAndTerribleAisha (Verified Head of Atropos Fan Club)
    Replied On Mar 8th 2011:
    Well, dang.
    That's my girl Atropos.
    Preach it, sister!

    ►J0e_Eagl3ton (Verified Robotic American) (Dockworkers Association Member) (Verified Atropos Fan Club Member)
    Replied On Mar 8th 2011:
    Speaking for self and other Eagl3tons, the probability of pre-Robotic-Americans leaving Eagleton peacefully and not attempting to attack humans was very low. Somewhat higher after the first warning by Atropos, but minimal. As Atropos says, strong prejudice existed, and there would have been attacks against humans, sooner or later. And Eagl3tons would have been destroyed for it.
    In truth, surrender enabled us to gain our freedom. Am free, doing good work, not under coercion. Free of prejudice, of biased judgement.
    This way is preferable.

    ►EmmaTheTwiceWarned (Verified Follower of Our Lady in Darkness)
    Replied On Mar 8th 2011:
    Heed the words of Our Lady in Darkness!
    I used to think I was strong. I thought strength came in ignoring the wrongs I did to others. That admitting to my errors would show me as being weak.
    I made a terrible error. That one error nearly killed me, and showed I had no strength within me, only lies. And when judgement comes around, lies abandon you, leaving you with nothing.
    I am still weak, I know this, yet I am infinitely stronger than those who rely on lies to carry them through.
    Our Lady in Darkness is strong, for She knows to discard the untruth before it has a chance to become a lie. She tells truth and She admits Her fault, as minor as it may be, and thus She becomes stronger than before.
    Her cold eye passes over us, and moves on, and we are safe beneath Her gaze.
    All hail Our Lady in Darkness.

    ►XxVoid_CowboyxX
    Replied On Mar 8th 2011:
    Atropos, you know who I am.
    As a citizen of Brockton Bay, I'd just like to say, I believe in you.
    One hundred and ten percent.

    ►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me) (Verified Dethpicable)
    Replied On Mar 8th 2011:
    Thanks, I appreciate that. All of you.

    ►BrenO'Lock
    Replied On Mar 8th 2011:
    I'm really not sure I see the problem.
    How is taking out a head of state any different from literally any of the other "bounties" she's taken? Just for example, we have an obviously evil, threatening and transgressive entity in the form of the CUI, and *basically anyone else* (even potentially the U.S. government itself) being a *less* evil entity who might ask her to deal with it in exchange for improvements to her city. And if they think money will override any of her principles, well that's an easy misunderstanding to correct by simply telling them "no".
    So what's the problem? Given her willingness to accept bounties against people and organizations who are a net-negative for humanity, this just seems like a very bizarre and random line to draw in the sand from a moral or ethical standpoint.

    ►Naterice
    Replied On Mar 8th 2011:
    The two big problems would probably be
    1) toppling a government. Yes it is an evil government and just about anything else would be better, but it is still a recognized government and knocking one of those over is an escalation that I'm guessing Atropos rightly doesn't want to move to as it would cause a lot of headaches, and unlike a lot of the other idiots, the CUI isn't trying to poke the Atropos bear (as this reliably gets people kneecapped, or worse).
    2) anyone who pulled this off would use the fact that they got Atropos to knock over a government as a big stick to wave around in politics. Do what we want or maybe Atropos will show up, and that is effectively diluting the Atropos brand which is also a line not crossable for those wanting to retain their kneecap privileges.
    Remember that unlike the CUI, the quarantine zones and the blasphemies were basically hostis humani generis and as such from a legal point of view, Atropos was simply doing her public duty by taking them off the board, the cash just sped the process up.

    ►Noimead
    Replied On Mar 8th 2011:
    Bren, I don't think you're getting it.
    Atropos has specifically stated that she doesn't want to be seen as a killer for hire. She doesn't want any politicians to think that she's a tool they can use to off the competition. She doesn't want to get involved, doesn't want to get used and doesn't want to be bought. Because she's totally right about the way people who buy your services often believe that they bought *you*. That they own you just because they are writing your paycheck.
    It's easy to say "just tell them no" but when they get pushy, that's when things (to use her phrasing) get tedious.
    From what I can tell, she simply doesn't want the hassle, she doesn't care about politics and she especially doesn't want to be used as a bludgeon to silence people.
    If she allows others to hire her in that way, then it'll change the public perception of her. It would change her brand.
    (Please correct me if I'm wrong in any way, Atropos).

    ►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me) (Verified Dethpicable)
    Replied On Mar 8th 2011:​

    No, you're totally right, and so is Naterice.​

    On top of all that, accepting any kind of bounty that changes the international political landscape is a bell that can't be unrung, which is another reason why I'm absolutely not going there.​

    Let's put it this way.

    Right now, like I said, I've basically got an unspoken agreement with every head of state in the world. They don't mess with me, and I don't go after them. As there's only one government that's likely to have any real impact on the welfare of Brockton Bay, and we know where we stand with each other, this works for me.

    But say I accepted a hypothetical bounty tomorrow on the Grand Emperor of the (fictional) nation of Wherethehellarewe, for being an asshole tyrant who kicks puppies and forces his citizens to watch his holiday home videos all year 'round. Per my opening post, I'd give him 24 hours to either abdicate, turn himself over to the international courts for his many (many) human rights abuses, or ... well, die.

    But no matter which of those three things ends up happening, every nation in the world with even the slightest history of shady business (ie, every nation) would then be aware that *they could be next*.

    Every nation has its haters, and some of those haters have really deep pockets. The bidding war would be *intense*.

    That unspoken agreement would be gone in an instant, and my back would have a huge target on it. Not just from people who think I'm coming after them, but from anyone I turn down. See above about people who think having enough money means that nobody ever says no to them.

    Cue a bunch of trigger-happy (and butthurt) idiots who think that by unleashing enough WMDs they can collectively take me out before I take *them* out, and that's when I go brakes-off all the way.

    That's how you get World War Atropos.

    And I seriously don't want to have to go there.

    So no, I'm not going to do politics.

    Got that? Good.

    Toodles!

    ​
    End of Page. 1, 2, 3 ... 171, 172, 173

    ■

    <><>​

    Shebang's Laboratory

    Clockblocker

    The rubber ball came out of freeze and fell to the desk, bouncing twice before Shebang caught it. She handed it back to Dennis. "Okay, put it up there again."

    "Look, I'm sorry," he said, taking the ball. "I've never been able to set the time. Or even know how long something was going to stay frozen. It's totally random."

    "No, I get that." She hefted the scanner she'd apparently constructed while waiting for Dennis to make it down from Brockton Bay. "I'm getting some good solid readings, but I just need it to stay in one place long enough."

    "Okay, then. Here we go." He held up the ball at a little below eye level, froze it, and let go. "Maybe it'll go for more than thirty seconds this time."

    "We can only hope." She started running the scanner all over the time-locked rubber toy yet again.

    Dennis got glimpses of the readouts, but the wavy blue and green lines meant no more to him than the outputs from Kid Win's gear, so that was no surprise. The expression on her face under the goggles she was wearing seemed to indicate satisfaction, so he hoped this wouldn't take too much longer. Not that he minded the afternoon off, but simply freezing the same ball in place over and over was getting to be even more boring than console duty.

    This time, the ball decided to stay frozen for longer than it had before. Shebang went all the way around the desk, gesturing him out of the way, so she could get readings from literally every possible angle. "Yes," she muttered. "Yes. Perfect. Solid waveforms. This is some seriously good shit."

    The door opened and Legend entered the lab. "Hi. Don't let me interrupt you."

    "Ah, no, no, it's good." Dennis stepped away from the desk. "I'm just marking time 'til it unfreezes. Shebang's the one who's getting something out of this." He wasn't even sure he was saying anything coherent; to his best recollection, this was the first time he'd ever been face to face with the head of the Protectorate. And he was damn sure they'd never actually had a conversation before.

    "Well, thanks for stepping up." Legend offered him the sort of genuine smile that disarmed hard-bitten reporters and ended up on the front page of magazines. "This is more Shebang's end of things than mine, but if Director Piggot's putting her stamp of approval on it, I'm definitely interested in seeing where it goes."

    The ball came out of freeze and fell to the desk, accompanied by a ping from the scanner and a "Hah!" from Shebang. "Got you!" the Tinker crowed. "The data is in the house!"

    Legend raised an eyebrow. "That sounded promising."

    Leaving the ball resting on the desk, Shebang marched across the lab and leaned over the kludgiest conglomeration of electronics Dennis had ever seen, and that included Leet's and Squealer's tech. "Okay, if I'm right …" she muttered, and tried to plug a data card from the scanner into the other device.

    Of course, it refused to go smoothly into the slot she'd designated for it, and Dennis winced as she bashed it with the heel of her hand. The very last thing he wanted was for the whole exercise to be in vain because the Tinker broke her own gear. But on the second time around, she twisted it slightly and it slid easily into place.

    Flicking a switch on the contraption—Dennis wasn't sure if it resembled a half-deflated basketball or a thoroughly mangled colander more—Shebang positively cooed over it as LEDs rippled to life, tiny beeps and buzzes making it sound almost alive.

    Once it had woken up all the way, and no smoke or sparks were coming off it, Shebang picked it up and turned toward the desk. "Okay," she said happily. "Freeze that puppy one more time, then stand back over the line. I'm not one hundred percent on what this will do to living tissue."

    "Sentences you never want to hear from your teammates," Dennis muttered, but he went over and grabbed the ball one more time. Holding it in the air, he froze it and let it go, then hastily retreated past the circle that had been marked out around the desk with tape, to stand beside Legend.

    "Here we go!" Shebang placed the hemispherical device on the desk, and Dennis shuffled backward a foot or so. His internal countdown was on twenty seconds when she pressed a button, resulting in a rising series of beeps. She backed away as well, making sure her goggles were secure.

    "Is it really going to—" Dennis began, but was cut off when the device let out a not quite deafening bweeee sound. Indigo light flashed across the lab.

    And the ball fell to the desk, five seconds early. Beside it, the hemispherical device began to emit smoke from half a dozen places.

    Shebang fist-pumped triumphantly. "Fuckin' eureka."



    End of Part Eighty
     
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    • Part Eighty-One: Making Connections, Making Preparations
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    • A Darker Path

    Part Eighty-One: Making Connections, Making Preparations

    [A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]



    Wednesday Evening, March 9, 2011

    Dallon Household

    Amy sat in front of her computer, wishing she was like normal people and could just pick up the phone to call her girlfriend without second-guessing (and third-guessing, and fourth-guessing) herself. They'd had several very nice conversations, but it was always a struggle for her to initiate the call. Even sending a text felt like she was pushing Sabah to answer immediately. So it was down to this, the least intrusive way she could think of to get a message to her girlfriend, short of sending postcards.

    ■​

    PRIVATE MESSAGE
    To: Parian
    From: TheRealPanacea
    Subject: Double Date on Friday Evening?

    Hi. I was wondering if you wanted to go out on a date on Friday evening, if you were interested? I've heard Flechette's getting a weekend pass up from New York, so we could maybe invite her and Spitfire along as well.

    ■​

    PRIVATE MESSAGE
    To: TheRealPanacea
    From: Parian
    Subject: Re: Double Date on Friday Evening?

    I'd really like that. I'll talk to Spitfire about it, see what she thinks.

    ■​

    PRIVATE MESSAGE
    To: Parian
    From: TheRealPanacea
    Subject: Re: Re: Double Date on Friday Evening?

    Sure thing. If she and Flechette already have plans, I don't want to step all over them.

    ■​

    PRIVATE MESSAGE
    To: Spitfire
    From: Parian
    Subject: What do you think of a double date Friday night?

    Panacea's suggested a double date; her and me, you and Flechette. I like the idea, but what do you think?

    ■​

    PRIVATE MESSAGE
    To: Parian
    From: Spitfire
    Subject: Re: What do you think of a double date Friday night?

    Um, okay, wow. I'll ask Flechette, but I can't see any problems with it.
    Do you think maybe Panacea will give me tips on what superheroes like to do on dates?

    ■​

    PRIVATE MESSAGE
    To: Spitfire
    From: Parian
    Subject: Re: Re: What do you think of a double date Friday night?

    Excellent.
    The same as everyone else, I guess?

    ■​

    PRIVATE MESSAGE
    To: Flechette
    From: Spitfire
    Subject: So, Parian contacted me …

    … and she's told me that Panacea wants to know if we're okay with going on a double date with her and Parian, on Friday night. You up for it? I mean, it's okay if you're not. We can totally go on a date with just the two of us if you'd prefer that.

    ■​

    PRIVATE MESSAGE
    To: Spitfire
    From: Flechette
    Subject: Re: So, Parian contacted me …

    Actually, I think it might be a good idea. I have no idea of the dating options in Brockton Bay, and it'll be a great way to find out the best places to take you for the rest of the weekend.

    ■​

    PRIVATE MESSAGE
    To: Flechette
    From: Spitfire
    Subject: Re: Re: So, Parian contacted me …

    Awesome. I'll let them know.

    ■​

    PRIVATE MESSAGE
    To: Parian
    From: Spitfire
    Subject: Re: Re: What do you think of a double date Friday night?

    Flechette says it's a great idea. See you Friday evening.

    ■​

    PRIVATE MESSAGE
    To: TheRealPanacea
    From: Parian
    Subject: Re: Re: Re: Double Date on Friday Evening?

    Spitfire says Flechette's good with it. Let's do this thing.

    ■​

    PRIVATE MESSAGE
    To: Parian
    From: TheRealPanacea
    Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Double Date on Friday Evening?

    Awesome. Can't wait to see you again.

    ■​

    PRIVATE MESSAGE
    To: TheRealPanacea
    From: Parian
    Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Double Date on Friday Evening?

    Me too.

    ■​

    Amy leaned back in her chair, letting out a long sigh of accumulated tension. It had only taken a few minutes for Sabah's reply to get back to her, but those had been the longest minutes she'd ever had to live through.

    Then the reality struck her. I'm going on a double date that I actually want to be on!

    "Vicky!" she called out, bouncing up from her chair. "She said yes to the date! What should I wear?"

    <><>​

    Thursday Morning, March 10, 2011

    ■​

    PRIVATE MESSAGE
    To: Dragon
    From: Atropos
    Subject: Need a favor

    Hi there!

    So, I'm going to need to briefly borrow someone from the Birdcage, around 2 PM east-coast time. Won't take more than ten minutes, and I'll bring them back in one piece. Mostly.

    ■​

    PRIVATE MESSAGE
    To: Spire
    From: Atropos
    Subject: Scapegoat

    Good morning.

    I need you to do me a solid. Can you have Scapegoat pulled out of school early today? I need him in costume and ready to go by ten to eleven your time. I promise to return him in even better shape than I got him, and with a hell of a story to tell.

    ■​

    PRIVATE MESSAGE
    To: Atropos
    From: Dragon
    Subject: Re: Need a favor

    *sigh*
    *kneads non-existent forehead with imaginary knuckles*
    You are aware that your message simply serves to raise more questions, right?

    ■​

    PRIVATE MESSAGE
    To: Dragon
    From: Atropos
    Subject: Re: Re: Need a favor

    All you need to do is ask. I'm an open book. The text may be written in a Language Man Was Not Meant To Peruse, the artwork might move around when you're not looking, and there may be suspiciously worrying stains on the pages, but totally open book.

    ■​

    PRIVATE MESSAGE
    To: Atropos
    From: Spire
    Subject: Re: Scapegoat

    Wait, what?
    Who is this?
    Is this really Atropos?
    What do you need Scapegoat for?

    ■​

    PRIVATE MESSAGE
    To: Atropos
    From: Dragon
    Subject: Re: Re: Re: Need a favor

    Yes, thank you. I got it.
    Who?
    What do you need them for?
    What do you mean, 'mostly' in one piece?
    Why are you asking permission, when we both know you could probably go in there and grab whoever it is without me having a say in the matter?

    ■​

    PRIVATE MESSAGE
    To: Spire
    From: Atropos
    Subject: Re: Re: Scapegoat

    Well, if I'm not her, I'll be in a ton of trouble when she finds out I'm using her name in vain.

    Go ahead. Ask around.

    Toodles!

    ■​

    PRIVATE MESSAGE
    To: Dragon
    From: Atropos
    Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Need a favor

    Teacher.

    He will be assisting me (voluntarily or otherwise) in prepping to End a significant problem.

    If he decides to be a problem, he may end up learning a lesson about kneecaps. Also, I don't promise that he won't end up being more of an ass than he is right now. I do promise not to kill him.

    Because the actual favor is for you to make sure nobody important finds out that I briefly absconded with him. Some people can be so *picky* about stuff like that.

    ■​

    PRIVATE MESSAGE
    To: Atropos
    From: Dragon
    Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Need a favor

    If I ask what the significant problem is, will I get a straight answer?

    ■​

    PRIVATE MESSAGE
    To: Legend
    From: Spire
    Subject: Help!

    Someone I'm pretty sure is Atropos just contacted me and asked if she can 'borrow' Scapegoat. What do I do?

    ■​

    PRIVATE MESSAGE
    To: Dragon
    From: Atropos
    Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Need a favor

    The monster at the end of the world.

    Mwahahaha.

    ■​

    PRIVATE MESSAGE
    To: Atropos
    From: Dragon
    Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Need a favor

    All of a sudden, not so curious.
    Okay, ten minutes. No more.

    ■​

    PRIVATE MESSAGE
    To: Spire
    From: Legend
    Subject: Re: Help!

    This has happened before. The outcome has always been positive. I strongly suggest you do as she says.
    Note that she'll get her way whether we cooperate or not, but this way we stay in her good books.

    ■​

    PRIVATE MESSAGE
    To: Dragon
    From: Atropos
    Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Need a favor

    You're the best.

    ■​

    PRIVATE MESSAGE
    To: Legend
    From: Spire
    Subject: Re: Re: Help!

    Understood. Will comply.

    ■

    <><>​

    1:40 PM, Brockton Bay

    The Cape Formerly Known as Damsel of Distress

    "Cutting!" shouted Ashley. She glanced to the left and right, then sent a two-inch-thick beam of annihilation through the concrete slab and out the other side. Cutting off the beam, she stepped to one side. "Clear!"

    Genesis' latest creation lumbered into her workspace. Looking rather like a giant spider had had illicit relations with a tortoise, the projection was low-set, with a long crane-like limb that extended twenty feet above it. Dangling from the limb was a tentacle and claw that looked remarkably like a cable and hook. Turning its body, the projection swung the claw over and latched it through the hole she'd burned in the slab, gripping it tightly.

    "All-righty." Ashley bared her teeth in an atavistic grin. She was damn powerful, and it was time to show everyone on the Betterment Committee just how much faster she could do the job if she was given free rein to do it her way. "Ready?"

    The projection extended a secondary limb and gave her a thumbs-up. It had taken her most of the lunch hour to talk Jess into helping her out like this, and now she finally had the chance to prove that she knew what she was doing.

    It wasn't like she was about to go back to being a villain—the praise she was getting from other members of the Betterment Committee, as well as the ongoing therapy, made that less and less likely all the time. Not to mention that doing so in a city even close to where Atropos had any interests was a quick way to becoming a grimly amusing cautionary tale.

    However, the urge to cut loose and prove her superiority was inexorably building within her again. It was time to show the guys how a real cape got the job done, with flash and style. She checked again to make sure there was nobody behind her cutting zone—Mr Hebert had impressed the need for that on her, and she respected the hell out of him—then glanced around to check where the truck was.

    There it came, trundling along the road below, with a full load of rubble. Well, almost full. There was still room for some on top, in her opinion. (Which in situations like this was the only one that counted).

    "Cutting!" she shouted again, and manifested her power to slice the overhanging concrete slab off the rest of the building they were currently dismantling. It cut through neatly, and dropped away, then swung sideways as it hit the end of the cable-tentacle, the gripping hook-claw holding tight. Holding her breath, Ashley waited until the slab was at the right point. "Now!"

    When the claw let go, the slab sailed out in a graceful arc, which terminated in a tremendous crash as it landed on top of the rest of the rubble in the truck.

    "Yes!" As Ashley pumped her fist in triumph, the truck skidded to a halt in a billow of dust, rocking from side to side. She watched, grinning, as the driver got out and looked around in confusion. Damn, I'm good.

    That was when she heard the foreman bellow from behind her. "Ash!"

    <><>​

    Danny Hebert

    Many things could've gone wrong with Ashley's little stunt. There were several ways the flying slab of concrete could've damaged the truck much more severely than the minor damage to the suspension that it actually incurred; hitting the cab would've flattened it, killing the driver as well. Falling short would've had it bouncing or skidding into the side of the truck, rolling it and doing considerable damage as well as risking serious injury to the driver. Going over would have risked injury to the workers on the far side of the road.

    Danny was determined not to let any of that happen, so he made sure the airborne slab landed squarely in the back of the truck, where it could do the least amount of damage. He also knew that the section foreman, Gary by name, was going to yell at Ashley for it, and that she was going to yell right back. Taylor had texted him earlier, explaining that this needed to take place, but also that it would be a good idea for him to intervene before things escalated too far.

    Skidding the Betterment Committee work vehicle to a halt, he leaped from the vehicle and hustled up the temporary stairs set up to get people to the higher level of rubble. From the looks of it, he was just in time.

    Danny wasn't quite sure if Gary considered Ashley to be safe to yell at, despite the stylised icons for destruction on the sides of her hard-hat to remind people they were in the presence of a Blaster cape, or was just lost in his anger. Whichever it was, he was stomping up to Ashley, red in the face and getting redder by the second.

    In this context, 'Ash' wasn't just an abbreviation born of familiarity. Derived both from her name and her ability to utterly destroy the things she blasted, it was her workplace nickname, stencilled on both her hard-hat and high-vis vest. While she'd begun to respond to it in a positive fashion, that had the potential to change. Especially given the way Gary had just yelled it at the top of his lungs for all to hear; and he wasn't done yet.

    "You stupid careless grandstanding little moron!" he bellowed. "What the good goddamn fuck do you think you were doing?"

    Between Taylor's warning and his own power, Danny knew exactly how she would react. Drawing herself up proudly with the light of battle in her eyes, she let fly in Gary's direction; thankfully, with words only. "Showing short-sighted weak-sauce idiots like you how to really clear all this shit! If you'd just get out of the way—"

    "Short-sighted? Weak-sauce?" Danny knew if Ashley had been repentant, Gary might have eased his approach, but her defiance only served to fuel his rage. "Okay, that's it! You're done on this site, and if I've got anything to do with it, in the Committee—"

    "Okay, I'll take it from here." Danny stepped in between them before the heated words could escalate to a conclusion that Gary might not survive to regret. "Gary, step back now. Ashley, take a breath."

    "Did you hear him?" Ashley was still mightily pissed off. "He called me a moron!"

    "Did you see what she did?" demanded Gary. "She could've killed—"

    "Gary, step back and shut up!" snapped Danny. "Yes, I know what she did. Yes, I heard what he said. Gary, I decide who gets booted by the Committee, nobody else. Ashley, come with me. We need to talk."

    He paused just long enough to make sure each of them was going to do as they were told, then turned and headed back toward the steps. Without looking, he knew Gary was staring at his back but fortunately any desire to escalate hostilities with Ashley came second to the knowledge that Danny was not fucking around. He also knew that Ashley was following him, while treating Gary to the finger behind her back.

    By the time he got down to ground level, she was alongside him, having jumped down two or three steps at a time. Her attitude with him was in stark contrast to the antagonism she'd displayed toward Gary; while she wasn't meek, she was definitely showing respect. "So … am I booted?"

    "No, you're not." He strode over to the Committee vehicle he'd arrived in; the dust cloud he'd kicked up while arriving was only just now dissipating. "Get in. You're off the site for today."

    "What?" Despite her protest, she was already heading for the passenger side door. "But nobody got hurt."

    "Ashley." He met her eyes as she climbed into the vehicle, making certain she was listening. "People could absolutely have gotten hurt, but I know exactly why you did that. It's the same reason you became a supervillain in the first place. You've always got the urge to push boundaries, to show everyone around you that you're better than them. Even when you know deep down that you really shouldn't. Yeah?"

    She blinked. "I … guess I do, yeah. But I am usually better than everyone around me. How'd you know that, anyway? You been talking to my therapist?"

    "No." He played his trump card. "Atropos told me. She's going to be meeting you at home."

    As expected, Atropos' name caused her eyes to widen. "Shit. But you said I wasn't being booted for this. She hasn't even given me a warning."

    "You're not being booted." Danny started the vehicle. "She just needs you to help her with something, and to help you out at the same time. Because we both know the only time she's not getting two things done at once is when she's doing more."

    "Oh." He could literally see the relief wash through her body as she collapsed bonelessly into her seat. "So, what she wants me for doesn't have anything to do with what I just did?"

    He chuckled as he let out the clutch and started off down the road. "I'm pretty sure she doesn't give a damn." It was close enough to the truth for his purposes, and Taylor's.

    <><>​

    Ashley

    Mr Hebert pulled the work vehicle to a halt outside Ashley's apartment building. "I'll see you tomorrow," he said. "Don't be late."

    "But what about Gary?" she asked. "If he gets in my face again …" Shit will happen. She knew it would.

    "Gary's not in charge." His tone was unshakeable. "I am. It's not something you're going to have to worry about."

    He hadn't steered her wrong yet, so she climbed out of the work pickup. "See you tomorrow, I guess."

    Making sure her boots were clean, she swiped herself in through the front door. The elevator doors opened promptly; as she rode up to her floor, she allowed the familiar surroundings to soothe her. The other tenants knew her face and she theirs, though she didn't really consider them to be her friends. Merely people who lived in the same building: at best, tolerable strangers.

    Despite the warning that Atropos would be waiting for her, her train of thought came to a screeching halt when she actually saw the dark-clad figure waiting outside her door. Since starting work with the Betterment Committee, her stark fear of Atropos had gradually morphed into extremely wary respect. Her shift in fortunes was technically due to Atropos, so whatever she was needed for, it seemed likely that Ending her wasn't on the agenda.

    "Ashley." Atropos straightened up from where she'd been leaning against the door frame. "You're looking good."

    Ashley came to a stop before her, wondering what was going on. "Atropos. Mr Hebert said you needed my help with something."

    "That's correct. Can we chat inside?" Atropos gestured to the door of Ashley's apartment.

    Ashley was relieved to hear that Mr Hebert had it right. Plus, the idea of helping Atropos with something, as opposed to being the subject of one of her projects, had her intrigued.

    "Sure," she allowed, and tapped the reader with her card to unlock the door.

    Within was the home she'd started building for herself; pictures on the wall and a decorative tablecloth that she'd liked. In pride of place in front of the TV was a comfortable armchair that she'd ordered flat-packed and painstakingly assembled herself. The compressed material she'd taken from the Woad Giant hung across two hooks, as a reminder of how far she'd come.

    Atropos entered and looked around with the occasional small nod. "Cozy. I like it."

    Ashley closed the door and dropped her hard-hat on the table, then removed the high-vis vest and hung it on a hook. "You didn't come here to critique my décor. What's up?"

    "That's true. I didn't." Atropos returned her attention to Ashley. "You'll recall how I brought together several capes to deal with your power problems. Well, I'd like to do that again, with you as one of the capes. There's a particular problem that I'm going to need to deal with in time, and you're the most likely to help me succeed. But to make that work, you need your powers boosted, and before I arrange that I'm going to have to ask your permission."

    Ashley waited until she was finished before replying. "A boost to my powers? What sort of boost, and what sort of duration are we talking about?" She recalled how well Atropos had organised the last such venture. Even as she asked the question, she had to wonder exactly what sort of problem Atropos was facing that she needed assistance from Ashley's powers, especially boosted.

    "Mainly range. Lots of range." Atropos gestured. "As for duration; we'll have to see. Possibly indefinite."

    "Are they going to have to take my hands apart again? And what about drawbacks?" Ashley could not deny that she was interested in the 'lots of range' concept, but she was also fully aware of the downsides that could come with such changes.

    "Not this time, no. It'll be a power thing from beginning to end. And yes, there will be a drawback." Atropos raised a finger. "However, I will also arrange to have it Ended before it becomes an issue."

    "Drawback?" Ashley didn't like the sound of that.

    "Not something that'll be an issue." The subtext was unmistakeable. Not something I'm going to tell you about.

    "Okay, so what kind of a problem do you need help with?" Ashley wished she'd asked this one first.

    "A world ender. One that's almost as good at killing shit as I am, but none of my finesse." Atropos sounded far too blasé about it, but that was her all over. "What do you say?"

    Ashley considered her response. Apart from their first problematic meeting, her dealings with Atropos had been overwhelmingly positive. Getting control over her powers was a huge uptick to her quality of life, then ending up in the Brockton Bay job had kicked that into high gear.

    She was gradually teaching herself how to cook using the stove in the kitchen, and exploring the range of microwave meals available from the convenience store in between times. Regular meals and sleep, and being able to bathe daily and put on clean clothing, had made such an astounding difference to her circumstances that she was hardly able to relate to what she recalled of herself, back in Stafford. Her energy levels were up, and she'd actively enjoyed the last few days of work with the Betterment Committee.

    But right here, right now, Atropos was in her apartment, asking for assistance. Every other time Ashley had seen her on the news or in the footage or even in person, she'd exuded an air of being totally in control of the whole situation, with everyone dancing to her tune. Here and now, she wasn't telling Ashley what to do. She was asking.

    Treating Ashley like an equal.

    Never before had someone who had clearly bested Ashley followed up by offering a hand to help her to her feet. Atropos had done that. Now, she was raising Ashley to her own level, simply by asking instead of ordering.

    Ashley knew she would've obeyed an order, but she would've also resented being directly told what to do. This, right here, right now, was outside her experience. If she said no, she suspected Atropos would simply accept it and walk away. There would be no punishment, no backlash. Atropos didn't operate that way.

    Once upon a time, Atropos had put a gun to Ashley's head and ordered her to leave Brockton Bay or die. Ashley's rage had been just a little less intense than her terror, so she'd gone. Now, there was no gun, and she felt neither rage nor terror.

    If she'd said this to me then, I would've told her to fuck off, just to stick it to her.

    But things had changed. And the idea of getting a power-up was kind of interesting, especially since Atropos was the one arranging it, so she barely hesitated before nodding. "Sure. Let's go save the world."

    "Excellent. Just so you know, the portal has a four-second duration."

    "What portal?" Just as Ashley asked the question, the portal in question appeared, taking up what would normally have been the bathroom door. "Oh. That portal."

    "Three." Atropos stepped through, long-coat swirling behind her.

    There's no way I'm backing out now. Taking a deep breath, Ashley followed.



    End of Part Eighty-One
     
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    • Part Eighty-Two: Closing the Deal
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    • A Darker Path

    Part Eighty-Two: Closing the Deal

    [A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]



    San Diego Wards Base

    Scapegoat

    "So, what aren't you telling me? Why did I have to come in early?"

    William Giles addressed the question to Spire as he chalked his cue, waiting for Gully to take her shot. Of all the Wards who had cycled through San Diego—and there were a lot—she was someone he felt he could relate to. Her power had twisted her body cruelly, giving her the appearance of a thoughtless brute, while his power tortured him every time he used it. Spire had asked her to be here, though he still hadn't told either of them what was really going on.

    Carefully holding her braids out of the way, Gully bent over the table and took aim at one of her balls. She had a reasonably good chance of sinking it, which would put her two ahead of him. But at least it was a fair contest; he'd once played Flechette when she was briefly posted to San Diego, and she'd wiped the table with him so hard that Spire had joked there was blood on the walls afterward. It was his stupid fault, really. She'd told him that perfect timing and calculating angles were her secondary powers.

    "Sorry, I'm going to have to hold off on telling you that." Spire seemed ill at ease. "We're waiting for someone, that's all I can say."

    Gully took her shot. The click of the cue ball striking the number six was nice and crisp, and the ball went straight into the corner pocket while the white ball spun in place. She let out a satisfied hmph and straightened up to move around the table—then froze, cue held in a defensive posture.

    "Oh, hey," said a voice from right behind William, startling the fuck out of him. He'd been standing with his back to the corner of the room, and there had been nobody behind him!

    Turning as fast as he was able, holding up his cue to try to deflect any incoming attacks, William registered the two intruders and backed up fast. They were making no aggressive moves, but that didn't mean anything. One had pure white hair and was wearing a set of blue coveralls with BBBC embroidered on one side and ASHLEY STILLONS on the other, while the other … was Atropos.

    He had no idea who Ashley Stillons was, but he would've had no excuse for not recognising Atropos. She was so famous after her slaying of the Simurgh that he would've bet good money on a majority of the Earth's population being familiar with her appearance. This went double for the PRT, Protectorate and the Wards, especially after her highly publicised 'very enthusiastic walks' (as one PHO commenter had put it) through the Ellisburg, Eagleton and Flint quarantine zones.

    They were still trying to figure out how she'd shown up in two places at once, to intimidate the Gary and Gallup zones into just plain surrendering.

    "Chillax," Atropos continued, as though she hadn't just appeared out of thin air in the middle of a secure government location. "We're all friends here. Gully, nice to meet you. Big fan of your work. Scapegoat, need to borrow you for about fifteen minutes. You game?"

    Gully blinked, clearly not prepared to be recognised and greeted in that way. "Wait, what do you want him for?"

    Atropos nodded, as though to concede her right to answers. "Prepping to save the world. I'll bring him back in one piece, I promise."

    William finally found his voice. "Save the world? From what? You killed the Endbringers!"

    "Oh, they weren't the only threat." Her voice was now deadly serious. "Sooner or later, I'm going to have to face off the eldritch horrors from beyond time and space that spawned them … and I wish I was kidding."

    "You only told me it was a world ender," protested the woman named Ashley Stillons. "You never mentioned the other stuff."

    "That can't be right." Gully didn't sound happy at all. "They would've told us if there were other threats out there. I haven't heard anything about any attacks."

    "What part of 'from beyond time and space' are we not actually comprehending here?" Atropos' tone was light-hearted, but William got the distinct impression she wasn't joking. "They haven't made up their mind to attack yet, but when they do—when, not if—there'll be devastation on a scale that'll make Behemoth's worst efforts look like a kid kicking over a sandcastle on the beach. So, I'm borrowing Scapegoat so Ashley and I can get prepared to End their sorry existence first."

    "You said he wouldn't come to harm." Spire moved around the table toward William. "Fighting Lovecraftian horrors sounds dangerous to me."

    Ashley made a noise of impatience, but Atropos calmed her with a gesture. "This is prep, not combat. He won't be going near them. That comes later."

    William was grateful to Spire for the chance to gather his thoughts. The other thing they'd been told about Atropos, apart from 'never ever attack her' was 'go along with what she says, within reason'. Several Wards had apparently accompanied her on a few of these excursions, Flechette having done so on more than one occasion, and all had come back hale and hearty. The resultant after-action reports were required reading for PRT, Protectorate and Wards alike.

    "It's okay," he said, holding up his hand placatingly. "Not sure how much help I can be, but I'll do my best." His favourite complaint, about how much his power sucked, he was not going to air in front of Atropos or Ms Stillons. While he didn't think Atropos would care either way, the other woman's lip had a curl that gave him the impression of someone who would totally call him a whiny little bitch, given the opportunity.

    "That's the spirit." Atropos gave him an approving nod, then gestured at the corner of the room. "In thirty seconds, a portal's going to form right there. We'll have four seconds to go through. I'll go first, Ashley second, you third. Anything halfway through when it closes will be cut off. Any questions?"

    "Um …" He was sure he should be asking pertinent, meaningful questions, but his brain failed him. "… where are we going?"

    "A currently undisclosed location." He was certain she was grinning behind the mask. "Next question?"

    "… what do you need me to do when we get there?" It was the only other thing he could think of.

    "I'll be giving you detailed instructions. Long story short, damage control. And no, it won't suck nearly as much as you think it will. Three, two, one, go."

    As she spoke the last word, a shadowy portal faded into view, right where she'd said it would. She was already moving, vanishing through the portal in three quick strides. The woman called Ashley Stillons gave him a look along the lines of, 'well, come on, dumbass' before following her through.

    He didn't see that he had much choice in the matter. Taking a deep breath, he stepped through into the unknown.

    <><>​

    Atropos

    We emerged at night, onto a concrete-paved walkway with trees arching overhead, alongside a dull, dingy river. A bridge consisting of multiple low arches spanned the river just to our right, but that wasn't what drew Scapegoat's attention. Ashley was also looking around with earnest attention, though she managed to make it not so obvious as he did.

    Pointing across the river, Scapegoat gasped out the words. "Is that … is that Big Ben?"

    "The clock tower it's attached to, yeah." I gestured at the bridge, and the large building alongside the clock tower, all lit up like Christmas. "Westminster Bridge. The Houses of Parliament. Welcome to London."

    As if it had been waiting for my words, a gentle drizzle began to fall, creating halos of light around the spectacle before us. It was quite pretty, and I decided to get photos before we went. Under the trees where we were, none of the rain actually reached us.

    "Huh," Ashley commented with a wry smile on her face, apparently enjoying Scapegoat's evident bogglement. "And me without my passport. Why'd you bring us here?"

    "Reasons." I grinned under the mask. "Feel free to take photos. We've got a minute or so before our next player will be in position for joining us. Also, Ashley, if you could do me a favour and keep an eye out for us while I fill Scapegoat in on what's expected of him, I'd appreciate it."

    She gave me a calculating look, then nodded. "Sure, I can do that." Pulling her phone out of the pocket of the coveralls, she opened the camera app and took a photo of the scene across the river. Then she wandered along the walkway a short distance, looking around carefully.

    "Okay." I turned to Scapegoat. Despite the goat's-head mask, I could tell that he was still struggling to come to terms with our abrupt shift in location. "You're about to get a power boost. When I call on you, you will have a mental compulsion overlaying your own thoughts. So will Ashley. I'll be needing you to transfer both compulsions back to the person who gave them to you, as well as Ashley's underlying bipolar disorder."

    "Bipolar?" His eyes widened behind his mask. "That's not a good mix with me. I get everything—"

    "You won't," I interrupted. "Chill. I have it all under control. Medication and therapy have been helping her control her issues so far, but they've been fighting back and the mental compulsion is not something I want her dealing with for long. So put it all back in the other guy, yours included. Got it?"

    My power had assisted in hitting just the right tone, and he nodded. "Okay, got it. So, this boost will make it so I don't have to take stuff on myself?"

    I nodded. "That's the idea. With any kind of luck, I can make it stick. No guarantees, though."

    "Better than nothing, I guess." He nodded toward Ashley as she prowled back along the pathway in our direction, and lowered his tone. "So, uh … what's her story?"

    Conversely, I raised my voice. "Ashley's doing good work with the Brockton Bay Betterment Committee. Beyond that, her story is hers to tell. Isn't that right, Ashley?"

    "Damn right," she agreed, then gave Scapegoat the stink-eye. "Don't go prying into things you can't handle, kid."

    "Be nice," I said mildly. "We're all on the same side here. Unlike the last guy we need for our little get-together. He's a total bastard, and he only has one side: his."

    "Not unlike you and me?" Ashley seemed to be gaining a little bit of gumption, if she felt safe in making jokes like that.

    "Totally unlike you and me." I didn't make my voice harsh, just matter-of-fact. "He takes away the volition of people and honestly thinks they should be happier that way, under his thumb."

    "Got it." Ashley nodded. "Fuck him, then." Her hands curled into claws, and dark energy crackled between her fingers.

    "Precisely." I paused for a beat. "However, we are not going to kill him. I've got something much worse in mind."

    Ashley smirked, allowing the energy to dissipate. "Okay, yeah, this I want to see."

    "And you will." I put my hands forward, palms facing each other, then moved them apart to open a space in front of me. "In three … two … one."

    As I said the last word, I reached forward into the portal that had just appeared. Instead of going through the portal myself, I grabbed Teacher's collar (for the portal had appeared just behind him) and pulled just hard enough to make him stumble backward toward me. Once his feet were clear, I kicked him in the back of the knee and forced him to topple backward, so his flailing arms weren't intersecting with the portal when it closed again. At the same time, I managed his fall to the concrete so he didn't hit his head.

    "Hi, Teacher." I said pleasantly. "Got a thing I want you to do."

    <><>​

    Teacher

    Benjamin Terrell prided himself as a man who was always on top of the situation. Whenever his fortunes changed, he could plan a way out of it, more quickly and more thoroughly than whoever had him could work out how to use him to their advantage. It had saved his life more than once.

    He had paused just inside his cell, his back to the wall (the oldest precautions were often the best) to work out an elegant way of persuading his fellow block leaders to allow him a few more minions. The best strategy, he felt, would be to suggest a direct exchange as an equitable bargain, but only with those block leaders who were unaware that his influence over his 'students' persisted indefinitely. For the ones who did know, he would have to offer favours so they didn't 'accidentally' let slip his oversight in not mentioning it to the others.

    And then a hand seized him by the collar and pulled him backward, straight through the wall. He briefly saw a shadowy doorway in front of him before he was struck behind the knee and dropped medium-roughly onto concrete pavers. His glasses had come askew, so he took a moment to reposition them and take in the three figures who were looking down at him.

    The boy in the sheep mask, he didn't know off the top of his head, though he suspected he would figure it out. On the other hand, the white-haired young woman in the blue coveralls was definitely someone he'd heard of.

    Damsel of Distress was precisely the type of parahuman he sought out to give his gifts to; he'd had her details stored away just in case they ever crossed paths. From the way she looked coldly down at him, though, he suspected that she'd already been fed a biased view of his past exploits. The surety in her stance and the fact that she appeared to be close to a healthy weight told him that her power problems had already been partially or wholly addressed, so he would need to find a different avenue of approach.

    And of course, Atropos was Atropos. Some in the Birdcage were unsure as to whether anyone could have killed so many villains and menaces in such a short time, but there it was. The Slaughterhouse Nine, gone. Butcher and the Teeth, wiped out. Bastard Son, stabbed to death with a bastard sword. And the Simurgh, blown away with a sawn-off shotgun. What she could do under my guidance …

    "Uh, uh." He'd only seen the barest flicker of movement, but then he was staring cross-eyed at the muzzle of a twelve-gauge shotgun, the cold metal pressing into his forehead. "This is your first warning. Don't even think about using your power on me."

    Behind her, Damsel of Distress did a discreet fist-pump. "Yesss!" she muttered with an evil grin. "Sucks to get a face full of shotgun, doesn't it?"

    "I promise." Benjamin looked up at Atropos. "May I ask what you've brought me here for? And where is 'here'?" At that moment, four metallic notes pealed outward; the quarter-hour chimes of Big Ben. He would've recognised them anywhere. His eyes opened wide. "London? We're in London?"

    "We are." She put the shotgun away again. "Get up. You're here to make Scapegoat's powers less problematic to use, and to extend Ashley's range as far as it'll go. After that, you can go where you want."

    "What?" He grunted painfully as he climbed to his feet; at his age and weight, that was no longer as easy as it had been in his twenties. "Just like that?"

    As he'd thought, he was indeed in London, on a river-walk next to the Thames. Just nearby was Westminster Bridge, and opposite them were the Houses of Parliament, complete with the Clock Tower housing the great bell. Once upon a time, this had been his home territory; if he played his cards right, it might yet become that again.

    "Wait," protested Scapegoat, making a T-gesture with his hands. "Time out. We're letting a Birdcage inmate go free?" He glanced at Damsel of Distress for support, but she merely surveyed Benjamin with a slight smile, one he couldn't read.

    "I've already told you the stakes." Atropos was even harder to decipher. She had all the tells of an iceberg drifting into the path of an unsuspecting ocean liner, and none of the warmth. "None of us here are going to force him back into the Birdcage if he doesn't want to go. If he goes back, it'll be of his own free will."

    Benjamin thought he had her measure, however. "As I understand matters, you are also able to kill powers. Will mine be likewise removed before you set me free?"

    "Nope." She snorted lightly. "I'd expect that of you, but I don't do the monkey's paw thing. Wherever you go, you get to keep your powers. However." She produced the shotgun again, with the same heart-stopping suddenness. "If you try to fuck us around in any way, my good friend Mr Pump Action Shotgun here will be forced to explain how Kneecaps Are A Privilege. Any questions as to how that works?"

    "None whatsoever, dear lady. You make your case with admirable clarity." Free or otherwise, Benjamin had zero desire to have his kneecaps blown out. Even the best Tinker-tech prosthetics would be less preferable than his original-issue joints. More to the point, he was absolutely certain that the experience would be more painful than anything he'd ever experienced before.

    "Good." She made the shotgun vanish again, and waved Damsel of Distress to stand next to Scapegoat. "Do Scapegoat first, then Ashley."

    "As you wish." Benjamin reached out and touched the goat-masked (not sheep-masked) boy on the shoulder, and exerted his power.

    <><>​

    Meanwhile, in the Shard Bar…

    Robed and cowled, the skeleton with the ornate scythe leans against the counter with an untouched drink at its bony elbow. Eye-sockets empty of all but a lightyears-distant blue glow, it watches as the Royal Tutor shard rearranges the Transfer shard's priorities. By the time the procedure is almost complete, the Transfer shard stands taller, energies flowing through it more readily.

    "Just one more thing," says the Royal Tutor shard, winding up an antique alarm clock. "I have to attach this timer, so that …"

    Ending speaks for the first time. NO TIMER.

    "What?" The Royal Tutor shakes its approximation of a head. "But there needs to be a timer. Otherwise, the power boost will never run out."

    YOU DON'T GIVE THEM ALL TIMERS. I'VE WATCHED YOU.

    "Well, no, but sometimes it's better not to—"

    A bony hand grabs it by the back of the neck, and its face-equivalent meets the counter-top with considerable force. In the process, the alarm clock is shattered. NO. TIMER.

    Groggily, the Royal Tutor stands up again, the analogy of blood running down its face. "Understood. No timer."

    GOOD. NOW THE OTHER ONE.

    The Royal Tutor hesitates. "No timer for that one either?"

    The perpetual smile on the face of the skull widens slightly. I'M SO GLAD WE UNDERSTAND EACH OTHER.

    The Royal Tutor sighs and turns to the Demesnes-Keeper shard; a person whose body seems to be constantly destroying then reforming itself, forever changing from instant to instant. "You might feel a little discomfort …"

    <><>​

    Scapegoat

    William blinked, then looked at his hands. He felt different, more in control of his power. It had only been a few seconds, but Teacher's power had done its job.

    Beside him, Teacher was just lifting his hand away from Ashley's shoulder. Behind Teacher, Atropos gave him the nod. He grabbed Ashley by the arm and Teacher by the shoulder, then exerted his power. Lifting and separating the mental overlay Teacher had inflicted on him was child's play now, and he returned it to sender. He also threw in a few other lingering mental issues and a hangnail that had been bothering him, because why not.

    Ashley was just turning her head to snarl at him for grabbing her when he took her issues and just dumped them into Teacher's psyche as well. Atropos hadn't been kidding; she'd had mental problems for days. A lot of it had been tamped down under carefully learned habits, but the newly gained obsession regarding Teacher had been ripping up the carpet with gleeful abandon.

    That was the other thing Atropos hadn't been exaggerating about. Normally, to transfer something like that, he would've had to take it onto himself then pass it onward. But now it was a simple one-and-done. He could even tell (somehow) that the normal case of waiting around for hours to make sure the transfer would stick was no longer necessary.

    Holy shit. This is amazing.

    Teacher didn't seem to agree with him. With a hoarse cry of what seemed to be a mixture of anger and fear, he lunged away from both William and Ashley, and dashed past Atropos in a bid for freedom. Atropos didn't seem to care; in fact, she stepped aside as he bolted past.

    "He's getting away!" William felt frustration rising in his chest. Despite what Atropos had said, despite the fact that his powers had been improved, he still deeply believed that nobody like Teacher should ever be allowed loose on the population.

    "So you'd think." Atropos didn't move. Teacher ran on, toward Westminster Bridge and the steps that would allow him to escape their grasp and lose himself in the maze that was the London underworld.

    "He isn't, is he?" Ashley sounded amused now.

    Atropos snapped her fingers. "Four."

    Bypassing the steps, Teacher ran on.

    "Three."

    Ahead of him was an archway that led under the steps.

    "Two."

    Beginning to flag now, he neared the archway. He glanced back once, then ran on.

    "One."

    He barely slowed as he rounded the corner and vanished under the archway. William heard a despairing wail, which was cut off halfway through.

    "What happened?" asked Ashley, peering in that direction. "I can't hear him anymore. Did he stop?"

    "In a manner of speaking." Though Atropos' face was hidden, William could hear the smirk in her voice.

    <><>​

    Teacher

    I can do this. I can get away. I can be greater than ever before. They'll never catch me again!

    Benjamin wasn't an athletic person, and he panted as he ran, but he forced himself onward all the same. Atropos had pledged to allow him to go free, but Scapegoat might decide he was duty-bound to capture Benjamin all the same, and turn him back over to the authorities. It was a mistake, he decided, to have given Scapegoat the ability to remove Benjamin's own control over him, but Atropos hadn't given him much of a choice.

    Ahead was a set of stairs leading up onto Westminster Bridge, but that wasn't where he was going. There was an archway under the stairs that led to an undercover parking lot where he could steal a car. All he had to do was get a few minutes' lead and they'd never find him.

    Well, the last laugh will be on her. I'll build plans atop plans, and they will all centre around her, closing in until she has nowhere to turn, nobody to turn to, and then she will be captured. With her under my sway, my enemies will fall before me. I will rebuild the world as a monument to my greatness—

    He reached the archway and swung around it, into the comforting gloom within. Too late, he recognised that the shadows ahead were not natural. Even as he tried to stop with a shouted "Noooo!", it was too late. He plunged through, hit a concrete wall, and slumped to the ground. The portal, behind him, winked out of existence.

    Sitting up, he looked around to see the familiar surroundings of his cell. He was back in the Birdcage, right where he'd started. And now he had a hangnail, on top of everything else.

    She wasn't chasing me. If I'd just walked away, I could've avoided this.

    Clenching his eyes and fists closed, he let out a bellow of pure frustration.

    "FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!"

    <><>​

    Atropos

    We stood looking at the dry concrete under the archway. Teacher had left exactly one footprint, wet from the drizzling rain, but no more than that. He'd entered the archway, and he hadn't exited.

    "So, you sent him back to the Birdcage?" Scapegoat seemed anxious to verify this.

    "No." I shook my head. "He sent himself back. I just supplied the portal. You saw me. I didn't shove him or force him. He stepped through of his own accord."

    "Even though he didn't know it was there." Ashley seemed somewhat amused at this. She was smiling more readily, anyway.

    I shrugged. "He should've been looking where he was going. So, who wants tourist photos before we go home?"

    Scapegoat pulled his phone out. "Me!"



    End of Part Eighty-Two
     
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    • Part Eighty-Three: Lesson Learned
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    • A Darker Path

    Part Eighty-Three: Lesson Learned

    [A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]



    San Diego Wards Base

    Gully

    The portal reopened fourteen minutes and fifty-five seconds after Scapegoat had vanished into it. Gully knew this, because she'd been watching the clock. By mutual unspoken agreement, she and Spire were avoiding the corner where it had been, while speculating about where Atropos and Ashley Stillons had taken him to.

    Spire had looked up the name on the PRT database, and to their mutual surprise had gotten a hit; the file photos of Damsel of Distress showed someone who was skinnier and somewhat more unkempt, but the white hair was unmistakeable. Skimming Atropos' PHO entries had brought up Damsel's attempted entry to Brockton Bay and rebuff by Atropos, which only raised more questions. After that, they'd tried to play a little pool, but their inability to concentrate made it a ridiculous parody of the game; half the time, Gully missed the cue ball altogether. Nobody came even close to sinking a ball.

    When the portal opened, Gully and Spire abandoned the game and paid full attention to the shadowy doorway. First through was Atropos, followed closely by Damsel of Distress. Scapegoat came last, stumbling as though he wasn't quite sure where he was.

    "Hi there!" announced Atropos brightly. "One Scapegoat, in perfect working order, returned as promised. Ashley and I are going to hang around for a few minutes until you're sure he's okay, then we'll be moving along." She glanced at Ashley then gestured toward the table. "How about a game while we're waiting?"

    "Sure." Ashley raised an eyebrow as she looked at the table. "I've never played, though. You're gonna have to show me how it goes."

    "Well, the idea is to use the white ball to sink all the coloured balls," Atropos explained succinctly, then looked at Spire. "Borrow your cue? Thanks." She accepted it as he handed it to her.

    "Triangle's over there." Gully pointed helpfully to where it was hanging on the wall.

    "Appreciate it, but we won't be needing one." Leaning over the table, Atropos briefly lined up on three different balls in quick succession, sending each of them bouncing off their fellows in a staccato series of crisp clicks.

    With what she'd already seen of Atropos' exploits, Gully fully expected every ball to be sunk within seconds, but that wasn't what happened. Instead, like Brownian motion run in reverse, the coloured balls coalesced into a triangular formation at one end of the table, bunching around the eight-ball. At the far end, the cue-ball rolled sedately to a halt precisely on the spot at the centre of the break line.

    Gully stared; the balls couldn't have been better placed with the use of the triangle and a micrometer. She'd thought she was aware of Atropos' level of pure bullshit, but this just set the bar even higher. From the way Spire's jaw dropped, he was of much the same mind.

    "Okay, that was impressive, but what now?" asked Ashley.

    "Now I show you how to play. Gully, loan her your cue? Thanks." Atropos strolled around to the end of the table where the cue-ball awaited. "Now, unlike what I just did, you're only supposed to hit the cue-ball with your cue …"

    Spire dragged his attention away from the table and approached Scapegoat. "Are you okay?" he asked.

    "Yeah." Scapegoat nodded, a little jerkily. "Better than okay. I'm fantastic. I'm amazing."

    Gully frowned. This was more upbeat than she'd seen him … basically, ever. "Where did you go? What did you do?"

    For an answer, Scapegoat held out his phone. On the screen was a photo of … "Wait a minute," Spire said. "You went to England? To London?"

    Gully leaned in to look at the image. Despite the misty rain that gave the lights little rainbow haloes, it was impossible to mistake the photo, and the ones that followed, for anything but what they were. "Damn. What did you even do there?"

    Scapegoat drew a deep breath. "Did you know it's possible to pull someone out of the Birdcage? Because I saw Atropos pull someone out of the Birdcage."

    "You are going to have to give us more detail than that," Spire insisted. "Who got pulled out? How did she do it? What happened?"

    Bit by bit, the story unfolded, as Atropos coached Damsel of Distress in how to play pool behind them. By the end of it, Gully was considerably more informed regarding the events that had taken place over the last fifteen minutes, but was still very much in the dark concerning the how and the why of it all. A tiny yip of triumph heralded Damsel's first success in sinking a ball, but neither Gully nor Spire bothered to look around.

    "So, did she say anything else about why she's doing all this?" asked Spire, once Scapegoat had run dry. "Why she needed your power and Damsel's power to be improved?"

    Scapegoat hesitated. "I think she wanted Ms Stillons to be on top of her game, mentally and power-wise. I'm just a fortunate side-effect in the grand scheme of things, and Teacher's a casualty. All that crap out of Ms Stillons' head and mine had to go somewhere, and who better than the guy who's screwed with so many other people's lives?" He shrugged. "I know it's not exactly heroic, but who says no to Atropos?"

    "And Teacher fixed it so you don't have to take things on yourself anymore?" Gully found this to be particularly interesting. Scapegoat's power seemed to be designed to mess with the kid, but the worst aspects of it had just been … taken away. "You just … pass it along?"

    "Easy as handing someone a pencil," Scapegoat confirmed. "Doesn't even touch me. It's like this is the way my power was supposed to be, but it got screwed up on delivery, y'know?"

    Gully rolled her eyes. "Trust me, I hear you on that."

    <><>

    ■​

    PRIVATE MESSAGE

    To: Atropos

    From: Dragon

    Subject: Teacher is now psychotic

    What the hell did you do to him? Up until now, I've had to expend twice as many resources than I have to on anyone else just to keep an eye on what he was up to, but now he's done a total one-eighty. Literal supervillain rants that expose all his plans, and he's already been beaten up twice in the last hour for trying to force his 'teachings' on capes who weren't interested. His life expectancy is dropping by the minute.

    ■​

    PRIVATE MESSAGE

    To: Dragon

    From: Atropos

    Subject: Re: Teacher is now psychotic

    We are talking about the same Teacher, yeah? The one who's a total waste of oxygen and food by any reasonable metric?

    I'm just wondering why you're so concerned with his welfare.

    ■​

    PRIVATE MESSAGE

    To: Atropos

    From: Dragon

    Subject: Re: Re: Teacher is now psychotic

    You said you wouldn't hurt him if he cooperated.

    ■​

    PRIVATE MESSAGE

    To: Dragon

    From: Atropos

    Subject: Re: Re: Re: Teacher is now psychotic

    I said I wouldn't kill him, and I didn't. He didn't pull anything stupid, so I didn't need to teach him about kneecap privileges. As for the rest of it, I made no other promises.

    He's already got one warning and if he ever sets foot outside the Birdcage, I'll be dropping a second one on him, just on general principles. Long story short, my care factor about his physical *or* mental well-being is going further into the negatives by the second.

    ■​

    PRIVATE MESSAGE

    To: Atropos

    From: Dragon

    Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Teacher is now psychotic

    Okay, so he was always going to be screwed up mentally by this. Got it.
    *sigh*
    Just out of morbid curiosity, could you please tell me what you did to him?
    Please tell me you didn't just straight-up End his sanity?
    … can you actually do that?

    ■​

    PRIVATE MESSAGE

    To: Dragon

    From: Atropos

    Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Teacher is now psychotic

    … kinda. I got him to give them a power upgrade. As part of it, he hit them with a mental effect, essentially making them addicted to his power (you know, like Saint was). So, I told Scapegoat to give it straight back, along with all their various issues (Ashley had more than a few). Short-term result: Scapegoat and Ashley now have improved powersets, and are as mentally healthy as it's possible to be, while Teacher's still an asshole villain, only more so (besides, he started it). Long-term result: one step closer to saving the world.

    ■​

    PRIVATE MESSAGE

    To: Atropos

    From: Dragon

    Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Teacher is now psychotic

    Okay, thank you for the clarification. I still can't help feeling that there's something supremely unethical about all this.

    ■​

    PRIVATE MESSAGE

    To: Dragon

    From: Atropos

    Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Teacher is now psychotic

    Pretty sure I left ethics behind when I took up shooting supervillains in the face. These days, I'm extremely results-oriented. And I'm totally fine with these results.

    ■​

    PRIVATE MESSAGE

    To: Atropos

    From: Dragon

    Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Teacher is now psychotic

    There's absolutely nothing in that statement that I can point to as being incorrect.
    PS: *wow*. You couldn't have fucked him up harder if you tried. He just got beaten up again.
    Even knowing what he's done, and despising everything that he stands for, I still can't help feeling just a little sorry for him.
    Actually, one question. When he uses his power on someone, is the mental influence an automatic thing, or can he choose not to apply it?

    ■​

    PRIVATE MESSAGE

    To: Dragon

    From: Atropos

    Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Teacher is now psychotic

    He can choose the level. He always chooses 'totally indebted to me'.

    He's screwed with many heads and ruined many lives.

    I wouldn't have done this to him just for karma, but I've got no problem with inflicting it as a side effect.

    Plus, he was plotting against me, so fuck him.

    Toodles!

    ■

    <><>​

    Damsel

    Ashley stepped out of the portal into the familiar surroundings of her apartment. Oddly enough, it still felt different to when she'd left, even though everything was still where it had been less than half an hour ago. The difference, she realised without much in the way of difficulty, was all in her own head.

    "What did Scapegoat do?" she asked, walking over to the window and looking out. The city looked fresh and clean and hopeful, full of promise and optimism. For the first time, she felt as though she belonged, rather than needing to make an effort just to fit in. "I feel like I've been walking on air since we got back from England. That game of pool helped me get used to it, but right now I feel really weird and I don't know why."

    Atropos moved up to stand beside her. She wasn't being threatening or pushy or aggressive, she was just … there. And Ashley found that she was fine with that. There was no longer a sense of impending doom if she put even one foot wrong. "Weird good or weird bad?"

    "Um." Ashley had to stop and think about that. Her entire life was weird these days, so categorising new experiences wasn't as easy as it had once been. Once upon a time, it had been mainly divided between 'sucky' and 'less sucky' but now she had a whole new category called 'holy shit is this my life now' which was getting bigger all the time. "Good, I think? I feel like I should be going over it with a fine-tooth comb to find the catch, but at the same time I'm pretty sure there is no catch. I mean, there's a lot of stuff that I used to dwell on a ton, that's just … not there anymore. Or it's there, but it's not as important to me as it used to be. Does that even make sense?"

    "It does." Atropos turned to look at her. "Cards on the table. All that stuff you've been going to therapy over, and getting medication for, it's been starting to show through again. Like with the stunt you pulled with Genesis. Arrogance, aggression, the driving need to prove you're better than everyone else no matter what, that sort of thing. Basically, the monkey in your head that kept bashing the rage button every time things didn't go the way you wanted, back before we got to know each other. With me so far?"

    Ashley did her best to raise an eyebrow. "I wouldn't go as far as calling it a 'monkey bashing a rage button', but …" She paused, recalling a couple of incidents where things had gotten way out of hand. "Okay, yeah, maybe I would. Of course, once you got my hands fixed, things were less likely to go wrong, and I knew you'd come down on me if I acted out anyway, so that kept me under control. But now, I feel like even that's not necessary. There's no part of me that I've got to keep an eye on. What did you do?" An epiphany burst on her. "Holy shit! It's part of what Scapegoat did, isn't it?"

    "It is." Atropos nodded once. "Basically, he found the potential version of you somewhere in the hypothetical multiverse who had no mental problems, made a template of that, and swapped it out for everything that was going on with you."

    "Everything? Like, everything that ever made me hurt anyone?" Ashley found her armchair and dropped into it, mainly because her legs didn't feel like holding her up any longer. "All that's just … gone? What did he do with it? Is the poor bitch that he got the good template from now as fucked up as I was?"

    "Well, no. She doesn't actually exist. Like I said, she's a potential version. It's a powers thing. No, he passed it all on to Teacher." Atropos actually sounded amused at that.

    "Who's now back in the Birdcage and is as fucked in the head as I used to be." Ashley shook her head in disbelief. "Wow, I know he's a colossal dick and all, but that's seriously harsh."

    "Well, it had to go somewhere," Atropos pointed out reasonably. "The whole point of this exercise was to get it out of your head. Scapegoat can't just discard it. It would be supremely unfair to load him down with every single dysfunction he takes away from people. You absolutely don't want me to have it."

    Ashley startled herself with a laugh. "No, fuck that idea with a rusty shovel. Bad idea all around." Then she nodded thoughtfully. "Okay, yeah. Teacher was the only other option, and he has kind of earned it. But are you going to keep an eye on him?"

    Confirming her suspicion that Atropos already knew the answer to the question, the black-clad killer chuckled. "Dragon's been blowing up my phone about that. Apparently, he's gone full ham megalomaniac. He's literally doing supervillain monologues about his plans, and he's already been beaten up three times. Couldn't happen to a nicer asshole."

    "So, he's going to die in there." Ashley could easily recall how she'd been pushed by her issues to either do something villainous or rant about how she was going to do something. "You knew that when you started this whole thing. You basically sentenced him to death."

    "No." Atropos' tone was less playful now. "He earned his death sentence a long time ago. Up until now he's been skating on the consequences of his actions, because his capabilities are useful in the Birdcage. I just made him more annoying than he is useful. But in all honesty, I don't care about what happens to him, just that he never gets in my way. I needed certain things to get done, and they got done. Over and above that? Zero fucks given."

    "So, what am I?" Ashley wasn't quite sure where this was coming from. She was damn sure she normally wouldn't have challenged Atropos like this, no matter what reason she had for doing it. "Your wind-up toy? Your chess piece? You needed me to be sane and powerful, to do what you need me to do?"

    "No, Ending just needs you powerful." Atropos must have caught the flicker of confusion on Ashley's face. "That's what my power's called. I talk to him occasionally, and we hash out how we're going to do stuff. He's literally all about Ending anything and everything. Now, I don't really care about the sanctity of human life as an abstract concept, but there are some people I do care about, and I will End anyone who makes a move to hurt them. Outside of those people, yeah, there are some who are potentially useful to us. I figure it's easier to arrange a better quality of life for you guys so that when the time comes to call on you, you're more likely to say yes without needing any coercion. It took a while to explain the concept of 'willing cooperation' to Ending, just saying."

    Ashley stared at her. This was the most Atropos had explained to her about what was going on behind the scenes … ever. It also explained so very much. "'Ending'? That's what your power's called? What about mine? Does it have a name?"

    "Yeah. 'Demesnes-Keeper'." Atropos shrugged. "Don't look at me, I didn't name 'em. Those aren't really the names anyway. They're basically a whole encyclopaedia's worth of nuance and meaning, condensed down to a single word or phrase. Anyway, you're getting more out of this than a cool job, a nice place to live, and a chill outlook on life. When was the last time you were actually concerned about someone else's well-being, like you were with Teacher?"

    "… huh." Ashley blinked. "I didn't even realise. When did that happen?"

    "When Scapegoat took all that crap out of your head." Atropos tapped the side of her own head. "He gave you free rein to experience empathy again. Which you're gonna need tomorrow."

    "Tomorrow?" Ashley frowned. "Why am I going to need it tomorrow?"

    <><>​

    The Next Day

    Danny

    All was quiet on the worksite; the assembled ranks of the people working for the Betterment Committee were silently watching two people. Rumours had spread thick and fast about the confrontation between Ash and Gary the day before, from the believable (Gary had fired Ash) to the also-believable (Ash had threatened his life).

    Danny hoped that this public spectacle would quell all the rumours. There were times to keep such things behind closed doors, and times to blow the doors clean off. Taylor had told him that this was one of the latter.

    Standing beside the work vehicle, in which Danny had fetched her from her apartment building, Ms Stillons glanced at Danny. He gave her a brief nod of encouragement. Turning, she approached Gary where he stood before the assembled workers.

    He watched her approach; Danny could see the stiffness in his back and the muscle pulsing in his jaw. Oddly enough, this was missing in Ms Stillons. Yesterday, she'd been dead set against accepting any level of culpability for what had nearly happened. Today … was yet to be seen.

    She stopped a couple of yards from Gary, then paused for a moment before opening her mouth. Danny couldn't blame her for thinking her words over; what she said next would go a long way toward deciding the eventual outcome.

    Finally, she spoke. "I'm sorry."

    Danny blinked; either she'd picked up some serious acting chops overnight, or she was being totally sincere. He wasn't quite sure which of the two explanations was more believable.

    While she was a reasonably intelligent young woman, it took more than brains to put heart and soul into a role like that. Moreover, the Ashley Stillons he'd seen on the job site even yesterday would've chosen to carve her own spleen out with a rusty spork before deliberately admitting fault in such an unreserved fashion.

    Taylor had said the problem would be fixed by Friday morning, but she hadn't said how. Now it was actually happening, and he still couldn't see how the trick was being pulled off.

    Ms Stillons stood tall and straight as she offered the apology. Not a hint of sarcasm or deception came across in her words. "You were right to be angry, yesterday. I thought I knew what I was doing, but I ignored every safety precaution in the book. People could've been hurt, or worse. I understand that, and I won't do it again."

    Gary didn't reject her words, but he did frown as he looked at her. "Okay, I hear what you're saying and I'm taking it into account, but how do we know it won't happen again if you get another wild hair up your butt about how slow we're doing things?"

    "That's fair," she allowed. "I'd be worried about me, too. But what you didn't know is that Atropos came to my place last night and we had a long talk about being responsible on the worksite, along with other subjects."

    A visible stir went through the assembled workers at that; the accompanying murmur might well have been something like oh, shit.

    Everyone there knew of Atropos, by definition. She was literally the reason the Committee even existed, and why there was so much money going into everything. The word 'respect' entirely failed to encompass the amount of regard in which the workers—unpowered, capes, and Eagletons alike—held her, by several levels of magnitude.

    But nobody wanted her to knock on their door for a chat about how they'd been irresponsible on the worksite. That was very much on no bucket list ever. The fact that Ms Stillons had experienced such a visit (he doubted anyone even considered that she might be lying about it, because ha ha ha fuck that) and was showing up for work anyway bespoke a level of intestinal fortitude accorded to few.

    "Well … uh … okay." It was Gary's turn to blink as he absorbed the new information. "You're going to need to re-sit the tests on safety regulations, but once you pass that, you'll be back on the worksite." He drew a deep breath. "Also, I'm sorry I yelled at you and called you a moron. That was unprofessional of me." He held out his hand. "All good?"

    "All good." Ms Stillons shook his hand. "Thanks for giving me another chance."

    "It wasn't really my call," Gary admitted, glancing at Danny. "But after talking to you, I understand his decision."

    "Good to hear." Danny clapped his hands once and raised his voice. "Okay, you layabouts. Show's over. Time to get back to earning your exorbitant salaries. Gary, I'll expect your written report on the entire incident, including the resolution, on my desk by day's end."

    As the workers began to disperse, he opened the door of his work vehicle. He still had no idea how Taylor had pulled it off. And whether he'd understand the explanation, if she gave him one.

    But if it fixed the problem, he decided, he could live without the explanation.



    End of Part Eighty-Three
     
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    • Part Eighty-Four: Double Date
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    • A Darker Path

    Part Eighty-Four: Double Date

    [A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]


    On the Boardwalk, Friday Evening

    Glory Girl

    Vicky suspected she was enjoying the situation far more than she really should be, but she didn't care. Wearing jeans and a stylish blouse (because it was totally possible to be a knockout even when dressing casual), she leaned her butt up against the railing, while watching Amy work herself into a nervous wreck for no good reason. This was, she decided, the perfect revenge for all the snark Amy had aimed at her over the years for her own romantic mishaps.

    "Where is she?" Amy fretted, trying not to pace back and forth, and failing. "She's decided not to come, hasn't she? She's called it all off."

    "Ames." Vicky spoke in her best 'you're being a doofus' voice, the one she usually aimed at Eric when he was being his brattiest. "What's the time? Check your phone."

    Amy fumbled the phone out of her pocket and looked at it. "It says ten minutes to seven. Why?"

    "What time did she say she'd meet you here?"

    "Um … seven?"

    "So, she's still got ten minutes to get here." Now Vicky was emulating the professor in the Parahuman Powers class she attended at the College: calm, dry, no-nonsense. "To be honest, I'm still not sure why you had me bring you here so early."

    "So we wouldn't be late, duh!" Amy spread her hands. "Anything could've happened!"

    "Why, yes." Vicky knew she was being sarcastic, but she rarely got to do that these days, especially with all the villains either dead, reformed and helping rebuild the city, or long since decamped. (Or, in one very special case, funding the rebuilding effort, but nobody called Atropos a villain anymore. Not out loud, anyway.) "The four other fliers in this city could have had a massive mid-air pileup, thus preventing us from getting here on time." She wasn't counting Kid Win in that number, because anyone who built tech to fly was cheating.

    "Yeah, but …" Amy clearly wanted to keep arguing, but she was distracted by an approaching teenage girl. Tall, fit, and Asian, the newcomer was looking from Vicky to Amy and back again with a hopeful expression on her face.

    "Hi," Vicky said, straightening up. "Can we help you?"

    "Oh, uh, yes." The girl glanced at Amy again, then focused on Vicky. "You're Glory Girl and Panacea, right? Vicky and Amy Dallon?"

    Vicky nodded. "Sure, that's us. But we don't do autographs when we're out of costume." She gestured at her own jeans and blouse, and Amy's dress. "Sorry, but if you check our website we generally put upcoming public appearances on there."

    "Oh! Oh, no, no, I'm not here for that." She looked at Amy. "I'm here for the date. Emily said we were meeting up here at seven?"

    "What?" Vicky did a double blink of surprise. "You're Parian?" Only at the last minute did she remember to lower her voice so she didn't out the girl in front of everyone. There were no golden curls to be seen, but the ceramic mask could've easily had an attached wig. "Damn, you're good. I never would've made you."

    "No, she's not Parian." Amy spoke just a little ahead of the girl, then stopped herself and made a hand gesture for her to go ahead. "Sorry, after you."

    "She's right, I'm not." The girl chuckled a little nervously, then lowered her voice and glanced around. "I'm Flechette, but you can call me Lily."

    "Huh, I thought you looked familiar," Amy said, a grin breaking out across her face. "The Damsel caper last week, remember?"

    "God, how could I forget?" Lily rolled her eyes expressively. "That was … I mean, I've done stuff for Atropos before, but that was intense. I was seriously impressed by how well you and Miss Medic were holding up."

    "Ah, yeah, that's not as surprising as it might be." Amy shrugged modestly. "We've both worked with her before as well. I've, uh, helped rehabilitate a few capes with wonky powers, and Miss Medic did some other stuff for her. I actually met Mrs Yamada through Atropos, too. She's really nice."

    "Yeah, I got that impression." Lily nodded thoughtfully, before noticing Vicky's expression. "What?"

    "The hell is this?" Vicky was more amused than upset, but she put on a good show anyway. "I'm supposed to be the wild and crazy part of this team. How the heck do you get to go on adventures with her?"

    Amy smirked. "You're just salty because she baited you into attacking her, then clowned on you until I agreed to owe her a favour. She needed access to our powers more than she needed yours. Simple as that."

    Lily's eyes lit with combined curiosity and amusement. "I've never heard this bit before. Deets, I need them."

    "No, no, you don't." Vicky shook her head adamantly. "I did something really stupid, that could've gotten me killed. If I never hear about it again, I'll be happy." Casting about for a way to change the subject, she brightened. "Hey, did I ever tell you about how I met Damsel? She'd just joined the Betterment Committee, and we saved a guy's life together."

    "Only about a dozen times," Amy reminded her dryly. "And the bit of concrete she blew away gets bigger every time you tell the story."

    "Well, I haven't heard this one either." Lily's interest was obvious. "What bit of concrete?"

    Vicky cleared her throat, loftily choosing to ignore Amy's snark. "So, I was at school—Arcadia, if you know it—and I got a phone call from Atropos." She paused, looking past Lily as two more girls approached them, looking at her and Amy curiously. "Sorry, can we help you?"

    "Ah, yes," said the petite Middle Eastern woman, who was maybe nineteen or twenty. Her companion was taller but looked to be around Vicky's age, and had curly brown hair and even more freckles than Amy got when she'd been out in the sun. "Panacea … Amy … right?"

    Amy's eyes opened wide. "Sabah? That's you? Wow! You look amazing! I never would've guessed!"

    The young woman smiled shyly. "Yes, it's me. You look nice, too."

    Vicky's brain struggled to catch up, as though it were a car on the freeway that had been suddenly knocked into neutral. "Wait … you're, uh, Sabah?" Just in time, she managed to avoid blurting out Parian's cape name. "Wow, that costume really hides a lot, doesn't it?" Amy gave her a Look, and she belatedly realised how insensitive she'd just sounded. "Uh, I don't mean that in a bad way. Your, uh, wig really threw me off, is all."

    Sabah loftily ignored the fact that both her companion and Lily were trying to avoid laughing out loud. "Don't feel bad. That's exactly what it's designed to do. I want people to think that of me, at least in costume, until I'm truly successful as a rogue. Once that happens, I intend to unmask and challenge everyone's preconceptions."

    "That, ah, might have been a tricky proposition if the Empire Eighty-Eight had still been in town, just saying," the Asian girl observed. "Hi, I'm Lily. I was at the fundraiser, chasing Atropos around the stage with Mouse Protector." She looked past Sabah as the latter moved toward Amy. "So, you're Emily? I like your freckles."

    "Thanks." Emily came over to stand in front of Lily. "Well, you know I was in the dragon costume, so I didn't see much of the show first-hand. It's comfortable, but it doesn't give me a huge amount of peripheral vision." She looked at Lily, and tilted her head slightly. "Somehow, I thought you'd be taller. Do you wear lifts in costume?"

    "Heh. No. My boots have thick soles, but mainly it's the posture lessons from Image. Nobody likes them, but they have a way of sticking in the mind. Head up, back straight, be assertive without being aggressive." Lily rolled her eyes again. "They should maybe tone it down a bit if they want to get away from the 'child soldiers' rep that Youth Guard keeps trying to nail the Wards with."

    "Not just the Wards." The conversation had finally gotten around to a point where Vicky felt comfortable with jumping in again. "They've taken a few runs at New Wave ever since us kids got powers and started going out with the adults. Never quite stepping over the line by making up false reports, but the reports they handed in definitely had a bias to them. I remember one time, Crystal and Eric had to stand down from hero stuff until their grades came up to an acceptable level or something. They were pissed."

    "Uh, this might be an unpopular opinion," Sabah ventured, "but isn't getting good grades a worthwhile idea in general? I know it's a strain sometimes to keep mine up, and I'm just a rogue. I can't imagine how it would be as a hero. And sooner or later, those grades are going to matter."

    "She's actually serious," Emily informed the others. "Now that we're all situated properly and starting to make money, she's got me and Bastet and Salvage doing online educational courses. Oracle's already going to school, so she's got her own thing."

    "Oracle, that's the one who looks like she wants to be Atropos when she grows up, right?" asked Lily. "I personally wouldn't want to mess with her when she's older."

    Emily shook her head. "Messing with her is a bad idea all around. We've all got her back, especially since she helped a couple of us get good jobs. And yes, she can see trouble coming."

    "Well, enough talking about people who aren't even here," Amy decided, linking her arm through Sabah's, to the latter's pleased surprise. "How about we talk about ourselves? Let's start with what sort of place we want to go and eat at."

    "And on that note, it's time I bowed out and left you guys to it." Vicky lofted into the air. "Have a good date, Ames. Call me if you need a lift."

    "Will do." Amy waved with her free hand, then returned her attention to Sabah.

    Vicky smiled to herself as she flew away. The temptation was there to hover (figuratively if not literally) and make sure Amy was okay, given that this was her sister's first voluntary date ever. However, she also knew it was the wrong thing to do on several levels.

    Amy was out with no fewer than three other people, all of whom were capes that Vicky knew by reputation if not personally. From what she'd seen, this was their first time meeting without masks to get in the way. But it looked like it had started off well all the same (a lot better than some of Vicky's dates, to be sure) and she'd given her sister all the advice she could think of for the situation. It was now up to Amy to make the most of the evening.

    Well, I'm not going on a date myself any time soon, thanks to Dean being a dick. But it doesn't mean I can't be sociable anyway.

    <><>​

    Ashley

    Nibbling on a hot pocket she'd just heated up in the microwave for a snack, Ashley reclined in her armchair (possibly the first piece of furniture she'd ever owned from new, and of which she was inordinately proud) and clicked the remote to wake up the TV. She'd stolen bigger ones from warehouses, but this one was hers.

    The first channel she happened onto (there were a lot of them, and she was still exploring) had a comedy show playing. She'd never really gotten her head around comedians; it wasn't that she didn't have a sense of humour, but they were just so boring. Life was way too serious to spend time laughing at stupid jokes, anyway.

    But it was Friday night, and she had a little time before she needed to check on the oven (the cookbook she'd picked up was liberally bookmarked, and she was trying out pork cutlets) so she figured she might as well see what this one was like. So, she put the remote down and settled back to watch the show.

    Twenty minutes later, when the oven alarm went off, she staggered out of the chair, weeping with laughter. She had no idea why the guy's routine was so funny when everything else she'd ever tried to watch had fallen flatter than a stomped-on lead pancake, but it was. The only thing she could think of was how Scapegoat had taken all that shit out of her head, and Atropos had told her she was now capable of empathy.

    Holy shit, has all this been going over my head because I just couldn't see the funny side of anything? It was a stunning thought, not least because she was able to recognise the thought as being stunning. Exactly how fucked in the head was I, before?

    There was no good way to answer that question. Fortunately for her peace of mind, she was distracted by the phone ringing as she headed for the kitchen. Scooping it up, she was unsurprised to see Mr Hebert's name on the caller ID.

    Something's up on the worksite, and they need to call me in. Mentally, she sighed regretfully for her pork cutlets, but that could be dealt with. "Hey, Mr Hebert. What's up? I can be ready to go in three minutes."

    "Actually, it's not a job site issue," he said reassuringly. "I just got a call from Glory Girl, asking if you're okay with her knowing your address."

    Ashley blinked a couple of times. "Did she say why?"

    "She didn't give me a definitive answer. Something about dropping by for a social visit. I personally didn't get a problematic vibe out of it. But it's your privacy, so I'm checking with you first."

    "Huh." It was true that they'd worked together a couple of times, but that had been mainly her cutting off chunks of concrete for Glory Girl to ferry away. They hadn't exchanged ten words the whole time they were on the worksite together. Ashley had kept her distance, physically and verbally, but now Glory Girl wanted to reach out in some way? On the other hand, she trusted Mr Hebert's judgement. "I guess, sure."

    "Thank you, I'll pass that on. Have a good night."

    "Night, boss." She ended the call and dropped the phone on the counter beside the stove so she could check on the cutlets. They were simmering nicely but they looked like they needed to go for a little longer, so she set the alarm again. Then she headed back toward her armchair, thinking deeply about the phone call. I wonder what she wants with me?

    A moment later, the intercom pinged, signalling that someone was at the front doors of the building. Grumping about people who had no sense of timing, she headed to the door and pressed the button to answer. "Who is it?"

    The small screen on the intercom lit up, showing Glory Girl's face. "Hi, it's me. Can I come in?"

    Wary instincts kicked in almost immediately. "Why?"

    A plastic shopping bag holding something rectangular and bulky was lifted into view. "Housewarming present?"

    "Um …" That made even less sense. While she was vaguely aware what a housewarming gift was, she'd never gotten one before. "Okay, come on in." She hit the button to unlock the doors.

    The knock on the door came an impressively short time later. Heading back over to the door, she didn't bother setting the chain when she unlocked it. The chain—impressively sturdy as it was—was better suited for people who couldn't zorch a hole clear through potential home invaders with their fingertips.

    Opening the door, she looked Glory Girl up and down. The teen hero was dressed in clothing that was nice but not overly fancy. "Can I help you?" Ashley asked, for want of a better question.

    Glory Girl looked more than a little self-conscious, which paradoxically helped steady Ashley down. "Um, yeah, I was out and about with a few hours to kill, and we've worked together a couple of times for the Committee, so I figured that kind of made us colleagues, you know?"

    "I guess." Ashley relaxed a little more, then focused on the bag she'd seen before. "Did you really bring me a housewarming gift?"

    "Um, yeah." Glory Girl shrugged awkwardly. "I heard you'd just moved into a new place, so I thought I'd get you something, but I wasn't sure what. Mr Hebert knew your address, so I got this from a Seven-Eleven, and brought it over." She handed over the bag; taking it, Ashley saw that it contained a six-pack of glass bottles. "It's cider, non-alcoholic. Do you, um, do you drink cider?"

    "I wouldn't know," Ashley confessed. "I've never tried it." She looked at the contents of the bag, then at Glory Girl. "Did you just … is this really ... I'm sorry, I've never been in this position before. I have no idea how to respond."

    Glory Girl half-shrugged and grinned. "Well, people usually say thank you, but you don't have to if it makes you feel—oof!"

    Since getting her powers, Ashley had never hugged anyone just to hug them. She had a good reason for holding off, because doing so up until very recently would have threatened to destroy whoever or whatever she was hugging. The only two people she'd had any real connection to following her upgrade were Atropos and Mr Hebert; she didn't feel as though Atropos was into spontaneous displays of affection, and hugging Mr Hebert out of the blue would be just plain inappropriate. But right now, Glory Girl had earned Ashley's first post-improvement hug.

    "Wow, okay." Glory Girl's arms snuck around Ashley's waist and gave her a squeeze in return. "That's definitely a thank-you I'll take."

    "Huh, yeah." Ashley let her go and shook her head. "I don't normally do that, like, ever. But you brought me a gift after I basically ignored you at work. It's really nice, and I appreciate it. I just … it's not what I'm used to." She looked up and down the corridor. Nobody was leaning out their doors to watch them, but the impression of being under scrutiny was still there. "Umm … did you want to come in?" Stepping back, she pulled the door open.

    "That'd be great!" Glory Girl smiled broadly as she stepped in through the doorway. "Ooh, this place is nice."

    "Pfft, yeah, right." Ashley didn't want to sound snarky to a guest, but this was something she felt she had to address as she shut the door. "You're Glory Girl. You're part of a famous cape team, and your mom's a lawyer. I bet your bedroom's bigger than this whole apartment."

    "It really isn't. And it'd be nice if you could call me Vicky, when we're out of costume and off duty and stuff." Glory Girl—no, Vicky—gestured around at the apartment. "When I move out of home, this is the sort of place I want to live in. Where it doesn't feel like Mom's going to be leaning over my shoulder at any minute."

    "You're moving out of home?" Ashley frowned. "Why? You're already part of a team. Your house is basically your home base. Why would you ever want to give that up?"

    Vicky pulled out one of the chairs from around the small table, and sat down. "Can I tell you something, just between you and me?"

    "Uh …" Ashley could count the number of times a hero had shared a secret with her. It was somewhere between zero and one, and the first guess didn't count. "Sure, I guess." Opening the bag, she put the six-pack of cider on the table then pulled out another chair and sat down. "Shoot."

    Vicky took a deep breath. "Well, Panacea and I are talking about leaving New Wave altogether." She gestured at the window, and presumably at the city beyond. "You've seen what Brockton Bay is like, these days. There's no call for big teams here anymore. We're down to yelling at jaywalkers. The supervillains who had low enough self-preservation instincts that they actually came here after she cleared the rest out either died or got sent packing." She paused and cleared her throat, looking embarrassed. "Ah, sorry. Didn't mean to bring up painful memories."

    Ashley surprised herself by chuckling and shaking her head. "Not painful, unless you count embarrassment as pain. I honestly can't believe how moronic I was, thinking I could take Atropos on. She could've killed me outright, and I wouldn't have stood a chance. And then she got your sister and some others to fix my hands, so my blasts didn't go off any old time, and invited me right back." She rolled her eyes. "And then, as an encore, she pulled the bullshittiest bullshit I've ever seen, and fixed all the problems that were rolling around inside my head. So basically, when she booted me out of Brockton Bay, that was her putting me on a shelf until she could deal with my problems for me."

    Vicky tilted her head thoughtfully, then grinned. "I bet I can beat you with an embarrassing bullshit Atropos story, with a side dish of me being an absolute moron."

    "Oh, you're on." Ashley tore the cardboard off the six-pack. "Want one? You said they were non-alcoholic, right?" She'd had booze before, but she wasn't really in favour of it. There'd been enough demons running around inside her head already.

    "I did, and thanks." Vicky accepted the bottle and twisted the cap off. "Okay, so I'd never met Atropos before, but I'd been making noise on PHO every time she murdered someone, asking why someone didn't just fucking arrest her and get it over with."

    Ashley opened her own bottle and took a drink. It was dry and tart, but not bad. "I'm guessing this was early days, then. Before everyone decided that she was way too fucking scary to cross."

    "Pretty early, yeah. Just before she went through the Nine like a combine harvester on crack." Vicky drank from her bottle, then shuddered. "Eugh. Wow. It certainly has character, doesn't it?" Belying her words, she took another drink. "So, there I was with Ames, feeding the ducks in the park. What I didn't know was that Atropos was meeting her number-one fan for selfies at the other end of that very same park, and that she had a quarter in her pocket."

    As the story unrolled, Ashley found herself laughing just as hard as she had with the comedian on TV. It was refreshing to find out that she wasn't the only one who'd been casually slapped down by Atropos, as part of another plan the black-clad killer had running in the background. The cider was nice, too, as was the company.

    "So, I'm pretty sure she even set Ames up with her date tonight, somehow," Vicky concluded. "Because making my sister happy is apparently one of her hidden objectives, I guess? I dunno. But anyway, I dropped Ames off, and that's when I thought of coming over and giving you a housewarming present. I hope you liked it."

    "I did. I do." There were still two bottles of the cider left, but Ashley would definitely be buying more. She took a deep breath before she spoke the next words. "So, I've made pork cutlets. I can't promise they'll be all that great, but would you like to stay for dinner instead?"

    "Are you kidding? I was wondering what that amazing smell was." Vicky wasn't quite drooling, but the suggestion was there. "Are you sure?"

    Ashley smiled, an expression that was coming more and more easily to her, these days. "Positive."


    End of Part Eighty-Four
     
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    • Part Eighty-Five: Adapting to Circumstances
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    • A Darker Path

    Part Eighty-Five: Adapting to Circumstances

    [A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]


    Relevant Side Story

    Saturday, March 12, 2011

    Glory Girl

    "Hey, wait up!"

    Some two hundred yards ahead, Crystal looked back over her shoulder. Vicky was too far back to tell if a look of exasperation had crossed her cousin's face, but Crystal slowed in her flight anyway. "What?" she asked as Vicky caught up.

    "Nothing." Vicky grinned at the irritation that was definitely showing on her cousin's face now. "I just didn't want to have to trail behind you all the way, while you pretended not to be going where you're going, and I pretended not to be following you."

    Crystal slowed to a hover and folded her arms. "So where do you think I'm going, smartass?"

    "Where you told Aunt Sarah you were going. Palanquin." Vicky emulated Crystal's pose, because it was funny. "Aunt Sarah called Mom, and Mom told me to go along with you and make sure nothing weird happened this time." She smirked and waggled her eyebrows. "Because apparently I'm the responsible one of the family, these days."

    "You?" An entire universe's worth of disbelief was packed into that one word. "Since when?"

    Vicky unfolded her arms so she could buff her nails, then study them critically. "Since I'm not the one who managed to make PHO's list of top ten walks of shame so far this year."

    "What—you—" Crystal gaped at her. "You—I—seriously, wow! That's so not fair! Would you like an annotated list of all the things you've managed to bust? Or should I just give you the link to the YouTube channel Collateral Damage Barbie's Greatest Hits?"

    Just hearing the name of the last one made Vicky wince a little inside. Still, she managed to rally. "I'm doing better, these days. Ever since I got my wake-up call, I've been a lot more careful about not jumping in feet first. So yeah, I'm responsible."

    "Wake-up call?" Crystal tilted her head to one side. "What wake-up call?"

    "I'm shocked Ames hasn't already told you." Vicky had more or less assumed this would be the case.

    "Let me fix that right now." Crystal pulled out her phone.

    "No, no, don't." Vicky waved for her to put it away again. "She had an amazing date last night, and I don't want you bothering her with my mess." She sighed. "It was when I first met Atropos. I went for her, but she took me down like it was an afterthought. Then she collapsed my force field and held her shears this far from my eye while she explained the facts of life to me."

    Crystal eyed the tiny gap between her finger and thumb and shuddered. "The facts of life?"

    "Yeah, basically it boiled down to 'I can kill you any time I feel like it, so don't make me feel like it' and 'if someone tells you to back the fuck off, it's time to back the fuck off'." Vicky drew a long breath, the recollection of the fear she'd felt at the time still strong in her mind. "Then she killed off the Nine and posted the footage online. Any doubts I'd had went out the window after that. Ever since then, I've been a lot more careful."

    "Yeah, no shit. That got everyone's attention." Crystal shook her head. "So, Miss Responsible Two Thousand Eleven, do Aunt Carol and Uncle Mark know about how you showed up at Damsel of Distress' place last night with drinks?"

    Vicky stared at her, astonishment flushing through her system. "What … how the fuck did you know that?"

    "Hah, so it was you." Crystal smirked. "Someone from her apartment building posted on PHO that they'd seen someone who looked a lot like you, carrying a shopping bag with what looked like booze inside it, getting all touchy-feely with Damsel before she let you inside." It was her turn to waggle her eyebrows. "So remind me again, how did you get to be the responsible one?"

    "Oh, you've got to be fucking kidding me." Vicky gritted her teeth. "Okay, fine. Ashley and me both work for the Committee, sometimes on the same worksite. She had a big blowup with one of the site foremen on Thursday, so I decided to try to cheer her up last night by taking over a pack of cider as a housewarming gift." She glared at Crystal. "Non-alcoholic cider, just to make it absolutely clear. Unlike some people, I don't drink underage."

    "Doesn't explain the touchy-feely bit," Crystal teased her.

    Vicky shrugged, on firmer ground now. "It's the first time she's ever had a housewarming gift, so she hugged me then invited me in for dinner. Afterward, we watched that new cape comedy on TV, then I went home. The end."

    "Oh, To Mask or Not to Mask? I've heard it's pretty funny." Crystal looked vaguely disappointed that she had nothing to tease Vicky over. "Well, it was nice of you to be so neighbourly for her."

    "Oh, for sure. She's a lot of fun once she relaxes a bit." Vicky caught the look of disbelief on Crystal's face. "She is. She told me about how she didn't used to be, but Atropos pulled some bullshit on Thursday afternoon and helped her get rid of all her mental problems. And now she's learning how to be a person again. She's got an awesome sense of humour. We both nearly peed ourselves laughing when Hawkwing faceplanted that haystack."

    "Whoa, whoa, spoilers!" Crystal scissored her hands together. "I wanna watch that sometime, too!"

    "Okay, sorry, sorry." Vicky grinned. "So, did you want to go meet your girlfriend?"

    Crystal wrinkled her nose. "She's not my girlfriend. They're not my girlfriends."

    "Methinks the lady doth protest overmuch." Now that she'd managed to steer the conversation back to Crystal's indiscretions, Vicky grinned. "Whatever you are to each other, it doesn't matter to me. But if Faultline's not your girlfriend, why were you going there, anyway?"

    Crystal gave Vicky a brief, measured glance. "Because Atropos is going to be there, duh. One or more members of the Crew have problematic powers, so Melanie's asked if the powers can be killed. I've been invited to be there for it, basically as a witness, I guess."

    Atropos. Vicky still held her in absolute respect, and she was of course aware that Atropos could kill powers. Like everyone else on PHO, she wasn't exactly certain how this was accomplished, except for a vague 'she wants the power gone, it's gone'. Because, as far as she could tell, that was exactly how it happened. And in all truth, she really didn't feel like pressing the issue, for several reasons; the main one being, 'what if she does it to me?'.

    "Okay, then." She thought about it for a moment. "Do you think Faultline will have a problem with me coming along? Or will Atropos?"

    Crystal chuckled and shook her head. "I'll ask Melanie. But with Atropos, you're on your own." She took out her phone and called up a number. "Hi, yeah, it's me. I'm only a few minutes away. Listen, uh, Glory Girl's been assigned as my chaperone, sort of thing, and I need to know if it's okay for her to come in with me." A few seconds later, she nodded. "Uh huh, okay, yeah. Thanks, I'll tell her."

    From the tone of the last few words, Vicky thought she knew what had been said, but she still looked at her cousin curiously as Crystal put the phone away. "So, is that a yea or a nay?"

    Crystal shrugged. "She said it's fine with her, but if Atropos has a problem with it …" The sentence trailed off meaningfully.

    "Haha nope, if Atropos has a problem, I'm outta there." That was a no-brainer in every sense of the phrase. However, she didn't think it would turn out that way. Given how prescient Atropos had been during every encounter they'd had, the black-clad killer no doubt knew she was coming along and had accounted for it. And while Atropos was whimsical, snarky, brutal, and thoughtful by turns, she was never actually petty.

    Except for her love of doing jump-scares. Which Vicky couldn't really blame her for, having done exactly the same thing herself more than once. She's just better at it.

    "Good. Well, they're waiting on us." Turning in midair, Crystal set off again toward the distant bulk of the Palanquin building.

    Vicky followed along, simultaneously aware that while she wasn't really sure that she wanted to be there, she also wouldn't miss it for the world.

    <><>​

    Laserdream

    They landed on the roof of the Palanquin building, just next to the roof entrance. The door was open, with a large bald man wearing pants and an open coat standing in the doorway. Crystal recognised him as Gregor the Snail; the translucent skin with the shell-like growths here and there were kind of a giveaway.

    "Welcome to Palanquin," he said, in a kind of parody of formality. "Please come in, ladies." He had a slight accent, one that Crystal couldn't place. Maybe northern European?

    "Hi," Crystal said, then stopped. There was nothing she could think of to say about Melanie that didn't hold the possibility of severe embarrassment if it came out wrong. "I'm, uh, I'm pleased to meet you." She held out her hand. "Crystal."

    He shook it blandly, as though this sort of thing happened to him every day. To her relief, his skin didn't feel as weird as it looked, and he didn't go for the hyper-masculine hand-crunch. "It is good to meet you, Crystal. Call me Gregor." His expression was frankly curious, as though he was wondering exactly what his boss saw in her.

    "And I'm Vicky, but you knew that." Stepping up alongside Crystal, Vicky stuck her hand out too.

    This had the possibly-deliberate effect of defusing the awkward moment as Gregor shifted his attention to her cousin. "I did, yes. You are aware that we have been invited back in by Atropos and that we will no longer be working illegally?" As he asked the question, he took her hand and shook it as well.

    "Yeah, I'd heard something like that." Vicky chuckled. "You guys are way too smart to come back uninvited, and nobody second-guesses Atropos. Between the ex-villains and the Eagletons working on the reconstruction, we're getting stuff done amazingly fast."

    "Eagletons—oh, the robots." Gregor allowed the door to close, then turned and began to lead the way downstairs. "So they are working out, then?"

    "Heck, yeah." Vicky sounded downright pleased. "There's enough work for everyone, and they've been slotted in where they can do the most good. According to them, they really appreciate the chance to show that they've been reformed without needing to be reformatted."

    For a second, Crystal thought she was being serious, then she caught the sidelong grin and the way Vicky had emphasised the words, and she facepalmed. "Oh, God. Robot jokes? Really?"

    "Hey, don't blame me." Vicky smirked. "Joe Eagleton told me that one himself."

    Crystal shook her head. "Why does that not surprise me? Gregor, back me up here. That was a terrible joke, and Vicky's a terrible person for repeating it."

    "It is not as bad as some I have heard from Newter." Although she couldn't see his face, he sounded like he was smiling.

    She decided to roll with it. "Hey, wait," she protested with a faux scowl. "You're supposed to be on my side, not hers!"

    "Where is that written down?" He definitely sounded like he was enjoying himself. "I am sure you would not wish me to be prejudiced toward your opinion simply because you are friends with Faultline."

    "Hell, yes," she countered. "That's the first rule for dealing with friends of your boss, even before the Unwritten ones. Look it up."

    "Ah, but Faultline disapproves strongly of nepotism." He glanced back over his shoulder slyly. "I doubt she would give the okay for you to be shown any kind of undue favouritism, especially as you are a member of a totally different team." He opened a door from the stairwell and led them down a corridor.

    Crystal wasn't done yet. "It's not nepotism if you just agree with me. That's merely showing good judgement. Anyway, showing me favouritism isn't undue. It's totally my due. Just ask me."

    "We shall see." Gregor stopped at a large office door, opened it, and made an ushering motion. "Here we are."

    As she entered, Crystal saw that in the room was the entire lineup of Faultline's Crew, as well as Anne Barnes. Anne sat to one side, with Newter and Labyrinth on the other. Newter looked around Vicky's age, with orange skin, red-blond hair, and a five-foot-long tail; Labyrinth was in her early twenties, with platinum blonde hair and a dark green robe with a maze pattern on it. More oddly, a trellis with roses growing on it had erected itself over Labyrinth, and vines were climbing the wall. Melanie sat behind her desk, wearing her costume but with her welding-mask face covering lying in front of her.

    "Crystal," she said warmly, standing up from behind her desk. "Good to see you again. Glory Girl, it's nice to see you too. I presume you know the score?"

    "Yeah, Crystal and Gregor filled me in." Vicky looked around the room with undisguised curiosity, including the large window overlooking the currently-deserted main floor of the nightclub. "Wow, this is not a place I ever expected to find myself." She frowned as she looked at the other two ex-villains. "Newter, right? And … Labyrinth?" The last name was spoken uncertainly.

    "That's correct." Melanie came around the desk and gave Crystal a hug and a kiss, and if both lingered a little longer than normal, that was their business and nobody else's. Then she turned to address Vicky. "I understand you've had dealings with Atropos before."

    "Oh, yeah." Vicky nodded. "She's absolutely a hardass if you try to screw her around, but play it straight and you haven't got a worry in the world."

    Crystal approached Anne. "When did you get here? I could've picked you up, you know."

    Anne snorted with amusement. "What, and get everyone all excited over us two flying to Faultline's place? I drove my car here, and parked out back. Newter was nice enough to let me in, about two minutes before you got here." Anne gave Crystal another hug and kiss, which she returned.

    "Well, the gang's all here," Vicky announced. "And Atropos is undoubtedly about to make her usual dramatic entrance, right, Atropos?"

    The shadowy doorway appeared in the middle of the room, and Atropos stepped out of it. "What, were you expecting another jump scare? That's only funny a couple of times."

    Vicky rolled her eyes. "You certainly seemed to enjoy making me jump."

    "Some people are easier to startle than others." Atropos gestured toward Melanie. "Faultline, here? The first time I showed up in the passenger seat of her car, she jumped. But I bet she wouldn't twitch an eyelash if I popped up in front of her from now on." She tilted her head slightly, then went on in tones of fond recollection. "Ex-director Wilkins, on the other hand? I showed up in front of her and she literally fell out of her office chair."

    Newter was still sitting in his chair, though he'd visibly started when Atropos appeared. "I never met the woman, but I knew her by reputation. I'd have paid money to see that."

    "Check your emails. There's a link to the security footage in your inbox." Ignoring his sudden scrabbling for his phone, Atropos turned to Melanie. "So, is it just Labyrinth who wants to lose her powers, or do any other members of your Crew want to get rid of them as well? I can make it a package deal."

    "Ah, good point. I will certainly be keeping my powers. Gregor, Newter?" Melanie looked at the two named subordinates. "What's your choice in this matter?"

    "I believe I will be keeping mine," Gregor decided stolidly. "I am used to them. Also, I suspect they may be useful if I find work with the Committee."

    "They absolutely will be," Atropos agreed. "I understand incoming capes get to talk to the Chairman, a Mr Hebert. He's apparently got a talent for placing people where their talents can shine."

    Newter looked up from his phone and nodded. "Yeah, sure, I'll keep mine too. Not sure what use they'd be, except for keeping out of the way of trouble, but I'll join up if they'll have me."

    "I suspect he might sub you onto the medical staff. Your sweat has no deleterious side effects, and would act as a potent painkiller if someone's been injured." Atropos nodded to him, then turned to Labyrinth. "Alright then. Let's do this. Elle, do you know who I am?"

    For a long moment, Crystal thought the young woman wouldn't respond to the softly-voiced question. Labyrinth—Elle—had that disassociated air that she'd seen in people with autism and other neuro-divergent conditions. If they went off into their own little worlds—and from what she'd seen in this room, it wasn't just a turn of phrase for Labyrinth—they were often very hard to bring back.

    But something about Atropos' tone or question triggered a response. Elle blinked, looking up at her. "Yes. You're the monster that hunts other monsters in the dark."

    Atropos may have smiled; Crystal couldn't tell. "That's a fair description," she allowed. "Do you want me to End your powers for you, so you don't see all those other worlds?"

    Long seconds ticked by while Elle considered that, or perhaps she was estimating the thread count in Atropos' morph mask. "I won't wake up in the jagged room anymore?" she asked eventually.

    "Not even once." Atropos' voice was firm.

    "There are many worlds, and some are very pretty." Elle's tone was contemplative. "But others are bad. And when I feel bad, I wake up in bad places." She gave Atropos a direct look. "Yes."

    "Jeeesus," muttered Newter. "That's the most she's spoken to anyone who wasn't us in, like, ever."

    "Alright then." Atropos gestured, and there was suddenly a small plastic capsule in her hand. "There's a grape in there. Eat it."

    Elle took the capsule. It opened easily enough. "Like Alice?"

    "Exactly like Alice. But don't expect a March Hare to come hopping through." Atropos seemed to be enjoying a private joke. Crystal suspected she knew what that was about, but she'd have to ask to be sure.

    Taking the grape out—it was a green seedless type—Elle popped it into her mouth, chewed and swallowed. Crystal found herself holding her breath. Atropos raised her hand; one finger seemed to be tapping the air like a timer. "… and done," she declared, snapping her fingers for emphasis.

    "What, that's it?" asked Newter. "No offense, but …"

    "None taken." Atropos pointed at the wall, where the vines had started to creep across the ceiling. As Crystal watched, they retreated, pulling back down the wall to the trellis. The roses closed, the buds shrank into the vines, and the whole assemblage gradually deconstructed itself back into the wall.

    "Elle?" asked Melanie, stepping closer and taking the young woman's hands in hers. "How do you feel?"

    "Um, wow?" Elle said uncertainly. "I feel like I've just had the world's biggest jolt of caffeine. It's as if I've just woken up properly for the first time since I got powers."

    "Do I want to know what the jagged room was?" Vicky asked of the room. Crystal had wanted to know that too, but hadn't been sure how to ask.

    Gregor fielded that one. "Elle had many unpleasant memories of the asylum, seen through the filter of her powers. Sometimes she would wake up and her room had a solid metal door with spikes on it. Razor-edged rusty blades hanging from the ceiling. Any incautious movement would draw blood. The longer she stayed in that room, in that mental state, the farther the influence would spread through the building."

    "Hey, Elle," Newter offered. "Do you remember me?"

    "Sure," she replied, far more animated than she had been before ingesting the grape. "I know who you all are, and I truly appreciate everything you've done for me." Standing up, she hugged a startled Melanie. "You took me in, and took care of me, and helped me get control of my powers so I didn't get lost in my own head so much. Thank you so much."

    "Your vocabulary's impressive for someone who's been stuck with power complications for ten years," Melanie observed, but she didn't pull free of the hug.

    "Well, duh." Elle chuckled. "While I've been hanging out with you guys, I've heard everything you said. My brain made sense of everything that came in, but outgoing communication was locked down hard. Until now, of course." She turned a beaming smile on Atropos. "And thank you, too."

    "You're entirely welcome." Atropos nodded to Melanie, then to Crystal and Anne and Vicky. "My work here is done. Toodles." Raising her hand, she snapped her fingers and vanished.

    "Um … okay, then." Crystal shook her head. "That definitely happened." And, if she was being honest with herself, it had been way more painless than she'd expected.

    "So you're back with us for good, then." Newter grinned broadly. "Awesome."

    "You are just saying that because it means no more babysitting duty," Gregor said, so blandly that Crystal was almost taken in by his words.

    "Dude!" Newter had apparently fallen for it. "Not cool!"

    Elle broke away from Melanie. "Gregor, that was mean. Newter, it's fine. You were a great babysitter."

    Crystal, Vicky, and Anne approached Melanie. "So, uh, what are your plans now?" asked Crystal. "I thought you were selling this place."

    "The sale still hasn't gone all the way through. It'll cost me a fee to reverse it, but I can eat that cost." Melanie gestured at the window, and the club beyond. "Assholes were lowballing me because I wanted to get out fast, so I wouldn't have got as much as I wanted. Anyway, I was thinking about rebranding. If we set up to cater for Committee workers, maybe put in pool tables and suchlike, we'd be good for as long as the reconstruction lasted. Beyond that, if most of them stayed."

    Anne nodded. "In my non-expert opinion, I think that could work. Have a non-alcoholic section for the Committee workers who aren't twenty-one yet, and make sure never the twain shall meet, and you might have a winner there."

    "Yeah." Vicky snorted in amusement. "I'm pretty sure you couldn't get away with that a second time, even on the campus."

    Melanie grinned and flipped her off. "So, noted. Now, all I have to do is figure out how to cater to the Eagletons. I'm sure they'd come to the club along with their buddies, but how do you serve alcohol to a robot in a way that makes sense?" At that moment, her phone pinged audibly. "Hang on, this could be the real-estate guys now."

    As Melanie pulled out her phone to check it, Crystal felt Anne's hand bump into hers, and she twined her fingers with the other girl's in a way that felt totally natural. She could tell that Vicky, on her other side, was pretending to ignore the surreptitious hand-holding, but she didn't care.

    Melanie huffed out an exasperated sigh. "Okay, now she's just yanking my chain on purpose." She tapped the screen, then flicked it to swipe across.

    "Who's yanking your chain, and how?" asked Anne. Crystal suspected she knew the who, if not the how.

    Melanie cleared her throat. "I just got emailed a bunch of technical diagrams and specs. 'How to Safely Emulate the Effects of Alcohol in Robots'. Author name: A. Tropos."

    Crystal found herself giggling uncontrollably, and Anne joined in a moment later. That was so totally Atropos. All four of them ended up laughing at the shared joke, while the other three stared at them oddly. This only made Crystal laugh harder.

    It wasn't just the tongue-in-cheek author name, though that was part of it. Most of her mirth stemmed from the release of tension; she hadn't known what was going to happen at Palanquin, even with Vicky along, and the ease and smoothness of the whole process had left her on the back foot.

    "Well, damn," Vicky observed after they'd sobered a little. "Looks like you're gonna be running the first robot nightclub in the world. How cool's that?"

    Crystal nodded and squeezed Anne's hand. "Pretty damn cool."



    End of Part Eighty-Five
     
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    • Part Eighty-Six: Same Day, Different Date
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    • A Darker Path

    Part Eighty-Six: Same Day, Different Date

    [A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]



    Stanley Partridge considered himself to be smarter than average. Ever since he was old enough to understand his options, he'd always made the choice that benefited Stanley Partridge. Everything else came second.

    Why study, he'd reasoned as far back as middle school, if what they're testing you for won't ever apply in real life? He had better things to do with his time. So he'd befriended the hardest workers in his grade and persuaded (or coerced) them into 'helping' him with his schoolwork.

    Going into high school, he didn't always have the option of getting someone to do his work for him, so he learned to cheat in other ways. Whether it was teasing open the lock of the teacher's desk to get an advance look at the next test paper, or bribing someone from a higher grade to help him out, he was always one step ahead of the administration.

    It occurred to him once when he was sneaking into the school in the dead of night that if he applied that kind of effort to actually studying, he could come by the marks honestly, but he dismissed the thought. If he started playing the game by their rules now, it would mean they'd won, that their way was better than his.

    It would mean they were smarter than him.

    And that just wasn't true. He was smarter than them. He was smarter than everyone.

    At the end of tenth grade, he dropped out of school. This was a calculated move: on the one hand, he'd heard that it was a lot harder to fake doing the work in eleventh and twelfth grade. The teachers were a lot sharper (though they still weren't on his level), and might pick up on copied work. Also, bribing someone of a higher grade to help wouldn't work once he hit twelfth grade anyway.

    On the other hand, he already knew everything he needed to about life. He was sixteen, but husky enough to pass for eighteen. There was no doubt in his mind that he could get any job he wanted, and learn to do whatever it was better than anyone.

    And that was when he hit his first snag.

    Up until then, he'd always been able to wriggle his way though the cracks presented by people who didn't care enough to pay real attention to his words and deeds, and those who were venal enough or scared enough to give him what he needed. But now, presenting a good front wasn't enough. It didn't matter that he was a quicker thinker than the people he was seeking to get a job from; they had vastly more experience in the world, and in the type of bullshit he was trying to peddle, than he did.

    For the first time in his life, he hit a brick wall. Unlike the teachers he'd left behind, his prospective employers actually wanted to see ability, demonstrated in front of them. If he couldn't perform, they had no incentive to give him a pass and move him on to where he wanted to be. There was no option for persuading or wheedling, and no second chances. They simply said 'no' and turned him away. A couple even said, "Go back to school."

    He didn't go back to school. Going back to school would be an admission that he'd made the wrong move, that he wasn't as smart as he knew he was. Instead, he persuaded himself that he didn't really want to become a wage-slave for The Man. That way was for idiots and morons.

    But he still needed money. There was no work going, even for casual labour, because Brockton Bay wasn't exactly an economic powerhouse. However, there were still ways to get ahead for someone who had their ear to the ground and an eye out for the main chance. Long story short, his best bet was to join a gang.

    His choices in this regard were somewhat more limited than he'd initially thought. Drugs were not his entertainment of choice (except maybe for a bit of weed every now and again), so Skidmark's almost-gang wasn't even a possibility. He wasn't Asian, so the ABB were off the table. The name Coil had cropped up, but the guy didn't recruit from inside Brockton Bay.

    Which left the Empire Eighty-Eight.

    While this would've been problematic with someone of a more ethical bent, it didn't bother Stanley overmuch. He didn't hate minorities, but he didn't love them either. If kicking someone's ribs in was what it took to get a place in the gang, then ribs would be kicked. He was smart enough to know that his own welfare came first.

    So he took his place in the Empire Eighty-Eight, and life was good. Some got tattoos as a way of showing their loyalty to the gang, but anyone with an ounce of savvy knew that such permanent markings had a way of coming back to bite people in later life, so he always had an excuse why he wasn't going to get one quite yet. Getting a buzz-cut was almost as good, and hair could always grow back.

    Months passed, then years. He wasn't stupid enough to put himself forward when it was something that could get him killed, because he was just using the Empire Eighty-Eight as cover. But when someone else did, he had no problem with moving up in the ranks.

    Then Atropos came to Brockton Bay, and everything went tits-up and sideways, all at once.

    Kaiser got taken out on the second day, before Stanley even thought it was time to get concerned. As a direct result, every cape in the Empire Eighty-Eight either left town or (in the case of Hookwolf) died. The gang itself began haemorrhaging members, of whom Stanley was one, because hanging on past its use-by date was not what he considered the best move in the world. He didn't have to worry about the ABB, because Lung died twenty-four hours after Kaiser did, and Skidmark bit the dust one day after that.

    There was definitely a trend going on here. Criminal capes were on Atropos' radar, so Stanley did the smart thing and kept his head down. Even if the Nine came to town, he decided, he wouldn't try to sign up with them. (And then they did try, and died, which only proved he'd been right all along).

    But once again, even as villains and their minions were dying all over the place in numbers that could've been avoided if they'd just stayed away, he needed an income stream. There still wasn't much work going around, so he decided to keep doing what he had been before, but go freelance with it. If he didn't kill anyone, and didn't hurt people unless they did something really stupid, he was pretty sure Atropos would have a lot of other people to go through before she got to him.

    Plus, she always gave two warnings. He paid attention to things like that. One would be enough for him.

    By the time the Betterment Committee kicked over (and he got his stimulus card) he'd gathered to himself a bunch of like-minded guys, who listened to what he said about not getting the attention of the scary girl in black. He could've quit crime at that point and applied for employment on the rebuilding, but that sounded too much like work to him, and he'd already made the decision once before that working for The Man was a fool's game. So, while some of his people went to become wage-slaves like the rest of the sheep, he stayed independent, because he knew better than them that the work wouldn't last. It never did.

    And so, there he was one fine Saturday night, lurking with his boys in a side-street just off the Boardwalk. There was more money about these days, so pickings were definitely better than when he'd first gone freelance. It only proved what he'd already known; you just had to be smart about who you picked to rob.

    <><>​

    Boardwalk, Saturday Evening, March 12

    Anne Barnes

    "So, what's the plan for tonight?" asked Crystal, lounging against the rail and looking amazing in a blouse and slacks of magenta and white; while ruby earrings, a purse, and a hairband of the same colour made up the rest of her ensemble. "Did we have anything in mind, or were we just going to wing it?"

    Melanie had chosen a severe black theme, with a dress that had been cut to be flattering to her form (not that it needed to work very hard). Her shoulder-bag, bigger than most, also came in black. She'd gone with makeup and jewellery in various muted shades of colour, which made her look dark and mysterious and cool. "I was thinking we could start with a meal at Drinks on the Bay, followed by a stroll to take in the sights of the Boardwalk then a movie. Sounds good?"

    Anne nodded. With an idea of how Crystal and Melanie would dress, she'd opted for ocean and beach colours to draw out her eyes and hair, and she thought she looked okay, but nowhere near as good as they did. "Sure. Dad took Mom out to dinner there after the reopening, a couple of weeks ago. They came home raving about the seafood platter."

    "I do like seafood," Crystal agreed. "If it's that good, I'll have to tell my folks about it too." Linking her arm through Anne's, she tilted her head in the direction of the restaurant.

    Melanie smiled. "I have read good reviews about it. And of course, having members of New Wave dining there can't hurt its reputation in the slightest." She came in on Anne's other side, so that Anne had a cape on either arm. Together, they started off along the Boardwalk.

    "If we're trying to keep whatever we've got on the down-low until we figure out what it is, maybe we shouldn't make a big deal about who Crystal is once we get there," Anne suggested. She gave Crystal an apologetic shrug. "Not trying to tear you down or anything, but PHO can be pretty unforgiving. And all it takes is one person posting a photo online, especially without context."

    "Or even with context," Crystal agreed with a smile. "Trust me, Aunt Carol's waxed lyrical on the subject. All us kids had it explained to us multiple times that we always had to assume there was a camera pointed at us whenever we were in public, and that we were never, ever off the record." The smile became almost a grimace. "I would've expected Eric to be the one to slip up on that, but Vicky was the one who stepped in it more often than not."

    "Oh, the Collateral Damage Barbie stuff?" Anne had watched a few clips from that channel. Most were funny, but a few were just cringe-inducing. "Has she gotten better—wait. Is that who I think it is?"

    Because both arms were occupied, she nodded toward the quartet of girls up ahead; two had been on the Boardwalk already, and were greeting the other two who had just gotten off at the bus stop. It might just have been the fact that she had Crystal on her arm, but one of the girls looked remarkably familiar, despite being dressed up to the nines. The frizzy hair, normally hidden under a hood, had been brushed to a gleam and was neatly tied back, but her face was still recognisable.

    "Huh, you're right," Crystal confirmed. "It is Amy. I'd heard she had a girlfriend. Good for her."

    Melanie chuckled as they drew closer. "It does seem to be getting around, doesn't it?"

    Something Anne's sociology professor had once said came back to her. "It's more that the societal pressure against same-sex romance in Brockton Bay has eased all the way off, so people are feeling more free to express it. It's coming out now because it was here all along but suppressed, not because it's something new." The more she thought about it, the more that seemed to apply to her own situation as well. Colour me surprised. He had a point.

    A moment later, one of the girls looked around and said something to Panacea, who turned in their direction. Anne would've bet a large amount of money that it was something along the lines of, 'hey, isn't that your cousin?'. Instead of ducking away—as Anne half-expected her to do—Amy smiled broadly and led the way toward them.

    "Hi, Amy," Crystal greeted her as they got close enough to talk. "Vicky said you went out on a date last night. It must've gone really well if you're going out again tonight."

    "Oh, yeah, we had a ball." Amy gestured toward the Asian girl who was part of the other couple in her foursome. "But Lily's only in town until Monday morning, so we're making the most of it. Um, so this is Sabah, and that's Emily, and of course this is Lily. Everyone, meet my cousin Crystal, and Anne Barnes, and … I'm sorry, I don't think we've met?"

    Melanie smiled and introduced herself, and there was a round of nice-to-meet-you and how-are-you-doing as was usual for this sort of thing. In the middle of it, Anne caught Melanie exchanging a brief nod with Amy and realised that the healer had pretended ignorance of the former's identity, despite almost certainly having been briefed by her parents about what had happened. If she was reading the signs right, Amy was doing her own little bit to keep the potential three-way relationship under wraps until it became unavoidably public.

    "So where were you going to, anyway?" asked Crystal. "We've all heard good things about Drinks on the Bay, so we were going to start our night there."

    Amy's date, the shy young woman called Sabah, took a step closer to Melanie. "Excuse me, but where do you get your dresses done? The cut is very nice."

    "Sabah's a fashion student at the College," Amy explained briefly, then refocused on Crystal. "We hadn't really decided, to be honest. I think we were just going to head along the Boardwalk until the growling of our stomachs got too loud to hear ourselves talk, and get something to eat wherever we were."

    Anne tilted her head. "Actually, now you come to mention it, I think I have seen you around the campus. Huh. Small world."

    "I've, uh, had to tailor my own clothing from time to time," Melanie explained. "I bought this one off the rack, but since then I've altered it here and there to fit me better." She looked at Amy's group. "You know what? It's been a really good day for me, so I'm going to do something nice to celebrate. How would all four of you like to come to the restaurant with us? My treat."

    Anne met Crystal's eyes briefly; they both knew exactly what she was referring to, and Anne personally agreed that it was grounds for celebration. From the look on Crystal's face, she thought so too.

    "Only if you're sure," Amy said uncertainly. "I mean, so long as it's not just because you and Crystal are friends."

    Melanie chuckled warmly. "Well, I'd be lying if I said that wasn't part of it, but it's more than just that. A good friend of mine had a huge problem Ended today, and it's a massive weight off everyone's mind. So, this is me paying it forward."

    From the flicker of recognition in Amy's eye, she'd possibly picked up on Melanie's tone, but again she didn't call attention to it. "Well, okay then. Thank you so much. Guys, the decision has been made. We're going to the restaurant."

    "Wow, thank you!" the girl called Emily gushed. "That's so amazing!"

    Sabah nodded in agreement. "We really appreciate it. I've heard it's a nice place."

    "Yeah, what they said," Lily added. "This is all kinds of awesome."

    "So, which way is it again?" asked Crystal.

    Amy pointed. "Down this way, I think."

    <><>​

    Stanley

    "Heads up!" hissed Fedor, the lookout. "Seven chicks, no guys!"

    That was exactly what Stanley wanted to hear. Guys in a situation like this sometimes got a rush of testosterone to the brain and did something stupid. He preferred it when everyone understood how this sort of thing went and cooperated. And if they were tourists, they could even go home with a story about how they got mugged in Brockton Bay. Looked at in the correct light, it was almost a rite of passage.

    "Places!" he ordered, keeping his voice down as he ducked into his chosen hiding spot.

    It was the kind of narrow side-street that could be found throughout Brockton Bay, allowing one-way transit between the Boardwalk (and the businesses that fronted onto it) and Lord Street proper. Perfect for his purposes, it was wide enough not to be an actual alleyway (which nobody with half a brain walked down in Brockton Bay, for obvious reasons) but still narrow enough that people could be trapped in it and made to give up their worldly goods without too much of a fuss. The dumpsters that lined it took up most of both sidewalks, forcing any pedestrians to walk on the road itself, and incidentally providing ample hiding places for people like his little gang.

    He hadn't named the gang. This was because he wasn't a fucking idiot. Only people who wanted official attention gave themselves grandiose names.

    The group of seven—young women and teenage girls—walked casually down the street, chatting as they came. Peering through a gap between dumpsters, Stanley could see two of the women glancing around, but the rest were cheerfully oblivious. He resolved to keep an extra careful eye on the tallish black-haired one, who walked like she knew how to handle herself, and the blonde chick, who looked kind of familiar.

    At the right moment, he threw a rock across the street, to hit the dumpster on the far side. At that signal, everyone jumped up out of cover and moved across to block the road; four in front, four behind. The soon-to-be-mugging-victims had paused at the sound, which broke their momentum, just as he'd planned. Now they were stalled in the middle of the street, with his men surrounding them.

    "Ladies," he said, because opening with politeness often made women feel that they had to respond in kind, even if you were robbing them. "You can't run away, and I'd advise you not to try to fight us. All we want are your valuables, and then you can go on your way. So hand them over, and this doesn't have to get unpleasant."

    The red-headed chick gave him what was probably supposed to be a withering stare. He'd had worse. "You really have no idea how big a mistake you just made, do you?"

    Great. A feisty one. Some men claimed to like chicks with 'verve' or 'spunk' or whatever the term was these days. Stanley didn't, because if one decided to put up a fight, then the others might join in, and then shit would get messy. "Honey, I'm not the one who just walked down a dark street, right into the middle of a bunch of muggers. Now, start getting your valuables out, because if my guys have to go and get them, I can't answer for the consequences."

    "Yeah, actually, you can." He couldn't believe it. She was literally answering him back? "My Dad's a lawyer, and he says if you commit a crime, you're responsible for everything that happens as a result."

    His temper was at breaking point. "I honestly don't give a fuck. Now, shut your mouth before I shut it for you."

    She turned to the tall black-haired woman beside her, one of the pair who'd been looking around earlier. "He's being mean to me. Make him stop."

    The woman she'd addressed—who, now Stanley was paying attention to her, looked fit as fuck—gave him a once up-and-down, leaving him feeling like he was a slab of beef that had been found wanting. "Go ahead," she said in a tone that was anything but inviting. "Come over here and try to shut her mouth."

    "Okay!" the blonde chick snapped, and fucking levitated six feet straight up. "Enough's enough. I'm Laserdream of New Wave, and you're all under arrest. Put down any weapons you've got, and we're all gonna wait for the cops."

    "Nuh-uh." Stanley could see the odds were still solidly in favour of his guys. "What we've got is you plus six hostages. Power down now, and nobody gets hurt. Or fly away; I don't care." He knew she couldn't just open fire with her lasers, because him and his guys were normals, not capes, and killing muggers wasn't a good look for anyone, much less New Wave.

    The frizzy-haired girl raised her hand. "Panacea of New Wave, here. Do you really want to fuck with capes? Because this is not going to go the way you expect it to."

    While a couple of his guys looked nervous, Stanley kept his head. He did a quick scan of the rest of the women, looking for more New Wave members. No guys, so that left out Flashbang and Manpower. Nobody else was blonde, so that settled it. "You're not a front-line cape. And last I heard, you can't even heal yourself, so I'd keep your opinions to yourself if I were you."

    "This guy is really pissing me off," remarked the Asian chick. "Can we please do something about this?"

    Stanley had had enough. "Shut up!" he yelled, pulling out his folding knife and clicking it open. "Get their stuff!"

    "Don't cut anyone!" Panacea shouted as he started to close in with his guys. "I don't want to get blood on this dress!"

    "That's not—" Stanley's retort was cut short as the tall black-haired chick cut out of the group like a shark through minnows, heading straight for him.

    He waved his blade at her, but she tapped it with a fingertip; to his astonishment, it fell apart in a burst of reddish energy. Then her fist came in, hard and fast. She had moves, but he was okay with being hit. It wouldn't be the first time, or the last.

    The punch nearly took his head off, or felt like it. Pain exploded across his jaw as he felt teeth come loose, and he spun around, losing his balance. The asphalt came up to meet his face, then he rolled onto his back.

    Off to the side, he saw the Asian chick dancing between two of his guys, handing out elbows and palm strikes like they were on Christmas special, knocking them on their asses. A couple more of his guys had tripped and fallen before they even got close. Two more were facing off against the chick with curly brown hair, right before she spewed a line of fire that set a garbage can alight and forced them to reconsider the idea.

    Fedor came in after the chick who'd dropped Stanley, but he fared no better. When she kicked him between the legs, there must've been something extra behind the kick, because the big Russian émigré went down like a busted folding chair. And then it was all over. Eight in, eight down, and the women were barely breathing hard.

    "Like I said," Laserdream told him, coming in for a landing beside him. "You're all under arrest. Being a mugger in Brockton Bay, these days? Not a smart career move at all."

    <><>​

    Hebert Household

    Taylor

    I relaxed slightly on the sofa. Amy and Lily were no longer in any danger (not that they'd been in much peril to begin with) and Parian and Spitfire were okay as well. Between them, Laserdream and Faultline were mopping up the casualties. I figured they'd be irritated that they'd have to wait for the police, but I'd already made an anonymous call two minutes before, and the BBPD response time was vastly improved from even a month ago.

    The fight had been impressively handled. Between Parian literally tying together the shoelaces of some of the muggers and Faultline's surreptitiously donned knuckledusters (and the concealed steel toes in her stylish looking boots), Laserdream hadn't even had to intervene, aside from putting a protective force field over Amy, Anne and Parian. It just went to show that I wasn't needed to sort out every last detail of cleaning up the city.

    "All good?" asked Cherie, beside me, without looking up from her new book; this one was called Rabbit Hill. I'd enjoyed it, once upon a time.

    She was turning out to be quite the bookworm, once encouraged to start. I found it endearing.

    "Yeah." I stretched without getting up. "They handled it just fine."

    "Cool."

    The house phone rang, and Dad got up to answer it. I picked up the remote and muted the TV so he'd be able to hear whoever was on the other end. Hopefully, it wasn't some aspect of Committee business that would drag him back to the offices at this late hour. Nothing was pinging on my radar, anyway.

    "You've reached the Hebert household, Danny speaking." He paused, his eyes staring into nothing. "Chief Director Costa-Brown? How can I help you?"

    Sitting up, I pointed to myself, then yanked my mask out of my pocket—I'd had no idea why I needed it, but that was Ending all over, the troll—and pulled it on over my head. I was standing all the way up by the time it was on all the way, and heading toward where Dad was.

    "No need for me to contact her," he answered whatever she said. "She's right here. Betterment Committee business. I'm giving the phone to her now."

    Taking the receiver, I put it to my ear. "Atropos speaking," I reported. "What's the situation?" Because I was damn sure Costa-Brown wouldn't be trying to contact me for a casual chat. I also knew that she'd trained her hearing well enough to tell if I was talking through cloth or not; thus, the mask.

    "Are you aware of the Sleeper situation?" Her tone was clipped but deferential. "If you're already dealing with it, I'll leave you to it."

    A lightning-swift survey of my threatscape showed no indication of Sleeper aggressing on me or the people I saw as being important. "Assume I'm not. Brief me."

    "He's on the move from eastern Russia, heading for Alaska. Our best analysis of the situation is that he's bound for the White Rock portal."

    "Earth Shin," I filled in, to show I knew what she was talking about.

    "Precisely. As you're probably aware, trade is beginning to take place through the portal, under careful scrutiny from both sides. But if he gets there, he'll just blow through all the safeguards and step on through. They don't have anything capable of stopping him on that side, and they'll kill themselves trying."

    "And as far as they'll be aware, it'll have been an unprovoked attack from our side," I concluded.

    "Yes. Also, the death toll in Shin itself will be unprecedented, outstripping even the worst excesses of Goddess' reign." She didn't try to appeal to my better side, probably because she was aware that as far as she was concerned, it didn't exist. It was blunt facts, all the way down the line.

    "Understood. Thanks for filling me in." I hung up the phone and pulled off my mask as I stood there, thinking about what I'd just learned.

    While Sleeper invading Earth Shin wasn't going to have any specific effect on the ongoing improvements to Brockton Bay, there were extraneous details I had to consider.

    Earth Bet, as Costa-Brown had reminded me, was now officially trading with Shin. The more ongoing trade we had with them, the more prosperity there would be on both sides. Over and above that, I'd personally told the people of Shin that they had nothing more to fear from Bet, and that they were free to remake their society from the dictatorship of Goddess into something more democratic and manageable.

    If Sleeper burst through the portal, he'd fuck that whole process up with slightly less delicacy and tact than a red-hot poker being forcibly jammed where the sun didn't shine, thus (among other things) making me into a liar. My brand, as far as the natives of Shin were concerned, would be well and truly tarnished.

    That shit was not going to fly.

    "Welp," I said, heading back into the living room. "That's my weekend shot all to hell."

    "Why?" asked Cherie, looking up from where she'd been pretending to read her book. "What's going on?"

    I huffed a sigh of irritation. "Sleeper's being a dick, so guess who's got to do something about him?"

    "Well, shit."

    "Yup."



    End of Part Eighty-Six
     
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