A Darker Path [Worm Fanfic]

[Prince Charon]

I wonder if Cherish is going to swallow the Idiot Ball and try to make Atropos her girlfriend.

OK, I hope I'm done changing my mind about what this post should say.

 

[Ack]

A Darker Path

Part Twenty-Three: Bad Decisions, Good Decisions

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



Sunday Afternoon, January 9, 2011
Next to Westlake Park

Taylor

As Dad braked the car briefly, I pulled the door open, slid in, and removed my hat and mask almost in one motion. We moved off again, and I fastened my seatbelt then put my glasses on. "Well, that's done," I said with some satisfaction.

"Good to hear," Dad said. "I saw Dragon's suit flying away. I'm guessing she's taken Riley away to finish up that part of the plan?"

"Yup. But there's a new problem. And it's going to be in New York. You up for a road trip?"

"So long as you're okay with getting back here around midnight," he said at once. "Is one of the gangs in New York prepping something big?"

"Not immediately, but give them time." I leaned back in my seat, pulled out my phone, and started typing into a text box. I wasn't quite sure what the programming language was called, just that it did really fun things to the PRT's computer systems. As far as I was concerned, invisibility was more a case of preparation than powers. "This thing we're going there for, it needs to be nipped in the bud tonight."

"That's concerning." As he spoke, he concentrated on his driving, taking a series of turns designed to get us on the highway south. "Are you going to be killing someone?"

"Not if she's smart."

<><>​

Five Hours Later
Conference Room A, PRT ENE Building

Director Piggot

Despite knowing that she was firmly in the right when it came to the PRT's protocols toward Atropos, Emily felt as though she'd been singled out for inquisition by her peers and superior. The wallscreen was showing a split image, with Rebecca Costa-Brown in the middle, with Director Wilkins of New York and Director Armstrong of Boston to her left and right.

For the occasion, Emily had Armsmaster and Renick flanking her, visible in the tiny inset window in the top corner of the screen. Her deputy had a laptop open in front of him so that he could perform any checks she needed done. Armsmaster, of course, had an HUD in his visor that could do the same.

"Good evening, Chief Director, Director Wilkins, Director Armstrong," she said smoothly. "What would you like to know first?"

Interestingly enough, it wasn't Costa-Brown who spoke first, but Wilkins. "I think I speak for all of us when I ask exactly what is going on in Brockton Bay?"

Wilkins wasn't her superior officer, so Emily turned her attention to Costa-Brown. "Before I throw this open to the floor, did the Chief Director have a question for me?"

The expression on Costa-Brown's face was barely a smile. "To be honest, I was curious about the current situation there as well."

Emily nodded to acknowledge the question. "Right now, we're bagging and tagging the remains of the Slaughterhouse Nine. And let me tell you, Crawler needs a lot of bags." They were actually using a shipping container to store the monstrous cape's remains, but she thought a little humour might serve to lighten the mood. "Apart from that, we really don't have any other parahuman issues to deal with at the moment. The local criminal capes are either keeping their heads down, leaving town, or both."

Armstrong raised his eyebrows, miming surprise. "So, you aren't counting this Atropos among the number of your local criminal capes? Have you already arrested or recruited her?"

She knew damn well he was aware this was not the case. "Neither," she said flatly. "She's too dangerous to even attempt the former with, and she has rebuffed repeated suggestions to come in and speak with us. However, she has initiated ad hoc teamwork with our newest Ward—he was in a strictly undercover role, though she saw through that in less than a minute—and with Dragon, achieving her goals both times with terrifying ease."

"And you're okay with this?" Wilkins' tone was a little stronger than before. Emily felt that she could rapidly become tired of the woman's voice. "She's not just a murderer, she's a serial killer! Parahumans like her are the very reason the PRT exists!"

"Director Wilkins, you need to moderate your tone," warned Costa-Brown. "This is neither an interrogation nor a court-martial."

Emily allowed herself a tiny smile. "No, it's okay, ma'am. Director Wilkins has evidently forgotten that parahumans like Jack Slash are the reason the PRT exists. If villains of that stripe weren't out and about, dragging society down, then we wouldn't be needed. And neither would someone like Atropos."

Costa-Brown raised her head slightly. "This almost sounds like you're condoning her actions. Is this the case?" she asked, her voice non-judgemental … for now.

"Not condoning, no," Emily said. "And I wouldn't tell my troopers or our heroes to go the route she does. But … she gets results. I can't ignore that. Our crime figures right now are literally the lowest they've been since I took up this position. Between that, and the fact that anyone she took seriously in a fight would die, right now the smart move is to stand back and mop up the pieces."

"She's murdered five capes who never had a kill order against them." Wilkins looked like she wanted to shout, but wasn't quite prepared for the consequences. "That's so far against our directives, it's ridiculous. You need to be bringing her down immediately!"

"At least six capes and two dozen unpowered people, actually." Emily didn't let herself show the satisfaction she felt in correcting Wilkins. "Most of whom she gave clear warnings to, or who were aggressing on her, before she initiated hostilities. Plus, the Slaughterhouse Nine. You did watch the unedited version of that, didn't you? All the way through?"

For the first time, Wilkins looked on the back foot. "I skimmed it, just to make sure they were dead. Why?"

Emily allowed the steel to come into her tone. "Watch it, carefully. She went into that fight with a pair of shears, a pistol, a ball of string, an M67 frag grenade and a fire extinguisher. Forty-two minutes later, every member of the Slaughterhouse Nine was dead. They never stood a chance. I'm not sending my men up against that."

Armstrong cleared his throat. "There was the issue of Dragon's assistance …" he mentioned diffidently.

Emily rolled her eyes. She'd studied the footage. "Dragon's presence just made it easier. Without her, the grenade would've taken care of Crawler, a single shot through the side of the van would've disposed of Manton, and Atropos could've disarmed Slash without needing to shoot the knife out of his hand. The way she did it, she was deliberately showing off. And the more I think about it, the more I'm convinced she specifically chose this method to further dissuade the PRT from getting in her way."

"Nobody's above the law," insisted Wilkins. "She needs to be brought to heel. Right now, she's making you all look like idiots. Making us look like idiots."

"Wait, who's the sixth cape?" interjected Armstrong. "I'd only heard about five. Oni Lee, Coil, Kaiser, Lung and Skidmark." He winced as he said the last name; evidently, he'd watched the footage of that one. It left bruising on the psyche.

Emily took a deep breath. This was going to be tricky. "Our probationary Ward, Shadow Stalker. Violent vigilante before she was drafted. Reportedly a bully. She was going far off the rails, threatening either Atropos or someone she cares about. Atropos said she warned Stalker twice. Then she killed her. This happened in the school, out of costume. Exactly four blows landed, all on Stalker. Two of these would've killed her in relatively short order, but Atropos finished her off with a kick to the chest that stopped her heart."

Costa-Brown showed no reaction, which wasn't surprising. The report of Atropos admitting to the murder had undoubtedly landed on her desk at some point. However, the other two clearly hadn't been kept in the loop.

"She killed a Ward? Out of costume?" Armstrong was astonished. "Why are we only just now hearing about this?"

"Because as a Ward, she was a potential embarrassment, if not an outright liability," Emily said, trying not to grit her teeth. She'd been through Blackwell's file on Stalker, and the number of complaints that had gone absolutely nowhere, or resulted in a minor slap on the wrist, had been horribly illuminating. The little shit must've thought she was bulletproof. "Right now, the public's view of Atropos is leaning very strongly toward 'if she killed someone, they deserved it', which is a not inaccurate reputation, all told. So, if they find out that she killed a Ward, the first thing they're going to ask is why that Ward pissed Atropos off. And as all the evidence points toward Stalker actually provoking her own murder, I'm strongly disinclined to let the public—and the media—in on it. So, as far as the PRT ENE is officially concerned, Atropos had nothing to do with Stalker's death."

"You've got to be shitting me." Wilkins gripped the desk and leaned forward, so that her face was enlarged in the camera view. It wasn't a flattering look for her. "Atropos just handed herself to you on a silver platter. Can't you see that?"

Emily could indeed see what she was referring to. It was in no way a smart move. "Don't go there," she cautioned her fellow Director. "That way cannot end well." She flicked a glance at Costa-Brown, who was sitting there impassively as they went head-to-head. She wants to see how this turns out.

Wilkins shook her head. "Jesus Christ, Piggot. I thought you were tougher and smarter than this. If Atropos and Stalker went to the same school, all you have to do is cross-reference the complaints to see who put in the most, then we have our suspect. Then we put pressure on the friends and family, and she falls straight into line. From loose cannon to valuable asset under our control, in one easy step." She peered at her screen as she began to type. "Okay, what do we have here?"

"Wilkins!" shouted Emily. "This is a very bad idea! She's given us a pass so long as we don't attack her! This is an attack! I'm warning you, back the fuck off!"

"Oh, please." Wilkins snorted derisively. "This is a high-end encrypted conference call. I don't give a damn how good her Combat Thinker rating is. How's she going to even find out it happened?" She kept typing. "Huh. Okay. This shouldn't be too hard to narrow down. Emily, seriously, you should be thanking me for doing your job."

And then, with a suddenness that froze the blood in Emily's veins, Atropos walked into view behind Wilkins. Those damned shears were in her hand, twirling gently as she approached the New York PRT Director from behind.

Armstrong sat up straight, his eyes widening. Even Costa-Brown showed signs of alarm. "Wilkins …" Armstrong managed. "Behind you …"

Wilkins glanced upward and to her right—checking her inset image—then she sneered. "Ah, yes. You told us about her hacking skills. Good trick, but I happen to be in New York, not Brockton Bay. Also, my office door has a secure code lock on it. She's no doubt piggybacked on the hack she's already got connected into your local building security. But if I look around, she wins because she made me think she was there."

"Wilkins …" Costa-Brown spoke carefully. "Don't make any sudden moves. I've taken training in spotting illusions and deepfakes. That's not a video insertion. She's there."

"With all due respect, Chief Director," Wilkins said. "Atropos may have the rest of you bluffed with her bogeyman bullshit, but there's no way she could actually be here. I'm not afraid of pixels on a screen."

Atropos, who had paused during the discussion, suddenly moved. Her arm snaked around Wilkins' head, hand cupped under her chin, and pulled back. At the same time, the gleaming steel blade of the bodice shears ended up poised over Wilkins' left eye, the point so close it was brushing her eyelid each time she blinked. Emily judged that if those blades were as sharp as she suspected, it would take very little effort to drive them through into Wilkins' brain.

"How about now?" asked Atropos, her tone almost conversational. "Afraid now?"

Wilkins' hands froze as the steel touched her fluttering eyelashes. She made a whimpering sound between her lips, but nothing more.

"Thought as much," Atropos observed. "Everyone, keep your hands in plain view, please. If Director Wilkins chooses to be smart, she gets to live. Do we all understand this?"

"Atropos," Armstrong began, his tone hesitant as though he wasn't totally sure this was happening. "This is a direction you don't want to go in. Murdering a PRT Director? You can't undo this."

Atropos shook her head. "Now see, I've got a different view of things. I give warnings. If people ignore the warning, they die. Director Piggot—hi, Director, big fan of your work—was kind enough to give her my first warning. This blade at her eye? My second warning. She doesn't get a third warning."

"What Director Armstrong is trying to say, Atropos," Costa-Brown said smoothly, "is that we'll have no choice but to come after you with everything we've got if you go through with this. Now I understand Wilkins' actions were a threat to you—"

Atropos shook her head, and Costa-Brown stopped speaking. "No, Chief Director," Atropos stated. "Director Wilkins couldn't threaten me personally on her best day. Neither could the rest of you, individually or all at once. But if she finds out my real name and one of your inevitable fucking leaks puts it out there, and someone goes after my family or friends, then there will absolutely be blood in the streets, and it won't end until she's dead. So, I'm cutting all that off at the pass, so to speak. Right here, right now. She gets the chance to not do it. To never do it."

"And if she changes her mind in the future?" asked Armstrong.

"I'll know, and I'll be there." Atropos' statement was both blunt and chilling. "Director Piggot there, she's smart. She made this decision days ago, and I didn't even have to help her. Good to see you, by the way, Director, Deputy Director, Armsmaster. How's that corruption and incompetence thing going?"

Emily wasn't quite sure how events had taken a hard left into casual small talk, but she nodded toward Renick; he knew more of the details than she did about that.

He caught the cue and cleared his throat. "We, uh, we caught two more of our people who were on the take. And we've instigated a department-wide audit on operational practices. Six people have quit, but we're getting results."

"Nice," Atropos said approvingly. "Oh, and just so you know, one of Heartbreaker's kids is in town, but I'll be dealing with that tomorrow."

"Heartbreaker?" Armsmaster spoke up. "Is he coming here?"

"Eventually." Atropos' tone evinced no particular concern. "When he does, he'll be leaving in a body bag. He's already been warned."

"Atropos." Costa-Brown spoke firmly. "As fascinating as this is, you still have a blade to my subordinate's eye."

"Yeah, I know. I've been giving her time to think about it. Unfortunately, she's still convinced that she can lie to me and then start her research again once I've left." Atropos shrugged without moving her hands, which would've been impressive in someone else. "You know what happens if she does that. What would you have me do?"

Costa-Brown paused for a long moment. When she spoke, her words could've been carved from granite. "Director Wilkins. You will cease and desist all attempts at learning Atropos' identity. That is a direct order, witnessed by Directors Piggot and Armstrong. Failure to obey this lawful order will result in formal charges under PRTCJ Articles ninety and ninety-two, for which I will insist on the death penalty.. Do you understand?"

Silence fell across the video link. Atropos loosened her hold on Wilkins and moved the blade a few inches away from her face. Cautiously, Wilkins swallowed, then nodded. "Yes, Chief Director. I understand, and I will comply with your order."

"Excellent." Atropos released Wilkins and stepped back. The shears remained in view, idly twirling around one finger; a subtle reminder. "Much appreciated, Chief Director. Glad we could see eye to eye on this. Toodles." She stepped out of view; a moment later, Emily heard the sound of a closing door.

Wilkins' hand dived under the desk and Emily knew she was yanking the duress alarm (it was more a toggle than a button) as hard as she could. "Atropos is in the building!" she shouted. "Lock down the corridor outside my office! Lock down everything! She just threatened my life! I want her arrested and charged now!"

"Don't bother," Armsmaster observed, at about the same time that Emily had the same thought. "I had a look at the programming when she hacked the PRT building here. Even if your duress alarm went out, which it probably didn't, she's probably invisible to the security cameras, or they're reading her as someone else. Right now she'll be strolling through your security like it wasn't even there."

"I concur," agreed Renick. "She has a talent for making computers see and do exactly what she wants them to, and for dodging past people like it was an Olympic event."

Costa-Brown cleared her throat. "Director Wilkins, I meant what I said earlier. Wipe that query off your system. I don't want any hint of it getting out. And get off my screen before I really get angry with you."

"Y-yes, Chief Director." Wilkins' expression was that of someone whose dreams of glory have crashed and burned. "Right away, ma'am." She jabbed at something on the keyboard in front of her, and her section of the screen went dark.

"Uh …" Armstrong half-raised one hand. "Death penalty? I mean, I know you had to convince Atropos you were serious, but …"

"She's stated outright that she can, and intends to, kill the Endbringers." Costa-Brown raised her eyebrows. "After that little performance, I'm more inclined than ever to believe her. In which case, her happiness and well-being are far more important than those of an eminently replaceable PRT Director."

"Ah."

"Which reminds me. Armsmaster." Costa-Brown smoothly switched her attention. "You have a reputation for being a formidable melee combatant. Do you believe you could take her?"

Armsmaster barely hesitated. "No, ma'am. I don't believe so."

"You believe she is that good in pure hand to hand? I've looked at the footage of her fighting the Nine, and my analysis of her speed and strength are that she's good for her age and body type, but not superhuman."

"I still don't think so." It was clear to Emily that confessing someone else was clearly his superior was painful to him, but he was pushing through it anyway. "I've been working on a combat prediction algorithm. Earlier this afternoon, I ran the footage of her killing the Nine past it. It told me the footage was impossible, and that it couldn't work out counters to half her moves."

"I see. Well, Emily, despite her decision to not come into the PRT, you seem to have formed a rapport of sorts with her. Whatever you're doing, keep it up."

Emily forced herself to nod. However she'd expected the meeting to go, she hadn't expected this. "Yes, ma'am."

"Good. We'll revisit this after the next Endbringer attack. This meeting is concluded."

The screen went dark, and Emily sagged back in her chair. Renick paused in shutting down his laptop, and turned to her. "Ma'am, how did …" He trailed off.

"How did she know to be there?" That question had been on her mind as well. "I'm just going to assume from here on out that if there's something she wants to know, she knows it. Armsmaster?"

He nodded. "I concur. Everything I've seen about her indicates the same thing. Even the Slaughterhouse Nine takedown could've been choreographed from how smoothly she went through it. She knew exactly where every single one of them was and how they'd react before they ever showed themselves." A tinge of frustration showed in his voice. "I've been working on that algorithm for months, and she can do everything it can, only better. It's irritating."

This was a new side to him. Emily found it oddly humanising. "Well, don't let it get you down. Atropos may be taking care of the highlights, but there's still normal crime to deal with. And with the pressure taken off, we might actually be able to make headway now."

"Ma'am." He nodded again, sounding happier.

Emily heaved herself to her feet. "Well, now we've dealt with that particular issue, I'm clocking out for the day. Renick, you have the helm."

"Yes, ma'am."

<><>​

Danny

The car door opened and he looked around as Taylor got in. Carrying the hat and mask and long-coat bundled up under her arm, she appeared to be a slightly better dressed teenager out on the streets of Manhattan. "How'd it go?" he asked.

"She saw reason in the end," Taylor said. She held up the shears speculatively. "You know, I think I might call these 'Reason'. It works on so many levels."

Danny shook his head as he started the car. "Is this another one of your horrible puns? I swear, I never made that many."

"No, but the ones you made were worse." Taylor grinned. "Thanks for this, by the way. I appreciate it."

"Hey." He offered her a half-smile before putting his attention back on the road. "What sort of a dad would I be if I didn't support you in what you want to do?"

Leaning over, she rested her head on his shoulder for a moment. "Aww, I love you too."

It would be a long drive back to Brockton Bay, but he figured it was worth it for moments like this.

<><>​

Dragon

"… and then she handed you over to me. That was about nine hours ago." Dragon paused, focusing sensors on the girl reclining in the seat of the mech she was currently controlling. She'd gotten rid of the Alice dress and given Riley a proper bath, then fitted her out with basic clothing. "How do you feel?"

"A little hungry, I guess." Riley looked at her hands, front and back, then touched her hair. "That's kind of weird."

"It's perfectly understandable to be suffering from a little body dysmorphia," Dragon hastened to say. "I'll be here to help you through it if you want."

"Well, no." Riley shook her head. "That's not the weird part. I know what body dysmorphia is, and I'm not suffering from it. I mean, I know I was born white, and now I'm not, and it feels perfectly normal to me. That's the weird bit. I should be, but I'm not."

"Ah." Dragon felt a little out of her depth. Whoever Atropos had gotten to do the change job, they were good. However, this was another tick in the box against it being Panacea, because she could never do brains. "Any other mental effects I should know about?"

"Just the feeling that my body's spent the last six years being piloted by a stranger." Riley's voice was pensive. "That person's gone but I can still see her footprints all over my life, as a puppet for Jack Slash's twisted ideas. Well, screw him, and screw Bonesaw. I'm not that person, and I never will be again."

"What about your family?" Dragon knew she was likely prodding sore points, but this had to be brought up at some point.

"Which one do you mean?" At least she wasn't dodging away from the topic. "The one I was born to, or the one Atropos lined up for me?"

"Either one. Both." Dragon waited for Riley's response.

The girl took a deep breath and let it out again as a slow sigh. "Mom and Dad and Drew and Muffles are dead. I know it, and I know I could never have stopped it. The Nine kept me running around and around until I fell over from exhaustion. I think when I accepted they were going to die, that's when I broke. That's when I started being what Jack Slash wanted me to be."

"They stacked the deck from the beginning," Dragon agreed. "You couldn't win. Would you like to go visit their graves sometime? I'm sure we could manage it."

Riley shook her head pensively. "Later maybe, but not right now. It's still too fresh for me. I think I still need to do some grieving." With a visible effort, she changed the subject. "What about my other family, the Laborns? Why are they even taking me in? I mean, do they know who I was?"

"They do, but Atropos can be very persuasive. Also, Aisha's a huge fan of hers, so that made it a lot easier." Dragon chuckled. "Brian's in the Wards too, of course. The PRT even thinks it's their idea to place you with him and Aisha."

Riley blinked. "And that answers a few more of the questions I had. I've just got one left."

"Let me guess. 'Why is Atropos even doing this?'"

"Got it in one."

The entire mech shrugged. "Hon, I have no idea. But I've found it's smart not to second-guess her."

Riley chuckled. "Yeah, I got that impression." She paused for a moment. 'Can I … can I watch the takedown again? I vaguely remember the Nine, and what they did to people, and it makes me feel better to see them die."

"Can't argue with that."

<><>​

PRT Housing, Brockton Bay

Aisha

When her phone pinged with a message, Aisha ignored it at first in favour of the TV show she was watching. But then it pinged again, and she grunted with annoyance as she dug around for it. "Stupid piece of junk," she muttered before reading the messages.

Hi to my favorite fan.

How's the tiara? - A

A smile blossomed over her face as she utterly ignored the TV and tapped out a reply.

The tiara is amazeballs. You rock. The look on GG's face was funny as fuck.

Atropos' reply came quickly. Coolness. I'd like to do a speaker call with you and Brian. You down for that?

Well duh she was down for that. "Bri! Get your lazy ass in here!"

His voice emanated from the living room. "Why, exactly?"

"Because Atropos is about to call, and she wants you and me on speaker."

"What?" From the sound of it, he'd just launched himself over the back of the couch. "Why's she calling us?"

"Because she wants to talk to us, duh." As far as Aisha was concerned, that was the only reason she needed. As Brian hurried into the bedroom, she typed in, Sure. It'll be great to talk to you again.

Less than one second after she hit Send, the phone rang. She swiped to answer it, then put the phone on speaker. "Heyyyy! How is the baddest cape in the Bay? Holy shit, what you did to the Nine was seriously messed up, but in a good way!"

"Hi, Aisha." Atropos chuckled. "I'm glad you approve. How are you and Brian doing? All good there?"

"Oh, we're okay." Aisha thought about that for a moment, then decided to correct herself. "Actually, better than okay. This place they got us staying in is pretty damn comfortable, and nothing smells of piss, and I don't get my dad on my case twenty-four-seven, so that's always a bonus. I mean, Brian's still here, but there isn't much I can do about that."

"Now, be nice," Atropos said, but she heard the chuckle in the other girl's voice. "If it wasn't for him being a Ward, you wouldn't be there. Anyway, I'm calling about something that's going to happen soon. Tomorrow morning, you're going to be contacted by your supervisor in the PRT and told that your father had a distant cousin who recently died in a car accident along with his wife. They're survived by their ten-year-old daughter Riley, who triggered with powers trying to save them. And it turns out you're the next of kin."

"Wait," said Brian, on the ball for once. "I'm pretty sure I never heard of Dad having any cousins, close or distant."

"And yet, he has one now." Atropos seemed to be drawing this out. "And so do you."

"Wait, wait." Aisha got it all of a sudden. "If Riley's got powers and we're the next of kin … does that mean they'll be putting her with us?"

"That's what they'll be asking you if you're okay with," Atropos confirmed. "Brian's got powers, she's got powers, she'll need a female relative who she can relate to … as far as they're concerned, it'll be perfectly obvious."

"But there's clearly more to it than that, if you're calling ahead to tell us about it." Brian tilted his head, looking pensive. "If she's not really our cousin, what's actually going on?"

"What's actually going on is that when I killed off the Nine, I knocked out Bonesaw instead of killing her, then took her to an expert on the matter. She's since been stripped of all her lethal toys, de-aged a couple of years, and had the entire Bonesaw persona taken away from her. What's left is the frightened kid who was abducted by Jack Slash, six years ago. I really think she deserves a second chance."

"Whoa, wait a second." Brian held up his hands in the classic 'time out' pose. "I'm all for helping out, but I think it'll look a bit weird if we took in a slightly younger Bonesaw clone."

The phone pinged as a message arrived. "I thought you'd say that. Here's a picture of what she looks like now."

Aisha frowned and opened the message. The picture was of an unconscious girl wearing Bonesaw's bloodstained Alice dress … but this girl was black. "What the fuck?"

"Like I said, I took her to an expert in the field. She doesn't look like Bonesaw or think like her, and she certainly won't act like her. And I personally think you two are the best chance she's got of growing up to be a hero. Also, the PRT will be giving you a stipend for her expenses. So, what do you say?"

Aisha was staring at the girl's face. Even in repose, there was a hint of pain there, and her heart went out to the poor kid. "So, she'll be like my little sister or something?"

"That's the idea, yeah."

Another question occurred to her. "Who else knows that she's not our cousin?"

"You, me, her. A couple of others, but nobody in the PRT or Protectorate. Best to keep it that way, yeah?"

That was when Brian decided to be a boring adult. "Can I have half an hour to think it over?"

"Absolutely. Take all the time you need." The call ended.

"Think it over?" Aisha glared at him. "What thinking do you need to do? That poor kid needs us!"

"Now, wait a minute." Brian shook his head. "We're going to have to talk this over—"

Aisha wasn't letting that fly. "Nope. We're taking her in."

"But you're not considering all the ramifications—"

"Little. Sister."

"Aisha, think about this logically—"

"Imma braid her hair. And teach her how to braid mine."

"I understand you're kind of lonely—"

"I swear, if you turn this down, I will make your life a living hell."

"You already do."

She grinned evilly. "Yeah, but now I'll have a reason to."

<><>​

Half an Hour Later

Thirty-odd more miles had passed under the car's humming wheels when Brian rang me back. "Hello? Atropos?"

"Speaking," I answered.

He sighed. "After much thinking, and not a little badgering, we've decided that yes, we'll take her in."

In the background, I was almost certain I could hear Aisha doing a victory dance. "Fuckin' A!"

<><>​

Aisha

"Excellent." Atropos didn't sound even slightly surprised. "Thank you. I really appreciate it."

Brian nodded, even though she couldn't see him. "You're welcome." The call ended a second later, and he turned to Aisha. "I hope we don't end up regretting this."

She rolled her eyes. "You know who ends up regretting shit around my girl Atropos? The morons who don't do what she says."

Reluctantly, he nodded. "Good point. Now, get some sleep. You've got school in the morning, remember?"

"Oh, shit." Frantically, she cast around for an excuse not to go there, even if it was a class set up to compensate for her short attention span. "Can't go. I'll be, uh, helping Riley settle in and stuff."

He grinned at her with that special nice-try shit-eating grin he was so good at. "Nope. You'll be going to school." He headed out of the room, then leaned back in through the doorway. "Bed. Now."

"Fine." Aisha collected her pyjamas and went to have a quick shower and brush her teeth before going to bed. But as she went, she danced on her toes. I'm gonna have a little sister …

Atropos, she decided, was awesome.



End of Part Twenty-Three

 

[woodzrox]

Who needs sleep? Clearly not me. Thanks for the chapter!

 

[FictionPack]

Clearly Director Wilkins forget the part where Atropos said she can and will travel.

 

[kraryal]

This was fun... and wholesome? What a thought. Thanks Ack! You've really nailed Aisha's character, it feels like. It's funny seeing Brian technically on the side of the angels.

 

[Derrick Meade]

Clearly Director Wilkins forget the part where Atropos said she can and will travel.

Click to shrink...

True but I don't think the prt knows that atropos is THE strongest precog ever recorded for them. Also the fact that she knew the exact time to leave to get behind Wilkins at the exact moment for the most drama.
Edit: afterall, rhis was probably foresaw the exact moment she wanted to gain good relations to the prt

 

[twilightwanderer]

Clearly Director Wilkins forget the part where Atropos said she can and will travel.

Click to shrink...

Have Shears, Will Travel reads the card of a cape

 

[Ack]

Clearly Director Wilkins forget the part where Atropos said she can and will travel.

Click to shrink...

She thought it only applied to supervillains.

Whoops.

 

[seeing_octarine]

And then, with a suddenness that froze the blood in Emily's veins, Atropos walked into view behind Wilkins. Those damned shears were in her hand, twirling gently as she approached the New York PRT Director from behind.

Click to shrink...

Nothing says "nowhere is safe" more than casually wandering into an encrypted video conference happening behind locked doors deep inside a secure area hundreds of kilometres away from where you're supposed to be. Atropos doing her best Contessa+Doormaker impression here.

 

[Lovhes]

Now I'm giddy on what atropos prepared for endbringer. What kind of demonic tinker shit she asked leet to make, and will it help leet to placate his power that somehow hates his guys.

 

[silentorphan]

Atropos, who had paused during the discussion, suddenly moved. Her arm snaked around Wilkins' head, hand cupped under her chin, and pulled back. At the same time, the gleaming steel blade of the bodice shears ended up poised over Wilkins' left eye, the point so close it was brushing her eyelid each time she blinked. Emily judged that if those blades were as sharp as she suspected, it would take very little effort to drive them through into Wilkins' brain.

"How about now?" asked Atropos, her tone almost conversational. "Afraid now?"

Click to shrink...

Atropos: "Hi. I'm the new cape in town, and I'm outta my mind. You ever so much as touch the Brockton Bay database again, you even think my name, and I'll cut you into little pieces that'll make you useless to the PRT."
Director Costa-Brown (on-screen): "...Did you get that from a movie? An Earth Aleph movie?"
Atropos (deflating): "I'm trying to be dramatic here, give me a break."

 

[Ack]

A Darker Path

Part Twenty-Four: Broken Hearts

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

Relevant Side Story 1 – New York

Relevant Side Story 2 - Greg


Monday Morning, January 10, 2011
Hebert Household

Taylor

I browsed over my mental map of enemies and other looming threats as I ate a leisurely breakfast with Dad. The fact that so many people sought my downfall fazed me not at all, mainly because my power positively thrived on the challenge of ending threats before they ended me. The main difference was that the vast majority of these were outside Brockton Bay, rather than inside it. I was looking forward to kicking their butts as well.

Dad smothered a yawn as he picked up some bacon with his fork. Even though I'd done the majority of the driving on the way back (via a Path to Ending This Journey Safely at Home) it had still been a long night for the both of us. I seemed to be handling it better than he was, but that was probably due to me being a teenager. If I were to believe pop culture, long nights were what we did.

"I still can't believe you said that thing about seeing things eye to eye," he said, shaking his head. I'd given him the basic rundown on the encounter, of course. "Was that just to mess with Wilkins?"

"Mostly, yeah." If I hadn't been running that precise Path, Wilkins would've more than likely become my latest kill through sheer pigheaded stubbornness. My power had thrown that phrase in there to screw with her head, but there was more to it than that. "I think it meant something to the Chief Director too; she almost flinched. Not sure why, though."

"God knows what skeletons are lurking in her closet," he said cynically. "She talks a good game, but people like her know where all the bodies are buried. And usually have a few of their own." He yawned again, and stretched. "I'm definitely going to be giving the coffee machine a serious workout once I get to my desk." He paused. "Which reminds me."

"Yeah?" I asked, then took a drink of orange juice.

"You said you walked into frame behind Wilkins, but how'd you get into her office without opening the door?"

I smirked. "They're going to be asking themselves that for a long time. My hack essentially made me invisible to their security cameras, and the number of personnel in that building is pretty low on a Sunday night. It wasn't even a challenge to keep out of sight of everyone."

"Okay, with you so far," he said. "Did you pick the lock to her office door or something?"

"Didn't have to." I grinned. "Waited around the corner until she walked past and tucked in behind her. She never heard or saw me. When we got to her office, I ducked into her ensuite while she went to her desk, always keeping just out of her peripheral vision. Then it was just a matter of waiting for my cue."

"Hah!" He chuckled for a few moments, then raised his coffee cup to me in salute. "That's beautiful. While I can't say your mom would entirely approve of all this killing, I think she would've loved that." He tilted his head in thought. "Then again, I'm pretty sure she'd secretly approve of the city being cleaned up, however it was done. So, there's that."

"I like to think she'd at least understand why it has to be done." I leaned back in my chair, taking another drink of juice. As my Paths curled and wove through the probabilities of the days ahead, I spotted something new and raised an eyebrow. "Huh. Looks like it's going to be an interesting day."

Dad chuckled again. "You've somewhat redefined that word over the last few days. So, what do you consider 'interesting' right now? Is it that thing you've done with Bonesaw? Has it gone wrong?"

"No, as far as I can tell, Riley's right on track." I took a bite of egg while I was thinking about what to say next. "There's some new capes in town. One showed up yesterday afternoon; I already knew about her. The other two must've come into town in the early hours of the morning. They're not even looking to have a beef with me, which makes them marginal for my radar. But they are using Master-type powers to mess with people, which is what puts them on my radar at all."

"Maybe they're just passing through?" he hazarded. "Step aside and wave them by?"

I shook my head. "It's more complicated than that. As far as I can tell, they're Heartbreaker's kids. One's running from him, the other two are chasing her. And she wants to stay in town."

"Heartbreaker. Shit." Now, he looked concerned. "That man is bad news from start to finish. I've heard stories."

"The reality is probably worse. It usually is." Once I noticed the intruders, I'd started a Path to End the threat and legacy of Heartbreaker, then gently steered my power away from 'kill them all' toward more information-gathering options. I was curious as to what was going on, and while going to the source and beating answers out of them was always an option, it was usually easier to just get my power to fill in the blanks.

Kicking over the Path gave me more details about the three kids who'd just hit Brockton Bay. I already knew about Cherie Vasil, but her brothers Guillaume and Nicholas were new to me. Each had Master-style powers, but in a different way. Cherie could detect emotions from all the way across the city and control emotions from much closer, Guillaume could see through a person's eyes and mess with their senses once he touched them, and Nicholas could just inspire fear.

And all three were right at that second using their powers to take advantage of the citizens of Brockton Bay. The capes might have had their unwritten rules, but I had one of my own: no more villains in Brockton Bay. I hadn't actually said as much on PHO, but it should've been made plain by context.

With their actions, they were (however subtly) disrupting the orderly operation of my city and delaying its revival. That pissed me off. And so, they were now on my radar.

But before I could deal with that, I had another obligation to meet. If I wanted to maintain even a fig-leaf of my cover as Taylor Hebert, I had to go to school. Winslow High awaited.

Fortunately, at least one of my problems would come to me.

<><>​

Madison

Emma had refused to watch the playback of the deaths of the Nine after the first go-around, but Madison had been through it at least half a dozen times. In a way, she was able to glean a certain bleak pride from watching Taylor's deadly grace against America's most terrifying supervillain gang. They had come to Brockton Bay, and one teenage girl had killed them all before they could even take a single victim. You had no idea what you were up against.

Madison knew.

She'd strongly suspected that Taylor had killed Sophia after the incident in the cafeteria, but the absolute proof had arrived when Atropos paralysed Hatchet Face's diaphragm with his own axe and left him to suffocate. Her words to him left no doubt in her mind: 'I've only had to do this once before. She was an annoying little bitch, too. But she was on her second warning, so she got a pass. You're all out.'

The incessant online speculation about who the other 'annoying little bitch' was would've amused her, except for that fact that every time she watched that part of the clip, she could hear Taylor's voice murmuring in her ear: "That's two." Nothing seemed funny after that.

She knew beyond any shred of a doubt that Taylor could've left her to die, just as she had Hatchet Face. It hadn't been anything resembling compassion or pity that stayed Taylor's hand; Madison was pretty sure that even if Taylor felt those emotions, they didn't have much to do with her decisions.

No, Taylor had simply chosen not to bother with killing her or Emma. She'd arbitrarily decided that they had one last chance to mend their ways, along with Sophia. Madison and Emma had taken the warning to heart. Sophia had not, and Taylor had killed her.

But she hadn't stopped there. On that same night, Oni Lee had died, shot in the face with his own pistol. The next night, some villain called Coil. After that; Kaiser, then Lung, then Skidmark, in increasingly thorough ways.

All Taylor. Even before the Nine, Madison had seen the images of Atropos and watched the meagre footage, and she knew. The killer's stance was tall and proud, entirely unlike Taylor of before; but over the last week, she had walked with an assured stride that had people instinctively stepping out of her way. Some of this, Madison was sure, was down to the extremely intense whispering campaign that she and Emma had carried out to pass the word that Taylor was not to be bullied under any circumstances, but most of it was down to Taylor herself.

Neither she nor Emma had breathed a word that might suggest Taylor was Atropos, but combined with Sophia's death and Taylor's change in attitude, the 'hands off' order had more or less accidentally suggested it anyway. She was reasonably sure that most of the school (those who were aware of Taylor, anyway) had half a suspicion of Atropos's true identity by now, but the events of Sunday afternoon had sealed any and all lips when it came to voicing such suspicions. Even if they didn't specifically believe it, nobody wanted to be the one who drew her ire by accidentally outing her. Especially considering how horribly fucking lethal she'd shown herself to be in both physical and social combat (Madison wasn't bad with the occasional cutting quip, but she'd never seen someone talked to death before) when up against the various members of the Nine.

And there came Taylor herself. Backpack slung over her shoulder, head up, moving with that same confident stride. Madison belatedly realised that her hair—the one feature Atropos showed to the outside world—was also the same as in the footage she'd seen of the Sunday massacre.

Stopping at her own locker, Taylor opened it briefly to get her books out, then closed it again and kept moving. Madison took half a step back, just to make sure that she wasn't in Taylor's way. At her side, Emma shrank back against the locker. Taylor passed them by with barely the flicker of an eye and the ghost of a nod to acknowledge their presence, then kept going.

Madison breathed again. She was reasonably sure she'd never need to actually do cardio again for as long as she attended Winslow, from the accelerated heartrate she got every time she knew Taylor was in the vicinity. Terror-fuelled adrenaline had a way of doing that.

And then, disaster loomed. As Taylor made her way along the corridor toward (Madison presumed) her home room, Greg Veder approached her, hand up to get her attention. No, Greg, no! Madison screamed silently. One did not simply delay a force of nature from going where she wished.

Beside her, Emma sucked in a breath. "Does he want to die?" she whispered.

"No idea." Madison checked around for escape routes. She didn't think whatever Greg had to say would cause Taylor to go berserk on the school; but then again, Greg had been known to say some remarkably moronic things.

Madison had no idea what Greg was saying, but it didn't seem to be setting Taylor off. Whatever it was, he finished quickly enough, then stood there nervously awaiting a reply. She spoke a few words and slapped him lightly on the shoulder then moved on, leaving Madison wondering what had just happened. At least she didn't look angry, and Greg was still upright and alive, so there was that.

"What did he say?" hissed Emma. "What did she say?" She eyed Madison, as if about to mention that Taylor and Greg shared a World Affairs class with her.

"You know what?" Madison decided. "I really don't want to know that badly." Taylor Hebert's business was Taylor Hebert's business. Madison liked living.

Emma drew in a shaky breath. "Yeah, good point. Let's get to home room. See you at lunch." They would eat far away from Taylor's table; that was a given. If they didn't interact with her, they would not offend her, and thus the stay of execution would be maintained. It was a plan.

"See you there." Madison gave her friend a smile and encouraging nod—stay strong—and headed off toward the Art classroom, which was her own home room.

There were many villains in the world. So long as Taylor had them to focus on, Madison and Emma would survive.

<><>​

Cherish

Cherie pushed open the doors of the school and walked on in as if she belonged, even though she'd never been there before in her life. All around her sang a chorus of music only she could hear, emanating from the students and staff of Winslow High School. Overtones merged with undertones; nobody was truly happy to be there, but some were more content than others.

Interestingly enough, a significant fraction of the students in the school shared an underlying tension born of fear, though in some it made the transition to respect. With a very few, that fear was sharp and jagged, the musical tones jangled, while for most it was more of a background thing. The fear notes peaked at a certain point within the school, a point which moved at a steady walking pace.

And from that point came an entirely different set of tones, harsh and dark. The kind of music she imagined would come from an immense predatory beast prowling through the jungle darkness, knowing full-well it was the baddest motherfucker in the valley of the shadow of death. The sort of hunting creature that had no fucks to give.

In that instant, as she registered the tone and analysed it, the music changed. It became more insistent, more dangerous, as the moving student stopped. A thrill of notes ran through it that told her one thing. The monster was aware of her presence. It had her scent.

And it had just growled.

Well, shit.

<><>​

Taylor

I'd just passed by Madison and Emma, who by all appearances were trying to pretend to not even be there, when Greg came up to me. "Uh, Taylor?"

"Yeah, Greg, what is it?" He wasn't intruding on my threat landscape, so I didn't have to worry about danger from him.

He grimaced briefly. "That PHO thing … I was being a fucking idiot and I just want to say I'm sorry and it'll never happen again. Okay?"

Huh. That had actually been a well-thought-out apology. I nodded to acknowledge it, and gave him a brief half-smile. "Apology accepted, Greg. We're good." Giving him a light slap on the shoulder, I moved on.

It appeared the Path to End any bullying of me had definitely borne fruit. Even the girls who'd casually passed comments about me were significantly silent when I walked by. I doubted Greg, or either of Emma or Madison, had deliberately passed word about who I was; they would've shown up as enemies if they had. But it seemed enough people were wary of me that they knew something was up, just not quite what.

I was perfectly fine with that.

Nobody hassled me as I headed for the Computer Studies classroom. I was a little early, but I figured I could do some checking on PHO to see if there was anything I could pick up on the Vasil kids. Even if there wasn't, it would serve the pass the time until one of them made their next move.

Just as I got to the doorway of the classroom, that was exactly what happened. I felt a ping, and saw in my mental landscape that Cherie had arrived at the school—exactly as predicted—and was now actively scanning for me. The ping itself announced that she'd found me. I focused on the dot representing her, getting her exact location in the school and what she intended to do from here on in, and allowed some of my irritation at her being in my city to bleed through. From the way she twitched, she'd gotten the message loud and clear.

Good.

<><>​

Cherish

She hadn't realised that Atropos would be able to counter-sense her. This put a whole new urgency on the matter. She had to get a name, a face, something she could work with. Going directly at Atropos, focusing specifically on her, would be a mistake. She'd made mistakes before, but she'd always recovered from them. And getting Atropos on side as her protector, whatever the cost, would be worth it. I'm not going back. I'm never going back.

Taking her focus away from the source of the dark, sharp music, she turned it instead toward one of the two people who had exhibited such a strong fear response. This person, beyond a doubt, knew who Atropos was. And once I have a name, I have leverage.

That person was also moving with purpose, toward a destination somewhat distant from the source of the menacing melody (who seemed, thank fuck, to have lost interest in her for the moment). Cherie hurried her footsteps; while she could do what she needed to with others around, having witnesses usually made things a ton more difficult. So, it was better to grab her before she reached whichever classroom she was going toward.

Climbing a short flight of stairs, she hustled along a corridor and turned a corner to see the focus of the fear ahead of her. Petite, with long brown hair, the girl was walking away from her and not keeping pace with anyone else. That meant there was nobody to pay direct attention to what she needed to do.

Perfect.

She had to break into a half-run to catch up with the girl, but she managed it. Just before her quarry would've gotten to a classroom full of her peers, Cherie slapped a hand onto her shoulder. "Not so fast."

The girl's underlying fear peaked into heart-stopping terror, and she whirled around. "I didn't do anything, I swear!" A couple of moments passed by, while she apparently processed the fact that she wasn't looking at Atropos, before her fear dropped away. "Uh, who are you?"

"Not something you need to worry about." Cherie took the girl's curiosity and anger at being scared, and minimised them. She didn't have time for arguments or stupid questions right now. "I just want to know something."

"Listen, I don't know you, and I need to get to class, so—" The girl went to pull away.

Cherie muted that impulse, too. "My name's Cherie. There, now you know me. What's your name?"

With her wariness dialled back—god, this girl was a mass of worries—she blurted, "Madison. Madison Clements. What do you want to know?"

Well, that was a good start. "What I want to know, Madison, is who is Atropos? I know you're aware of who she is. I just want to know her name."

It was like she'd tossed a match into a mass of tinder. The fear roared up again, glaring out of Madison like a nuclear furnace. "N-no. I can't tell you. She-she'll kill me."

Cherie rolled her eyes. "No, she won't. There's nothing to be scared of. You can tell me." As she spoke, she damped down the fear reaction to a fraction of its normal effect.

Madison shook her head frantically. "No! She will totally kill me!" She seemed to be taking an effort to breathe, her eyes wide and staring. "You don't know her! You haven't looked in her eyes!"

Jesus, it's like Nicholas went to town on her. Whatever Atropos had done to put a scare into Madison, it had worked. The terror went bone-deep.

Again, she damped down the fear. "It's okay. I'll protect you. You can tell me. I'm not scared of her." Leaning in, she whispered, "Who is Atropos?"

This was getting irritating. No matter how hard she forced the fear response down, it flared up over and over again. "You should be scared of her!" Madison's tone wasn't defiant; she was terrified. No matter what other emotional reactions Cherie elicited in her, the fear of Atropos overwhelmed everything.

Vaguely, as she concentrated on getting Madison to cooperate, she became aware of someone coming up behind her. She sent them 'disinterest, ignore me', then turned her full attention back to the girl in front of her.

Fine. I'll fight fear with fear. Let's see how she goes when I divert some of that toward me, and she ends up more scared of me than of Atropos.

Something smashed into the side of her head, and the hallway spun around her. Knocked off her feet, she landed heavily on her side, sprawling untidily. She shook her head in an attempt to get rid of the ringing from the impact, then looked around to see what had just happened. Just then, a foot hammered into her ribs and she was jolted sideways, breath driven from her lungs.

Cherie cursed her own inattention; she'd been concentrating so hard on trying to interrogate Madison that she'd totally missed Atropos' musical accompaniment approaching her from behind.

As she slumped onto her side, a tall slender brunette stood over her. "I hear you've been looking for me."

<><>​

Taylor

I gave the girl at my feet a dispassionate glance, then looked over at Madison.

"I didn't say a word, I swear!" she babbled. "She wanted to know who you were, but I didn't tell her!"

"I know," I reassured her. "You've done well. Get to class."

She blinked at the unexpected praise. "Uh … okay." Turning in the direction of the Art classroom, she scuttled off without looking back.

I got the very distinct impression that not only did she not want to know what I was going to do, but she didn't even want to acknowledge that something might happen. Which worked just fine for me.

Slinging my backpack over my shoulder, I leaned down and grabbed the groaning girl by the scruff of the neck. "Come on," I told her as I hoisted her to her feet. "There's some things I've got to say and you need to hear." With dark amusement, I noted that they hadn't actually locked the classroom that I'd ended Sophia's career in, so I opened the door and shoved her in there.

<><>​

Cherish

It had been a while since Cherie had been manhandled like that. Her torments were normally of the mental and emotional variety, at the hands of her family. Only when her father had rented her to outsiders for an evening of (their) pleasure had she had to deal with the physical type.

This was different. Those men didn't care what she wanted or thought. They just wanted her body, not her attention. Atropos absolutely wanted her attention, and wasn't taking 'no' for an answer.

As her head cleared, Cherie wondered if it would be easier just to go that route. While she wasn't stupid enough to think that being Atropos' lover would exempt her from all 'discipline', it would make things a lot smoother all around. Tentatively, she reached out to Atropos' musical melange, seeking any sort of tendency toward same-sex attraction. The vast majority of people had some level of it, she knew from personal experience; however, most either didn't notice it or subsumed it into 'acceptable' social contact. No matter how feeble it was, if she could bring it out …

Her inquiry hit a brick wall at about the same time she felt the same brick wall explode on the side of her face. Reeling sideways, she landed on the floor. A warm trickle across her face told her that she had a nosebleed.

"Rule number one." A sneaker-clad foot rolled her over onto her back, then settled across her neck; not hard enough to impede her breathing, but the awareness of it was right there. "You don't use your powers on me. I will know, and I will kill you. Do you understand?"

She blinked her eyes clear and stared up at Atropos. There was as little mercy in those eyes as in the musical accompaniment. "Y-yes," she managed. "I-I understand."

"Good. Rule number two. You don't use your powers on my family or friends. I will know, and I will kill you. Do you understand?"

Cherie wasn't actually stupid, just the victim of a terrible upbringing. She was perfectly capable of spotting the trend here. "I understand," she said again.

Atropos must have had some level of emotional sensing herself, because she evidently picked up on Cherie's sincerity. "Excellent. Rule number three. When I tell you to use your power, you will use it only on the people I tell you to use it on, you will use it exactly how I tell you to use it, and you will stop using it when I say so. Vary from any of these, and you'll wish I had only killed you. Do you understand?"

To describe the Vasil family as 'dysfunctional' was to invent entire new vistas for that word to explore. Cherie had undergone many experiences under her father's 'protection' that she would rather die than revisit. However, listening to the sheer menace in the music surrounding Atropos, in stark contrast to the matter-of-fact way the words were spoken, filled her with the burning determination to never find out what Atropos considered a fate worse than death.

"I understand," she managed, while at the same time suppressing her bladder's urgent desire to empty itself. "I'll do what you tell me. I promise."

Atropos beamed and took her foot off Cherie's neck. "Good." Leaning down, she offered a hand up. "I'm so glad we could reach an understanding."

Cautiously, Cherie accepted it and allowed Atropos to help her up. No more surprise attacks seemed to be forthcoming, which was a nice change of pace. "So, you'll protect me from my dad?"

"I'll do better than that," Atropos said, as though suggesting that she would pay for Cherie's lunch tomorrow. "I've already told him not to come here, so when he does, I'll kill him. He's an infected pustule on the ass-end of society, and someone should've put an end to him long ago."

"When he—what?" Cherie stared at Atropos, near panic. "No, you can't face him! People who face him become his."

Atropos raised an eyebrow. "Really. Jack Slash thought the same thing."

Cherie knew damn well what had happened to Jack Slash. Also, what had happened to Mannequin. "I … okay." She would wait and see what happened. And if Atropos lost to her father, she'd find some way to put a bullet in her own brain, because right then the world would be fucked.

Atropos smiled breezily. Cherie wasn't sure how she managed to insert the undertone of menace. "Excellent. Go, do something. Don't break any rules. I'll find you after school."

And she would; Cherie had no doubt. Though the word 'find' triggered a problematic memory. "Oh … just by the way? My dad sent two of my brothers after me, and they're in town right now." Even from halfway across town, she could pick up their distinctive emotional signatures.

"I know."

Cherie stared at her new boss (because that was totally what Atropos was, now), eyes widening. "You already know?"

"Guillaume and Nicholas, yes." Atropos' musical accompaniment never changed. She knew who it was, and she just didn't give a shit. "I'll deal with them after school. Go hang out at the Boardwalk or something. Just follow the rules and we'll be fine."

The dismissal was clear. Cherie wiped the blood off her face and headed out of the room. She wasn't quite sure what Atropos wanted her for, but she also knew damn well that if she hadn't smartened up real fast, she'd be lying dead in that room right now.

On the upside, she was now under Atropos' protection. A little nosebleed and a few basic rules were definitely fucking worth that.

<><>​

World Affairs Classroom, Winslow High
11.45 AM

Taylor

I was first out of my seat as the bell rang for the beginning of lunch break. Not because I wanted to elude my tormentors anymore; these days, they were careful to stay out of my way. But I had a phone call to make, and I'd still need time to eat lunch after that. Hasty eating can really mess up digestion.

"Taylor? Can you stay back a moment, please?"

Just for a moment, I considered pretending I hadn't heard Mr Gladly's voice, but it would probably draw more attention than it was worth. Whatever; I'd give him two minutes, then kill the conversation if he looked like taking too long to get to the point.

"Sure thing, Mr Gladly." I made my way through the stream of outgoing students to stand next to his desk. Fortunately—for them—they gave me a politely wide berth, nobody so much as jostling me on the way past. "What's on your mind?"

He waited until the last of them had trailed out the door, then turned to me. "Taylor, I'm not blind."

I refrained from rolling my eyes. Could've fooled me. "I get that. There's the whole lack of a seeing-eye dog and all." Okay, so I'd be a bit sarcastic.

"Um, okay, yes." He floundered for a few seconds. I kept the countdown going in my head. "I, uh, I've heard a rumour being passed around. People are whispering that you're this new cape called Atropos, or you know her."

I stared at him, deadpan. "And …?" What people thought of me mattered not in the slightest. It was quite liberating, really.

"And aren't you concerned? Atropos kills people!" His whole attitude shouted that I should be cowering under his desk.

"Atropos kills supervillains." I shrugged. "I doubt she'd take time off her busy schedule to come after someone who poses no threat to her. Was that it?"

"Uh … yes." He had the expression of someone who has just poised for a leap across a bottomless pit, and found it was painted in place. "So … you're okay with the rumours?"

"If it makes people leave me alone?" I gave him a carefree grin. "I really couldn't give a damn."

His two minutes were up; I headed out the door, leaving him staring at my back.

<><>​

Office of the Mayor, Brockton Bay
11:50 AM

Roy Christner

Just as Roy was considering going for an early lunch, his phone rang. Not his regular-business phone, but the urgent one. The number of people who had access to that phone could be counted on his fingers and have some left over. When he got a call on that phone, he answered it as soon as humanly possible.

Snatching it up, he scanned the screen for the caller's name, only to see UNKNOWN NUMBER. That should've been impossible, because everyone he'd given the number to was in the phone's contact list. Still, maybe someone was calling from a secondary number.

Swiping to accept the call, he held the phone to his ear. "You've got Christner. Who is this?"

"Hello, Mr Mayor." The voice was not one he knew. "This is Atropos. I suspect you've heard of me."

Brockton Bay's most effective serial killer or the saviour of the city; she'd been called both in his hearing. Of course he'd heard of her. Especially since, every time she posted on PHO, the hardcopy hit his desk within five minutes. He'd had several intense discussions with Emily Piggot about what was to be done about her, and none of the answers they'd come up with had been both acceptable and possible.

"I have," he answered cautiously. "To what do I owe this call?"

She chuckled. "Don't worry. You're not in trouble yet. I'm just giving you a heads-up for something you need to have done by Wednesday."

He didn't like the sound of that 'yet', but it also implied there was a chance he wouldn't end up in Atropos' crosshairs, so he took a deep breath and tried to calm himself. "What do I need to have done by Wednesday?"

"Like I said on PHO, I'm donating the bounty for the Nine toward revitalising Brockton Bay." Her voice was calm and even, as though she spoke about giving away nearly a hundred million dollars every day. "A plan will be arriving at your office on Wednesday. This plan needs to be followed in every regard. Your job is to assemble a committee between now and Wednesday, so that when the plan arrives and the money shows up in the correct account, they can get straight to work."

"A committee?" This call was not going the way he'd expected when he heard Atropos' name.

"Yeah. You know, a bunch of people with a specific job, who work together to achieve it? I'm pretty sure you've got those in government." There was a touch of mockery in her answer.

"I know what a committee is!" he snapped, already angry at himself for letting her bait him. "What sort of committee?"

"One that's got the power to enforce the directives of the plan," she stated crisply. "Composed of people who can follow directions, and won't try to redirect funds into personal projects or their own pockets. And headed by someone of proven integrity, who can oversee it all and make sure the plan gets followed."

Roy ran his hand through his thinning hair. "Something like this would normally take weeks or months to determine."

"You've got two days. And just something you might want to impress on your people. If anyone tries to change the plan or abscond with funds—and I mean anyone—I will know, and their colleagues will be dissuaded from attempting the same thing."

And there was the looming threat. He didn't think she'd limit herself to a slap on the wrist. Which raised another problem; as much as he liked to think he ran a tight ship, ninety-seven million dollars raised a lot of questions about exactly how much integrity some of his people had. "But I … I don't think we've got enough people who have the free time to sit on a committee like that."

She chuckled, as though she'd heard what he didn't say. "Or rather, enough people who wouldn't try to skim some off the top? I understand. However, you're missing a bet. I didn't say the committee had to be made up entirely of people from the city council. In fact, I strongly urge you to look outward to the wider community, to local businesses and organisations. This also reduces the chances of collusion."

"Ah. Right. Okay, I'll do what I can."

"Yes. You will. Toodles." The call ended, leaving him staring at the phone.

The chances of that call not having come from Atropos was minimal to zero. She hadn't asked for anything for herself, and she'd set about making plans for the money that was undoubtedly incoming for the destruction of the Nine. So, it was in his best interest to take her order and make it a reality.

He really, really didn't want to think of the consequences for screwing this up.

Getting up, he went into his ensuite and used the facilities, then splashed water on his face. He came back into the office and picked up his other phone. One name for the 'outside' people had come to mind while he was refreshing himself. He dialled the number and leaned back in his chair.

"Dockworkers' Association, Danny Hebert speaking."

"Ah, Danny," he said, trying to sound relaxed and confident. "Roy Christner here. Something has come up, and I thought of your name in relation to it. How would you feel about sitting on a committee to help revitalise the city, maybe even heading it?"

There was a long pause before Danny Hebert spoke again. "You have my attention."

"Good. So, this is what's happened …"

<><>​

A Few Hours Later
Hillside Mall

Guillaume

"Hey, excuse me. Can you guys help me out?" While Nicholas stood back, Guillaume approached the eighth or ninth bunch of obvious schoolkids hanging out in the mall.

One of the guys turned to look at him. "Yeah, whaddaya want?"

"It's my sister," Guillaume said, holding out the photocopied picture of Cherie. "She's gone missing. Have you seen her?"

"Buddy," said another guy. "This is Brockton Bay. Bad shit happens here. Maybe you should go back to Canuck-land and look there."

"No, let me see." The first guy took the picture, and Guillaume managed to brush fingertips with him at the same time. "When did she go missing?"

"A couple of weeks ago," Guillaume said. "We think whoever took her might be heading in this direction." Which was all true, except for the 'whoever took her' aspect.

"Shit, that's rough." One of the girls came up to look over her friend's shoulder at the picture, and Guillaume casually brushed against her as well.

The more eyes he could see through, the better. As it was, he already had dozens of viewpoints all over Brockton Bay, but not one had picked her up. Either she'd found a hole to hide in or she'd already left town, but that would be against the pattern she'd been showing.

"Thanks, I appreciate it." He moved into the rest of the group, seeking contact with all of them while trying to make it appear accidental. However, this wasn't easy to do, and sometimes people took offense. Especially in America, for some reason.

"Hey!" It was the guy who'd told him to go back to Canada. "You grab-assing there? You some kinda perv, you little dick?"

"No, I'm just showing you guys the picture." He waved the stack of sheets still in his hand.

"Bullshit! You're just a fuckin' pervert!" The guy grabbed for him, and he ducked, assisted by the fact that he had four different viewpoints telling him exactly which way to move.

"Back the fuck off." It was Nicholas, who had approached when things had started going sideways. Guillaume knew waves of fear would be emanating from him, catching the aggressive asshole off guard.

"Whoa, shit, shit, capes!" The schoolkids all scrambled to get away, leaving Guillaume standing there unscathed. "I thought there weren't villains anymore!"

"Yeah, as if." Guillaume moved to join Nicholas and they headed for an exit. "I had it covered."

"Bullshit." Nicholas snorted in derision. "You were about to get your pasty-white ass pummelled, is what was happening. What'd they mean about no villains anymore, anyway?"

They emerged into the open air, Guillaume breathing deeply from the close call. "It's a thing. Local cape called Atropos is making a play for the top spot or something. Killing off the competition. Lots of bullshit on PHO."

"Right." Nicholas looked around. "So, where to next?"

Guillaume stopped as a familiar face showed up on one of the many viewpoints in his head. Even better, it was nearby. "Over that way," he said urgently, pointing. "Just around that corner. Someone saw her."

"Awesome." Nicholas rolled his eyes. "About fucking time something went right around here."

They hustled across the street and around the corner, to see Cherie just about to enter an alleyway. She looked around and saw them, and her eyes widened. One step, and she was out of sight.

"No, no, no, fuck, no!" Nicholas broke into a sprint, with Guillaume not far behind. He could see what his brother could, of course, so he wasn't missing anything.

Nicholas entered the alley first, Guillaume hot on his heels. They didn't know enough about the local layout to try a pincer movement, so pursuit it was. Where Cherie ran, they would follow, until they caught up with her and dragged her back to their father for whatever punishment awaited her.

But she wasn't running. Nicholas—and thus Guillaume—saw that she was standing a little way down the alley, waiting for them. And with her was another figure, this one in all black, including a morph mask and a broad-brimmed hat. She had a certain edgy style about her, but they weren't here for some local cape, however stylish. They were here for their sister.

"That's far enough," the cape said. She had a pair of … scissors? Shears? Whatever they were, she was twirling them around her finger. "Nicholas, Guillaume, I've got a message for you to take back to your father. Cherie is under my protection now. Think you can remember that for me?"

Nicholas shook his head. "Oh, bullshit. I don't know who you are—"

"Atropos," she said, timing the word perfectly to knock him off his stride. "And I've got rules. You're Heartbreaker's kids, and I've already told him to stay the fuck out of my city. That goes for you too. So, you've got three options here."

"I don't give a good fucking goddamn who you think you are," Nicholas snapped. "Or about your three options. You've got two options. One, Cherie comes with us. Two, Cherie comes with us and you get left in a puddle of your own piss and shit and puke. I don't care which."

"You might want to think twice about threatening her like that." Cherie sounded a lot less scared than she should've. "If you haven't been paying attention over the last few days, the Nine came to town, and Atropos killed 'em all. Murdered the shit out of them."

Guillaume twitched. He thought he'd heard something about that, but it hadn't been enough to get his attention. His whole focus had been on finding Cherie. Nothing else mattered. But now … he pulled out his phone and thumbed it on.

"Okay, that's just pure bullshit with extra bullshit on top." Nicholas was getting off his game with the insults, but he was under a lot of stress, so Guillaume decided to cut him some slack. "If some newcomer cape could take down the fuckin' Nine, then someone would've done it years ago."

"And yet, they're dead." Atropos didn't sound boastful. She could've been saying, 'And yet, the sky is blue'. "As I was saying, you've got three options. One, you go back to your daddy without Cherie. Two, you end up in PRT custody, get extradited to Canada, and spend time in juvey for your various crimes. Or three, I kill you here and now. The one thing that's not happening is Cherie going anywhere with you. Do I make myself totally understood?"

"Fine," sneered Nicholas. "A puddle of piss and shit and puke it is." He pretended to crack his knuckles. "Sis, you better stand aside. This is gonna get messy." He concentrated; Guillaume knew that Atropos was now bearing the full brunt of his powers.

Nothing happened.

For someone who should've been running in terror or soiling themselves from multiple orifices at once, Atropos seemed remarkably unbothered by the emotional onslaught.

And then she spoke. "You think to inflict fear on me?" The voice that came from behind the morph mask was both unearthly and deeply unsettling. "I am fear. I am Death. I am Ending."

She stepped forward, going from near-motionless to attack mode without anything in between. Nicholas, caught off-guard, barely resisted when she picked him up and pile-drove him face-first into an overfull trash can.

At the same time, the search Guillaume had been making on his phone popped up a result. Nicholas swore violently, then scrambled to his feet and tried to shoulder-charge Atropos; she seemed to melt out of the way, leaving him to crash-tackle the wall of the alleyway. Predictably, it failed to budge.

"Last warning." Atropos was speaking normally once more; she had the shears back in her hand. They glittered in the dim light that filtered down into the alley. "Leave, surrender, or die."

Guillaume only caught the flicker of Nicholas' eye because he was tapped into his brother's vision. Cherie. Normally he couldn't affect her because she could moderate her own emotions as a defence. But he only needed a split-second opening.

Cherie cried out as the fear hit her. At the same time, Nicholas pulled the pistol he'd taken off a gangbanger two towns back. She was only six feet away. He'd be able to hit her easily.

Except, she didn't turn to look at Cherie. There was no distraction at all. As though they'd practiced the move for hours, she knocked the pistol aside with the shears. Then the blades flashed back across, followed by a gush of red. Nicholas gagged, blood on his lips, then fell to his knees. As inevitably as the march of the years he would never now experience, he toppled forward onto his face. His lifeblood pooled around his head on the grimy alley floor.

Atropos turned toward Guillaume; with a flick of her wrist, she shook the blood from the blade. "And you?"

He looked down at the phone in his hand. On the screen, there was a picture of Atropos, an axe in one hand and Jack Slash's severed head in the other. He didn't really need it, after what he'd just seen. He believed.

This only left him with one good option. Slowly, he put his hands up. "I'd like to surrender now, please."

There was no way in hell he could go back to his father, having lost both Nicholas and Cherie, and hope to keep his sanity. It was, as they said, a no-brainer.

He couldn't see her face, but he could hear her smile when she spoke. "Good choice."

<><>

■​

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■​

♦ Topic: Just Another Manic Monday
In: Boards ► Brockton Bay ► New Capes ► Atropos

Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
Posted On Jan 10th 2011:

Good afternoon to you wonderful people of Brockton Bay!

Today has been a restful day; by which I mean I barely had to kill anyone (though the day's not over yet, whee).

Would you believe, I encountered a couple of people today who hadn't heard about how the Nine went down in an ignominious heap just yesterday? I educated them, of course, and afterward they were much more understanding of the matter.

Oh, and Mayor Christner assures me that the committee to revitalize Brockton Bay (using the funds from the bounties on the Nine) will be up and running by Wednesday, ready to discharge their duties with full integrity and honesty. I have faith in you, Mr Christner!

I'll be watching.

(Mwahahaha.)

Also, I promised you news about the drug trade today, and here it is. There are two more major staging points within Brockton Bay, one on the Docks and one to the northwest of the city. The people manning them (and in some cases womaning them; can't be sexist now) know where they are ... and so do I. Remember that mushroom cloud we enjoyed on Saturday afternoon? Expect something similar tonight, times two. I'll be sure to alert the fire department before it happens so they can be on the way. Bring your breathing gear, guys. The air is gonna be *funky*.

Oh, and those of you who are invested in those drugs staying where they are? This is your only warning. I won't be pulling punches. So, if you figure tonight's a good night to go visit your sick aunt in Florida, or have a deep and meaningful chat with your local desk sergeant, I'm not gonna blame you. In fact, such behavior is thoroughly encouraged.

And one more thing. Hey, Heartbreaker? That makes four of your kids you're not getting back. Take a hint, loser. Or, you know, come face me yourself. But make your will out first. Just saying.

To the rest of you lovely people, have a great Monday night, and see you tomorrow.

Toodles!

■​

[A/N: This is the last for another two weeks or so.]

End of Part Twenty-Four

 

[GasperVladi0]

Well that'll cause a bit of panic, nice.

 

[Lokdal75]

Absolutely LOVE Madison's PoV here, so much <3 for Ack!

 

[Lovhes]

Tfw power induced fear can do jackshit against (admittedly power planned) natural personalized terror.
Quite interesting to see that Taylor just no sell any master effect on her like that.

 

[JiggieP]

"I am fear. I am Death. I am Ending."

Click to shrink...

Totally not Endbringer sounding at all.
Wait, she is an end-bringer.

 

[Ack]

A Darker Path

Part Twenty-Five: More Preparations

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


Somewhere Well Outside Brockton Bay

Lisa leaned back in her chair, sucking in air through her teeth. "Jesus Christ," she muttered.

"What?" asked Alec, looking up from the news. "Atropos again?"

"Yeah," she replied absently. "She's been hitting the drug stashes pretty hard. There's going to be more going up tonight."

"Oh, yeah, the one she blew up belonged to Accord, didn't it?" She could hear his smirk. "Bet he was able to crush coal into diamonds with his ass-cheeks after that little stunt."

Lisa pondered that. "Yeah, but she hasn't said anything about him sending anyone in from Boston in retaliation, and normally she wouldn't be shy about that sort of thing at all."

"Maybe he sent someone that she doesn't know about?" He shrugged when she turned and gave him a really? look. "Hey, it could happen."

"Not to Atropos, it doesn't." She stretched in the chair, feeling her back pop into place. "She even knew when Skidmark hadn't heard about the first challenge. She's got her shit more organised than Armsmaster's workshop. Which means Accord isn't going after her, because she somehow made him a better offer."

"What, to kill someone for him?" Alec tilted his head. "Who the fuck is worth that much money?"

"Dunno … oh, and Heartbreaker's going to be totally pissed with her. Given that she's currently yanking his chain like it's an Olympic event, I figure he'll be hitting Brockton Bay in the next forty-eight to seventy-two hours."

Somehow, Alec managed to go from lounging indolently on the sofa to standing beside her without appearing to pass through the intervening space. "What?"

"Heartbreaker. See, right there." She tapped on the screen with her nail. "Four of his kids. They must've come after Atropos en masse, and she dealt with them. But goading him like that … he'll come after her, and soon."

"Good." He went back to the sofa and picked up the remote. "Let me know when she kills him, so I know how much confetti to buy."

One channel change later, she waited until he was engrossed in a game show until she looked over her shoulder at him. She'd had her suspicions about his origins, and now they were confirmed. Not that she felt anything but sympathy for him; she knew exactly what it was like to be under the thumb of a controlling asshole, too.

<><>

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(Showing page 1 of 11)

►Bagrat (Veteran Member) (The Guy in the Know)
Replied On Jan 10th 2011:
So, to address this in reverse order.
To absolutely nobody's surprise, our very own *extremely capable* angel of death is once more right on the money when it comes to Heartbreaker's children. An anonymous tip led us to one deceased and one living child, both known to the Canadian authorities for various Master-related crimes. Where the other two are I have no idea, but I am *absolutely* not going to doubt her word on this. Not after the last week.
Heartbreaker, if you know what's good for you, cut your losses and stay away. Just saying.
As for the drug thing, I have absolutely no idea where she's getting her information from, but it kind of matches up with leaks we've had from other sources. But we still don't know where, exactly. And it sounds like she does.
So I'm going to make this one-time suggestion to everyone who is *at all* involved in the illegal hard-drug trade in Brockton Bay. Stop what you're doing, right now. Get out of the business. It's liable to become extremely unhealthy in the next few hours.
Finally, yeah, that revitalization scheme is absolutely a thing. My sources tell me that the Mayor's office has been frantically scrambling to assemble a committee to oversee the disbursement of the ninety-seven million dollars accruing from the ending of the Nine. Something tells me Atropos wants it to go smoothly and without any of the money vanishing into someone's bank account. So when she says she'll be watching, she means it.
I guess we'll find out soon enough if they can take a hint.
I believe the appropriate comment right now is 'we live in interesting times'.

►Reave (Verified PRT Agent)
Replied On Jan 10th 2011:
@Atropos – Okay, I get it. You work alone. And you are admittedly very effective when you do so. But you don't have to do it all yourself. If you could contact someone—even me—and give us the details of those drug locations, we could pass it on to the BBPD and they could carry out the raid themselves. That way, you're not working for us and we're not getting in your way.
Also, it means you don't have to create a fire and pollution hazard for the city in getting rid of them.
What do you say?

►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
Replied On Jan 10th 2011:
@Reave – Hey there! Thanks for the nice words. It's cool to hear the professionals say that I'm doing a good job. As for your offer, I'm gonna have to turn you down because, frankly speaking, the BBPD is dragging their heels on the whole competence and corruption thing. (The PRT's going well, I'm pleased to say—you go, guys!)
I'd maybe hand the information over to just the PRT, but the fact is, the one at the docks is being massively reinforced with guards and *actual fucking snipers*, and I don't want to make you lose men to that kind of meatgrinder when you don't have to. Every honest, competent law enforcement officer on the streets of Brockton Bay is a good thing, right now.
And yes, I'm totes aware of how ironic it sounds for a remorseless serial killer to be talking about how great it is to have good cops around. But it's true. Every bit you can do to take some of the workload off my shoulders is appreciated. The ones you can't deal with, I'll kill. Sounds good? Sounds good.
As for the other drug clearing-house, they're currently in the process of discreetly moving all the product and cash to a secondary site, one they think I don't know about. (Spoilers: I do. Also, the third site. And the fourth. Whoops, you're out of places to run and hide. Isn't this fun? Wheee!)
I'd bring the BBPD in on this to back you up if I knew for a *fact* that all the drug guys would be arrested and charged, none of the money would mysteriously disappear, and none of the drugs would end up being re-sold on the black market … but right now, that's just not the case. So, I'm not going to put temptation in front of them. Sorry, not sorry.

►GreatAndTerribleAisha (Verified Atropos Fan)
Replied On Jan 10th 2011:
Hahaha wow, BURN!
I guess too many cops got used to looking the other way for a bit of cash, huh? I mean, when it's 'either accept this bribe or die screaming' I can kinda understand, but you'd think there would be the option of transferring to a different beat or whatever.
Don't harsh me; not a cop, no idea how they do stuff. All I know is, they got no sense of humor, so when my girl Atropos called them out like that I might've done a little bit of a victory dance.
So yeah, whoof, that takedown of the Nine, how good was that? She totally cut Jack down to size.
Totally looking forward to the fireworks tonight.

►UnconcernedFox
Replied On Jan 10th 2011:
*turns TV to local news station and readies popcorn conveyor belt*

►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
Replied On Jan 10th 2011:
Now, now, @GreatAndTerribleAisha, don't go teasing the police.
They might cry, and then where would we be?
Ahh, who am I kidding? Tease them all you want. Maybe they'll clean up their act a little quicker.

►Naizeb
Replied On Jan 10th 2011:
I have to ask … if Atropos took on up to four of Heartbreaker's offspring (whom I *assume* to be Masters in their own right, otherwise why send them?) and beat them handily, killing at least one and scaring another to the point that they surrendered to the authorities (not something that surprises me anymore, just btw) … does this mean she's immune to being Mastered? Or is she *just that damn good*?
*pauses with hands over keyboard*
*re-watches the Nine takedown*
Well, okay, yes, she's just that good, but is she *also* immune to being Mastered?

►TheRealShielder (Verified Cape) (Cape Son) (New Wave Member)
Replied On Jan 10th 2011:
Well, there's no shortage of supervillains right now who would probably say 'Atropos OP, pls nerf' if they thought it would do the slightest bit of good.
I've just got one thing to say.
Sucks to be them.
(Disclaimer: This comment does not in any way reflect the attitudes or opinions of New Wave as a whole).

►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
Replied On Jan 10th 2011:
Okay, to cut short the inevitable fifteen-page argument thread about whether or not I'm immune to Mastery, or if I'm just that good …
The answer is 'yes'.
It's not that I'm immune to Mastery as such. It's more that, just like anything else, I can kill Mastery effects before they can make me do anything. And then, of course, I kill the Master who was stupid enough to try to get into my head.
How, you may ask, do I kill Mastery effects?
The answer is simple.
I'm just that good.

► BattleLoaf
Replied On Jan 10th 2011:
Wait, 4? Assuming the person she killed today is one of them, has she been picking off Heartbreaker's kids over the last week?
Nabbed 3 others between assassinating Coil, Kaiser, Lung and Skids, while planning to Slaughter the Nine?
Fucking hell, she is EFFICIENT. Take your eyes off her for a minute and 3 more supervillains drop like flies.
​

End of Page. 1, 2, 3 ... 9, 10, 11

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(Showing page 2 of 11)

►GreatAndTerribleAisha (Verified Atropos Fan)
Replied On Jan 10th 2011:
Hahahaha oh man.
If you guys knew one TENTH of what my girl Atropos has been pulling off behind the scenes … you would shit yourselves then leave town.
Efficient isn't the half of it.
Armsmaster should be begging on bended knee just to learn from her.

►XxVoid_CowboyxX
Replied On Jan 10th 2011:
Having seen what I've seen … I would not doubt that in the slightest.
I'll be standing over here, not getting in her way.

►FlippinMad
Replied On Jan 10th 2011:
Me too, Void. Me too.
There are some things you don't ever mess with.
Most of them fall under the category of 'anything Atropos considers important'.

►RaRaRa
Replied On Jan 10th 2011:
@BattleLoaf - "not getting back" is not the same thing as "Killed".
Only one of them is verified as being dead. One was reported as being turned over to the PRT.
Not sure if I want to speculate about the fate of the other two.
I mean, we've *seen* what happens to capes when Atropos is particularly peeved at them.

►BattleLoaf
Replied On Jan 10th 2011:
@RaRaRa – fair enough. I just figured Atropos saying "you're not getting them back" basically means "they ded."
(I might have missed the mention that one surrendered alive).

►Draconian
Replied On Jan 10th 2011:
Does this mean Heartbreaker is coming to town?
You know, after he's been specifically warned not to?
Pretty sure we all know what that means … "That's a paddlin'."
(If by 'paddling' we mean 'imminent and possibly ironically excruciating death').

►Brocktonite03 (Veteran Member)
Replied On Jan 10th 2011:
Um … okay, if Heartbreaker's coming to town, I guess it's a good thing that we know ahead of time. But that was a pretty big list Atropos posted up. I wonder who else we have to worry about.

►Rook (Verified Cape) (Red Hands Member)
Replied On Jan 10th 2011:
Not us. We are staying WAY the hell away from that shitshow.
Hard pass.

►AverageAlexandros (Cape Husband)
Replied On Jan 10th 2011:
Oh, good. I've always heard that the Red Hands are smarter than most.
Ominous silence from the rest of them, though.

►Char
Replied On Jan 10th 2011:
Nope. The ominous is all on our side.
Like the old joke goes, Atropos doesn't sleep. She *waits*.
Only it's not a joke.
It's really not.
​

End of Page. 1, 2, 3 ... 9, 10, 11

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PRIVATE MESSAGE

To: Rook
From: SilentWhispers

Subject: Hi there!

Tattletale here, of the Undersiders. We're kinda orphaned since our boss got Atropos'd and one of our members was grabbed up by the PRT in the aftermath. Was wondering if you had room for three more in your group? I'm told red goes great with my complexion. FYI, the other two are Regent and Bitch, but I haven't run this past them yet. Just checking to see if it's even an option.
PM me with a yes, no or other answer.

Tt

■

<><>​

Brockton Bay Central Library

Taylor

I stood up from the computer terminal and stretched, first one way and then the other. My back popped nicely; I could feel the vertebrae settling back into place. As I watched, the ongoing discussion jumped onto yet another page. At times I got the impression that some people lived solely for the chance to blast their pet opinions across the internet, come rain or shine.

Dad already knew I was going to be staying out for a while before I came home. I'd already told him when and where to pick Cherie and me up. Having him in the know made setting up my Paths a ton easier.

Which reminded me. I took my phone out and dialled his office number. I'd told him about Cherie and the others, but not that I'd be recruiting her. That was my bad, but one I could correct.

He picked up the phone promptly enough. "Dockworkers' Association, Danny Hebert speaking."

"Hey, Dad," I said. "Could you do me a favour and set an extra place at the table when you get home? I'll be having a friend sleep over tonight, and I don't want her thinking we're uncultured savages or something."

He never hesitated. "Sure, okay. Is this the friend you were talking about this morning?" Oh, yeah, he was on the ball today.

"That's the one," I confirmed. "Thanks a million. You're the best."

"You're only saying that because it's true." A chuckle came down the line. "See you tonight."

"See you then." I ended the call and put my phone away. Leaning over the computer, I cleared the history (and the link to the spoofed channel going through the PRT building) then shut it down. Then I picked up my pack and slung it over my shoulder. Cherie, who had been browsing through magazines nearby, got up and came over. For someone who was due to lose her father in the next forty-eight hours, she looked downright chipper.

I had a lot to do tonight, and only part of it was going to involve utterly wrecking the remaining illegal hard drug supply points in Brockton Bay. Other threats were upcoming, and I needed to be prepared for them.

Fortunately, I knew exactly what I needed, and where to get it from.

<><>​

Tenebrae

Brian paused in front of the door to Director Piggot's office and took a deep breath. He hadn't screwed up in the last twenty-four hours—at least, he didn't think he had—which merely made the unexpected summons all the more unnerving. Had the Director somehow figured out the Riley scam that Atropos was running on the PRT? On the face of it, he didn't think it likely, but shit sometimes just plain happened.

Letting out the breath, he reached up and knocked firmly on the door.

"Enter."

The handle turned easily in his hand, and he walked into the office. Director Piggot sat behind her desk, impassive as ever. He hadn't spent enough time in her presence to know her moods yet, but the stories he'd heard from the other Wards—the paperwork had finally come through that afternoon—indicated that she didn't show anything at all until she was well and truly pissed. And by that time, of course, it was far too late to do anything except duck and cover, and hope that you weren't the target of her ire.

"You wanted to see me, ma'am?"

She nodded once in confirmation. "Yes, Mr Laborn. I understand you will be going out with the rest of the Wards as of tonight. How do you feel about this?"

The rock-hard ball of tension inside his chest began to gradually loosen. "I get along well with my teammates, ma'am. They're good people. Looking forward to backing them up out there."

"Good." A slight creasing around her cheeks suggested the ghost of a smile. Apparently he'd said the right thing? "And your sister. How is she settling in? I know you agreed to take in your cousin, but does she have any problems with the idea?"

"No, ma'am." He suppressed a smile at the idea of Aisha's reaction to such a suggestion. "Aisha and I haven't even met young Riley, but she's enthusiastic at the idea of having a younger sibling of sorts to spend time with. And as for how she's doing right now … well, she might be snarky, but she's told me that PRT housing is a lot better than staying with either of our parents. She's less enthusiastic about having to go to school, but even that's less of an issue with the special classes she's taking."

"That's also good to hear." Piggot placed her hands on the desk and leaned forward slightly. "Has Atropos contacted her again, perhaps in relation to the raids on the drug warehouses tonight?"

Carefully, Brian shook his head. "It seems she believes she can handle this one herself. Personally, I think the main reason she took us on the last expedition was because Aisha hates drugs, and Atropos wanted to show her a good day out."

"Hmm." The Director sat back again. "If she contacts either one of you, I want to know immediately. The last thing we want to do is get in her way. Is that understood?"

"Trust me, ma'am, that's the last thing I want too," Brian agreed fervently. "I'm pretty sure she'll contact Aisha again. I just don't know when."

"Then we're on the same page." Director Piggot nodded to him. "Close the door on your way out, please."

"Yes, ma'am." He turned and left the office, careful to do what she'd said. Only then did he let out the rest of the accumulated tension in a gust of breath.

He'd already been told that Riley would be coming in later that night; they were timing her arrival for shortly after he finished his shift as Tenebrae.

Despite his earlier misgivings, he was kind of looking forward to it.

<><>​

Cherish

For all that she was the oldest child of Heartbreaker, Cherie Vasil had never been away from home before. More specifically, she'd never been out from under her father's thumb ever, so she had no idea how other villains approached things. Such as, for instance, serial killing. While she'd seen the footage of Atropos tearing a swathe through the Nine like a combine harvester on angel dust, that had only been half the picture. Now, she was learning what the other half looked like.

And it was not what she'd expected.

As night fell over Brockton Bay, Taylor paused in an alley. Her lips twitched, as though she was talking to herself, then she nodded infinitesimally. Her musical accompaniment became a shade more pleased, though for what reason, Cherie had no idea.

Shrugging off her backpack, she placed it on a piece of flattened cardboard to keep it out of the grime, then unzipped her hoodie. Underneath, she was wearing the formal shirt and tie of Atropos. She was also wearing the slacks and boots, but her body language had made her so forgettable that nobody had bothered to look twice at her.

The hoodie went into the backpack, to be replaced by the long-coat, morph mask, gloves and hat. In a matter of seconds, the gawky, inconsequential schoolgirl was replaced by the far more noticeable—and dangerous—form of Atropos. Had Cherie not been aware of Taylor's emotional accompaniment the whole time, she would have seriously suspected some kind of split personality at work. As it was, the masked killer's harsh intensity of purpose never varied.

Interestingly enough, Atropos didn't strap on the holstered pistol, but instead left it in the backpack. Not that she was in any way unarmed; Cherie had seen her proficiency with the oversized shears, and knew first-hand just how effective she was even without weapons. Although she was curious, she didn't venture a question. If Atropos wanted her to know why, Cherie would find out.

Atropos led the way through a maze of alleyways, never missing her way despite the lowering dusk, somehow managing to cross side-streets when there were no passing cars or inconvenient spectators to catch them at it. Cherie was keeping a vigil on the surrounding people herself, but not once did she 'hear' a flare of music to indicate that they'd been seen. Atropos, she decided (not for the first time), was scary good at what she did.

They stopped behind one particular shop, but between the darkness and the confusing route, Cherie couldn't have figured out where they were with a map and a GPS locator. For all she knew, they'd taken a side-trip to Chicago. Still, even with all she'd seen, she was impressed when Atropos stepped up to the back door of the shop—locked with an impressive-looking electronic code-box—and tapped in a lengthy string of digits. The door beeped agreeably and unlocked itself for them.

"Okay, what's this place?" murmured Cherie as they stepped inside. The door silently swung shut behind them; she looked around to find herself in a short corridor with a door marked STORES next to her. In the room at the end of the corridor, she could hear the music of what felt like an older man, engrossed in some intricate task or other. "Safe house?"

"Mm-mm." Atropos shook her head and held her finger to where her lips would be. Cherie took the hint and shut up, but it was too late. The music had changed; the man knew they were there.

The kchak-chak sound she heard next chilled her to her heels. Everyone, but everyone knew the sound of a pump action shotgun chambering a round. But Atropos never lost her calm.

"I know you're back there," a voice called out. "Dunno how you punks got past the lock, but stick your head through the door and I will blow it the fuck off." And he would too, she knew.

Atropos cleared her throat. "You don't want to do that, Mr Flaherty. Sorry to disturb you at this time of night, but I'm pretty sure I'd raise a few eyebrows if I walked in through your front door during business hours."

There was a long pause, during which Cherie could detect doubt creeping into the shop owner's certainty. "Who's that?" he called out.

"You know who it is," Atropos replied. "I'm coming through." Turning her head toward Cherie, she made a stay-here gesture.

Cherie was fine with that; the only way she was going through the doorway would be to turn down the aggressive intent of the man beyond to zero. Unfortunately, Atropos had told her not to use her power without permission, which took away that option.

Moving with a fearless step, Atropos went through the open doorway, hands open to show that they were empty. The man's musical accompaniment changed abruptly from doubt to certainty, then fear. "Christ on the Cross, it is you," he said. "I've done nothing wrong, I swear." A clatter of metal suggested to her that he'd put the shotgun down. More than that, from the change in tone of voice and music, Cherie could've sworn she heard sweat springing out on his brow.

"Relax. I'm not here to hurt you." From the tone, Cherie was sure Atropos was smiling under the mask. "On the contrary, you're about to make a great deal of money."

He hesitated, as though searching for the trap in what she was saying. "… I'm listening," he said at last.

"You know people," Atropos said, with a certainty that took it far out of the range of being a question. "People who collect weapons. Cape paraphernalia. The more infamous, the better. I have something for you. In return, I'd like to browse your shelves. I'm in need of a few bits and pieces."

In that moment, she had him. Cherie could hear his music change yet again as the realisation went through his mind. Here, standing before him, was the girl who had killed more cape villains than any other person Cherie could name off the top of her head. If anyone could provide provenance for a piece of salvaged cape gear, it was her.

"What have you got?" His voice was a croak, as though his throat had suddenly gone dry.

"Two things," she said lightly. There was a faint clatter, as of something being dropped on a countertop. "The handle of Jack Slash's last knife, plus a little bit of blade. There's the bullet-hole where I shot it out of his hand."

"Uh huh." He was trying desperately to sound nonchalant, but his thoughts were whirling. Atropos could've dropped a gold ingot on the floor for less effect. "And what was the other thing?"

This time, the thump had rather more authority to it. "Oni Lee's pistol, plus his holster and gunbelt. It's what I shot him with. Also, what I used to punch the holes in Lung's head and chest before I burned him alive."

Flaherty abandoned all pretext at calmness. "Jeeeesus Christ. I can't even … I know at least three people who would murder their own mothers to get these things into their private collections."

"That's not my problem." Atropos' voice cut through the air like her shears had slashed through Nicholas' throat. "I'll leave it up to you to arrange the auction or sale or however you do it. I just need to pick up a few items, and then I'll be on my way."

"Take whatever you need." There was an edge of hysteria to his voice. "I could buy my whole stock ten times over for what these are worth."

"Thank you, I will. These are the keys to unlock the cases? Excellent." There was the sound of metal jingling, and another door opening.

Cherie stayed right where she was, keeping tabs on the man in the next room and Atropos, as well as the surrounding area. Nothing untoward seemed to be going on, which was good. There was no treachery in his music, just a bubbling elation.

A moment or so later, Cherie heard the sound of Atropos' footsteps coming back through. "Thank you, Mr Flaherty," she said politely. "And good night."

"Sure, and you too." He paused. "Uh, you didn't take too long there."

Again, Cherie was sure she was smiling. "That's okay. I knew what I was getting, and you didn't have any grenades."

"Yeah, well, that shit's illegal. Quickest way I know to get your license revoked and end up inside the iron bar hotel for a nice long stretch."

Her voice was full of approval. "And it's because you've never involved yourself in the illegal arms trade that I came to you. Good luck with your auction."

He chuckled ruefully. "Come back anytime for any extras you might need. You've barely scratched the surface, there."

<><>​

Taylor

"I'll keep that in mind." Leaving Flaherty to gloat over the pieces I'd given him in trade, I went on through to where Cherie waited, the backpack now somewhat heavier. But that wasn't the only change I'd made to my outfit.

In the front room, I'd found a bandolier of blades, wickedly sharp and balanced for throwing. It now resided under my long-coat, as did my new pistol, the holster clipped into my waistband. Oni Lee's weapon had served me well, and now it had fulfilled its final purpose; to get me more weapons with which to explain my unhappiness to those with whom I was unhappy.

I gestured at the exit, and she led the way out to the alley beyond. As the door closed behind us, I heard the beginnings of a phone conversation. "Jay? Yeah, it's me. I need you to set up an auction. All the high rollers. The big money. I just got two pieces dropped in my lap …"

Despite the multitudinous questions I could see in her eyes, Cherie didn't speak until we were several yards down the alleyway. Her eyes were wide as she stared at my new armament, including the sleek stockless shotgun slung over my right shoulder.

"Um, are you looking to start a war with all that?" she asked. "Because it looks to me like you really want to fuck someone's day up. Just saying."

"Well, yes." Hadn't she figured that out about me already? "Fucking up the entire existence of anyone who pisses me off is kind of what I do. And right now, there are several people competing strongly for the distinction of being next on my list. Now, come on. We've got one more stop to make before we head back for dinner."

Cherie had to lengthen her stride to keep up with me. "Yeah, but what are you going to pick up now? You've already gone to a gun shop. And why didn't you grab something like an AR-15 or a Desert Eagle while you were there? You know, something with some real hitting power?"

I ignored her first question. "Hitting power is for those with inadequate aiming capability."

"What?"

"People who can't shoot straight." I turned briefly to look at her. "If a cape can be stopped by a high-powered bullet, they can also be stopped by a relatively low-powered one, too. You just need to shoot them in exactly the right place. Precision trumps brute force every time."

We exited from the alley, and I turned toward the car that was idling at the curbside.

"Uh, there's someone in there …" Cherie trailed off, as though unsure what to say next.

"I know. This is our ride. Get in the back." I climbed into the front seat next to Dad, and pulled off my hat and mask. "Hey, Dad. This is Cherie. Cherie, meet my dad."

Halfway into the back seat, Cherie froze as Dad turned to look at her. "Hi," he said neutrally. "Taylor vouches for you, so I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt. For your sake, I strongly suggest that you don't fuck up." Holding out his hand, he added, "You can call me Mr Hebert."

"Uh … yes, sir. Mr Hebert." Cherie shook his hand awkwardly, then finished getting into the car. "Uh … how come you're so okay with … well, everything?"

Dad smiled benignly as he turned back to look out through the windshield. "I've spent many years being angry at the corruption, short-sightedness and overall neglect that's been dragging this city down into the quagmire it's in today. I don't necessarily approve of Taylor's methods for cleaning the place up, but I sure as hell can't argue with the results. Just today, Mayor Christner asked me if I could maybe head a committee to apportion funds from the Slaughterhouse Nine bounties according to a plan that's coming in from outside. And that's what I intend to do."

"Ninety-seven is just the start," I said. "There are a lot of capes out there who have upset a lot of people, enough to make them willing to pay bounties on their heads. And of course, there are the Endbringers."

Dad frowned, while I got the impression Cherie had stopped breathing altogether.

"I didn't think there were bounties offered on the Endbringers?" he asked.

"Not officially, no," I agreed. "But I don't think it'll take much of a hint for them to throw money in Brockton Bay's direction once the Simurgh dies."

Cherie showed she'd started breathing again when she let out a tiny squeak. "You're … you're going to fight the Simurgh?"

"Hah, no," I scoffed. "If you fight someone, you have a chance of losing. I'm just going to kill her. Totally different situation."

I meant it, and Cherie had to know I was serious, but she didn't sound reassured. "But how?"

Leaning back in my seat as Dad drove off, I smiled beatifically. "The same way I do all my kills. With the right weapon at the right time."

<><>​

Danny

For someone who had apparently been inured to the supervillain life since she got powers, Cherie Vasil seemed to be thoroughly wrong-footed by Taylor's attitude. As they drove to their next stop, Danny got the strong impression that she'd originally sought out Taylor for protection, but was now wondering if she should be regretting that choice. Taylor seemed to be happy, and she was getting the results she wanted, so Danny had decided to go with the flow.

Also, it was nice to not have the threat of the ABB and the Empire hanging over the Dockworkers for the first time in forever.

Pulling into a darkened side street alongside the confectionary shop, Danny parked the car and stopped the engine. "I'll wait here."

"Thanks. Cherie, stick with Dad. Let him know if anyone's coming." Taylor's voice was slightly muffled, as she was pulling the mask over her head, but it was perfectly understandable all the same.

"Um … okay. You don't want me with you?"

Danny grinned; it seemed Taylor had acquired a rather clingy minion.

"Nope. I've got this." Taylor opened the door and stepped out of the car, then more or less vanished into the shadows.

Danny did his best to relax, but it was difficult. He wasn't used to this. Taylor was the cape, not him. At this time of night, he was more accustomed to sitting at home and watching the news or whatever movie was playing.

"Does she do this often?" Cherie asked from the back seat, her voice barely audible. "Leave you wondering what she's doing and why, I mean."

He chuckled and shook his head. "All the time these days, it feels like. She prefers to work alone, but she's very good at that. Now why she chose to take you on I'm still not sure, but I'm not about to second-guess her choices."

"Oh." From the tone of her voice, he got the impression she wasn't so sure either.

They sat in silence for another thirty seconds or so, until his curiosity overcame him. "So, how did she end up with you as a minion, anyway?"

"Well, it started with me being an idiot." She drew a deep breath. "I thought I could get around her, but I ignored the fact that she was reacting to what I was doing in real-time. So, when I was trying to get information about her out of one of the other girls, I stopped paying attention to her. That was when she snuck up and kicked the snot out of me. The next thing I knew, she was telling me the rules she expected me to follow. And here we are."

The car door opened, and Taylor slipped into the front seat. "And here I am," she finished brightly. Cradled under her left arm was a flat blocky object, encased in one of the confectionary shop's logo-emblazoned bags. "Miss me?"

Danny was impressed despite himself. "Hardly. You weren't even gone five minutes. We barely had time to start talking about you behind your back."

"Meh." Taylor snorted as she peeled off the morph mask again. "Their security wasn't exactly top shelf."

Cherie leaned forward between the seats. "What is it, anyway?"

Taylor chuckled. "I'll show you later. Right now, I'm hungry. Home for dinner, Dad?"

Danny started the car. "Sounds good to me."

She'd be going out again as Atropos afterward, he knew, but right now he was going to enjoy spending quality time with his daughter.

And that was worth all the money in the world.



End of Part Twenty-Five

 

[woodzrox]

Goddamn it Ack. Again you upload when I'm trying to sleep. I should try going to sleep more often, you might upload more…

Thanks for the chapter!

 

[Nicohals J Westerberg]

One of the best Danny's so far, right behind the one from taylor is doomed

 

[Throwawaykindanot]

As always an awesome chapter. At some point one hope the baddies learn, that and all the prep work? Two memes pop up in my head...

*Stop, stop! He's already dead!*

*Is (s)he being ominous? Why are you being ominous?*

 

[Derrick Meade]

I'd ask why cauldron hasnt approached her for help in killing scion and the endbringers but i get the feeling they'd know they would die first.

 

[Ack]

I'd ask why cauldron hasnt approached her for help in killing scion and the endbringers but i get the feeling they'd know they would die first.

Click to shrink...

They've seen her post mentioning the Endbringers.

Now they're waiting to see if she can actually do it.

 

[Derrick Meade]

They've seen her post mentioning the Endbringers.

Now they're waiting to see if she can actually do it.

Click to shrink...

Makes a lot of sense, I'd say the gun to Contessa head also helped

 

[Ack]

Makes a lot of sense, I'd say the gun to Contessa head also helped

Click to shrink...

Also, the speedrun when she killed off the Nine with panache and style.

 

[Derrick Meade]

Also, the speedrun when she killed off the Nine with panache and style.

Click to shrink...

Very true and when she kills her first endbringer, boom all of a sudden eidolon has to die.

 

[Ack]

Very true and when she kills her first endbringer, boom all of a sudden eidolon has to die.

Click to shrink...

We shall see what we shall see.

 

[Derrick Meade]

We shall see what we shall see.

Click to shrink...

Is the simurgh fight gonna be whacky, like stick a pie here throw a thumbtack there push a pebble three inches southeast and rotate it 3 degrees? And then an anvil slips out of Lily's hand squashes the simurgh cause that'd be funny atleast to me

 

[The Secretary]

Literally made an account solely to comment on your stories here. I love your writing and this is one of my favs. Eagerly awaiting more. <3

 

[Ack]

A Darker Path

Part Twenty-Six: A New Can of Whoopass

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



Canada

Heartbreaker

Nikos Vasil did not get angry very often. He didn't have to; anyone making him angry learned very quickly why that was a bad idea. Terrifying them to the point that they didn't speak for six months was a simple matter for him, and considerably satisfying besides. The world, with a very few exceptions, existed to serve his needs, and he didn't mind providing reminders when necessary.

He was angry now. A member of his in-group, tasked with maintaining a watch on the doings of the world at large, had brought the Parahumans Online posts to his attention. Many were speaking about this new cape Atropos, but the subforum most closely followed by those in the know was the one that she herself had started.

Still, that would not have been enough to make him angry, even when he read the post where she arbitrarily banned him from ever visiting her city. A substantial number of other capes and organisations were also prohibited from intruding on her home town, some of them prominent enough that he would've been leery about drawing their attention. So it was, then; a small yappy dog barking at bigger dogs from what she considered to be a safe distance. Mere noise.

But then he read the post where she straight-up taunted him with the loss of no fewer than four of his children. Jean-Paul, whom he'd heard no word of since the ungrateful little shit decamped in the middle of the night; Cherie, who had followed her younger brother's example when he was distracted by the Sidney Saile debacle; and Guillaume and Nicholas, who he'd dispatched to find at least Cherie and drag her back to where she belonged by any means necessary.

One was dead and another in PRT custody, that much he knew. The fates of the other two, he had no idea of. The online commentator Bagrat, who claimed to understand Atropos as well as anyone, made it clear that he believed her implicitly but that he had no idea where the others were.

The most fury-inducing aspect of this whole thing was that he had no idea who had died and who had been arrested. Where the arrestee was being held and what charges were going to be levelled, the media either didn't know or they were being remarkably tight-lipped about the whole thing. As the latter would be an unequivocal first for any bunch of media outlets anywhere, he was leaning toward 'didn't know'.

This much he did know; once he had Atropos under his sway, if Jean-Paul was one of the survivors, the little traitor would never speak or act under his own initiative ever again. If he had to be hamstrung and his tongue cut out to achieve this, then so be it. But he—or Cherie, if it turned out he was dead—would serve as a permanent warning to the rest of his children that nobody ran from Nikos Vasil.

The car was packed and ready to go. He would be travelling mainly through the back roads at night, just in case the authorities were more alert than normal and anticipated this move. Nobody would be accompanying him; he needed no assistance to subjugate the will of one overconfident vigilante.

Standing tall in the middle of the main room, he surveyed his devoted flock, mainly women and children. "You will not leave the grounds. You will wait for my return." He exerted his will, burning the command into their minds. Turning, he made to leave the house, then paused and looked back at them. "If you hear of my death … end your own lives."

Satisfied that no matter what happened, his people would never belong to another man, he left the house and got into the car. For the purposes of this trip, he had shaved his beard and cut his hair, and was using a set of fake ID supplied by a cooperative law enforcement officer. Fastening his seatbelt, he started the car and moved off down the driveway.

His destination: Brockton Bay. His chosen target: Atropos.

If anyone could tell him where his living children were, she could.

And of course, he could never have too many women in the house.

<><>​

A Hundred Miles West of Boston

"What the fuck?"

Animos looked around from the game of poker he was playing with Hemorrhagia and Spree. Vex was driving, which meant Butcher was taking some time to scroll through the local internet on her phone. He'd seen her browser history, but he wasn't one to judge. Whatever floated her boat, was his philosophy.

Though in her case, it was a derelict pirate ship that had been dredged up from the bottom of the ocean with some really fucked-up sea life still clinging to it.

"What?" he asked, mildly impressed that she'd actually found something worse than what she deliberately chose to look at.

"Who the fuck is this Atropos bitch?" she half-screamed. "Does she honestly think she can tell me to stay out of her city? Out of Brockton Bay? The Teeth used to run that shithole!"

"Oh, crap," muttered Hemorrhagia, sharing a glance with Animos and echoing his own inner monologue. They'd caught a few mentions of Atropos and what she'd been up to over the last week, but they'd decided by mutual silent agreement to not mention any of it to Butcher. What she'd done to Lung and Skidmark was beyond messed up, and that was from the point of view of someone who ran with the Teeth.

"Uh, hey," Spree ventured. "Maybe we should just leave them to their hometown shit and hit someplace where they don't stab people through the eye with swords, or shoot them in the face with their own gun?"

"Are you fucking kidding?" Butcher shook her head. "If I'm reading this right, Lung and Oni Lee are fucking dead. Kaiser's dead, and the rest of the Empire Eighty-Eight just left town. I don't even know who Coil was, but he's dead too. There's basically no villains left in that damn city to stand in our way. It's wide open for the taking."

Animos realised as he opened his mouth that he was going to do something he'd never done before. Something that was against his entire state of being.

He was going to try to be the voice of reason.

"Except she's killing villains coming in, too," he said. "She fuckin' wrecked the Slaughterhouse Nine." The forty-three-minute clip had shown that no matter how fucked-up Atropos' previous murders were, they definitely weren't flukes. "Do we really want to go there?"

"Jack Slash was a one-trick pony with a big mouth," Butcher said dismissively. "He wasn't me, and he definitely wasn't all that."

"Didn't the Nine basically wipe out the Teeth, back in the day?" asked Vex from the driver's seat. "And she just killed off the Nine, like she was going out to buy groceries and they were in the way."

"Not that Nine, and not this Teeth." Butcher's tone was assured. "And that was a few Butchers ago, too. We got more powers, and we're a lot better at what we do." I'm a lot better at this than that Butcher, was what she was saying. She was probably getting yelled at right now by whichever Butcher she'd just dissed, but her expression never changed.

"Still, she killed Lung—" Animos began. The ABB cape had a reputation that extended beyond the city limits of Brockton Bay. Or rather, he had had one.

Butcher rolled her eyes theatrically. "What the fuck can she do to me? Nothing she's done to anyone else is going to even come close to hurting me. I'm bullet-proof and stab-proof, if she dropped me in front of a moving vehicle the asphalt would break before I did, I can teleport away from anything bigger, and if she does bring up something that can kill me I'll know about it before she tries! Also, I can fuckin' see her heart and arteries through walls, I can target her better than she can target me, and I can hit her with my powers from a distance! And even if by some fucked-up miracle she kills me, I still beat her. I. Fucking. Win."

She had a point, but Animos couldn't help wondering if the other capes Atropos had killed had thought the same way. "Okay, yeah, but—"

"But nothing. Vex, we're heading to Brockton Bay. There's a little bitch I've got a bone to pick with there."

Vex shrugged. "Okay. We're heading to Brockton Bay."

And so, the van rolled on through the night.

<><>​

Hebert Household

Cherish

No clock chimed; Taylor didn't even glance at her watch. But between one moment and the next, her emotional music changed key from 'relaxed' to 'purposeful'. "Okay, time to commence Operation Drugs Are Bad, part two. Dad, could you give us a lift?"

"Sure." Taylor's father got up from where he'd been casually chatting with them, and stretched. "Where are we going?"

"The Docks, to start with." Taylor was on her feet as well, shrugging into the long-coat and slinging the backpack holding the rest of her costume over her shoulder. She was already wearing the suit and boots, though she'd unfastened the tie to hang loosely around her neck. Cherie had seen how fast she could don the rest of it, apparently without even having to think about it.

Cherie cleared her throat. "That's the, uh, that's the fortified drug warehouse, right?" Taylor had mentioned this over dinner. She wasn't being grim and gritty like some wannabe action hero; it was just another check-box to be ticked off before the city was cleared of all illegal hard drugs. They would be removed. It was as simple as that.

Taylor gave her a grin, her music dipping into happier strains for a moment. "That's the one. You're paying attention; that's good."

It felt weird to be praised for doing something, as opposed to being punished for not doing it. In fact, the entire dinner episode had been totally outside her experience. Mealtimes in the Vasil household usually involved the women subtly jockeying for the position of her father's favourite, and the children eating in near-silence, doing their best to not catch Nikos' attention.

Here, Taylor had chatted with her father, arguing good-naturedly over several minor topics, and even roped Cherie into the conversation to ask for her opinion on something. There were no pitfalls, no traps, no gotchas. Nobody tried to trick her into saying or doing something that would get her in trouble. Once she'd reached the astonishing realisation that she didn't have to watch every single word she uttered, it had become enjoyable in a way that she'd never thought possible.

The food had been as pleasant as the company. She hadn't been denied a portion; Danny had simply made more. While her experience of home-cooked lasagne was essentially zero, it had been tasty and filling. I could totally get used to this.

Whatever she'd been expecting when she decided on Atropos as a protector, it wasn't this. On the one hand, there was the skinny teenager who helped with the washing-up and stuck her tongue out at her father when he made a terrible pun; on the other, the black-clad avenging angel who had the Brockton Bay underworld terrified. There was no real way she could make the two fit together. They were almost literally night and day.

"Thanks," she said, giving Taylor a tentative smile in return. "So, how are we going to handle this?"

Taylor chuckled, leading the way to the back door. "That's where you come in. I'm not going to stop killing people who totally deserve it, but I've only got so much ammunition. The last time I did something like this, I got Grue to help out by clouding the place in his darkness. It worked well enough, but I like changing things up, so this time I decided to do things a different way. Tell me; if you were faced with a warehouse full of mooks armed to the teeth, how long would it take you to bring them to the point that they didn't even want to put up a fight?"

It was an interesting challenge, but Cherie found herself hanging up on a different topic as she headed down the back steps. "Wait a minute. We only met this afternoon. How long have you been planning to use my abilities to do this?"

Taylor waited for Danny to lock the back door, then followed him toward the car. "Oh, a couple of days now."

Cherie frowned. "But … I only got into town a day or so ago."

"Mm-hmm." Once Danny had unlocked the car, Taylor opened the passenger side door. Pausing before sliding into the car, she looked across the roof of the vehicle toward Cherie. "You seem to be assuming I didn't see you coming." Her emotional accompaniment was leaning toward sly amusement.

"But … but …" Cherie found herself talking to thin air as Taylor got into the car. Opening her own door, she climbed in as well. "But … how long have you known?"

"Long enough." Taylor pulled a mobile phone from her pocket. "I need to make a call now, mmkay?" She put her finger to her lips.

"Okay." Numbly, Cherie sat back and fastened her seatbelt. If Taylor wasn't somehow spoofing her power and pulling her leg, then Atropos' abilities were even scarier than Cherie had figured.

She knew exactly where I'd be, and when to grab me up. And I walked right into it. Of my own free will, even.

The epiphany should've been terrifying, but she found it somehow comforting. If Atropos had seen her coming and known exactly how to deal with her, then her father should stand no chance at all.

She hoped.

<><>​

On a Bus

Damsel of Distress

As the bus trundled out of Stafford, Ashley leaned back against the seat and let her head loll sideways until she was looking out the window. She'd been here before; not on this bus, but in this situation. The last time, she'd seen on the news that the Boston villain population had been rolled up, leaving the underworld ripe for picking.

That had been four years ago; she'd taken the bus that time, too. For a while she'd done well for herself, but the scheming and treachery of the other villain gangs had undermined her until she'd had no choice but to retreat back to Stafford, her old stamping grounds. But her feet were getting itchy again, and this time it was Brockton Bay that was suffering from a distinct lack of villainous activity.

Edict and Licit wouldn't even know she was gone for a few days, though they probably suspected she'd make a play for Brockton Bay. All she had to do as soon as she got into town was start recruiting from the pool of disaffected teenagers that made up a significant portion of the population of any reasonably-sized city. The two heroes would follow her once they knew where she was, but her minions would give them pause. And I'll finally get the foothold I deserve.

She'd heard about Atropos, of course, and how she'd been the reason the previous villains left town. It didn't bother her; she was good at keeping her head down while she recruited. By the time Atropos even discovered she was in town, it would be a done deal. And if the cape killer wanted to face her off, then … well, Ashley had killed before, too. One more wouldn't matter to her.

Ready or not, here I come.

<><>​

Stafford, New Hampshire

Licit

brrt brrt

brrt brrt

brrt brrt

He reached for the phone. Fumbled it into position. Not a number he knew. He swiped to answer anyway. "H'lo?"

"Good evening, Licit." The voice on the other end was a teenage girl, not anyone he knew, though it was naggingly familiar. "Are you aware that Damsel of Distress took the night bus to Brockton Bay? She's due to get here at three in the morning. I strongly advise you and Edict to meet me at the Brockton Bay Port Authority bus terminal. Or not; your choice."

"Wha …?" He tried to make sense of what the girl was saying. "Who is this? How do you know?"

"This is Atropos." Adrenaline sent a shot of wakefulness down his spine at that name. "I know because I'm very good at what I do. I'll be giving Damsel of Distress exactly two options; leave town, or die. With you and Edict there, she's less likely to do something stupid. Three AM. Brockton Bay Port Authority bus terminal. Don't be late."

The call ended, leaving him holding a dead phone to his ear.

Slowly, he sat up and swung his legs over the side of his bed. Behind him, the girl he'd picked up at the bar only a couple of hours ago rolled over and mumbled something in her sleep. He ignored her.

For fuck's sake. Edict is going to absolutely kill me.

Her number was in his phone. They were superhero partners, so of course it was. Standing up, he padded into the kitchen and started the coffee-maker going. As it gurgled to life, he hit dial on her number.

The phone almost rang out before she answered. "So help me, if this isn't an earth-shattering emergency, I'm going to—"

"Damsel's on her way to Brockton Bay," he interrupted. "Atropos herself called and gave me the heads-up. If we're not there by three, Atropos is going to kill her."

There was a long pause. "Fuck. Okay. Can we take your car?"

"We can do that." Hopefully, the PRT would reimburse him for the fuel expenditure. "I can be around at yours in half an hour." Most of that time would be taken up with showering and kicking the girl out of his apartment; the drive itself would take five minutes.

"I'll see you then." She ended the call.

The first cup of coffee was ready. He took a mouthful of the hot, black brew, feeling the caffeine sparking his neurons to life. Now he had to drive to Brockton Bay of all places, just to save the life of a supervillain who didn't want to be saved.

And people wonder why I've got a drinking problem.

<><>​

Cherish

Fully costumed up, Atropos leaned down by the driver's side window. "You've got that other address I told you about?"

"Right here." Mr Hebert held up the notepad.

"Good." The morph mask hid Atropos' expression, but Cherie could tell from the tone of her voice and the musical accompaniment that she was smiling. "Wait exactly three minutes before you drive away, then meet us there."

He nodded seriously. "Three minutes. Got it."

Atropos lightly slapped the car roof, then turned and headed toward where Cherie was waiting. "Okay, showtime. Let's get a little closer."

"Why did you want him to wait three minutes?" asked Cherie. "Wouldn't it be better to get there now?"

"Because there's roving patrols driving around," Atropos explained. "If he takes off right now, he gets the attention of a bunch of heavily armed assholes. Three minutes will put him between sweeps."

"Oh." Cherie raised her head slightly and concentrated on what she was listening to. "Ah, I see them now. They're trying to put on a bold front, but most of them are scared of you. More greedy than scared, though. Someone's throwing a ton of money at this." But even with all the money, there was a persistent undercurrent of fear that she wouldn't have any trouble at all magnifying.

"That's because the profits of being the only drug supplier in a city this size would be phenomenal." Atropos started off down the street. "The warehouse is a block thataway, and the waterfront's the other side of it. If you breathe deeply, you can smell the rotting seaweed."

"Oh, that's what that is?" Cherie caught up with her, lengthening her stride to keep pace. "I'd wondered."

"Well, wonder no longer." Atropos paused just short of a section of street, and nodded to her. "The closest sniper. I need him distracted for the next thirty seconds."

"Just him? Okay, then." Cherie concentrated for about thirty seconds, then nodded as soon as her target's attention was well away from that section of street. "Okay, he's totally spaced out. Not looking this way at all."

"Good." They crossed the road at a hustle anyway, and ducked into cover once more. "When we get a little closer, I'm going to need you to start pulling down their work ethic. All of them. Whatever's motivating them to do their best job today, I want you to erode that until they just can't give a damn."

"Okay." Cherie paused, wondering if she should say what she was thinking. Atropos had been a perfectly reasonable boss so far, but there were always limits.

"What?" Atropos asked. "I'm not going to yell at you for asking questions."

Cherie shrugged. Well, in for a penny … "Okay, they all know you're coming. Why don't I just ramp up their fear of you, so when you show yourself, they shit themselves and run for it?"

"That's plan B." Atropos gave her a nod, and Cherie heard the music signal her approval. "There's three reasons why it's not plan A. Firstly, some people react badly to fear. They attack whatever they're scared of instead of running, or before running. Secondly, I need to destroy the drugs, and some of these idiots are carrying the grenades I need to do it with. If they're running away, they're not waiting around for me to take the grenades off them."

Cherie blinked. "They're carrying grenades?" That sounded like a remarkably stupid idea, and she'd originally been planning to join the Slaughterhouse Nine. "What are they planning on doing with them?"

Atropos snorted. "They've got orders for if they see me in hand to hand with their buddies, to toss the grenades in anyway. It seems they're willing to lose men just to stop me."

"Jesus." Cherie shook her head. "And you're just going to take them and blow up the drugs?"

"There's a few more steps than that, but you've hit on the general idea, yeah."

"Wait, you said there's three reasons. What's the third one?"

Atropos tilted her head slightly. "Did you want people to know you're working for me?"

"Oh. Yeah. Good point." While Atropos seemed to thrive on publicity, Cherie had no desire to be any more visible than absolutely necessary. "So, what do we do now?"

"You wait right here." Atropos patted her on the shoulder. "When you hear the signal, start winding back their motivation. I'll take it from there."

"Signal?" This was the first Cherie had heard of a signal. "What signal?"

"Oh, you'll know it when you hear it."

<><>​

Atropos

I left Cherie where she was and headed down the nearest alley. This region of the Docks was well away from any residential areas, and I knew the drug guys had cleared out the local homeless in case any of them happened to be me in disguise. Not that I personally cared about collateral damage, but it was the image of the thing. Also, the lower I was able to keep the incidental death toll (it was never going to be zero), the easier it would be for the PRT to rationalise cooperating with me in cleaning up the city and keeping it that way.

They had four snipers in place, each on top of a separate building around the actual warehouse. The snipers could see every approach road, and all of them had an 84mm anti-tank weapon standing by in case I came in with a chopper or a tank or something. However, they weren't the ones with the grenades. Those were the ones on the roof of the warehouse itself.

I had to admit, I was almost impressed. Gesellschaft (they still had people in the smuggling industry, even after the Empire had crumbled) had decided to go all-out, and they'd kicked the armoury doors wide open to do it. After what I'd done to Accord's warehouse, there was to be no holding back. There were more rounds of ammunition ready to be used in and around that one building than anywhere but the nearest National Guard base.

This was going to be fun.

Getting closer involved cheating like hell with my power to know exactly when the snipers were looking in the wrong direction, then choking out the guard who was guarding the sniper's building. (I could've stabbed him, but blood is horrible for corrosion on steel weapons, so I preferred to restrict it for when I absolutely needed to). Then I screwed the suppressor onto the pistol I'd taken from the gun shop, and climbed the ladder up toward where he had his sniper nest.

It took him a few seconds, as I climbed into view, to realise that I wasn't his buddy here to relieve him. At that moment, he had a choice to make: to go for the pistol lying beside him, to try to swing the rifle around, or to surrender. For my part, I'd already made my choice. While it was entirely possible to get a kill-shot with a thrown blade, it was messy and inefficient. Besides, I had a suppressed pistol. It was even in view, while I gave him the chance to give up.

He chose … poorly.

His hand was still inches from the pistol when I put a suppressed round through his head, the heavy THWACK of the shot just quiet enough to confuse anyone nearby as to whether or not that had been actual gunfire. Climbing up into the sniper nest, I holstered the pistol, feeding the suppressor through the hole I'd made in the bottom of the clip-on holster. He'd been carrying a nine-mil as well, so I dropped the magazine out of it and put it in my pocket; spare ammunition was always good to have.

Then I took up the sniper rifle. It had a very nice night-vision scope, but I didn't bother with that. Bringing the butt to my shoulder, I fired into the darkness three times in quick succession. The third sniper had just enough time to start turning toward me when my bullet extracted what was inside his skull and put it outside his skull; the other two didn't even have a chance to do that.

That got the attention of the guys in the ambush-position on the roof of the main warehouse. Their trouble was, they didn't know if the shooting was a good thing or a bad thing. While they were wasting time calling over the radio net to find out what the sniper was firing at (the sniper's two-way radio was going nuts), I picked out the ones who were starting to realise the truth.

There were six of them; unfortunately for them, I knew where they were and they didn't know which way to duck. It was almost child's play for me to take them out, barely pausing between shots. The last one survived a fraction longer than the others, but only because I had to put the rifle down and pick up the sniper's pistol. One more shot, and they were all down.

Discarding the now-empty pistol, I grabbed the AT-4, slinging it over my shoulder. There was still a high barbed-wire fence around the warehouse, as well as a bunch of armed guards inside. Also, Gesellschaft's highest-ranking non-cape in the United States. Taking him alive and handing him over to the PRT would probably count for a few Brownie points, I figured, but I wasn't married to the idea. If it turned out to be easier to just kill him, he'd die.

Cherie would've figured out that the signal had been given by now, so she'd be reinforcing the idea of, 'do I really want to die defending a bunch of drugs?'. Given my previous exploits, they had plenty of reason to be scared, and the longer I let them dwell on it (and the longer Cherie worked on their fears) the better the result I'd get. I mean, I could've done this anyway without her, but this way was a lot easier.

Leaving the sniper nest, I headed across the building roof to the gap between it and the main warehouse. There was a cable strung across the fifty-foot gap, covered in bird shit and probably slippery as hell. Any self-respecting high-wire artist, upon seeing it, would back away slowly.

To me, on the other hand, it could've been a paved walkway with a hand-rail. I just let my power take the reins and it walked me across with never a pause or hesitation. Just like when I'd been shooting the other snipers, I was just along for the ride, allowing it to guide all my movements down to the most infinitesimal of muscular twitches.

I'd expected a lot more commotion below as I was looting the guys on the roof of their grenades, spare ammunition and (in one case) the keys to a vehicle, but it seemed Cherie was doing her job just fine. Only one or two people seemed to be actually shouting and running around, including our friend from the Gesellschaft hierarchy. The rest were doing their best to look and sound as though they were just as enthusiastic, but for some odd reason their hearts just weren't in it.

It was time to move along to the last stage of the plan. Our man from Gesellschaft had—through careful detective work and the fact that nobody was answering the radio on the rooftop—deduced that I was up there. While I could have mimicked their voices, that would've merely wasted a little time. I was already well away from the dead men when he gave orders to fire up through the roof.

Toward the rear of the warehouse was a closed-in yard, containing the vehicles belonging to the warehouse guards. As those within the warehouse shattered the skylight (great going, guys) and set about turning that section of the roof into a reasonable approximation of a colander, I was already over at the corner nearest the vehicle collection point. The distance to the ground was a little farther than I really wanted to drop, especially on to concrete. I could do it and get away with only minor injuries, but I didn't want to if I didn't have to, such as when someone had thoughtfully left a rope secured there for rappelling down with. Say, for if an unstoppable black-clad killer was murdering all their buddies and they just needed to get away.

(If they hadn't, I would've brought my own rope. It's as simple as that).

By the time I kicked the coil of rope over the side there were men moving around outside, shining flashlights upward. I started rappelling down one-handed anyway. On the way down, two men spotted me. One went to shoot, so I shot him first. The other turned and bolted in the other direction; I let him go.

As soon as my boots hit the ground, I headed for the assembled vehicles. There was an armed guard on them, mainly to prevent any of the other guards from bugging out ahead of time. When he saw me, he froze, then screamed and ran for it.

I frowned, then shrugged. Cherie was clearly trying to help, and this time it had worked. If it screwed up, I'd have words with her, but until then I'd leave it be. Putting the matter out of my mind, I zeroed in on the vehicle I was looking for, a solidly built pickup with a massive bull-bar on the front and a light-bar on top. The keys I'd filched from the guy on the roof opened the door, and I climbed in. The AT-4 went onto the passenger seat, beside me.

If I were a 'car' person, the way the engine rumbled to life would've been hugely satisfying to me. As it was, I figured it would serve my purposes for the time being. Backing out of the parking spot, I aimed at the rear roller-door leading into the warehouse, revved the engine to a thunderous roar, and dropped the clutch.

The back wheels left a massive spray of gravel as I powered toward the roller-door, accelerating all the way. I had just enough time to flick the switches for all the lights before the heavy vehicle smashed headlong into the door and tore it clear off its runners. The steering wheel jerked, but I'd anticipated that and countered it; in the next instant, I was powering through the warehouse itself, all the guards still inside turning to look at me.

This was where Cherie's emotion damping came in handy. Instead of testosterone-fuelled aggression, virtually all the guards decided to back way the hell off when I came roaring on through. One guy with a rifle was trying to line up on me—I figured he just liked hurting people more than he liked living—so I shot him on the way past. The others backed up a hell of a lot more, after that.

The drugs were packed up on pallets spaced through the warehouse, with enough room for vehicles to drive between them. I decided to test that by not just driving, but drifting between the various pallets, the back wheels of my newly acquired ride howling and spewing grey-black rubber smoke. This added a certain amount of visual cover for me, and gave the already-demoralised guards a good reason to fall back even farther.

One of the few men there who had a good reason to oppose me was the Gesellschaft rep. He came running out toward me with a pistol raised, firing. Whoever had taught him was good; he put three holes in the windshield about where my head would've been if I hadn't already ducked. Then I spun the pickup around so the loadbed smacked him sideways into a pallet of heroin and fentanyl.

While he lay there groaning, I pulled up next to him and jumped out. Opening the passenger side door, I loaded him into the footwell, then slashed the side of the pallet wrapping and grabbed a single packet. Before the guards could pull together enough courage to see what was going on, I was back in the pickup and revving the engine again. Now was the time to go for gold.

Popping the clutch again, I shot out across the floor, then pulled a tyre-shrieking turn as though I were attempting to escape out through the hole I'd come in by. But I didn't go all the way. Instead, I pulled a U-turn and started back, weaving between the pallets.

This time, however, I was steering with my knees, pulling grenades from my long-coat pockets and yanking the pins free. Each time I passed a pallet, I tossed a grenade so it would land either on top or underneath it. Halfway through, I had to smack Mr Gesselschaft with his own pistol so he'd go back to nap-time, but I made sure every grenade found a good home.

I lacked the string I'd had the first time around, but then again, I really didn't think I needed it. I also didn't have a road flare, but I definitely didn't need one of those. By the time I was almost through, the first grenades were starting to go off, so the pickup was swerving and pitching ahead of a steadily growing cloud of various intoxicants and opioids. As soon as I got rid of the last grenade, it was too close behind me, so I aimed at the front roller-door and floored it.

Again, I tore the metal door clear off its runners; the paintwork was badly scratched, and I was pretty sure the lightbar was no longer of this world. I rocketed out of the warehouse just ahead of the (thankfully unignited) aforementioned cloud of liberated variably toxic substances. The barbed-wire wrapped gate didn't do the paintwork any favours at all either, but I honestly didn't give a fuck. All I wanted to do was to get out of the blast radius.

All the grenades I'd thrown, except the last one, had detonated outside the cloud, merely contributing to it instead of blowing up inside it. Just as I got to the road, the last one went off, and six point five ounces of Composition B struck a massive spark. This ignited the cloud.

If anything, the explosion was bigger than the last one, slamming the pickup sideways and (I found later) blistering the paintwork. The vehicle briefly went up on two wheels, but I fought it down again and regained control.

I didn't know who had gotten out, and I didn't care. The less motivated they were, the more likely they would've decamped as soon as I arrived. Which meant the ones who had stayed were those who were most determined to maintain the drug trade in my city.

Sucked to be them.

The pickup was still rocking on its wheels when I pulled it to a halt. I paused briefly to admire the massive fireball currently climbing skyward to form the second mushroom cloud that I'd ever made before I pulled open the passenger side door and dragged out the Gesellschaft rep. Just for being nearby, he'd be checked out by the authorities, but I made sure of it by using his own pistol to shoot him through the kneecap. Walk that one off, asshole.

As I got back in and drove off, leaving Hopalong to his richly-deserved fate, I could already hear the sirens approaching. They must've had every truck ready and waiting, after my earlier warning. I wouldn't even have to tell them where it was.

Cherie was still where I'd left her; of course, she knew it was me driving, so she came out to meet me. She frowned at the AT-4 and the packet of drugs when she climbed in, but didn't ask the obvious question.

"Drug dealers," I said. "They give out the best party favours."

"Okay." Her tone of voice very clearly stated that she was going to leave that comment well alone. "So, uh, where are we going now?"

I grinned under the mask as I put the pickup in gear. "One down, one to go."



End of Part Twenty-Six

 

[woodzrox]

I really love this story, thanks Ack!