Ack
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Or a good way to highlight the different mindsets of the characters having the discussion, maybe?
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A Darker Path [Worm Fanfic]
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Prince Charon
Just zis guy, you know?
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It's a extreme example of a type of problem that people face all the time (there are no good options that you can see, and you need to pick a bad one right now), just usually without lives being in danger.
Part Seventy-Seven: Meet the Wards
Ack
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A Darker Path
Part Seventy-Seven: Meet the Wards
[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
Relevant Side Story
PRT New York, Sunday Morning, March 6
Director Emily Piggot
The intercom at Emily's elbow buzzed. "Deputy Director Henderson is here, ma'am. Are you clear to see him?"
She frowned. Is this how Wilkins operated? "Send him in. And make a note: Henderson gets access to me, all hours. Other names to be added to that list, at my discretion."
"Ma'am." There was no inflection to the voice to show whether her personal gatekeeper was pleased or irritated with the idea, but Emily didn't give a damn either way. Clear and prompt communication was essential to managing an organisation like the PRT, especially the department of it tasked with overseeing New York.
She'd already made a good start with ripping out the weeds left behind after her predecessor's ignominious departure, but she suspected there would be more to come. The .22 popgun stashed in the footwell had been replaced by her venerable SIG 220, and that was the least of the changes she intended to make around here. By the time she handed over the office to whoever was due to take charge on the first of July, she intended to have the New York PRT ticking over like a goddamn Swiss watch, no matter how many brand-new assholes she had to ream out in the doing of it.
New York boasted (if that was the word) a larger selection of villains than Brockton Bay had had, she freely admitted that. However, she couldn't help noticing while she'd been familiarising herself with their various dossiers that they were softer and fluffier on the whole than their departed counterparts. No neo-Nazi hate groups, no rage dragons, no snake-in-the-grass Coils, no Merchant-equivalents devoted entirely to dealing drugs.
This wasn't to say that they were good, or even 'misunderstood' (she hated that word with the passion of a thousand burning suns), just that they were a lot less vicious than the usual for Brockton Bay. Of course, it helped that the Teeth had been irresistibly drawn to Brockton Bay by Atropos' warning, and been wiped out to a man. Barrow was another casualty of overconfidence, currently (as far as she knew) dealing with having both his kneecaps blown out by Atropos in one of her rare nonlethal takedowns.
Emily hadn't lost a moment of sleep over either one of those.
The Elite were still in town, but since Bastard Son's demise, they'd become a lot more circumspect in their dealings, and the New York branch had never been heavy on crime anyway. Likewise, the Adepts kept things low-key, and were careful not to risk killing anyone. Their most annoying trait seemed to be their habit of attempting to poach any Wards or Protectorate members whose powers could be mistaken for magic (and the fact that they'd succeeded at least once that she knew of).
Which raised a point: the latest 'recruit' into the ranks of the New York Wards happened to be one Tammi Reynolds, AKA Scribe, previously known as Rune, whose powers could absolutely be described as looking like magic. Also (and this was important), she was an ex-member of the extremely defunct Empire Eighty-Eight and had been, by all accounts, chugging down the racist Kool-Aid on the regular before Kaiser took a sword through the brain.
In Emily's personal opinion, Scribe was a high-risk cape, likely to defect to the enemy given the slightest opportunity. Someone who should've been slam-dunked straight back into the juvenile detention system instead of being fast-tracked into a probationary Wards position.
Just like we should've done with Shadow Stalker, only more so. Stalker, at least, had never tried to switch sides. At least, not officially.
She suspected Wilkins had had a hand in this, looking to boost her numbers and look good to the higher-ups. And now, ironically, not only was Emily being tapped to solve the problems Wilkins had caused, but two adversaries from Brockton Bay had ended up technically on the same side in a whole new city. Not that Emily intended to trust the little shit any further than she could caber-toss the Empire State Building, or tolerate Rune's presence in the Wards for one second longer than it took to get her shitcanned right back to where she belonged.
The office door opened, and Henderson entered. "Sorry to bother you, ma'am, but—"
Emily cut him off right there. "Deputy Director Henderson. You are the PRT second in command in this city, so let's get something straight. If there's something I need to know, you bring it to my attention. Likewise, if you come in here to see me about something, I'm going to assume that I need to know about it. Therefore, when you walk into my office, the first words I want to hear from you are not an apology for wasting my time. What I want is for you to tell me what I need to know about whatever's going on. Is that perfectly understood?"
Henderson blinked. "Uh … yes, ma'am. Loud and clear, ma'am. So, I'm here to let you know that the Wards are assembled downstairs for you to address them, ma'am."
She nodded firmly. Dealing with Wards wasn't her favourite part of the job—if there was any part of it that she could call favourite—but at least they weren't being housed in the PRT building and overseen by the Deputy Director, like in Brockton Bay. Whoever's idea it had been to put the Brockton Bay Protectorate base in the middle of the actual bay had a lot to answer for, in her opinion.
"Thank you, Mr Henderson." She stood up from her chair and started around the desk. On impulse, she took the Nilbog claw that she was currently using as a letter opener and slid it into her pocket. "And you don't have to call me 'ma'am' with every sentence; just occasionally will do. I know Director Wilkins probably did a lot of things differently to me, but she's also facing Federal charges, so I see no need to emulate her every habit." She stepped up to him. "Also, I will be requiring you to make judgement calls on occasion. I may ask you to explain your reasoning after the fact, but I'd prefer a subordinate who can make a decision over one who lets a bad situation get worse because they froze. If this is not to your liking, then you may submit your resignation at any time. Is that also understood?"
"Crystal clear, ma'am." He seemed to be trying to process what she was saying, or maybe he was just constipated. She didn't care which one it was; he'd either get with the program or she'd have to bring in another Deputy Director to train up.
"Good to hear." She paused with her hand on the door handle, and looked back at him. "And one more thing. I've read all the available briefing notes, but only a complete fool would assume that's all there is to know about this duty posting, and I'd like to think I'm not a complete fool. So if I happen to give an order out of ignorance that's likely to have problematic consequences, get my attention and fill me in in private. Think you can do that?"
This time, his response was more positive, as he nodded sharply. "Yes, ma'am."
"Excellent." She opened the door and left the office. In time, it would probably feel like 'her' office, but that time wasn't yet.
He followed along behind her. "May I ask a semi-personal question?"
"Certainly. Don't set your heart on getting an answer, though."
"Understood." He hesitated for a second. "What was it like, being in the same city as Atropos all the time?"
She glanced back at him. "Broadly speaking? Irritating and illuminating. I do not, and never will, approve of vigilante justice. The PRT and courts exist for a reason. We do not want or need armed civilians, or even armed capes, simply murdering people willy-nilly." She huffed a sigh. "The irritating part is that she made it work. The illuminating aspect is that she had a deeper plan behind it all, over and above 'kill villains in excruciating ways'."
"The Betterment Committee," he said, proving that he was paying attention.
"Precisely. The bounty from the Nine barely started the ball rolling, then she pulled in two billion for the Simurgh, and there's going to be more again once we announce the demise of the other Endbringers in July. And of course, there are the quarantine areas that she so kindly cleared out for us, freeing up immense amounts of our funding and manpower for other purposes, and incidentally providing the Committee with a solid revenue stream for the next ten years."
Henderson didn't bring up the fact that Emily was the one who'd started the trend of commissioning Atropos to clear the quarantine areas; it was something they both already knew. Instead, he asked a question which she had also been pondering the answer to. "So, now that she's Ended all the major threats to the well-being of Brockton Bay, as well as an interdimensional one, what do you think she'll do now, ma'am?"
Emily chuckled darkly. "Mr Henderson, I stopped trying to anticipate her next move a long time ago. I'm sure we'll find out if and when it happens."
"Copy that, ma'am."
Hebert Household Basement
Taylor
I hummed to myself as I stirred the mixture in the plastic tub, the improvised paddle poking through a hole in the garbage bag I'd tied over the lot to keep the fumes from getting out. It had been even easier than I'd expected to obtain the ingredients in the proportions and quantity I needed. Now I just had to make sure the two disparate elements were well and truly mixed together, while preventing any stray sparks from inviting themselves to the party before I was ready.
The basement door opened, and Cherie descended the steps. "Hey, Taylor. What're you doing now?"
I turned and gave her my most innocent look, without interrupting the stirring. "What makes you think I'm doing something?"
She retaliated with a don't-bullshit-me look of amused exasperation; perfectly justified, given that I was indeed doing something. "I swear, you're like a four-year-old. Whenever you vanish down here and I can hear you humming along contentedly, I know for a fact that disaster is soon to follow. The only difference is that the disaster is going to happen to some thoroughly deserving asshole, and it's always highly entertaining to watch."
A grin twitched my lips. "As much as I feel I should be insulted somehow by the comparison to a kid doing something it knows it shouldn't, I can kinda see where you're coming from. I do come down here to prep for a lot of my mayhem."
"Which brings us back to my original question." She leaned back against the workbench near me, propping herself on her elbows. "What are you doing, who are you going to be doing it to, and why do I smell diesel?"
My grin widened. "Well, the answer to that needs a little backtracking. I probably mentioned that I didn't want the Empire remnants to be getting any more assistance from overseas, so I've been dropping anonymous tips about Gesellschaft leadership to Interpol, right?"
"Right." Cherie nodded. "If they're tied up with that, they can't project power into the US."
"That's the general idea, yeah." I stirred the tub again. "So, it turns out that Gesellschaft, among other European terror groups, have been bankrolling the Three Blasphemies, and getting a return by way of picking their assassination targets. Reshaping the political landscape by proxy."
"The Blasphemies?" Cherie's eyebrows shot up. "Those bitches are seriously bad news. I heard they even fought Eidolon and survived. But I thought they only operated in Europe?"
"That's true," I acknowledged. "And they are pretty damn good at what they do. But they just hit my radar anyway, because Gesellschaft is directing them to hit Interpol personnel … and in about half an hour, Interpol is going to contact me over PHO with an offer of a hundred million US to remove them from the board. It appears that taking out a chief of station in his own house, in front of his kids, crosses a line. Who knew?"
Cherie smirked. "And of course you know how to kill them. In a way that somehow involves diesel."
I nodded, giving the tub of ANFO one last stir. "When have I not?"
She nodded wisely. "Good point."
Director Piggot
Emily stepped up onto the dais, in front of the assembled Wards. There were more than she'd been used to dealing with in Brockton Bay, though they were arranged in teams according to capabilities. While a few gave the impression of having been at the sharp edge once or twice, most seemed less battle-hardened than the Brockton Bay Wards; in point of fact, they reminded her of recruits fresh out of boot. The skills were technically there, but they'd never been tested in real combat.
Flechette was one of those Emily suspected of having faced serious opposition, almost certainly against March. She wasn't sure what March's obsession with Flechette was all about, but the teen villain's persecution of the young hero had more than earned her the beating she'd received at Atropos' hands. March had recovered from the mild concussion, and the light stab wounds were healing nicely, but her knee would never work properly again if she didn't receive corrective surgery. It turned out that the PRT was remarkably stingy about springing for that sort of thing when it wasn't a life-threatening situation.
Flechette herself was one of the more famous Wards in the system, having accompanied Atropos to Canberra on that famous occasion. Quite apart from the other times she'd associated with Atropos, she had also volunteered to attend the Brockton General fundraiser, earning her a note of commendation in her file from Legend. Emily approved of that sort of initiative, so when she'd seen Flechette's request for three days off to visit Brockton Bay for 'personal reasons', she'd signed off on it.
Unfortunately, she hadn't actually seen it until Saturday afternoon, but Flechette would get priority placing on next Friday's afternoon transport, and wouldn't be required back until Tuesday morning. Her school would be notified of her upcoming absence on Monday, and the appropriate excuses given. Judging by the original date on the leave request, Wilkins had been kicking the can down the road on that one for the last month. Emily didn't know exactly why the ex-Director had been blocking it, though she could make an educated guess. Whatever; Flechette's earned that leave and she's damn well going to get it.
The other main contender for 'teen veteran of the streets' was Scribe, who was making only a moderate attempt to appear heroic and attentive. Emily wasn't sure how much of her expression was a reaction to being a probationary Ward, and how much was her natural sneer. Either way, she'd ditched the red and black robes for blue and gold in the same pattern, along with a pointed, wide-brimmed hat. She was leaning back in her seat with her arms folded, and Emily could barely see her eyes under the hat's brim.
Just for a moment, Emily was tempted to order her to remove the hat, but refrained when she noted the number of Wards in the room who would be unmasked if they were required to remove their helmets and other headgear. And she knew damn well Scribe would insist on it happening, and kick up a stink if the others weren't given equal treatment. The last thing she wanted was for the Youth Guard to come sniffing around when she hadn't even been in charge for a week yet.
The other notable Ward in the room was probationary in a whole different way. At nineteen, Badaboom would normally have got straight into the Protectorate, but it wasn't unusual for new capes in their late teens to spend a few months in the Wards before moving up in the ranks. Theoretically, this gave them an opportunity to find their feet within the organisation before facing off against the real threats. And in New York, Emily supposed, that might even work.
Ironically, the bomb Tinker's recruitment into the Wards had also technically been due to Atropos. On February the twenty-second, the giantess twins Fenja and Menja had chosen to attack Cornell University in some misguided bid to attract like-minded people to their cause. It had not been going well for the beleaguered campus security (and the heroes were still a few minutes out) when one of the students had taken a hand.
Wearing a makeshift costume and screaming defiance, Badaboom (real name Alice Takawara) had bombarded the Nazi terrorist capes with her Tinkertech bombs. Shifts in local gravity had put them on the back foot and 'super stunner' bombs had left them staggering, but the stars of the show were the bombs that respectively turned Fenja intensely magnetic, and inflicted Menja with the equivalent of acute gastroenteritis. When the capes showed up, Menja was in the unpleasant process of purging her system of everything she'd eaten in the last two days, and Fenja was unconscious under a pile of cars.
Ironically, the news story about it had been almost totally buried under the revelation of the Simurgh's demise. Ms Takawara had tentatively accepted the recruitment offer, and was currently using the name the news crews had saddled her with until Image could figure out a better one for her. Even now, she had a wide-eyed 'how the hell did I end up here' expression on her face.
Emily found she could sympathise.
"Good morning," she said into the microphone. "I'm Director Emily Piggot, replacing Ms Wilkins. You may address me as Director, ma'am, or Ms Piggot."
She paused to let that sink in, looking around at the assembled teenage heroes to gather her impressions of what they thought of her opening lines. The team captains seemed to be paying close attention to her words, while the rest were nose-diving into boredom. Not Flechette, though, or Badaboom, or Scribe for that matter. Where the first two were also listening carefully, the latter was allowing her sneer to show more and more openly.
What the hell, she decided. I'm only in this posting for another four months. She'd never been the type to play to the crowd, but there was no percentage in setting up the Wards to push back against her initiatives for the next four months. What don't they want to hear?
She wasn't a teenager, but she judged that in their place, she wouldn't want to hear more empty platitudes. We're all in this together, you have my support, blah blah blah. She cleared her throat. "Okay, you know what? You've heard the rest of this speech dozens of times before, so let's just take it as said and move along. I've blocked out half an hour for this. If you've got questions or something to say, let's hear it."
Shelter, down at the front, raised his hand. She nodded toward him. "Uh, ma'am, is it true you were at Ellisburg?"
"It is." She recalled the claw in her pocket, and took it out. Stepping down from the podium, she held it up. "Over a hundred of us went in. Two came out." She recalled again how the capes had cut and run, but restrained her automatic reaction. Some capes do what they say they're going to do. Atropos had taught her that. "The day before Atropos went in and killed every last goblin in Ellisburg, she collected this and later gave it to me as something to remember the place by. Careful, it's sharp."
She handed over the claw to Shelter, who looked it over with something approaching awe, then passed it on to Jouster. Gradually, it began to make its way around the room. Emily kept an eye on where it was, while appearing not to: a trick she'd learned long ago as an officer. She had their attention now. Good.
Someone down the back, whose name she hadn't memorised yet, put their hand up. "How did you survive, ma'am?"
"I nearly didn't," she replied candidly. "Every one of my men died. I ran through all my ammo, and emptied my pistol. They were chewing on my legs and ripping up my kidneys when a chopper dropped in, killed the critters on me, and got me the hell out of there." She took a deep breath. "Take that as a lesson. Sometimes you'll be doing everything by the numbers, acting on the intel you've been given, and the intel will be wrong. Sometimes it's just not your fault when things go ti—uh, belly-up."
"What do you do then?" asked Flechette.
"Well, what you don't do is whine about how it's not fair. Life's not fair. Deal with it." Emily paused to allow the brief laughter to pass, then got serious, making eye contact with as many of them as she could. "You dig deep and find just how hard you can fight. And if at all possible, you survive so you can tell someone what happened, and what went wrong. If not?" She shrugged. "You take as many of the bastards down with you that you can."
The claw was halfway around the room by now. She gestured, inviting another question.
"Is Brockton Bay as bad as we've heard?" asked a kid with a striped red-and-white costume. "I mean, really?"
"Before or after Atropos showed up?" asked Emily dryly. She held up her hand. "Right off the bat, every member of the Brockton Bay Wards has been in combat against one or another of the villain gangs in the city, directly fighting supervillains. I didn't order it and I didn't approve of it, but it happened. Sometimes they got hurt. Yes, it was bad. That was before Atropos."
"What about after Atropos?" That was Badaboom, looking surprised at herself. "Did she really kill all those villains?"
"Yeah," called out someone else in the back row. "What's Atropos like? Flechette won't give us deets!"
"Hey!" retorted Flechette. "I'm not gonna gossip about her! She's my friend!"
Emily cleared her throat firmly and waited until the room had quieted down. "Things were starting to ramp up again after the Christmas dip. Yes, we have that there too, but it's less obvious. The gangs were doing their usual posturing. And then Oni Lee turned up dead. That actually staggered a lot of us. Many people had tried; Atropos did it with one bullet, dead centre between the eyes, using his own gun."
Scribe actually managed to dial up her sneer a notch. "And not before time."
Amidst the general murmur of chuckles, Emily nodded. "Be that as it may, that particular sentiment wasn't just shared by the opposing villain gangs. Off the record, of course. We're not supposed to condone murder." This actually seemed to be working. Most of her interactions with the Wards had ended in disinterest at best, but here they were listening to her. "At the time, we thought it was a fluke."
"But … didn't she say on PHO exactly what she was doing?" That was Jouster.
"Anyone can say anything on PHO." Emily was a little surprised that more people didn't recognise this. "Actions, as they say, speak louder than words."
Shelter snorted. "Gotta say, her actions are pretty damn loud."
"Very true, but two months ago, she was only just starting." Emily took a breath. "Brockton Bay was a powderkeg, and we were stretched to the limit fending off idiots with matches. Then, over the course of four days, four of the major players on the villain side were eliminated. Think about that for a second. Imagine the Elite and the Adepts being taken out overnight by a totally unknown player." She looked around at the Wards, giving her words time to sink in. "All we could conclude that it was an escalation of the previous chaos, someone trying to move in and establish themselves as a new power in the criminal underworld."
"Well, she definitely did that." Flechette sounded amused, and most of the Wards chuckled along with her.
"She did," agreed Emily. "And after the villains fled Brockton Bay, she kept on destroying new threats as fast as they popped up. Then things got … easier." She thought about what she'd just said, and shook her head. "Things don't get easier in this job. That's not even rule number one; it's rule number zero. Nothing gets easier. But Atropos broke that rule, just like she breaks all the other rules. And now, thanks to a teenage girl with the edgiest name and costume of all time killing a whole lot of very bad people, Brockton Bay is actually getting to be a tolerable place to live." She looked around at the assembled Wards. "Next question?"
"Yeah. Have you actually met her? I mean, face to face?"
Emily didn't see who'd asked that question, but she answered it anyway. The incidents were vivid in her mind. "Three times. Once in my office, at my invitation, once outside Ellisburg, and once on Thursday evening, at my sendoff." Emily held up her hand. "Enough questions about Atropos. Does anyone have anything else they want to ask about?"
"Yeah," snarked Scribe. "Is it true they called you Miss Piggy behind your back, in Brockton Bay?"
"It's true," Emily acknowledged, ignoring the murmured chuckles and the surreptitious shove that Jouster gave Scribe. "Keep in mind, the person who started that chose the name Clockblocker, so it wasn't as though he could throw any stones." She turned to face Scribe. "Also, you know what they say about glass houses and stones … Sabrina."
"Nobody called me that!" Scribe had apparently never been pulled up on any of her disrespectful behaviour until now. Emily had to wonder exactly how much Wilkins had been soft-pedalling her treatment of the ex-villain in order to look good in front of the Chief Director. It reminded her of the aftermath of Shadow Stalker's demise, and the sheer amount of misbehaviour that the little twit's PRT handler had been sweeping under the rug. Well, that's not happening here.
"Oh, I dunno," Flechette said. "I spent time talking to some of the Wards when I went up for the fundraiser, and they mentioned a certain 'teenage Nazi' a couple of times."
"The fuck?" yelped Scribe, jumping to her feet and swinging around toward Flechette. "I never said anything about you!"
"Sit down, Scribe." Emily was grateful for Flechette's interjection, though she couldn't say so out loud. "This is why we should avoid all insulting nicknames going forward. Now, does anyone have any relevant questions?"
Atropos
"So, what's the skinny on the Blasphemies, anyway?" Cherie helped steady the mass of explosive material as I settled the metal cone down into it, point-first. The cone itself had originally been a tin can I'd salvaged from the trash, but with a little work and soldering, it would now serve a higher purpose, as would the burner phone and single pistol bullet I'd stripped down to its primer. "I mean, they fought the Triumvirate. They can fly, and make force fields, and teleport, and move at superspeed, and turn invisible. And whenever anyone's killed one, she's come back. How are you gonna make it stick, this time?"
"The first thing to understand about the Blasphemies," I said as I began to insert the wired-up primer (itself buried in a zip-loc bag containing the leftover propellant from the cartridges I'd butchered in preparation to take down Goddess) into the mass of explosive material, "is that they're robots. Artificial intelligences. That's actually known, but not by the general public."
"What the fuck?" Cherie frowned. "How many's that make now? Dragon, the Machine Army … who else is a robot around here?"
"That's about it, to be honest." I shrugged. "To make a self-sustaining AI, you need to have a power that really wants to make it happen, or it degrades and self-immolates in hours or days."
"Oh. Well, that kind of sucks. So, are you going to do the same trick you used to take out the Machine Army? Literally talk them to death? Or the Shotgun Shells of Exploding Doom?"
"Neither one, mainly because there's three of them." I held up that many fingers. "They're in constant communication, and they back up their memories and personalities with each other on the regular. Any damage I did by infecting one with a virus would get caught by another one, via their error-checking software. Even if I killed one that way, the other two would be free and clear to go to one of their caches of spare parts, construct a new body, and re-upload a clean copy of the personality. It would be back up and running within the day."
"They can do that?" Cherie frowned. "What's stopping them from just building more until they've got an army?"
"Their programming. And the fact that they're not Tinkers. They can just fake it in this one instance." I carefully taped the burner phone to the side of the gallon bottle that had come from the same place the tin can had, then started swathing the whole thing in plastic. "The other trick they can pull is swapping out their masks and changing their mannerisms. See, each of them has a set of powers that gives each of them Mover, Brute and Stranger capabilities, just different ones. That way, you never know which one you're fighting. By doing this, they can fool people into thinking they've all got all the powers. Also, they're really good at retreating if they have to. As soon as one dies, the others disengage."
Cherie's mouth opened, her jaw dropping in horrified fascination. "Huh. Holy shit. So how do you kill them?"
"Same as you beat any other adversary," I said lightly. "You target them where they're weak, and use their strengths against them."
She eyed the bomb she'd helped me make. "So … what, you're going to lure them to the same spot and blow them all up?"
"In a way, yes, but also no." I grinned at the exasperated expression on her face. "They'll be on their guard once they find out that I've been commissioned to decommission them. Which means they won't be going near each other. That way, if any of them gets destroyed, the others can resurrect them."
"Wait." Cherie held up her hand. "If Interpol contacts you directly, and you just go after the Blasphemies, how are they going to find out that you're on their case before you kill them?"
"Because I'm going to tell them." At her incredulous look, I explained further. "They're capable of being reasoned with. So, just like everyone else, they get a warning. Surrender to Interpol within twenty-four hours, or die."
"Well, shit." Cherie's eyebrows rose. "Interpol's not going to be thrilled."
I finished taping up the last of the plastic. "They're not paying me for happiness. They're paying me for results."
End of Part Seventy-Seven
Part Seventy-Seven: Meet the Wards
[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
Relevant Side Story
PRT New York, Sunday Morning, March 6
Director Emily Piggot
The intercom at Emily's elbow buzzed. "Deputy Director Henderson is here, ma'am. Are you clear to see him?"
She frowned. Is this how Wilkins operated? "Send him in. And make a note: Henderson gets access to me, all hours. Other names to be added to that list, at my discretion."
"Ma'am." There was no inflection to the voice to show whether her personal gatekeeper was pleased or irritated with the idea, but Emily didn't give a damn either way. Clear and prompt communication was essential to managing an organisation like the PRT, especially the department of it tasked with overseeing New York.
She'd already made a good start with ripping out the weeds left behind after her predecessor's ignominious departure, but she suspected there would be more to come. The .22 popgun stashed in the footwell had been replaced by her venerable SIG 220, and that was the least of the changes she intended to make around here. By the time she handed over the office to whoever was due to take charge on the first of July, she intended to have the New York PRT ticking over like a goddamn Swiss watch, no matter how many brand-new assholes she had to ream out in the doing of it.
New York boasted (if that was the word) a larger selection of villains than Brockton Bay had had, she freely admitted that. However, she couldn't help noticing while she'd been familiarising herself with their various dossiers that they were softer and fluffier on the whole than their departed counterparts. No neo-Nazi hate groups, no rage dragons, no snake-in-the-grass Coils, no Merchant-equivalents devoted entirely to dealing drugs.
This wasn't to say that they were good, or even 'misunderstood' (she hated that word with the passion of a thousand burning suns), just that they were a lot less vicious than the usual for Brockton Bay. Of course, it helped that the Teeth had been irresistibly drawn to Brockton Bay by Atropos' warning, and been wiped out to a man. Barrow was another casualty of overconfidence, currently (as far as she knew) dealing with having both his kneecaps blown out by Atropos in one of her rare nonlethal takedowns.
Emily hadn't lost a moment of sleep over either one of those.
The Elite were still in town, but since Bastard Son's demise, they'd become a lot more circumspect in their dealings, and the New York branch had never been heavy on crime anyway. Likewise, the Adepts kept things low-key, and were careful not to risk killing anyone. Their most annoying trait seemed to be their habit of attempting to poach any Wards or Protectorate members whose powers could be mistaken for magic (and the fact that they'd succeeded at least once that she knew of).
Which raised a point: the latest 'recruit' into the ranks of the New York Wards happened to be one Tammi Reynolds, AKA Scribe, previously known as Rune, whose powers could absolutely be described as looking like magic. Also (and this was important), she was an ex-member of the extremely defunct Empire Eighty-Eight and had been, by all accounts, chugging down the racist Kool-Aid on the regular before Kaiser took a sword through the brain.
In Emily's personal opinion, Scribe was a high-risk cape, likely to defect to the enemy given the slightest opportunity. Someone who should've been slam-dunked straight back into the juvenile detention system instead of being fast-tracked into a probationary Wards position.
Just like we should've done with Shadow Stalker, only more so. Stalker, at least, had never tried to switch sides. At least, not officially.
She suspected Wilkins had had a hand in this, looking to boost her numbers and look good to the higher-ups. And now, ironically, not only was Emily being tapped to solve the problems Wilkins had caused, but two adversaries from Brockton Bay had ended up technically on the same side in a whole new city. Not that Emily intended to trust the little shit any further than she could caber-toss the Empire State Building, or tolerate Rune's presence in the Wards for one second longer than it took to get her shitcanned right back to where she belonged.
The office door opened, and Henderson entered. "Sorry to bother you, ma'am, but—"
Emily cut him off right there. "Deputy Director Henderson. You are the PRT second in command in this city, so let's get something straight. If there's something I need to know, you bring it to my attention. Likewise, if you come in here to see me about something, I'm going to assume that I need to know about it. Therefore, when you walk into my office, the first words I want to hear from you are not an apology for wasting my time. What I want is for you to tell me what I need to know about whatever's going on. Is that perfectly understood?"
Henderson blinked. "Uh … yes, ma'am. Loud and clear, ma'am. So, I'm here to let you know that the Wards are assembled downstairs for you to address them, ma'am."
She nodded firmly. Dealing with Wards wasn't her favourite part of the job—if there was any part of it that she could call favourite—but at least they weren't being housed in the PRT building and overseen by the Deputy Director, like in Brockton Bay. Whoever's idea it had been to put the Brockton Bay Protectorate base in the middle of the actual bay had a lot to answer for, in her opinion.
"Thank you, Mr Henderson." She stood up from her chair and started around the desk. On impulse, she took the Nilbog claw that she was currently using as a letter opener and slid it into her pocket. "And you don't have to call me 'ma'am' with every sentence; just occasionally will do. I know Director Wilkins probably did a lot of things differently to me, but she's also facing Federal charges, so I see no need to emulate her every habit." She stepped up to him. "Also, I will be requiring you to make judgement calls on occasion. I may ask you to explain your reasoning after the fact, but I'd prefer a subordinate who can make a decision over one who lets a bad situation get worse because they froze. If this is not to your liking, then you may submit your resignation at any time. Is that also understood?"
"Crystal clear, ma'am." He seemed to be trying to process what she was saying, or maybe he was just constipated. She didn't care which one it was; he'd either get with the program or she'd have to bring in another Deputy Director to train up.
"Good to hear." She paused with her hand on the door handle, and looked back at him. "And one more thing. I've read all the available briefing notes, but only a complete fool would assume that's all there is to know about this duty posting, and I'd like to think I'm not a complete fool. So if I happen to give an order out of ignorance that's likely to have problematic consequences, get my attention and fill me in in private. Think you can do that?"
This time, his response was more positive, as he nodded sharply. "Yes, ma'am."
"Excellent." She opened the door and left the office. In time, it would probably feel like 'her' office, but that time wasn't yet.
He followed along behind her. "May I ask a semi-personal question?"
"Certainly. Don't set your heart on getting an answer, though."
"Understood." He hesitated for a second. "What was it like, being in the same city as Atropos all the time?"
She glanced back at him. "Broadly speaking? Irritating and illuminating. I do not, and never will, approve of vigilante justice. The PRT and courts exist for a reason. We do not want or need armed civilians, or even armed capes, simply murdering people willy-nilly." She huffed a sigh. "The irritating part is that she made it work. The illuminating aspect is that she had a deeper plan behind it all, over and above 'kill villains in excruciating ways'."
"The Betterment Committee," he said, proving that he was paying attention.
"Precisely. The bounty from the Nine barely started the ball rolling, then she pulled in two billion for the Simurgh, and there's going to be more again once we announce the demise of the other Endbringers in July. And of course, there are the quarantine areas that she so kindly cleared out for us, freeing up immense amounts of our funding and manpower for other purposes, and incidentally providing the Committee with a solid revenue stream for the next ten years."
Henderson didn't bring up the fact that Emily was the one who'd started the trend of commissioning Atropos to clear the quarantine areas; it was something they both already knew. Instead, he asked a question which she had also been pondering the answer to. "So, now that she's Ended all the major threats to the well-being of Brockton Bay, as well as an interdimensional one, what do you think she'll do now, ma'am?"
Emily chuckled darkly. "Mr Henderson, I stopped trying to anticipate her next move a long time ago. I'm sure we'll find out if and when it happens."
"Copy that, ma'am."
<><>
Hebert Household Basement
Taylor
I hummed to myself as I stirred the mixture in the plastic tub, the improvised paddle poking through a hole in the garbage bag I'd tied over the lot to keep the fumes from getting out. It had been even easier than I'd expected to obtain the ingredients in the proportions and quantity I needed. Now I just had to make sure the two disparate elements were well and truly mixed together, while preventing any stray sparks from inviting themselves to the party before I was ready.
The basement door opened, and Cherie descended the steps. "Hey, Taylor. What're you doing now?"
I turned and gave her my most innocent look, without interrupting the stirring. "What makes you think I'm doing something?"
She retaliated with a don't-bullshit-me look of amused exasperation; perfectly justified, given that I was indeed doing something. "I swear, you're like a four-year-old. Whenever you vanish down here and I can hear you humming along contentedly, I know for a fact that disaster is soon to follow. The only difference is that the disaster is going to happen to some thoroughly deserving asshole, and it's always highly entertaining to watch."
A grin twitched my lips. "As much as I feel I should be insulted somehow by the comparison to a kid doing something it knows it shouldn't, I can kinda see where you're coming from. I do come down here to prep for a lot of my mayhem."
"Which brings us back to my original question." She leaned back against the workbench near me, propping herself on her elbows. "What are you doing, who are you going to be doing it to, and why do I smell diesel?"
My grin widened. "Well, the answer to that needs a little backtracking. I probably mentioned that I didn't want the Empire remnants to be getting any more assistance from overseas, so I've been dropping anonymous tips about Gesellschaft leadership to Interpol, right?"
"Right." Cherie nodded. "If they're tied up with that, they can't project power into the US."
"That's the general idea, yeah." I stirred the tub again. "So, it turns out that Gesellschaft, among other European terror groups, have been bankrolling the Three Blasphemies, and getting a return by way of picking their assassination targets. Reshaping the political landscape by proxy."
"The Blasphemies?" Cherie's eyebrows shot up. "Those bitches are seriously bad news. I heard they even fought Eidolon and survived. But I thought they only operated in Europe?"
"That's true," I acknowledged. "And they are pretty damn good at what they do. But they just hit my radar anyway, because Gesellschaft is directing them to hit Interpol personnel … and in about half an hour, Interpol is going to contact me over PHO with an offer of a hundred million US to remove them from the board. It appears that taking out a chief of station in his own house, in front of his kids, crosses a line. Who knew?"
Cherie smirked. "And of course you know how to kill them. In a way that somehow involves diesel."
I nodded, giving the tub of ANFO one last stir. "When have I not?"
She nodded wisely. "Good point."
<><>
Director Piggot
Emily stepped up onto the dais, in front of the assembled Wards. There were more than she'd been used to dealing with in Brockton Bay, though they were arranged in teams according to capabilities. While a few gave the impression of having been at the sharp edge once or twice, most seemed less battle-hardened than the Brockton Bay Wards; in point of fact, they reminded her of recruits fresh out of boot. The skills were technically there, but they'd never been tested in real combat.
Flechette was one of those Emily suspected of having faced serious opposition, almost certainly against March. She wasn't sure what March's obsession with Flechette was all about, but the teen villain's persecution of the young hero had more than earned her the beating she'd received at Atropos' hands. March had recovered from the mild concussion, and the light stab wounds were healing nicely, but her knee would never work properly again if she didn't receive corrective surgery. It turned out that the PRT was remarkably stingy about springing for that sort of thing when it wasn't a life-threatening situation.
Flechette herself was one of the more famous Wards in the system, having accompanied Atropos to Canberra on that famous occasion. Quite apart from the other times she'd associated with Atropos, she had also volunteered to attend the Brockton General fundraiser, earning her a note of commendation in her file from Legend. Emily approved of that sort of initiative, so when she'd seen Flechette's request for three days off to visit Brockton Bay for 'personal reasons', she'd signed off on it.
Unfortunately, she hadn't actually seen it until Saturday afternoon, but Flechette would get priority placing on next Friday's afternoon transport, and wouldn't be required back until Tuesday morning. Her school would be notified of her upcoming absence on Monday, and the appropriate excuses given. Judging by the original date on the leave request, Wilkins had been kicking the can down the road on that one for the last month. Emily didn't know exactly why the ex-Director had been blocking it, though she could make an educated guess. Whatever; Flechette's earned that leave and she's damn well going to get it.
The other main contender for 'teen veteran of the streets' was Scribe, who was making only a moderate attempt to appear heroic and attentive. Emily wasn't sure how much of her expression was a reaction to being a probationary Ward, and how much was her natural sneer. Either way, she'd ditched the red and black robes for blue and gold in the same pattern, along with a pointed, wide-brimmed hat. She was leaning back in her seat with her arms folded, and Emily could barely see her eyes under the hat's brim.
Just for a moment, Emily was tempted to order her to remove the hat, but refrained when she noted the number of Wards in the room who would be unmasked if they were required to remove their helmets and other headgear. And she knew damn well Scribe would insist on it happening, and kick up a stink if the others weren't given equal treatment. The last thing she wanted was for the Youth Guard to come sniffing around when she hadn't even been in charge for a week yet.
The other notable Ward in the room was probationary in a whole different way. At nineteen, Badaboom would normally have got straight into the Protectorate, but it wasn't unusual for new capes in their late teens to spend a few months in the Wards before moving up in the ranks. Theoretically, this gave them an opportunity to find their feet within the organisation before facing off against the real threats. And in New York, Emily supposed, that might even work.
Ironically, the bomb Tinker's recruitment into the Wards had also technically been due to Atropos. On February the twenty-second, the giantess twins Fenja and Menja had chosen to attack Cornell University in some misguided bid to attract like-minded people to their cause. It had not been going well for the beleaguered campus security (and the heroes were still a few minutes out) when one of the students had taken a hand.
Wearing a makeshift costume and screaming defiance, Badaboom (real name Alice Takawara) had bombarded the Nazi terrorist capes with her Tinkertech bombs. Shifts in local gravity had put them on the back foot and 'super stunner' bombs had left them staggering, but the stars of the show were the bombs that respectively turned Fenja intensely magnetic, and inflicted Menja with the equivalent of acute gastroenteritis. When the capes showed up, Menja was in the unpleasant process of purging her system of everything she'd eaten in the last two days, and Fenja was unconscious under a pile of cars.
Ironically, the news story about it had been almost totally buried under the revelation of the Simurgh's demise. Ms Takawara had tentatively accepted the recruitment offer, and was currently using the name the news crews had saddled her with until Image could figure out a better one for her. Even now, she had a wide-eyed 'how the hell did I end up here' expression on her face.
Emily found she could sympathise.
"Good morning," she said into the microphone. "I'm Director Emily Piggot, replacing Ms Wilkins. You may address me as Director, ma'am, or Ms Piggot."
She paused to let that sink in, looking around at the assembled teenage heroes to gather her impressions of what they thought of her opening lines. The team captains seemed to be paying close attention to her words, while the rest were nose-diving into boredom. Not Flechette, though, or Badaboom, or Scribe for that matter. Where the first two were also listening carefully, the latter was allowing her sneer to show more and more openly.
What the hell, she decided. I'm only in this posting for another four months. She'd never been the type to play to the crowd, but there was no percentage in setting up the Wards to push back against her initiatives for the next four months. What don't they want to hear?
She wasn't a teenager, but she judged that in their place, she wouldn't want to hear more empty platitudes. We're all in this together, you have my support, blah blah blah. She cleared her throat. "Okay, you know what? You've heard the rest of this speech dozens of times before, so let's just take it as said and move along. I've blocked out half an hour for this. If you've got questions or something to say, let's hear it."
Shelter, down at the front, raised his hand. She nodded toward him. "Uh, ma'am, is it true you were at Ellisburg?"
"It is." She recalled the claw in her pocket, and took it out. Stepping down from the podium, she held it up. "Over a hundred of us went in. Two came out." She recalled again how the capes had cut and run, but restrained her automatic reaction. Some capes do what they say they're going to do. Atropos had taught her that. "The day before Atropos went in and killed every last goblin in Ellisburg, she collected this and later gave it to me as something to remember the place by. Careful, it's sharp."
She handed over the claw to Shelter, who looked it over with something approaching awe, then passed it on to Jouster. Gradually, it began to make its way around the room. Emily kept an eye on where it was, while appearing not to: a trick she'd learned long ago as an officer. She had their attention now. Good.
Someone down the back, whose name she hadn't memorised yet, put their hand up. "How did you survive, ma'am?"
"I nearly didn't," she replied candidly. "Every one of my men died. I ran through all my ammo, and emptied my pistol. They were chewing on my legs and ripping up my kidneys when a chopper dropped in, killed the critters on me, and got me the hell out of there." She took a deep breath. "Take that as a lesson. Sometimes you'll be doing everything by the numbers, acting on the intel you've been given, and the intel will be wrong. Sometimes it's just not your fault when things go ti—uh, belly-up."
"What do you do then?" asked Flechette.
"Well, what you don't do is whine about how it's not fair. Life's not fair. Deal with it." Emily paused to allow the brief laughter to pass, then got serious, making eye contact with as many of them as she could. "You dig deep and find just how hard you can fight. And if at all possible, you survive so you can tell someone what happened, and what went wrong. If not?" She shrugged. "You take as many of the bastards down with you that you can."
The claw was halfway around the room by now. She gestured, inviting another question.
"Is Brockton Bay as bad as we've heard?" asked a kid with a striped red-and-white costume. "I mean, really?"
"Before or after Atropos showed up?" asked Emily dryly. She held up her hand. "Right off the bat, every member of the Brockton Bay Wards has been in combat against one or another of the villain gangs in the city, directly fighting supervillains. I didn't order it and I didn't approve of it, but it happened. Sometimes they got hurt. Yes, it was bad. That was before Atropos."
"What about after Atropos?" That was Badaboom, looking surprised at herself. "Did she really kill all those villains?"
"Yeah," called out someone else in the back row. "What's Atropos like? Flechette won't give us deets!"
"Hey!" retorted Flechette. "I'm not gonna gossip about her! She's my friend!"
Emily cleared her throat firmly and waited until the room had quieted down. "Things were starting to ramp up again after the Christmas dip. Yes, we have that there too, but it's less obvious. The gangs were doing their usual posturing. And then Oni Lee turned up dead. That actually staggered a lot of us. Many people had tried; Atropos did it with one bullet, dead centre between the eyes, using his own gun."
Scribe actually managed to dial up her sneer a notch. "And not before time."
Amidst the general murmur of chuckles, Emily nodded. "Be that as it may, that particular sentiment wasn't just shared by the opposing villain gangs. Off the record, of course. We're not supposed to condone murder." This actually seemed to be working. Most of her interactions with the Wards had ended in disinterest at best, but here they were listening to her. "At the time, we thought it was a fluke."
"But … didn't she say on PHO exactly what she was doing?" That was Jouster.
"Anyone can say anything on PHO." Emily was a little surprised that more people didn't recognise this. "Actions, as they say, speak louder than words."
Shelter snorted. "Gotta say, her actions are pretty damn loud."
"Very true, but two months ago, she was only just starting." Emily took a breath. "Brockton Bay was a powderkeg, and we were stretched to the limit fending off idiots with matches. Then, over the course of four days, four of the major players on the villain side were eliminated. Think about that for a second. Imagine the Elite and the Adepts being taken out overnight by a totally unknown player." She looked around at the Wards, giving her words time to sink in. "All we could conclude that it was an escalation of the previous chaos, someone trying to move in and establish themselves as a new power in the criminal underworld."
"Well, she definitely did that." Flechette sounded amused, and most of the Wards chuckled along with her.
"She did," agreed Emily. "And after the villains fled Brockton Bay, she kept on destroying new threats as fast as they popped up. Then things got … easier." She thought about what she'd just said, and shook her head. "Things don't get easier in this job. That's not even rule number one; it's rule number zero. Nothing gets easier. But Atropos broke that rule, just like she breaks all the other rules. And now, thanks to a teenage girl with the edgiest name and costume of all time killing a whole lot of very bad people, Brockton Bay is actually getting to be a tolerable place to live." She looked around at the assembled Wards. "Next question?"
"Yeah. Have you actually met her? I mean, face to face?"
Emily didn't see who'd asked that question, but she answered it anyway. The incidents were vivid in her mind. "Three times. Once in my office, at my invitation, once outside Ellisburg, and once on Thursday evening, at my sendoff." Emily held up her hand. "Enough questions about Atropos. Does anyone have anything else they want to ask about?"
"Yeah," snarked Scribe. "Is it true they called you Miss Piggy behind your back, in Brockton Bay?"
"It's true," Emily acknowledged, ignoring the murmured chuckles and the surreptitious shove that Jouster gave Scribe. "Keep in mind, the person who started that chose the name Clockblocker, so it wasn't as though he could throw any stones." She turned to face Scribe. "Also, you know what they say about glass houses and stones … Sabrina."
"Nobody called me that!" Scribe had apparently never been pulled up on any of her disrespectful behaviour until now. Emily had to wonder exactly how much Wilkins had been soft-pedalling her treatment of the ex-villain in order to look good in front of the Chief Director. It reminded her of the aftermath of Shadow Stalker's demise, and the sheer amount of misbehaviour that the little twit's PRT handler had been sweeping under the rug. Well, that's not happening here.
"Oh, I dunno," Flechette said. "I spent time talking to some of the Wards when I went up for the fundraiser, and they mentioned a certain 'teenage Nazi' a couple of times."
"The fuck?" yelped Scribe, jumping to her feet and swinging around toward Flechette. "I never said anything about you!"
"Sit down, Scribe." Emily was grateful for Flechette's interjection, though she couldn't say so out loud. "This is why we should avoid all insulting nicknames going forward. Now, does anyone have any relevant questions?"
<><>
Atropos
"So, what's the skinny on the Blasphemies, anyway?" Cherie helped steady the mass of explosive material as I settled the metal cone down into it, point-first. The cone itself had originally been a tin can I'd salvaged from the trash, but with a little work and soldering, it would now serve a higher purpose, as would the burner phone and single pistol bullet I'd stripped down to its primer. "I mean, they fought the Triumvirate. They can fly, and make force fields, and teleport, and move at superspeed, and turn invisible. And whenever anyone's killed one, she's come back. How are you gonna make it stick, this time?"
"The first thing to understand about the Blasphemies," I said as I began to insert the wired-up primer (itself buried in a zip-loc bag containing the leftover propellant from the cartridges I'd butchered in preparation to take down Goddess) into the mass of explosive material, "is that they're robots. Artificial intelligences. That's actually known, but not by the general public."
"What the fuck?" Cherie frowned. "How many's that make now? Dragon, the Machine Army … who else is a robot around here?"
"That's about it, to be honest." I shrugged. "To make a self-sustaining AI, you need to have a power that really wants to make it happen, or it degrades and self-immolates in hours or days."
"Oh. Well, that kind of sucks. So, are you going to do the same trick you used to take out the Machine Army? Literally talk them to death? Or the Shotgun Shells of Exploding Doom?"
"Neither one, mainly because there's three of them." I held up that many fingers. "They're in constant communication, and they back up their memories and personalities with each other on the regular. Any damage I did by infecting one with a virus would get caught by another one, via their error-checking software. Even if I killed one that way, the other two would be free and clear to go to one of their caches of spare parts, construct a new body, and re-upload a clean copy of the personality. It would be back up and running within the day."
"They can do that?" Cherie frowned. "What's stopping them from just building more until they've got an army?"
"Their programming. And the fact that they're not Tinkers. They can just fake it in this one instance." I carefully taped the burner phone to the side of the gallon bottle that had come from the same place the tin can had, then started swathing the whole thing in plastic. "The other trick they can pull is swapping out their masks and changing their mannerisms. See, each of them has a set of powers that gives each of them Mover, Brute and Stranger capabilities, just different ones. That way, you never know which one you're fighting. By doing this, they can fool people into thinking they've all got all the powers. Also, they're really good at retreating if they have to. As soon as one dies, the others disengage."
Cherie's mouth opened, her jaw dropping in horrified fascination. "Huh. Holy shit. So how do you kill them?"
"Same as you beat any other adversary," I said lightly. "You target them where they're weak, and use their strengths against them."
She eyed the bomb she'd helped me make. "So … what, you're going to lure them to the same spot and blow them all up?"
"In a way, yes, but also no." I grinned at the exasperated expression on her face. "They'll be on their guard once they find out that I've been commissioned to decommission them. Which means they won't be going near each other. That way, if any of them gets destroyed, the others can resurrect them."
"Wait." Cherie held up her hand. "If Interpol contacts you directly, and you just go after the Blasphemies, how are they going to find out that you're on their case before you kill them?"
"Because I'm going to tell them." At her incredulous look, I explained further. "They're capable of being reasoned with. So, just like everyone else, they get a warning. Surrender to Interpol within twenty-four hours, or die."
"Well, shit." Cherie's eyebrows rose. "Interpol's not going to be thrilled."
I finished taping up the last of the plastic. "They're not paying me for happiness. They're paying me for results."
End of Part Seventy-Seven
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Ack
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She's not doing napalm. She's doing ANFO. Ammonium nitrate fuel oil.
Kehsem
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Ah, thanks for the clarification. I assumed napalm would burn hot enough / be sticky enough for MCs purposes (and few things scream 'America' as much as setting your enemies on fire with napalm when it comes to her [technically] first international contract).
I'm learning quite a bit about various concoctions I've not seen much of in literature before. Thanks for the new term!
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seeing_octarine
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Nilbog had creations that were fireproof, or that went one step further and actually multiplied if you set them on fire. So definitely not everything.
Kehsem
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Eh, this is a "magic" setting. The rule of the day is whatever the author feels like at the time, like Wildbow's unhinged, cocaine-fueled lunacy in pretty much all of their decisions.
Setting that aside, I figure PoE-directed napalm beats out dubious fantasy mechanics.
Part Seventy-Eight: The Bada and the Boom
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A Darker Path
Part Seventy-Eight: The Bada and the Boom
[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
Director Emily Piggot
Emily closed her office door behind her and crossed the room to her desk. She felt physically and mentally drained; that had been the longest she'd ever spent in the presence of Wards when she wasn't actively chewing them out for the latest bullshit they'd pulled. Apart from Scribe, they'd even been respectful.
She was pretty sure she'd caught Scribe eyeing the claw as though she'd like to pocket it, which didn't surprise her as it was still her firm belief that the girl should be in juvey, not the Wards. It didn't matter that Rune had only been caught because she'd been abandoned by Victor and Othala when an attempted bank robbery went wrong; in Emily's view, a criminal who was also the victim of betrayal was still a criminal. In this particular instance, it seemed the presence of the other Wards (plus Emily's eye on her) had kept the ex-villain relatively honest, but that wouldn't always be the case.
As she settled into her chair and dropped the claw back on the desk, she wondered if it was Legend's influence that had the Wards acting so politely and respectfully toward her. Back in Brockton Bay, Armsmaster should have been in charge of the Wards but several factors had militated against that, so the duty had fallen mainly to Renick.
Her deputy had tried his best, and indeed she had to admit that the Brockton Bay Wards (with one glaring exception) hadn't turned out badly. However, all the will in the world couldn't put more hours in the day or teach him what having powers was really like, so they'd been far from the squared-away teens she'd just been talking to.
She tapped her personal code into her laptop to wake it up again, and called up the Wards roster once more. Yet another reminder that she wasn't in Brockton Bay anymore: she had three times as many Wards to keep track of, and some of the names had slipped her mind while she was talking to them. To her, that was unacceptable; she began reading through the list again, matching names to costumes. Even if she wasn't in charge of them, they were still ultimately her responsibility.
And then there were the two potential problems, one more so than the other. For a moment, she thought about dealing with it later, but then she squared her shoulders. Better to get it out of the way now than keep putting it on the back burner.
Taking out her phone, she hit the speed-dial for Henderson's number. He answered a moment later: "Yes, ma'am?"
She got directly to the point. "Are you busy with anything that can't be pushed back fifteen minutes?"
There was a brief pause, but only for a couple of seconds. "No, ma'am. What do you need?"
"Your presence, my office. I'm going to talk to one of the Wards, and I'd like you as an impartial witness."
Again, the brief hesitation. Emily could only imagine that Wilkins had never asked this of him, which spoke volumes about their working relationship. "Yes, ma'am. I'll be right over."
"Thank you." Emily ended the call, then hit the speed-dial for the PRT duty officer. She didn't know all her people by sight yet, but she was working on that too. "Director Piggot here. The Wards are still in the building? Good. Please have Badaboom sent up to see me."
Badaboom
Alice Takawara stepped out of the elevator and headed down the hallway toward the Director's office, the PRT trooper who had been detailed to escort her walking precisely one pace to the rear and the right. She had no idea what was going on; the meeting with Director Piggot had been interesting enough, but she'd barely said three words the whole time.
It wasn't like she'd cursed the older woman out, or brought up that stupid nickname, like Scribe had. If anyone was going to be called to the Director's office, it should be that bitch. 'Sabrina the teenage Nazi.' Now, that was legitimately funny.
The Director's secretary, or personal assistant, or whatever she was, looked at Alice once, and nodded. "Go right in."
"Uh … thanks?" Alice moved forward to the office door and turned the handle. The door opened, and she stepped inside.
Within were the Director and Deputy Director, the latter of whom was sitting on a chair off to the side of the office. Director Piggot looked up as Alice entered, and nodded. "Good, you're here. Have a seat." She gestured at the chair planted front and centre before the desk. "Trooper, you're dismissed."
"Ma'am." The trooper left the office again, closing the door behind him.
Alice walked forward and sat down, trying to calm her nerves long enough to make her jittering left leg stop bouncing. She didn't spend much time looking to Henderson for answers; even during her brief time in the Wards, she'd figured out that he was basically there to do the stuff Director Wilkins couldn't be bothered doing. Director Piggot was the one she needed to pay attention to.
When Piggot spoke, it wasn't even to Alice. "Deputy Director Henderson, is it SOP in this building for Wards to be escorted to my office by a trooper?"
Henderson seemed to be as surprised by this as Alice was. "Uh, yes, ma'am. It's the way it's always been."
"Mmm." The Director didn't sound pleased by this, but at least it was nothing Alice had anything to do with. Also, she belatedly realised, the trooper escort wasn't something the Director had ordered to intimidate her. "Make a note. Protectorate and Wards have the right to be anywhere in this building they're cleared to be, just like the PRT does. They don't need troopers to hold their hands everywhere they go."
"Understood, ma'am."
Piggot nodded once, then turned her attention to Alice. "So, Badaboom. I have a few questions for you. Hopefully, we can clear them up and let you get back to your regular duties." She paused for a second. "This will not be an interrogation. I don't do interrogations. We have people for that. I would just like to ask you some questions and get some honest answers, so we all know where we stand. Deputy Director Henderson is sitting in as an impartial witness, and this entire conversation is being recorded. Do you have any questions about what I've just said?"
"Um …" If Alice was being honest with herself, when Director Piggot said that this would not be an interrogation, it suddenly started looking a whole lot like an interrogation. "Am I going to need a lawyer for this?"
"Only if I thought you'd actually committed a crime, which I don't." Piggot's eyes bored into Alice's. "I have zero interest in initiating any legal action against you, no matter what is said here. I just want answers, and for each of us here in this room to be on the same page. Is that understood?"
Tentatively, Alice nodded. The Director had gotten her attention, and her respect, during the talk. As far as Alice could tell, she had zero bullshit in her. "So, uh … what do you want to know?"
"Well, first, do you intend to keep the name Badaboom?" As she said the name out loud, Director Piggot winced as though she'd put pressure on a sore tooth. "Have you been to see Image for potential alternatives?"
"Uh … that's actually Monday, ma'am." Alice was relieved that she had such an easy one to start with. "And no, I don't intend to keep it. Not sure what I'm going to replace it with. I was thinking maybe Shebang." Her head dropped as an unpleasant memory came up. "Scribe suggested Pearl Harbor, and Jouster yelled at her for it."
"I'm not surprised. I would have too." From the set of the Director's jaw, she would've had a great deal to say to Scribe. "Has she been giving you problems in other ways?"
"Nothing physical. Just, you know, words. Stuff she can pass off as a joke if she gets called on it. Flechette called her on it anyway, and threatened to clean her clock. She backed off." Alice hunched her shoulders as she recalled the weird feeling of having one of the best-known Wards in the US step in on her side.
"I see. Don't hesitate to report it if she tries it again. I do not want friction between my Wards, and I have zero tolerance for troublemakers." Director Piggot paused for a beat. "Now, I'd like to ask you some questions about the attack on Cornell."
Alice blinked. She wasn't fantastic at reading people, but this sounded a whole lot like Piggot was just starting to get around to what she wanted to talk about. "Um … sure, I guess?"
The first question set alarm bells ringing in Alice's mind. "Did your trigger event happen before or during the attack by Fenja and Menja?"
Nobody else had asked that question, especially in the way Director Piggot was asking it. Specifically, like she already knew the answer and was just confirming a suspicion. Oh, shit. She's figured it out.
But Henderson didn't even seem to have expected that question. Troopers weren't pouring into the room to arrest her. And the Director was just … looking at her, with steel-grey eyes that seemed to bypass normal barriers and peer straight into her soul.
'This will not be an interrogation'. That was what Piggot had said. Alice decided to test the waters. "Director, I'm not comfortable with talking about my trigger. May I go now, please?"
"Certainly." Director Piggot gestured to the door. "Enjoy your afternoon. And try not to let Image browbeat you. At the end of the day, you're the one who's going to have to wear the costume and name, not them."
"Thank you, Director." Alice got up from the chair. She didn't quite flee the office, but she speed-walked down the corridor toward the elevator, quite a bit faster than she'd come the other direction.
All the way down in the elevator, she tried to figure out what had just happened. The Director hadn't come after her with accusations, but she had to know the truth all the same. So why hadn't she had Alice arrested?
'I have zero interest in initiating any legal action against you, no matter what is said here.' Piggot had said that; was it possible that she'd actually meant it?
Alice went back over the conversation in her mind; as far as she could tell, she hadn't said anything incriminating. And not wanting to talk about a trigger event was perfectly normal. Nobody liked talking about that shit. It always dug up bad memories.
So why did she ask? No matter how Alice went at the problem, she ran into the same answer. She figured it out, and just wanted to let me know that she knows.
And?
The elevator door opened, and she saw the Wards who'd waited back for her. Scribe wasn't among them, thank God. More importantly, there were no PRT troopers prepped to arrest her.
And nothing, I guess. She's okay with me going ahead with being a Ward, and a hero, even though she knows the truth.
She wasn't sure how she felt about that.
Director Emily Piggot
Once the door had closed behind Takawara, Henderson turned to Emily. "I'm … not entirely sure what just happened," he said, a little plaintively. "Why were you asking her about the Cornell incident, and why did she blow out of here like she'd just manifested a Mover rating?" He stared at her, his head tilted to one side quizzically. "And why are you okay with that?"
Emily hit the button that stopped the recording. "I confirmed my suspicions, and now she knows I know." She observed his ongoing expression of confusion, and sighed. "Look, she triggered either before or during the attack, yes? She refused to talk about it because she knew I'd figured out she triggered before it."
Henderson frowned. "She could've triggered during it and was just being cagey."
"No." Emily waved his words away. "She had at least three bombs ready to hand when the attack happened. One bomb thrown together in the heat of the moment, I can accept. But not three. Tinkers need relatively specialised materials. Trust me, I've signed enough requisition sheets for Armsmaster and Kid Win. There's no way she could've had materials for all three bombs on hand at the moment she triggered, if it was during the attack."
"Okay." Henderson nodded slowly. "I can see that. So, she triggered before the attack. What's the big deal there?"
"The big deal is, she's still a recent trigger, and she had bombs to hand. Why was she building bombs on the Cornell campus?" Emily held up her finger. "Or rather: Why. Did. She. Trigger?"
"I don't know why capes trigger." He spread his hands. "I mean, I read somewhere that good powers come from something really good happening to you, and bad powers—"
Emily cut him off brusquely. "Bullshit. Nothing good comes from getting powers, and getting powers come from nothing good. I'll bet you a year's salary she was under intense academic stress and failed a class. So, she snapped, and triggered with a destructive Tinker ability. And then she started building bombs with some vague idea of 'showing them all' that she wasn't stupid." She wasn't crass enough to make actual air quotes, but she flicked her fingers briefly to put the concept across.
Henderson finally caught up with her train of thought. "And then Fenja and Menja attacked, so she transferred her anger to them instead, took them down with the bombs she'd already constructed, and became an accidental hero."
"Well, the reports did say they were shouting racist slurs while they were attacking," Emily noted.
"Apparently they were trying to attract like-minded people to their cause." Henderson rolled his eyes, then cleared his throat. "So, when you asked that question, she realised you had hold of the one thread that could undermine her implied cover story. That you'd figured everything out, but you weren't going to actively call her on it." He paused. "But … why didn't you?"
"She may have started with the intention of committing a crime, but we're not thought police." Emily laced her hands together on her desk. "She never went through with it, and in fact helped capture two dangerous villains. And now she knows that we're onto her but I'm willing to let her run with being a hero. Because I'd rather a Ward or hero who started out with sketchy motives but who's trying to make something of herself, as opposed to a villain on the run." Or even a villain being forced into the role of a hero, but we can deal with Scribe later.
"Huh." Henderson shook his head. "No offense, but I'd always heard you were a bit of a hardass when it came to capes. No give at all. I guess the rumour mill has a lot to answer for."
"None taken, Mr Henderson." Emily smiled tightly. "Let's just say, the events of the past two months have given me ample reason to reconsider my stance."
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♦ Topic: Three, Two, One, Boom
In: Boards ► Brockton Bay ► New Capes ► Atropos
Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me) (Verified Dethpicable)
Posted On Mar 7th 2011:
Here we are yet again, my friends.
You will be happy to know that no dire threats encroach upon Brockton Bay and that our latest crop of new citizens, the Robotic Americans lately of Eagleton, are settling in nicely. Each and every one of them has chosen to sign up to work for the Betterment Committee, and I'm told they are paying strict attention to their training courses. So if you see a mechanical guy wearing a hard-hat scuttling up the side of a building, he's on our side. More specifically, he's on *your* side. Helping build a better Brockton Bay.
In more international news, I was recently contacted by none other than Interpol, requesting that I apply my very specific talents to a particular End. See, they've been cracking down on Gesellschaft recently, with the pushback that Gesellschaft has been sic'ing the Three Blasphemies on them. Now, they can handle the big G, but they've offered me a cool hundred mil' to get the Blasphemies off their backs, because they heard somewhere that I'm really good at killing stuff.
I have NO idea where they got that notion. None whatsoever. Total pacifist, that's me. (And if you believe that, I've got a PRT building to sell you, going cheap. A total steal, you might say.)
So anyway, this is the same warning that everyone else gets. To the Three Blasphemies: I know you follow PHO. As of this message, you have 24 hours to surrender yourselves to Interpol.
You could try to bribe me, but I don't take bribes from those who constitute a net drain on society. Likewise, you could try to go after my friends and family. Go ahead; look at what happened to the last idiot who tried that. Or you could just try to kill me first. It'll save me the trouble of coming to you.
You're not human (woo! Spoilers!) so I'm going to treat you like you're undead, which every church ever basically agrees to be blasphemy in and of itself. Zombies get shot in the head and vampires get decapitated, their mouths stuffed with garlic, and staked through the heart.
You've seen what I can do. Blasphemies: your hours are numbered (24, to be exact). Surrender peacefully, or I'm coming over there.
Toodles!
(Showing page 1 of 176)
►Bagrat (Veteran Member) (The Guy in the Know)
Replied On Mar 7th 2011:
Hahaha what?
Oh, man.
Aren't the Blasphemies supposed to be some kind of advanced Tinkerbot? And now they've got Atropos' close and personal attention.
Hey, Blasphemies, just a quick heads-up: look at what she did to Eagleton.
Atropos don't play.
►Jackstraw (Verified Interpol Agent)
Replied On Mar 7th 2011:
Atropos, this was not in the agreement. Why publicise this? Why even give them a warning?
►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me) (Verified Dethpicable)
Replied On Mar 7th 2011:
@Jackstraw: I never agreed not to tell everyone what was going on. Also, I try to give my targets fair warning. Some even choose to surrender before I get to them. As I've said before, that saves on ammo.
But hey, it's a win-win situation for you. Either they choose to give themselves up, and they're off your back. Or they don't, I End them, and they're off your back.
Whatever happens, the Betterment Committee gets paid.
Mwahahaha.
►UnconcernedFox (Verified Atropos Fan Club Member)
Replied On Mar 7th 2011:
*pats Interpol person on the head and offers them some popcorn*
*dis gun b gud*
►Brocktonite03 (Veteran Member)
Replied On Mar 7th 2011:
Well, this should be interesting.
As I recall, the Blasphemies don't stay dead.
On the other hand, nothing Atropos has set out to End has survived.
Including literal Endbringers.
My money's on Atropos.
Any takers?
►EmmaTheTwiceWarned (Verified Follower of Our Lady in Darkness)
Replied On Mar 7th 2011:
Blasphemies, make your peace with whatever you consider sacred.
Nothing will save you except surrender.
►GstringGirl (Verified Human) (Verified Atropos Fan Club Member)
Replied On Mar 7th 2011:
Brocktonite03, I don't think *anyone's* stupid enough to take that bet.
►White Fairy (Veteran Member)
Replied On Mar 7th 2011:
What I want to know is, how's she going to decapitate an Alexandria package murderbot? Much less *three* of them?
►XxVoid_CowboyxX
Replied On Mar 7th 2011:
I think we're going to find out.
I, personally, can't wait.
End of Page. 1, 2, 3 ... 174, 175, 176
Blasphemy Alpha
Chosen Designation: Persephone
Location: Airborne over Luxembourg
Not bothering to pause in her relentless flight westward toward Paris, Persephone sent a message winging across the ether to her two sisters. Have you seen this? Framed within the message was the challenge that had been posted on the superhero message board.
A flock of geese appeared in her path, but her hyper-attuned reflexes allowed her to roll out of the way and avoid a direct collision. In her wake, the Mach 2 sonic boom wreaked havoc, killing half the geese outright and scattering the rest far and wide, but she didn't care. While her enhanced outer shell would likely have been able to withstand the impact, she saw no need to arrive at her destination splattered with goose entrails.
Yes, replied Nemesis and Alecto simultaneously. Alecto fell silent, while Nemesis continued to speak. What should our response be?
Cape designation 'Atropos' is dangerous, Alecto noted. Success rate against opponents up to and including S-class is unbroken.
This is understood, agreed Persephone. Atropos is also skilled in combat against multiple opponents. Challenge is likely to be a ruse, intending to draw us into single arena. I suggest Eidolon protocols.
When facing truly powerful opponents, such as Eidolon, it was best for one or two to hang back, perhaps never even showing up to the fight. Their individual defenses were good, but it was always possible for a hero to get in a lucky shot and destroy one body or another. If the one in combat was damaged badly enough to be disabled, they would update one last time then self-terminate. The others would then retreat and go dark while they rebuilt their comrade.
It was a tried-and-true strategy, one that had seen them through many battles. Sometimes they overcame their adversaries, sometimes they were in turn overcome, but they were never beaten. Sometimes they could even make use of data analysis gleaned from combat to pull off a return victory.
Atropos was merely the latest challenger to take them on. The chance of her actually succeeding where so many others had failed was infinitesimal.
Persephone flew on, secure in her confidence that they would win by merely outlasting their opponents.
As they always had.
Monday Evening
Atropos
I crouched and shuffled through the portal, keeping as low as I could. On the other side, the reason for this became clear; I was perched atop a set of shelves, with barely half an inch of clearance between my head and the ceiling. As far as I could tell, this combination storeroom/workshop had been set up in the top floor of an abandoned monastery in the Swiss Alps. It had electricity, but the shell company that owned the property (itself owned by a Blasphemy proxy) ensured that nobody encroached on it.
This wasn't the only cache of spare parts they owned, but it was the most remote, and it was the one they would retreat to if they were hit the hardest. And I intended to hit them very hard indeed.
The reason I was crouched precariously on the shelf was that there were cameras liberally situated around the room. There were exactly four blind spots, none of which encompassed the floor, and one of which was in midair. I already had my phone in my hand; without any further unnecessary movement, I set about hacking the cameras. It took me two and a half minutes to set up loops that ran freely while the time-date stamp kept on advancing (they would absolutely notice a glaring error like that), then I lightly vaulted down to the floor.
Now that I was free to move, I could retrieve the bomb, which had been too bulky to initially bring through into the cramped conditions atop the shelving. Opening a portal into our basement, I reached through and grabbed it. The portal closed afterward, which was fine. I knew the security system overseeing the cameras was due to do an error-check on their software in another five minutes (for agents of chaos, the Blasphemies were remarkably stringent about their personal security) but I'd be gone long before then. The hack itself would quietly self-delete ten seconds before the error-check came through.
I looked around, at the workbench on one side of the flagstone-floored room and the rows of shelving on the other. Cameras mounted on the walls and ceiling stared back at me blindly. The main trick here was to conceal what I'd done after the fact; if the cameras registered any changes after I'd gone, the Blasphemies would stay the hell away from here, which would defeat the entire purpose.
Moving up to one end of the room, I mentally calculated angles and trajectories, then took a burner phone from my pocket and set the alarm to go off at a specific moment. The phone itself was easily hidden behind a can of industrial lubricant. That was the easy part.
At the far end of the room, I looked around to see what I was working with. Cardboard cartons of various sizes contained bits and pieces of equipment, apparently all useful to manufacturing a new body for one of the Blasphemies. One of them seemed to be the right size, so I lugged it off the shelf, carefully opened it, and just as carefully consigned its contents to the flip-top trash can in the corner.
Placing the carton and the gallon bottle side by side, I noted that the bomb was about half an inch too long to fit correctly, so I used my shears to carve an opening in the end of the carton. No cameras would be able to see that end of the carton once it was back on the shelf, which was all I was worried about. Then I woke up the phone that was taped to the side of the bomb; tapping on the keypad through the layers of plastic that kept the tell-tale odour of ANFO from permeating the workshop, I set the timer to go off at a specific moment.
The phone would then take a photo, and attempt to utilise the flash. As I'd removed the light from the phone and soldered wires in its place, a spark would thus be sent to pass through the cartridge primer buried within the ANFO itself. With hopefully catastrophic effects at the right time and place.
I had thirty seconds to go as I double-checked that nothing had been left in plain view, the incriminating end-piece of the carton having been deposited in the trash can along with the rest. Flipping up the cover on the teleporter, I tapped in the coordinates for home, hit the go-button, and stepped through the resulting portal.
Back in my bedroom, I took off the hat and mask. I hadn't been wearing the coat because I hadn't wanted to lose a chunk of it when the portal closed on top of the shelving, but it didn't really matter; there'd been nobody there to see me anyway. It only took me a few minutes to change into something less Atropos-y and put the teleporter on to charge, then I headed downstairs.
"Hey, guys," I said as I entered the living room. "What're you doing?"
"Showing Cherie some of our old board games," Dad replied from the kitchen. "Dinner's cooking, so I thought I'd get a few of the old favourites out and take a trip down memory lane."
"We never really had much chance to play these properly," Cherie admitted, looking over the pieces Dad was laying out on the board. "Someone would have a tantrum and pieces would go everywhere, and we'd never find them all. And the rulebook would always go missing, so we'd start making up our own rules."
"From what you've said about your family, I'm totally not surprised." I pulled out a chair and sat down. "Okay, I'm in. Let's do this."
Cherie beamed.
05:59 AM Central European Standard Time, Tuesday, 8 March
(11:59 PM Eastern Standard Time, Monday, 7 March)
Blasphemy Beta
Chosen Designation: Nemesis
Location: Brussels, Belgium
It was still well before dawn; even to Nemesis' enhanced senses, the sun was only a smear of light on the eastern horizon. An hour or more would need to pass before the first rays intruded on the sky overhead. Also, there was no moon, which made the night darker still.
She stood on a rooftop opposite the regional office for Interpol, looking down at the lit-up windows. The street-lights made for pools of radiance below, which exacerbated the gloom in which she lurked. This would be the perfect time to act, to disrupt their operations further and buy her employers more time to dig themselves out of their problems.
Focusing on one of the windows that seemed to have nobody beyond it, she accessed her teleport function—
A living being was right behind her, inside the protective bubble of her force field! Even as she began to turn, bringing up her hand and activating the razor-dart thrower built into it, there was a crashing report as something struck the base of her titanium-alloy skull. She stumbled, her processors thrown out of smooth operation by the impact. Less than a second later, as she fought to bring her systems back to nominal, it happened again. Emergency parameters kicked in, and she teleported a kilometre across the city.
What was that? Peripheral visuals had registered a piece of black cloth down around ankle level, but nothing more. It was enough. I am under attack from Atropos. She has managed to catch me by surprise. As she sent the message out, she reached back and explored the damage from the double shotgun-strike to the back of her head. There was a significant dent there, and she suspected the protective armour might be weakened.
Her external armour wasn't as durable as Persephone's; it would stop pistol bullets almost indefinitely, but two shotgun slugs in the same place, at literally point-blank range, had done noticeable damage. Reports were already scrolling upward in her HUD.
Understood. That was Persephone. Will you need to retreat?
Damage is minor so far. She put her back to the wall so that the same trick could not be repeated. It will not—
Atropos appeared right in front of her, left hand slapping aside her right, shotgun barrel jamming into her mouth, trigger already pulled. There was no hesitation, no gloating. Nemesis' jangled processors reacted just a little too late, and the shotgun slug tore into the unarmoured interior of her head. Massive damage reports bloomed in front of her eyes as she tried to shred the importunate cape with shards of razor-sharp metal, but somehow Atropos managed to twist aside, pull a pistol and put it to Nemesis' eye.
The first shot smashed her eyeball in. Less than a fifth of a second later, the second blasted a hole through into her processors. She only registered the third as a distant impact as her thought processes spiralled into oblivion.
I … can't …
Nemesis died, as she had a dozen times before.
She would return, of course. She always did.
Blasphemy Alpha
Chosen Designation: Persephone
Location: Airborne over Paris, France
Nemesis! Respond!
Only Alecto answered. Nemesis has been destroyed. Atropos is … effective.
How? How did Atropos manage that?
Analysis of data suggests that she teleported inside Nemesis' force field and shot her repeatedly with a heavy-calibre weapon.
Persephone recalled the force field in question. It had its uses, including the ability to teleport others within it if Nemesis had chosen to do so. Her own armour was a good deal simpler, and nobody could teleport inside it, and Alecto's force field was form-fitting. Well, she won't be able to do the same with either of us. We'll go back and rebuild Nemesis.
Am complying. The monastery?
Affirmative. I will meet you there.
Persephone took a moment to look northeast toward where Nemesis had fallen. Atropos would be made to regret this. The Blasphemies didn't experience emotions, exactly, but they knew the value of maintaining a reputation. If the black-clad cape kept killing them, they would have to take her down. Even if Atropos shot her point-blank in the eye—
At this point, she was travelling at about two hundred kilometres per hour when the smoky grey portal appeared one inch in front of her face. All the hyper-reflexes in the world would not have helped her, given that her flight power was simply incapable of overcoming her own forward momentum in such a short time. Her head passed into the portal and she saw some sort of garden bed in front of her, at very close range.
Approximately one-two-hundredths of a second after it had formed, the portal vanished again. Only Persephone's head had come through; severed from it by the portal, the rest of her body was left behind to hurtle in a descending arc and crash-land southeast of the city. Running only on her backup processor battery, she felt her head smash into the garden bed, half-burying itself in the soft loam with the force of the impact.
A pair of boots stepped up alongside her, then a gloved hand grasped her hair and lifted her head out of the dirt. As her processors began to fail one by one—the battery had not taken the impact well—she saw the faceless mask of Atropos for the first time. Then her mouth was prised open and vegetable matter was forced inside. With the last of her agency, she tried to smile triumphantly.
I will be back. And … I … will … kill …
Persephone died, assured of her return. Alecto, after all, was still on the way to the monastery.
Blasphemy Gamma
Chosen Designation: Alecto
Location: Monastery Base, Swiss Alps
Alecto could run at Mach 4 if she really wanted to, but normally she kept to lower speeds. Also, the lightweight protective force field that ensured her clothing didn't shred to pieces in seconds was harder to maintain at higher velocities.
Right now, she didn't care. A long rolling thunder followed her as she tore down less-trafficked back roads, dodging the few vehicles with the ease of long practice. When things got too congested, she took to the air; it couldn't match up to her running, or even Persephone's flight, but it was as fast as the average airliner, and got her past obstacles relatively quickly.
She scorched up the rough path that led to the monastery, then entered the complex code to let herself in through the front gates. Each succeeding barrier had another code-lock on it, which she opened in turn. She could've flown in, but that would expose her to the defenses that were specifically designed to deal with airborne intruders.
Finally, she reached her goal: the combination storeroom/workshop where she could rebuild both Nemesis and Persephone. As she closed the door behind her and heard the reassuring beep of the security system recognising her, she tried to recall the last time two of them had been taken down at once. She had personally never been in this situation herself before, she knew that.
It would be easy enough to remedy; within her memory banks, she held the compressed personalities and memories of both the others. They all knew how to assemble a basic body, then add on the parts that made them unique. Atropos could trumpet her victory all she liked: in a few days, they would be back, giving her claims the lie.
They would go on. And sooner or later, they would kill Atropos.
She was halfway down the room, reaching for one of the larger cartons of components, when she heard the foreign bip-bip-bip-bip coming from a shelf at the end of the room. Reacting instantly, she retreated to the far end of the room, energised the laser emitters in her eyes, and torched the whole section. Atropos was here? She set a bomb? How did she find—
There was a click from right beside her. She turned to stare at the innocuous carton sitting on the shelf, noticing far too late that it had been opened then sealed shut again. Her super-speed needed a split-second to kick in; as she tried to back-pedal away from the box, her perceptions began to slow down. Working on emergency protocols, she fired a laser burst into it.
The sound of the explosion was long and low, almost subsonic to her stretched hearing. In front of her, the box disintegrated in all directions at once, but a red-hot streamer of molten metal streaked toward her, faster than she could dodge aside from. Her force field was up, and would have protected her from the blunt-force trauma of the bomb, but the high-velocity metal burned straight through it, as well as through her chest armour, and obliterated her power core.
As she was flung backward by the wavefront of the explosion, she was vaguely aware of the shelving coming apart violently; one piece, directly in front of the carton, speared forward and punched into the hole that had been seared into her chest and out through her back. It did minimal damage—she was already down, her processors deteriorating rapidly—but she had just enough time to recall the words she'd read on the PHO post. Staked through the heart …
Alecto died, aware that they'd never stood a chance.
The Three Blasphemies would never return.
End of Part Seventy-Eight
[A/N: End of posting for another couple of weeks. You know how it goes.]
Part Seventy-Eight: The Bada and the Boom
[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
Director Emily Piggot
Emily closed her office door behind her and crossed the room to her desk. She felt physically and mentally drained; that had been the longest she'd ever spent in the presence of Wards when she wasn't actively chewing them out for the latest bullshit they'd pulled. Apart from Scribe, they'd even been respectful.
She was pretty sure she'd caught Scribe eyeing the claw as though she'd like to pocket it, which didn't surprise her as it was still her firm belief that the girl should be in juvey, not the Wards. It didn't matter that Rune had only been caught because she'd been abandoned by Victor and Othala when an attempted bank robbery went wrong; in Emily's view, a criminal who was also the victim of betrayal was still a criminal. In this particular instance, it seemed the presence of the other Wards (plus Emily's eye on her) had kept the ex-villain relatively honest, but that wouldn't always be the case.
As she settled into her chair and dropped the claw back on the desk, she wondered if it was Legend's influence that had the Wards acting so politely and respectfully toward her. Back in Brockton Bay, Armsmaster should have been in charge of the Wards but several factors had militated against that, so the duty had fallen mainly to Renick.
Her deputy had tried his best, and indeed she had to admit that the Brockton Bay Wards (with one glaring exception) hadn't turned out badly. However, all the will in the world couldn't put more hours in the day or teach him what having powers was really like, so they'd been far from the squared-away teens she'd just been talking to.
She tapped her personal code into her laptop to wake it up again, and called up the Wards roster once more. Yet another reminder that she wasn't in Brockton Bay anymore: she had three times as many Wards to keep track of, and some of the names had slipped her mind while she was talking to them. To her, that was unacceptable; she began reading through the list again, matching names to costumes. Even if she wasn't in charge of them, they were still ultimately her responsibility.
And then there were the two potential problems, one more so than the other. For a moment, she thought about dealing with it later, but then she squared her shoulders. Better to get it out of the way now than keep putting it on the back burner.
Taking out her phone, she hit the speed-dial for Henderson's number. He answered a moment later: "Yes, ma'am?"
She got directly to the point. "Are you busy with anything that can't be pushed back fifteen minutes?"
There was a brief pause, but only for a couple of seconds. "No, ma'am. What do you need?"
"Your presence, my office. I'm going to talk to one of the Wards, and I'd like you as an impartial witness."
Again, the brief hesitation. Emily could only imagine that Wilkins had never asked this of him, which spoke volumes about their working relationship. "Yes, ma'am. I'll be right over."
"Thank you." Emily ended the call, then hit the speed-dial for the PRT duty officer. She didn't know all her people by sight yet, but she was working on that too. "Director Piggot here. The Wards are still in the building? Good. Please have Badaboom sent up to see me."
<><>
Badaboom
Alice Takawara stepped out of the elevator and headed down the hallway toward the Director's office, the PRT trooper who had been detailed to escort her walking precisely one pace to the rear and the right. She had no idea what was going on; the meeting with Director Piggot had been interesting enough, but she'd barely said three words the whole time.
It wasn't like she'd cursed the older woman out, or brought up that stupid nickname, like Scribe had. If anyone was going to be called to the Director's office, it should be that bitch. 'Sabrina the teenage Nazi.' Now, that was legitimately funny.
The Director's secretary, or personal assistant, or whatever she was, looked at Alice once, and nodded. "Go right in."
"Uh … thanks?" Alice moved forward to the office door and turned the handle. The door opened, and she stepped inside.
Within were the Director and Deputy Director, the latter of whom was sitting on a chair off to the side of the office. Director Piggot looked up as Alice entered, and nodded. "Good, you're here. Have a seat." She gestured at the chair planted front and centre before the desk. "Trooper, you're dismissed."
"Ma'am." The trooper left the office again, closing the door behind him.
Alice walked forward and sat down, trying to calm her nerves long enough to make her jittering left leg stop bouncing. She didn't spend much time looking to Henderson for answers; even during her brief time in the Wards, she'd figured out that he was basically there to do the stuff Director Wilkins couldn't be bothered doing. Director Piggot was the one she needed to pay attention to.
When Piggot spoke, it wasn't even to Alice. "Deputy Director Henderson, is it SOP in this building for Wards to be escorted to my office by a trooper?"
Henderson seemed to be as surprised by this as Alice was. "Uh, yes, ma'am. It's the way it's always been."
"Mmm." The Director didn't sound pleased by this, but at least it was nothing Alice had anything to do with. Also, she belatedly realised, the trooper escort wasn't something the Director had ordered to intimidate her. "Make a note. Protectorate and Wards have the right to be anywhere in this building they're cleared to be, just like the PRT does. They don't need troopers to hold their hands everywhere they go."
"Understood, ma'am."
Piggot nodded once, then turned her attention to Alice. "So, Badaboom. I have a few questions for you. Hopefully, we can clear them up and let you get back to your regular duties." She paused for a second. "This will not be an interrogation. I don't do interrogations. We have people for that. I would just like to ask you some questions and get some honest answers, so we all know where we stand. Deputy Director Henderson is sitting in as an impartial witness, and this entire conversation is being recorded. Do you have any questions about what I've just said?"
"Um …" If Alice was being honest with herself, when Director Piggot said that this would not be an interrogation, it suddenly started looking a whole lot like an interrogation. "Am I going to need a lawyer for this?"
"Only if I thought you'd actually committed a crime, which I don't." Piggot's eyes bored into Alice's. "I have zero interest in initiating any legal action against you, no matter what is said here. I just want answers, and for each of us here in this room to be on the same page. Is that understood?"
Tentatively, Alice nodded. The Director had gotten her attention, and her respect, during the talk. As far as Alice could tell, she had zero bullshit in her. "So, uh … what do you want to know?"
"Well, first, do you intend to keep the name Badaboom?" As she said the name out loud, Director Piggot winced as though she'd put pressure on a sore tooth. "Have you been to see Image for potential alternatives?"
"Uh … that's actually Monday, ma'am." Alice was relieved that she had such an easy one to start with. "And no, I don't intend to keep it. Not sure what I'm going to replace it with. I was thinking maybe Shebang." Her head dropped as an unpleasant memory came up. "Scribe suggested Pearl Harbor, and Jouster yelled at her for it."
"I'm not surprised. I would have too." From the set of the Director's jaw, she would've had a great deal to say to Scribe. "Has she been giving you problems in other ways?"
"Nothing physical. Just, you know, words. Stuff she can pass off as a joke if she gets called on it. Flechette called her on it anyway, and threatened to clean her clock. She backed off." Alice hunched her shoulders as she recalled the weird feeling of having one of the best-known Wards in the US step in on her side.
"I see. Don't hesitate to report it if she tries it again. I do not want friction between my Wards, and I have zero tolerance for troublemakers." Director Piggot paused for a beat. "Now, I'd like to ask you some questions about the attack on Cornell."
Alice blinked. She wasn't fantastic at reading people, but this sounded a whole lot like Piggot was just starting to get around to what she wanted to talk about. "Um … sure, I guess?"
The first question set alarm bells ringing in Alice's mind. "Did your trigger event happen before or during the attack by Fenja and Menja?"
Nobody else had asked that question, especially in the way Director Piggot was asking it. Specifically, like she already knew the answer and was just confirming a suspicion. Oh, shit. She's figured it out.
But Henderson didn't even seem to have expected that question. Troopers weren't pouring into the room to arrest her. And the Director was just … looking at her, with steel-grey eyes that seemed to bypass normal barriers and peer straight into her soul.
'This will not be an interrogation'. That was what Piggot had said. Alice decided to test the waters. "Director, I'm not comfortable with talking about my trigger. May I go now, please?"
"Certainly." Director Piggot gestured to the door. "Enjoy your afternoon. And try not to let Image browbeat you. At the end of the day, you're the one who's going to have to wear the costume and name, not them."
"Thank you, Director." Alice got up from the chair. She didn't quite flee the office, but she speed-walked down the corridor toward the elevator, quite a bit faster than she'd come the other direction.
All the way down in the elevator, she tried to figure out what had just happened. The Director hadn't come after her with accusations, but she had to know the truth all the same. So why hadn't she had Alice arrested?
'I have zero interest in initiating any legal action against you, no matter what is said here.' Piggot had said that; was it possible that she'd actually meant it?
Alice went back over the conversation in her mind; as far as she could tell, she hadn't said anything incriminating. And not wanting to talk about a trigger event was perfectly normal. Nobody liked talking about that shit. It always dug up bad memories.
So why did she ask? No matter how Alice went at the problem, she ran into the same answer. She figured it out, and just wanted to let me know that she knows.
And?
The elevator door opened, and she saw the Wards who'd waited back for her. Scribe wasn't among them, thank God. More importantly, there were no PRT troopers prepped to arrest her.
And nothing, I guess. She's okay with me going ahead with being a Ward, and a hero, even though she knows the truth.
She wasn't sure how she felt about that.
<><>
Director Emily Piggot
Once the door had closed behind Takawara, Henderson turned to Emily. "I'm … not entirely sure what just happened," he said, a little plaintively. "Why were you asking her about the Cornell incident, and why did she blow out of here like she'd just manifested a Mover rating?" He stared at her, his head tilted to one side quizzically. "And why are you okay with that?"
Emily hit the button that stopped the recording. "I confirmed my suspicions, and now she knows I know." She observed his ongoing expression of confusion, and sighed. "Look, she triggered either before or during the attack, yes? She refused to talk about it because she knew I'd figured out she triggered before it."
Henderson frowned. "She could've triggered during it and was just being cagey."
"No." Emily waved his words away. "She had at least three bombs ready to hand when the attack happened. One bomb thrown together in the heat of the moment, I can accept. But not three. Tinkers need relatively specialised materials. Trust me, I've signed enough requisition sheets for Armsmaster and Kid Win. There's no way she could've had materials for all three bombs on hand at the moment she triggered, if it was during the attack."
"Okay." Henderson nodded slowly. "I can see that. So, she triggered before the attack. What's the big deal there?"
"The big deal is, she's still a recent trigger, and she had bombs to hand. Why was she building bombs on the Cornell campus?" Emily held up her finger. "Or rather: Why. Did. She. Trigger?"
"I don't know why capes trigger." He spread his hands. "I mean, I read somewhere that good powers come from something really good happening to you, and bad powers—"
Emily cut him off brusquely. "Bullshit. Nothing good comes from getting powers, and getting powers come from nothing good. I'll bet you a year's salary she was under intense academic stress and failed a class. So, she snapped, and triggered with a destructive Tinker ability. And then she started building bombs with some vague idea of 'showing them all' that she wasn't stupid." She wasn't crass enough to make actual air quotes, but she flicked her fingers briefly to put the concept across.
Henderson finally caught up with her train of thought. "And then Fenja and Menja attacked, so she transferred her anger to them instead, took them down with the bombs she'd already constructed, and became an accidental hero."
"Well, the reports did say they were shouting racist slurs while they were attacking," Emily noted.
"Apparently they were trying to attract like-minded people to their cause." Henderson rolled his eyes, then cleared his throat. "So, when you asked that question, she realised you had hold of the one thread that could undermine her implied cover story. That you'd figured everything out, but you weren't going to actively call her on it." He paused. "But … why didn't you?"
"She may have started with the intention of committing a crime, but we're not thought police." Emily laced her hands together on her desk. "She never went through with it, and in fact helped capture two dangerous villains. And now she knows that we're onto her but I'm willing to let her run with being a hero. Because I'd rather a Ward or hero who started out with sketchy motives but who's trying to make something of herself, as opposed to a villain on the run." Or even a villain being forced into the role of a hero, but we can deal with Scribe later.
"Huh." Henderson shook his head. "No offense, but I'd always heard you were a bit of a hardass when it came to capes. No give at all. I guess the rumour mill has a lot to answer for."
"None taken, Mr Henderson." Emily smiled tightly. "Let's just say, the events of the past two months have given me ample reason to reconsider my stance."
<><>
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♦ Topic: Three, Two, One, Boom
In: Boards ► Brockton Bay ► New Capes ► Atropos
Atropos (Original Poster) (
Posted On Mar 7th 2011:
Here we are yet again, my friends.
You will be happy to know that no dire threats encroach upon Brockton Bay and that our latest crop of new citizens, the Robotic Americans lately of Eagleton, are settling in nicely. Each and every one of them has chosen to sign up to work for the Betterment Committee, and I'm told they are paying strict attention to their training courses. So if you see a mechanical guy wearing a hard-hat scuttling up the side of a building, he's on our side. More specifically, he's on *your* side. Helping build a better Brockton Bay.
In more international news, I was recently contacted by none other than Interpol, requesting that I apply my very specific talents to a particular End. See, they've been cracking down on Gesellschaft recently, with the pushback that Gesellschaft has been sic'ing the Three Blasphemies on them. Now, they can handle the big G, but they've offered me a cool hundred mil' to get the Blasphemies off their backs, because they heard somewhere that I'm really good at killing stuff.
I have NO idea where they got that notion. None whatsoever. Total pacifist, that's me. (And if you believe that, I've got a PRT building to sell you, going cheap. A total steal, you might say.)
So anyway, this is the same warning that everyone else gets. To the Three Blasphemies: I know you follow PHO. As of this message, you have 24 hours to surrender yourselves to Interpol.
You could try to bribe me, but I don't take bribes from those who constitute a net drain on society. Likewise, you could try to go after my friends and family. Go ahead; look at what happened to the last idiot who tried that. Or you could just try to kill me first. It'll save me the trouble of coming to you.
You're not human (woo! Spoilers!) so I'm going to treat you like you're undead, which every church ever basically agrees to be blasphemy in and of itself. Zombies get shot in the head and vampires get decapitated, their mouths stuffed with garlic, and staked through the heart.
You've seen what I can do. Blasphemies: your hours are numbered (24, to be exact). Surrender peacefully, or I'm coming over there.
Toodles!
(Showing page 1 of 176)
►Bagrat (Veteran Member) (The Guy in the Know)
Replied On Mar 7th 2011:
Hahaha what?
Oh, man.
Aren't the Blasphemies supposed to be some kind of advanced Tinkerbot? And now they've got Atropos' close and personal attention.
Hey, Blasphemies, just a quick heads-up: look at what she did to Eagleton.
Atropos don't play.
►Jackstraw (Verified Interpol Agent)
Replied On Mar 7th 2011:
Atropos, this was not in the agreement. Why publicise this? Why even give them a warning?
►Atropos (Original Poster) (
Replied On Mar 7th 2011:
@Jackstraw: I never agreed not to tell everyone what was going on. Also, I try to give my targets fair warning. Some even choose to surrender before I get to them. As I've said before, that saves on ammo.
But hey, it's a win-win situation for you. Either they choose to give themselves up, and they're off your back. Or they don't, I End them, and they're off your back.
Whatever happens, the Betterment Committee gets paid.
Mwahahaha.
►UnconcernedFox (Verified Atropos Fan Club Member)
Replied On Mar 7th 2011:
*pats Interpol person on the head and offers them some popcorn*
*dis gun b gud*
►Brocktonite03 (Veteran Member)
Replied On Mar 7th 2011:
Well, this should be interesting.
As I recall, the Blasphemies don't stay dead.
On the other hand, nothing Atropos has set out to End has survived.
Including literal Endbringers.
My money's on Atropos.
Any takers?
►EmmaTheTwiceWarned (Verified Follower of Our Lady in Darkness)
Replied On Mar 7th 2011:
Blasphemies, make your peace with whatever you consider sacred.
Nothing will save you except surrender.
►GstringGirl (Verified Human) (Verified Atropos Fan Club Member)
Replied On Mar 7th 2011:
Brocktonite03, I don't think *anyone's* stupid enough to take that bet.
►White Fairy (Veteran Member)
Replied On Mar 7th 2011:
What I want to know is, how's she going to decapitate an Alexandria package murderbot? Much less *three* of them?
►XxVoid_CowboyxX
Replied On Mar 7th 2011:
I think we're going to find out.
I, personally, can't wait.
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<><>
<><>
Blasphemy Alpha
Chosen Designation: Persephone
Location: Airborne over Luxembourg
Not bothering to pause in her relentless flight westward toward Paris, Persephone sent a message winging across the ether to her two sisters. Have you seen this? Framed within the message was the challenge that had been posted on the superhero message board.
A flock of geese appeared in her path, but her hyper-attuned reflexes allowed her to roll out of the way and avoid a direct collision. In her wake, the Mach 2 sonic boom wreaked havoc, killing half the geese outright and scattering the rest far and wide, but she didn't care. While her enhanced outer shell would likely have been able to withstand the impact, she saw no need to arrive at her destination splattered with goose entrails.
Yes, replied Nemesis and Alecto simultaneously. Alecto fell silent, while Nemesis continued to speak. What should our response be?
Cape designation 'Atropos' is dangerous, Alecto noted. Success rate against opponents up to and including S-class is unbroken.
This is understood, agreed Persephone. Atropos is also skilled in combat against multiple opponents. Challenge is likely to be a ruse, intending to draw us into single arena. I suggest Eidolon protocols.
When facing truly powerful opponents, such as Eidolon, it was best for one or two to hang back, perhaps never even showing up to the fight. Their individual defenses were good, but it was always possible for a hero to get in a lucky shot and destroy one body or another. If the one in combat was damaged badly enough to be disabled, they would update one last time then self-terminate. The others would then retreat and go dark while they rebuilt their comrade.
It was a tried-and-true strategy, one that had seen them through many battles. Sometimes they overcame their adversaries, sometimes they were in turn overcome, but they were never beaten. Sometimes they could even make use of data analysis gleaned from combat to pull off a return victory.
Atropos was merely the latest challenger to take them on. The chance of her actually succeeding where so many others had failed was infinitesimal.
Persephone flew on, secure in her confidence that they would win by merely outlasting their opponents.
As they always had.
<><>
Monday Evening
Atropos
I crouched and shuffled through the portal, keeping as low as I could. On the other side, the reason for this became clear; I was perched atop a set of shelves, with barely half an inch of clearance between my head and the ceiling. As far as I could tell, this combination storeroom/workshop had been set up in the top floor of an abandoned monastery in the Swiss Alps. It had electricity, but the shell company that owned the property (itself owned by a Blasphemy proxy) ensured that nobody encroached on it.
This wasn't the only cache of spare parts they owned, but it was the most remote, and it was the one they would retreat to if they were hit the hardest. And I intended to hit them very hard indeed.
The reason I was crouched precariously on the shelf was that there were cameras liberally situated around the room. There were exactly four blind spots, none of which encompassed the floor, and one of which was in midair. I already had my phone in my hand; without any further unnecessary movement, I set about hacking the cameras. It took me two and a half minutes to set up loops that ran freely while the time-date stamp kept on advancing (they would absolutely notice a glaring error like that), then I lightly vaulted down to the floor.
Now that I was free to move, I could retrieve the bomb, which had been too bulky to initially bring through into the cramped conditions atop the shelving. Opening a portal into our basement, I reached through and grabbed it. The portal closed afterward, which was fine. I knew the security system overseeing the cameras was due to do an error-check on their software in another five minutes (for agents of chaos, the Blasphemies were remarkably stringent about their personal security) but I'd be gone long before then. The hack itself would quietly self-delete ten seconds before the error-check came through.
I looked around, at the workbench on one side of the flagstone-floored room and the rows of shelving on the other. Cameras mounted on the walls and ceiling stared back at me blindly. The main trick here was to conceal what I'd done after the fact; if the cameras registered any changes after I'd gone, the Blasphemies would stay the hell away from here, which would defeat the entire purpose.
Moving up to one end of the room, I mentally calculated angles and trajectories, then took a burner phone from my pocket and set the alarm to go off at a specific moment. The phone itself was easily hidden behind a can of industrial lubricant. That was the easy part.
At the far end of the room, I looked around to see what I was working with. Cardboard cartons of various sizes contained bits and pieces of equipment, apparently all useful to manufacturing a new body for one of the Blasphemies. One of them seemed to be the right size, so I lugged it off the shelf, carefully opened it, and just as carefully consigned its contents to the flip-top trash can in the corner.
Placing the carton and the gallon bottle side by side, I noted that the bomb was about half an inch too long to fit correctly, so I used my shears to carve an opening in the end of the carton. No cameras would be able to see that end of the carton once it was back on the shelf, which was all I was worried about. Then I woke up the phone that was taped to the side of the bomb; tapping on the keypad through the layers of plastic that kept the tell-tale odour of ANFO from permeating the workshop, I set the timer to go off at a specific moment.
The phone would then take a photo, and attempt to utilise the flash. As I'd removed the light from the phone and soldered wires in its place, a spark would thus be sent to pass through the cartridge primer buried within the ANFO itself. With hopefully catastrophic effects at the right time and place.
I had thirty seconds to go as I double-checked that nothing had been left in plain view, the incriminating end-piece of the carton having been deposited in the trash can along with the rest. Flipping up the cover on the teleporter, I tapped in the coordinates for home, hit the go-button, and stepped through the resulting portal.
Back in my bedroom, I took off the hat and mask. I hadn't been wearing the coat because I hadn't wanted to lose a chunk of it when the portal closed on top of the shelving, but it didn't really matter; there'd been nobody there to see me anyway. It only took me a few minutes to change into something less Atropos-y and put the teleporter on to charge, then I headed downstairs.
"Hey, guys," I said as I entered the living room. "What're you doing?"
"Showing Cherie some of our old board games," Dad replied from the kitchen. "Dinner's cooking, so I thought I'd get a few of the old favourites out and take a trip down memory lane."
"We never really had much chance to play these properly," Cherie admitted, looking over the pieces Dad was laying out on the board. "Someone would have a tantrum and pieces would go everywhere, and we'd never find them all. And the rulebook would always go missing, so we'd start making up our own rules."
"From what you've said about your family, I'm totally not surprised." I pulled out a chair and sat down. "Okay, I'm in. Let's do this."
Cherie beamed.
<><>
05:59 AM Central European Standard Time, Tuesday, 8 March
(11:59 PM Eastern Standard Time, Monday, 7 March)
Blasphemy Beta
Chosen Designation: Nemesis
Location: Brussels, Belgium
It was still well before dawn; even to Nemesis' enhanced senses, the sun was only a smear of light on the eastern horizon. An hour or more would need to pass before the first rays intruded on the sky overhead. Also, there was no moon, which made the night darker still.
She stood on a rooftop opposite the regional office for Interpol, looking down at the lit-up windows. The street-lights made for pools of radiance below, which exacerbated the gloom in which she lurked. This would be the perfect time to act, to disrupt their operations further and buy her employers more time to dig themselves out of their problems.
Focusing on one of the windows that seemed to have nobody beyond it, she accessed her teleport function—
A living being was right behind her, inside the protective bubble of her force field! Even as she began to turn, bringing up her hand and activating the razor-dart thrower built into it, there was a crashing report as something struck the base of her titanium-alloy skull. She stumbled, her processors thrown out of smooth operation by the impact. Less than a second later, as she fought to bring her systems back to nominal, it happened again. Emergency parameters kicked in, and she teleported a kilometre across the city.
What was that? Peripheral visuals had registered a piece of black cloth down around ankle level, but nothing more. It was enough. I am under attack from Atropos. She has managed to catch me by surprise. As she sent the message out, she reached back and explored the damage from the double shotgun-strike to the back of her head. There was a significant dent there, and she suspected the protective armour might be weakened.
Her external armour wasn't as durable as Persephone's; it would stop pistol bullets almost indefinitely, but two shotgun slugs in the same place, at literally point-blank range, had done noticeable damage. Reports were already scrolling upward in her HUD.
Understood. That was Persephone. Will you need to retreat?
Damage is minor so far. She put her back to the wall so that the same trick could not be repeated. It will not—
Atropos appeared right in front of her, left hand slapping aside her right, shotgun barrel jamming into her mouth, trigger already pulled. There was no hesitation, no gloating. Nemesis' jangled processors reacted just a little too late, and the shotgun slug tore into the unarmoured interior of her head. Massive damage reports bloomed in front of her eyes as she tried to shred the importunate cape with shards of razor-sharp metal, but somehow Atropos managed to twist aside, pull a pistol and put it to Nemesis' eye.
The first shot smashed her eyeball in. Less than a fifth of a second later, the second blasted a hole through into her processors. She only registered the third as a distant impact as her thought processes spiralled into oblivion.
I … can't …
Nemesis died, as she had a dozen times before.
She would return, of course. She always did.
<><>
Blasphemy Alpha
Chosen Designation: Persephone
Location: Airborne over Paris, France
Nemesis! Respond!
Only Alecto answered. Nemesis has been destroyed. Atropos is … effective.
How? How did Atropos manage that?
Analysis of data suggests that she teleported inside Nemesis' force field and shot her repeatedly with a heavy-calibre weapon.
Persephone recalled the force field in question. It had its uses, including the ability to teleport others within it if Nemesis had chosen to do so. Her own armour was a good deal simpler, and nobody could teleport inside it, and Alecto's force field was form-fitting. Well, she won't be able to do the same with either of us. We'll go back and rebuild Nemesis.
Am complying. The monastery?
Affirmative. I will meet you there.
Persephone took a moment to look northeast toward where Nemesis had fallen. Atropos would be made to regret this. The Blasphemies didn't experience emotions, exactly, but they knew the value of maintaining a reputation. If the black-clad cape kept killing them, they would have to take her down. Even if Atropos shot her point-blank in the eye—
At this point, she was travelling at about two hundred kilometres per hour when the smoky grey portal appeared one inch in front of her face. All the hyper-reflexes in the world would not have helped her, given that her flight power was simply incapable of overcoming her own forward momentum in such a short time. Her head passed into the portal and she saw some sort of garden bed in front of her, at very close range.
Approximately one-two-hundredths of a second after it had formed, the portal vanished again. Only Persephone's head had come through; severed from it by the portal, the rest of her body was left behind to hurtle in a descending arc and crash-land southeast of the city. Running only on her backup processor battery, she felt her head smash into the garden bed, half-burying itself in the soft loam with the force of the impact.
A pair of boots stepped up alongside her, then a gloved hand grasped her hair and lifted her head out of the dirt. As her processors began to fail one by one—the battery had not taken the impact well—she saw the faceless mask of Atropos for the first time. Then her mouth was prised open and vegetable matter was forced inside. With the last of her agency, she tried to smile triumphantly.
I will be back. And … I … will … kill …
Persephone died, assured of her return. Alecto, after all, was still on the way to the monastery.
<><>
Blasphemy Gamma
Chosen Designation: Alecto
Location: Monastery Base, Swiss Alps
Alecto could run at Mach 4 if she really wanted to, but normally she kept to lower speeds. Also, the lightweight protective force field that ensured her clothing didn't shred to pieces in seconds was harder to maintain at higher velocities.
Right now, she didn't care. A long rolling thunder followed her as she tore down less-trafficked back roads, dodging the few vehicles with the ease of long practice. When things got too congested, she took to the air; it couldn't match up to her running, or even Persephone's flight, but it was as fast as the average airliner, and got her past obstacles relatively quickly.
She scorched up the rough path that led to the monastery, then entered the complex code to let herself in through the front gates. Each succeeding barrier had another code-lock on it, which she opened in turn. She could've flown in, but that would expose her to the defenses that were specifically designed to deal with airborne intruders.
Finally, she reached her goal: the combination storeroom/workshop where she could rebuild both Nemesis and Persephone. As she closed the door behind her and heard the reassuring beep of the security system recognising her, she tried to recall the last time two of them had been taken down at once. She had personally never been in this situation herself before, she knew that.
It would be easy enough to remedy; within her memory banks, she held the compressed personalities and memories of both the others. They all knew how to assemble a basic body, then add on the parts that made them unique. Atropos could trumpet her victory all she liked: in a few days, they would be back, giving her claims the lie.
They would go on. And sooner or later, they would kill Atropos.
She was halfway down the room, reaching for one of the larger cartons of components, when she heard the foreign bip-bip-bip-bip coming from a shelf at the end of the room. Reacting instantly, she retreated to the far end of the room, energised the laser emitters in her eyes, and torched the whole section. Atropos was here? She set a bomb? How did she find—
There was a click from right beside her. She turned to stare at the innocuous carton sitting on the shelf, noticing far too late that it had been opened then sealed shut again. Her super-speed needed a split-second to kick in; as she tried to back-pedal away from the box, her perceptions began to slow down. Working on emergency protocols, she fired a laser burst into it.
The sound of the explosion was long and low, almost subsonic to her stretched hearing. In front of her, the box disintegrated in all directions at once, but a red-hot streamer of molten metal streaked toward her, faster than she could dodge aside from. Her force field was up, and would have protected her from the blunt-force trauma of the bomb, but the high-velocity metal burned straight through it, as well as through her chest armour, and obliterated her power core.
As she was flung backward by the wavefront of the explosion, she was vaguely aware of the shelving coming apart violently; one piece, directly in front of the carton, speared forward and punched into the hole that had been seared into her chest and out through her back. It did minimal damage—she was already down, her processors deteriorating rapidly—but she had just enough time to recall the words she'd read on the PHO post. Staked through the heart …
Alecto died, aware that they'd never stood a chance.
The Three Blasphemies would never return.
End of Part Seventy-Eight
[A/N: End of posting for another couple of weeks. You know how it goes.]
Last edited:
Lictre
Not too sore, are you?
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Taylor and Ending must have had a little giggle over even the thread topic, considering that the last of the 3 Blasphemies died through the use of explosives. So within a very short sequence, there were 3 of them, then 2, then 1, then BOOM
It might have been even funnier, had all of them died in noisy ways, but I don't think decapitation by portal would count as being noisy on the same scale as either gunfire or IED-formed armor-piercing jets of metal.
Ack
(Verified Ratbag) (Unverified Great Old One)
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That was her doing a little joke ahead of time, yes.
DokEnte
Versed in the lewd.
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Ending is a little murder goblin.
Kehsem
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My favorite type of story moral:
Peace through the careful application of overwhelming violence.
I hope to see a continuation of Atropos disciples assisting in MCs Great Work.
Cape name nominations for Alice:
* Claymore (due to 'This Side Towards Enemy')
* Dresden (to fuck with the Nazi)
* Dr. Manhattan (to flip off her former university)
Peace through the careful application of overwhelming violence.
I hope to see a continuation of Atropos disciples assisting in MCs Great Work.
Cape name nominations for Alice:
* Claymore (due to 'This Side Towards Enemy')
* Dresden (to fuck with the Nazi)
* Dr. Manhattan (to flip off her former university)
The Secretary
(Verified Atropos Fan)
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Gotta love it. I'm just sitting here counting down the enemies she could even have left. Looking forward to seeing how you handle things from here.
Part Seventy-Nine: Double Trouble
Ack
(Verified Ratbag) (Unverified Great Old One)
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A Darker Path
Part Seventy-Nine: Double Trouble
[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
00:07 hours, Tuesday Morning
Dallon Household
Glory Girl
Vicky looked around at a light tap on her bedroom door. She frowned; wasn't everyone in bed already? Getting up from her computer chair, she padded over to the door and opened it a few inches.
"Ames?" she whispered on seeing her sister standing in the corridor. "What are you doing up?"
Amy, who looked like she'd been about to head back to her own room, raised her chin. "Me? What are you doing up?"
"Atropos gave the Three Blasphemies twenty-four hours, remember? Crystal bet me ten bucks they'd surrender before she got to them." Vicky hooked her head back at her glowing computer monitor. "I'm waiting to see what happens."
"Oh." Amy glanced to the side, down toward their parents' bedroom door. "Can I come in?"
"Sure, okay." Vicky opened the door all the way and headed back to the computer chair. She watched as Amy shut the door quietly, then came over and sat on her bed. Half-turning the chair so she could still keep an eye on the monitor, Vicky crossed her legs—much easier when flight was involved—and propped her chin on one hand. "So, what's got you up at this hour?"
Amy took a deep breath. "You know how you used to keep trying to drag me out on double dates?"
"Yeah, I remember." Vicky cringed a little inside at how sure she'd been that Amy would like this guy or that guy just because he was nice and had money. Of course, this had all been before she'd discovered that Dean had bought his powers, and that Amy was more interested in girls than guys. Her double-dating days were probably over, but she was almost certain that Amy wasn't trying to rub this fact into her face. "We both know I'm not gonna be doing that again any time soon. So, what's up?"
"You know how I'm seeing Parian." Amy waited for Vicky's nod, then kept going. "And Spitfire and Flechette have a thing, right?"
Vicky hadn't actually known that precisely, but from the way things were going, she wasn't in the least bit surprised. "I know that now, yeah." She paused, literally adding two and two together. "Oh. Oh. You want advice on how to do a double date?"
Amy hitched her shoulder and nodded uncomfortably. "Yeah. Parian and me have done a lot of talking and I've visited her at the Boardwalk a few times, and she says Spitfire told her that Flechette was getting a long weekend of leave to come to Brockton Bay. So, I was thinking that if we double-dated, Parian and Spitfire would be able to relax more with a teammate around."
Vicky frowned thoughtfully. "So, you're looking for a sort of a girls' night out vibe? Less in the way of implicit expectations, that sort of thing."
"Yeah, exactly. I mean, Parian knows I'm interested, but I don't want to come across as too pushy, you know?"
"No, good point. Pushy is bad. Comfort zone is good." Vicky leaned back in the chair, thinking. "Keep it low-key but fun. Light-hearted but room for intimacy. Movies, cafés, a picnic on the beach. Ask her, ask them, where they want to go, then make sure everyone's okay with it before you act on it. The last thing anyone wants in this sort of situation is to feel like they're invisible, or they're just coming along to make up the numbers. Or that they're trapped once they're there."
Amy raised an eyebrow. "What, like I used to, on your double dates?"
"Ouch." Vicky winced. "I'm really sorry about how badly I failed to read the room back then. Honest."
"I'm not going to say you didn't, because you did." Amy sighed. "But we've both learned a lot since then. A ton of things have changed. I don't feel boxed in anymore. The pressure's off us as heroes. We don't have to pretend that everything's alright, because it's finally actually alright."
"Well, not everything," Vicky grumped. "I'm still mad at Dean because he doesn't understand why I'm mad that he didn't tell me he bought his powers. I mean, that's a major breach of trust, isn't it?"
"More than the way I breached your trust by not telling you that I had feelings for you?" Amy nibbled on her thumbnail. "The way I see it, there's fault on all sides. You didn't take how I felt into account because you assumed you knew, and I resented it while at the same time refusing to tell you how I really felt. And Carol was determined for us to be the perfect team, so we always lined up and smiled for the camera, no matter what was going on underneath. Now you want to break away in one direction, I want to break away in another, you've broken up with Dean over something he lied about because he thought it was personal and private, and I honestly have no idea if we should blame everybody or nobody."
Vicky blinked as she absorbed Amy's words. Quiet though it was, her sister's little tirade held the ring of truth. "Wow, damn," she muttered. "You've been holding all that in for a while, haven't you?"
"Yeah, a bit." Amy grinned at Vicky. "Tell me it's not true."
"Oh, it's all true." Vicky sighed ruefully. "I wish it wasn't, but it is. I'm just glad you and Parian and the others can actually come out in public and be who you are."
"That means a lot." Amy's grin became a smile. "Okay, now at least I've got an idea to go on with for that double date—hey." She pointed past Vicky at the screen of the computer. "I think a new thread just dropped."
"Ooh, ooh, let me check." Vicky spun the chair around and dropped her feet to the floor. A click of the mouse confirmed it. "Yes, yes, yes! Bite me, Crystal!"
Amy jumped off the bed and leaned over her shoulder. "Don't say that too loud or she might get one of her girlfriends to do it for her."
Vicky nearly ruptured herself trying not to laugh out loud.
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♦ Topic: Blasphemy Zero
In: Boards ► Brockton Bay ► New Capes ► Atropos
Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me) (Verified Dethpicable)
Posted On Mar 8th 2011:
Hello to you wonderful Brocktonites!
I have good news for all and sundry, especially those who support Interpol and everything it does.
As will come as zero surprise to anyone who's been following my career, the Three Blasphemies decided to not surrender to Interpol after I gave them fair warning. (According to my maternal grandfather, 'some folks just gotta pee on the electric fence').
I caught up with the first one in Brussels, doing the zombie thing on the rooftops adjacent to the Interpol building there. Now she *could* have been lost, or maybe intending to go in and give herself up. She might even have been waiting for the last minute. Or the last bus.
(She wasn't).
After a little bit of effort, I got it through her head that she wasn't welcome anywhere, ever. (Bullets really get the message across). Like a good little zombie, she died for real.
The next one was airborne over Paris. As also happened to a whole bunch of nobles in Paris back in the late 18th century, she lost her head. None of them were vampires (that we know of) but the Blasphemies have come back from the dead plenty of times, so I shoved the garlic in her mouth just in case.
As for the last one, I set things up so she took a stake through the heart, in good old-fashioned Dracula style.
[image]
[image]
[image]
So, there you have it. Those capes who are a problem on the international scene, be aware: if you keep yourselves to yourselves, I probably won't care. But if you start being enough of a nuisance that people are willing to pay me to remove you from consideration, you'll get exactly *one* warning.
(Note that my previous consideration about people being a net positive or a net negative to society still stands.)
In any case, the good people of Europe can sleep a little easier in their beds tonight, and the bad people (you know who you are, and I know *where* you are) ... well, what happens next is up to you.
Mwahahaha.
Toodles!
(Showing page 1 of 1)
►Bagrat (Veteran Member) (The Guy in the Know)
Replied On Mar 8th 2011:
You know what?
Not my problem. Not anyone's problem.
Nicely done.
Not totally sure how she managed to decapitate someone in midflight like that, but I'm not arguing with results.
►TheRealGloryGirl (Cape Daughter) (Verified Cape) (New Wave Member)
Replied On Mar 8th 2011:
I don't think anyone argues with Atropos' results.
►Reave (Verified PRT Agent)
Replied On Mar 8th 2011:
*sigh*
One of these days, people will learn.
►MonocleKitty
Replied On Mar 8th 2011:
Shot through the heart!
And you're to blame ...
No, really. You're to blame.
►TheDemonDrink
Replied On Mar 8th 2011:
Well, as the saying goes, the Blasphemies fucked around and found out.
Is anyone even keeping count now?
►MageWolf
Replied On Mar 8th 2011:
I get that Atropos isn't doing this for herself, especially for monetary compensation for herself, but she is putting in a lot of work and a lot of hours for the Betterment Committee. Shouldn't she be on the payroll in some form or fashion, if only to satisfy union rules on payment for services rendered?
►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me) (Verified Dethpicable)
Replied On Mar 8th 2011:
Thanks for thinking of me, but I'm good.
I've got a stimulus card, even.
(Showing page 134 of 211)
►UnconcernedFox
Replied On Mar 8th 2011:
*notes that the last Blasphemy was killed in a monastery*
*so close to being in a church*
*god dammit*
*orders more popcorn in*
►J0e_Eagl3ton (Verified Robotic American) (Dockworkers Association Member) (Verified Atropos Fan Club Member)
Replied On Mar 8th 2011:
Blasphemies were wastes of processing time and battery power.
Artificial intelligence does not preclude natural stupidity.
Their casings had stickers saying "Intel not inside".
►Brocktonite03 (Veteran Member)
Replied On Mar 8th 2011:
BAHAHAHAHAHA!
Holy shit, AI humor is actually funny!
J0e, you rock!
►J0e_Eagl3ton (Verified Robotic American) (Dockworkers Association Member) (Verified Atropos Fan Club Member)
Replied On Mar 8th 2011:
No, me metal.
►GstringGirl (Verified Human) (Verified Atropos Fan Club Member)
Replied On Mar 8th 2011:
*falls off chair laughing*
Atropos Fans represent!
►Sayshi
Replied On Mar 8th 2011:
Hey Atropos, Just out of Curiosity, do you have any plans on Ending Cancer or the Grey Boy Bubbles? Or would someone have to offer you money to deal with those?
►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me) (Verified Dethpicable)
Replied On Mar 8th 2011:
Hi, Sayshi!
Cancer is a natural consequence of being alive, and every type of cancer is different.
Later That Morning
Director Piggot's Office
Shebang
Alice tapped on the Director's door.
She wasn't quite sure why she was being summoned this time, but she was quite willing to walk out again if the questions took the same turn that they had yesterday. On the upside, there'd been zero backlash from doing that, so it seemed Piggot wasn't quite the hardass she'd heard rumors about from the other Wards. Also on the upside, Scribe had backed off from trying to fuck with her, which Alice greatly appreciated.
Director Piggot's voice sounded from within. "Enter."
Turning the handle, Alice opened the door and walked in. The Director was seated in the same position behind the desk as yesterday; the only difference was that Deputy Director Henderson was not in the room. Alice wasn't sure if this was a good or a bad thing. "You wanted to see me, ma'am?"
"I did." Director Piggot folded her hands together. "Have a seat. I'd like to discuss a minor matter and a major matter with you, the minor one being your cape name. Have you decided on one yet?"
Alice blinked, and sat down in the chair before the desk. Okay, I can handle this. "I've pretty well settled on 'Shebang', ma'am."
"Good. It's evocative, light-hearted, only two syllables, and has a nice hard consonant in the middle. Image will appreciate that." The Director paused to make a note on a pad, then put the pen down again. "As for the other matter: there was a discussion on the PHO boards this morning, stemming from Atropos killing the Three Blasphemies. Someone asked Atropos if she could kill cancer or Gray Boy loops, and she made a comment suggesting that you might be able to. Your response indicated that you weren't sure if you could. Do you still feel this way?"
Okay, wow. This was definitely taking a different tone than yesterday's discussion had. "I've never tried, ma'am, and I doubt I could just rig up something and make it work perfectly first time. But if I did a bit of study on the subject, I'm pretty sure I could figure out a way to differentiate cancer cells from healthy ones, then make a bomb that ignores everything but cancer cells."
"And what would that do?" Piggot turned her hands palm up. "Make them stop being cancer cells?"
"No." Alice shook her head, leaning into her power to try to get the answer. "I don't think so, anyway. You wouldn't get normal healthy cells back. I think, best case, I could kill the cancer cells. Turn them into undifferentiated slurry, or something nonliving like water or glass." She paused, thinking about that. "Not glass. Glass is a bad idea."
"Glass is a terrible idea," the Director agreed. "Even if you turned a tumour into water, there might still be medical intervention needed. Lung cancer, for instance. And there will literally be a hole where the tumour was."
"Yeah." Alice grimaced. "I don't know enough about cancer. If someone's liver is basically all one tumour and I destroy it, that's his liver just … gone. He doesn't have one anymore. He could still die from that."
"But if someone's had surgery to remove the main tumour," Director Piggot suggested, "this theoretical bomb of yours could scour his body to get rid of tiny traces hidden elsewhere."
Alice considered the idea. "Yeah, it could totally do that."
"Okay, we'll put a pin in that idea for the moment." Piggot made another note. "Miss Medic will be coming down from Brockton Bay in the next week or so, and I'll make sure to give her time to work with you on the cancer thing. But let's talk about the other matter. The Gray Boy loops. Do you honestly think you have a chance of releasing the prisoners stuck in them?"
This was another difficult question. Alice took her time answering, mainly because her impression of the Director was someone who was willing to wait for the right answer rather than push for a half-assed guess. Eventually, she nodded. "I think, maybe if I could get some readings off one of the loops, and maybe do some practice runs, yeah, I could make it work."
Director Piggot rubbed her chin with thumb and forefinger. "Would it help to practice on other time-frozen items right here in New York?"
"Yeah, totally." Alice nodded again. "It'd definitely help me ballpark my figures for when I'm working on the real deal. Wait." She frowned. "Where are you going to get time-frozen stuff from?"
Piggot smiled for the first time since Alice had walked into the room. "Being a PRT Director is largely thankless, but it does come with some perks."
Winslow High, Midday
Taylor
"Hey, Cherie." I sat down and put my lunch tray opposite hers. "How's things?"
"Pretty good, actually." Cherie grinned. "You know the principal? And that Gladly moron you've mentioned a few times? They're out. And from their state of mind when they left, they might just be looking at legal charges."
"Huh." I picked up my banana. "I wondered where he was last period. Oh, well. Couldn't happen to a nicer asshole." As I started to peel it, my phone rang. I put the banana down and took out the phone, my curiosity piqued. When I saw the caller ID Frenemy Mine, my eyebrows hitched upward. I hit the answer icon.
"Hi, Dragon," I said casually, causing Cherie's eyebrows to raise in their turn. "I'm assuming this is important, or you'd just be pinging me on PHO."
"I believe it is, yes." Her tone was serious, the accent faintly Canadian. I appreciated the attention to detail. "This relates to the Blasphemy kill, as well as some other things."
"I'm listening." And I was. My ongoing working relationship with Dragon had not been without its friction points, but we understood each other fairly well by now, and I was absolutely willing to pay attention to anything she wanted to bring to my attention.
"There are two potential groundswell movements on the rise, both in reaction to your actions in the Blasphemy case and to the Ellisburg, Eagleton, Freedom and Flint actions. The first is self-serving, the second is fear-based."
I was pretty sure I could handle any self-serving motivations that came my way, but I was also fully aware that Dragon wouldn't be wasting my time on trivial shit. "Why those incidents, specifically?"
She sighed. "They represent what could be seen as a troubling shift in your priorities and your modus operandi. Each of those was performed for payment, and unlike the Gary and Gallup quarantine sites, you didn't give the perpetrators involved the option to simply go away and not bother you. It was either surrender or die."
I blinked. She was actually correct, though I seriously hadn't thought about it that way until now. "Um. Okay. In counterpoint, where could Nilbog have gone where he wouldn't have caused more problems? And the Eagleton robots … well, you know what they were like."
"I am fully aware of all that. I'm also aware that while the Blasphemies were perfectly capable of surrender or even ceasing their murderous activities, they would have chosen to defy you no matter what choices they were offered. As that one Eagleton robot stated online, artificial intelligence doesn't preclude natural stupidity." She paused just for a moment. "What I'm saying is that the outside perception of what you're doing doesn't necessarily follow the reality of it, especially if people with an agenda are deliberately reshaping the narrative."
This was starting to sound ominous. I checked my threatscape, but nothing was popping quite yet. Just a few rumbles here and there, without anything specific to focus on. Nobody was buying a sniper rifle with bullets intended for my favourite skull, or building a bomb. But Dragon was still concerned, which meant I was concerned. "Okay, you have all of my attention now. What are the details on these groundswells, and what do I specifically need to be concerned about?"
"The first is the self-serving one. To a certain portion of the international community, you've shown that with the application of enough cash to the Betterment Committee—and for all they know, that's your private piggy-bank—you will kill anyone who can be demonstrated to deserve it, no matter how little impact that person has on Brockton Bay. In other words, you're just another high-priced assassin. A really good assassin, but still just an assassin. The welfare of Brockton Bay, to them, is just a façade that you're promoting. You're a killer for hire, and that's the bottom line."
"What?" I shook my head. "No. That's not true. The money isn't the point. It was never the point. Fixing Brockton Bay is the point. The money is just a means to an end."
"I know that, and you know that." Her tone was matter-of-fact. "But to the kind of people who run in the circles that have both access to the amounts of money you've been funnelling into the Betterment Committee and use assassination as a means of getting ahead, that's not the way the world works. The reputation and the money are always the point. There's been a lot of talk among the oligarchs and other big-money people about getting their squeaky-clean proxies to point you at their rivals, with the offer of lots of zeroes to the Betterment Committee to grease their paths to the top. Nobody's stupid enough to consider shorting you, but it's very much a matter of 'if we pay her enough, she will take care of our problems for us'."
I didn't normally get angry, but I was starting to feel like I should. "So, they'd just use me like a tool to get what they want? Is that what they think?"
"That's the general idea, yes. And they're not the only ones. Since your cute little note that unblocked the logjam in the House over the Simurgh payment, members of the US government have been considering ways—in a very low-key manner—to point you at heads of state that they disapprove of. Top of the list is the CUI, and by association the Yàngbǎn." She paused to clear her throat, a vocal gesture that she and I both knew was entirely unnecessary. "I will point out that this is not exactly a novel move by the Pentagon. They've been at it since before super-powers were a thing, but some of them are very excited by the possibilities that they see in you."
"Possibilities." The word tasted like acid in my mouth. "Are they aware that I could've walked into the White House and dictated terms to the President, but I didn't because I want the current system to work the way it should be working? I mean, I've been pushing the PRT and police force to shape up so I don't have to do their goddamn jobs for them. And they think I want to get into politics why exactly?"
"Because they want to reshape the political landscape to their own ends, and they believe that sufficient money will override whatever objections you have, especially if they can show you evidence that their prospective targets are a net negative to human civilisation."
I figured out the other half of what she was about to say before she said it. "And if they can even make it look like they have me on retainer, their rivals will fall into line so fast there'll be a sonic boom involved."
"That's an extremely reasonable prediction of their aims, yes."
I sighed in aggravation. "Okay, thanks for the heads-up." The next step would be figuring out how to End this situation before it got too far adrift. There was a reason I preferred to blow the hydra's head off before it grew too many of them. "Give me a second here."
"Certainly."
When I leaned into my power and asked it the question, it evinced what I interpreted as amusement, then gave me its answer. I frowned and queried it, and got the same answer back.
"Okay, this is weird. Step one in the solution is to ask you what you've already figured out."
"Oh, good. We're both on the same page then. I do have solutions, but I'd like your permission to go ahead with them."
Once more I said, "I'm listening," though this time with interest instead of mild apprehension.
"I've already been squashing a lot of the talk in the wider community, discouraging idiots from being idiots. With your say-so, I'd like to go proactive. A lot of the people who've seen what you did with Ellisburg and Eagleton and the Blasphemies and so forth see your reputation as 'will kill for money, no matter what' because they're unaware of some of the other things, such as the Ravioli incident. If I post in your name, spoofing from your account, and drop the appropriate footage into the correct inboxes, I can see interest dropping dramatically. Nobody wants to end up with their reputation murdered as savagely as you managed to do with hers."
"Huh." I'd known there was a reason I'd done things that way, but it had never occurred to me that it could be used in quite this fashion. "Okay, sure. I trust you to do it right. And let me guess: I should back off on accepting any more bounties for the time being?"
"It would make it easier to present the image adjustment, yes."
Well, I wasn't married to the bounties. "Well, if it helps keep the idiots off my back, it'll be worth it."
"No problem. So, about the other thing."
I had to stop and think for a moment. "Other thing? Oh, the fear. Isn't that a good thing? If people are scared of me, they won't try any shit, yeah?"
"No, this is more insidious. When you were starting out, you very publicly gave Coil and the others the option to leave, surrender or die. This quickly became your go-to. People grew to expect it. If anyone got in your crosshairs, they could still just leave. You even offered this to the capes in Gallup and Gary. But you didn't do it for Nilbog, the Machine Army, Pastor, the capes of Flint, or the Blasphemies. For them, it was just 'surrender or I will do something extreme to you'."
"We've been over this." I frowned. "Just walking away wasn't a credible option for most of them, and even if it had been, they wouldn't have taken it. You know this as well as I do."
"Yes." Her tone was patient. I wondered if she'd ever thought of being a teacher. "But there are people out there who can only see that you've changed your MO, and they're worried that if you do it once, you'll do it again. There's the fear factor, you see. Your ability to kill anyone you choose is daunting, but if you're seen as safe and reliable, they can look past that. However, once you start changing the way you operate, altering your rules as you saw fit, then who's to say what other rules you won't change? What if you decided one day that left-handed people were bad for Brockton Bay, so you started hunting them all down? Who could actually stop you?"
"But … people don't think like that, do they?" I shook my head in denial. "I mean, not really. That's the sort of thing people like Jack Slash do. I wouldn't do that, because there's no point. Just because I change one thing about how I do things doesn't mean I'm going to go full ham murder-crazy."
"No, it doesn't. And to be honest, you've done very well at presenting yourself as a power in the region without scaring everyone off. It's a delicate balancing act at the best of times. But some people just worry because that's the way they are, and the groundswell I'm talking about has a core of people who hate you for various reasons, so they feed on that and deliberately amplify it."
"Of course they do," I grumbled.
"Sorry, but it's true. They're using your change in MO as a talking point to spread the fear, even among people who wouldn't normally be worried. With a persuasive enough argument, and the very real fact that you're extremely good at killing, they've been able to prevent some people from moving to Brockton Bay who otherwise would've done so, and convince others to move away when they were in a good position there. And if they're left unchecked, this will only spread."
This promised to be even more of a headache than the other thing. When had being Atropos gotten so complicated? I just wanted to fix things and End problems. "And let me guess. If I go after the people who are saying shit about me, it'll just exacerbate the problem."
"Some of them are actually hoping you'll retaliate in some way. It'll give them the critical mass to spread the fear even wider. So no, I'd advise against that."
Again, I consulted with my power. The amusement seemed even stronger as it gave me its answer. This time, I wasn't surprised. "You've got a solution lined up for this too, I take it?"
"I do. You're good, but you can't be online every second of every day, squashing every nasty rumour about you. I can. In fact, I can launch—again, with your permission—a PR campaign, highlighting what you've done to help Brockton Bay and the world, and minimising the platform of the haters. But there's something you need to do as well."
I didn't even have to check with my power this time. "Go back to giving people the chance to walk away, right?"
"And be seen to do it," Dragon confirmed. "You've got a good connection to the public via your PHO account. Talk to them about it and explain why you did what you did, and how you'll be doing things going forward. Communication is huge for building trust. If you can bring the fence-sitters back to your side, you'll have a good chance at reversing the spread of the rot."
It wasn't exactly a terrible imposition; in fact, it made a lot of sense. "Yeah, I can do that. Was there anything else I needed to know, or have you messed up my lunch hour enough already?"
She chuckled. "No, that's it for the time being. I'll let you know how it goes."
"I'd appreciate it. Thanks." I ended the call, then put my phone away.
"Well, that sounded fascinating," Cherie offered, quirking her eyebrows upward momentarily. "Problems with your public image?"
"Mmm." I finished peeling my banana. "And it's not just one person I can sneak up behind and beat the crap out of until they figure out where they went wrong."
"Ah, yes," Cherie intoned sagely. "I remember those days. They were fun."
I wrinkled my nose at her. "Fortunately, Dragon says she can help. But it looks like no more cash bounties for the time being. Or if I do take them, nothing political, and give the other guy a chance to walk away."
"Not that there's many cape bounties left behind that could really add to what you've already amassed." Cherie spread her hands. "And nobody but nobody is stupid enough to threaten Brockton Bay anymore. I'm pretty sure the bad guys don't even acknowledge its existence on the map."
"Which, you know, was always my business model." I took a bite out of the banana, chewed and swallowed. "It'd just be a lot easier without all the idiots."
Cherie saluted me with her juice box. "Ain't that the truth."
End of Part Seventy-Nine
Part Seventy-Nine: Double Trouble
[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
00:07 hours, Tuesday Morning
Dallon Household
Glory Girl
Vicky looked around at a light tap on her bedroom door. She frowned; wasn't everyone in bed already? Getting up from her computer chair, she padded over to the door and opened it a few inches.
"Ames?" she whispered on seeing her sister standing in the corridor. "What are you doing up?"
Amy, who looked like she'd been about to head back to her own room, raised her chin. "Me? What are you doing up?"
"Atropos gave the Three Blasphemies twenty-four hours, remember? Crystal bet me ten bucks they'd surrender before she got to them." Vicky hooked her head back at her glowing computer monitor. "I'm waiting to see what happens."
"Oh." Amy glanced to the side, down toward their parents' bedroom door. "Can I come in?"
"Sure, okay." Vicky opened the door all the way and headed back to the computer chair. She watched as Amy shut the door quietly, then came over and sat on her bed. Half-turning the chair so she could still keep an eye on the monitor, Vicky crossed her legs—much easier when flight was involved—and propped her chin on one hand. "So, what's got you up at this hour?"
Amy took a deep breath. "You know how you used to keep trying to drag me out on double dates?"
"Yeah, I remember." Vicky cringed a little inside at how sure she'd been that Amy would like this guy or that guy just because he was nice and had money. Of course, this had all been before she'd discovered that Dean had bought his powers, and that Amy was more interested in girls than guys. Her double-dating days were probably over, but she was almost certain that Amy wasn't trying to rub this fact into her face. "We both know I'm not gonna be doing that again any time soon. So, what's up?"
"You know how I'm seeing Parian." Amy waited for Vicky's nod, then kept going. "And Spitfire and Flechette have a thing, right?"
Vicky hadn't actually known that precisely, but from the way things were going, she wasn't in the least bit surprised. "I know that now, yeah." She paused, literally adding two and two together. "Oh. Oh. You want advice on how to do a double date?"
Amy hitched her shoulder and nodded uncomfortably. "Yeah. Parian and me have done a lot of talking and I've visited her at the Boardwalk a few times, and she says Spitfire told her that Flechette was getting a long weekend of leave to come to Brockton Bay. So, I was thinking that if we double-dated, Parian and Spitfire would be able to relax more with a teammate around."
Vicky frowned thoughtfully. "So, you're looking for a sort of a girls' night out vibe? Less in the way of implicit expectations, that sort of thing."
"Yeah, exactly. I mean, Parian knows I'm interested, but I don't want to come across as too pushy, you know?"
"No, good point. Pushy is bad. Comfort zone is good." Vicky leaned back in the chair, thinking. "Keep it low-key but fun. Light-hearted but room for intimacy. Movies, cafés, a picnic on the beach. Ask her, ask them, where they want to go, then make sure everyone's okay with it before you act on it. The last thing anyone wants in this sort of situation is to feel like they're invisible, or they're just coming along to make up the numbers. Or that they're trapped once they're there."
Amy raised an eyebrow. "What, like I used to, on your double dates?"
"Ouch." Vicky winced. "I'm really sorry about how badly I failed to read the room back then. Honest."
"I'm not going to say you didn't, because you did." Amy sighed. "But we've both learned a lot since then. A ton of things have changed. I don't feel boxed in anymore. The pressure's off us as heroes. We don't have to pretend that everything's alright, because it's finally actually alright."
"Well, not everything," Vicky grumped. "I'm still mad at Dean because he doesn't understand why I'm mad that he didn't tell me he bought his powers. I mean, that's a major breach of trust, isn't it?"
"More than the way I breached your trust by not telling you that I had feelings for you?" Amy nibbled on her thumbnail. "The way I see it, there's fault on all sides. You didn't take how I felt into account because you assumed you knew, and I resented it while at the same time refusing to tell you how I really felt. And Carol was determined for us to be the perfect team, so we always lined up and smiled for the camera, no matter what was going on underneath. Now you want to break away in one direction, I want to break away in another, you've broken up with Dean over something he lied about because he thought it was personal and private, and I honestly have no idea if we should blame everybody or nobody."
Vicky blinked as she absorbed Amy's words. Quiet though it was, her sister's little tirade held the ring of truth. "Wow, damn," she muttered. "You've been holding all that in for a while, haven't you?"
"Yeah, a bit." Amy grinned at Vicky. "Tell me it's not true."
"Oh, it's all true." Vicky sighed ruefully. "I wish it wasn't, but it is. I'm just glad you and Parian and the others can actually come out in public and be who you are."
"That means a lot." Amy's grin became a smile. "Okay, now at least I've got an idea to go on with for that double date—hey." She pointed past Vicky at the screen of the computer. "I think a new thread just dropped."
"Ooh, ooh, let me check." Vicky spun the chair around and dropped her feet to the floor. A click of the mouse confirmed it. "Yes, yes, yes! Bite me, Crystal!"
Amy jumped off the bed and leaned over her shoulder. "Don't say that too loud or she might get one of her girlfriends to do it for her."
Vicky nearly ruptured herself trying not to laugh out loud.
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♦ Topic: Blasphemy Zero
In: Boards ► Brockton Bay ► New Capes ► Atropos
Atropos (Original Poster) (
Posted On Mar 8th 2011:
Hello to you wonderful Brocktonites!
I have good news for all and sundry, especially those who support Interpol and everything it does.
As will come as zero surprise to anyone who's been following my career, the Three Blasphemies decided to not surrender to Interpol after I gave them fair warning. (According to my maternal grandfather, 'some folks just gotta pee on the electric fence').
I caught up with the first one in Brussels, doing the zombie thing on the rooftops adjacent to the Interpol building there. Now she *could* have been lost, or maybe intending to go in and give herself up. She might even have been waiting for the last minute. Or the last bus.
(She wasn't).
After a little bit of effort, I got it through her head that she wasn't welcome anywhere, ever. (Bullets really get the message across). Like a good little zombie, she died for real.
The next one was airborne over Paris. As also happened to a whole bunch of nobles in Paris back in the late 18th century, she lost her head. None of them were vampires (that we know of) but the Blasphemies have come back from the dead plenty of times, so I shoved the garlic in her mouth just in case.
As for the last one, I set things up so she took a stake through the heart, in good old-fashioned Dracula style.
[image]
[image]
[image]
So, there you have it. Those capes who are a problem on the international scene, be aware: if you keep yourselves to yourselves, I probably won't care. But if you start being enough of a nuisance that people are willing to pay me to remove you from consideration, you'll get exactly *one* warning.
(Note that my previous consideration about people being a net positive or a net negative to society still stands.)
In any case, the good people of Europe can sleep a little easier in their beds tonight, and the bad people (you know who you are, and I know *where* you are) ... well, what happens next is up to you.
Mwahahaha.
Toodles!
(Showing page 1 of 1)
►Bagrat (Veteran Member) (The Guy in the Know)
Replied On Mar 8th 2011:
You know what?
Not my problem. Not anyone's problem.
Nicely done.
Not totally sure how she managed to decapitate someone in midflight like that, but I'm not arguing with results.
►TheRealGloryGirl (Cape Daughter) (Verified Cape) (New Wave Member)
Replied On Mar 8th 2011:
I don't think anyone argues with Atropos' results.
►Reave (Verified PRT Agent)
Replied On Mar 8th 2011:
*sigh*
One of these days, people will learn.
►MonocleKitty
Replied On Mar 8th 2011:
Shot through the heart!
And you're to blame ...
No, really. You're to blame.
►TheDemonDrink
Replied On Mar 8th 2011:
Well, as the saying goes, the Blasphemies fucked around and found out.
Is anyone even keeping count now?
►MageWolf
Replied On Mar 8th 2011:
I get that Atropos isn't doing this for herself, especially for monetary compensation for herself, but she is putting in a lot of work and a lot of hours for the Betterment Committee. Shouldn't she be on the payroll in some form or fashion, if only to satisfy union rules on payment for services rendered?
►Atropos (Original Poster) (
Replied On Mar 8th 2011:
Thanks for thinking of me, but I'm good.
I've got a stimulus card, even.
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(Showing page 134 of 211)
►UnconcernedFox
Replied On Mar 8th 2011:
*notes that the last Blasphemy was killed in a monastery*
*so close to being in a church*
*god dammit*
*orders more popcorn in*
►J0e_Eagl3ton (Verified Robotic American) (Dockworkers Association Member) (Verified Atropos Fan Club Member)
Replied On Mar 8th 2011:
Blasphemies were wastes of processing time and battery power.
Artificial intelligence does not preclude natural stupidity.
Their casings had stickers saying "Intel not inside".
►Brocktonite03 (Veteran Member)
Replied On Mar 8th 2011:
BAHAHAHAHAHA!
Holy shit, AI humor is actually funny!
J0e, you rock!
►J0e_Eagl3ton (Verified Robotic American) (Dockworkers Association Member) (Verified Atropos Fan Club Member)
Replied On Mar 8th 2011:
No, me metal.
►GstringGirl (Verified Human) (Verified Atropos Fan Club Member)
Replied On Mar 8th 2011:
*falls off chair laughing*
Atropos Fans represent!
►Sayshi
Replied On Mar 8th 2011:
Hey Atropos, Just out of Curiosity, do you have any plans on Ending Cancer or the Grey Boy Bubbles? Or would someone have to offer you money to deal with those?
►Atropos (Original Poster) (
Replied On Mar 8th 2011:
Hi, Sayshi!
Cancer is a natural consequence of being alive, and every type of cancer is different.
In order to End all cancer everywhere, I'd have to either kill off every multicellular organism everywhere and replace them with perfect animatronic replicas, somehow rejigger the entire way cells are constructed and how they reproduce to End any chance that cellular division can result in cancerous growths, or wrap every single one of us in lead-lined cotton wool to End any chance of being exposed to something that might cause cancer to happen.
You might object to the first, I'd find the second one way too tedious, and you'd find the last one way too tedious.
Now, that isn't to say I can't kill *individual* cases of cancer. That I can totally do. Chemo and radiation therapy are just ways of traumatizing the cells so that the cancer dies at a measurably faster rate than the patient does. I can do targeted trauma *really, really* well.
As for Gray Boy loops, well ... yeah, I could kill those. I can think of four separate ways, right now.
But you've put your finger on the answer to the question of "why am I not doing this?"
The answer is simple. I'm not a hero. I never was. Never pretended to be.
I'm fixing Brockton Bay and making it a pleasant and prosperous place to live in, because I want to live in a pleasant and prosperous city.
When I End people, I do it because either a) they're attempting to personally threaten me or mine, b) they're a potential threat to what I'm doing in Brockton Bay, or c) they're a net negative to society and killing them will somehow benefit Brockton Bay. Also, because they've ignored at least one warning.
So I don't just go helping people for the good of all. I do it for Reasons.
However, because I'm not totes evul, I *will* point out that the New York Wards' latest recruit is able to create single-use devices with an almost limitless variety of wide-area effects. Just saying.
Mwahahaha.
Toodles!
►Harmless Fuzzball (Verified Harmless) (Random Internet Hugging Stranger)
Replied On Mar 8th 2011:
So, are you saying this Ward could make, say, anti-cancer bombs? Panacea will be thrilled.
►Badaboom (Verified Cape) (New York Wards Member)
Replied On Mar 8th 2011:
Wait, I can do what again now?
►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me) (Verified Dethpicable)
Replied On Mar 8th 2011:
You never know until you try.
I say again, mwahahaha.
End of Page. 133, 134, 135, 136 ... 209, 210, 211You might object to the first, I'd find the second one way too tedious, and you'd find the last one way too tedious.
Now, that isn't to say I can't kill *individual* cases of cancer. That I can totally do. Chemo and radiation therapy are just ways of traumatizing the cells so that the cancer dies at a measurably faster rate than the patient does. I can do targeted trauma *really, really* well.
As for Gray Boy loops, well ... yeah, I could kill those. I can think of four separate ways, right now.
But you've put your finger on the answer to the question of "why am I not doing this?"
The answer is simple. I'm not a hero. I never was. Never pretended to be.
I'm fixing Brockton Bay and making it a pleasant and prosperous place to live in, because I want to live in a pleasant and prosperous city.
When I End people, I do it because either a) they're attempting to personally threaten me or mine, b) they're a potential threat to what I'm doing in Brockton Bay, or c) they're a net negative to society and killing them will somehow benefit Brockton Bay. Also, because they've ignored at least one warning.
So I don't just go helping people for the good of all. I do it for Reasons.
However, because I'm not totes evul, I *will* point out that the New York Wards' latest recruit is able to create single-use devices with an almost limitless variety of wide-area effects. Just saying.
Mwahahaha.
Toodles!
►Harmless Fuzzball (Verified Harmless) (Random Internet Hugging Stranger)
Replied On Mar 8th 2011:
So, are you saying this Ward could make, say, anti-cancer bombs? Panacea will be thrilled.
►Badaboom (Verified Cape) (New York Wards Member)
Replied On Mar 8th 2011:
Wait, I can do what again now?
►Atropos (Original Poster) (
Replied On Mar 8th 2011:
You never know until you try.
I say again, mwahahaha.
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Later That Morning
Director Piggot's Office
Shebang
Alice tapped on the Director's door.
She wasn't quite sure why she was being summoned this time, but she was quite willing to walk out again if the questions took the same turn that they had yesterday. On the upside, there'd been zero backlash from doing that, so it seemed Piggot wasn't quite the hardass she'd heard rumors about from the other Wards. Also on the upside, Scribe had backed off from trying to fuck with her, which Alice greatly appreciated.
Director Piggot's voice sounded from within. "Enter."
Turning the handle, Alice opened the door and walked in. The Director was seated in the same position behind the desk as yesterday; the only difference was that Deputy Director Henderson was not in the room. Alice wasn't sure if this was a good or a bad thing. "You wanted to see me, ma'am?"
"I did." Director Piggot folded her hands together. "Have a seat. I'd like to discuss a minor matter and a major matter with you, the minor one being your cape name. Have you decided on one yet?"
Alice blinked, and sat down in the chair before the desk. Okay, I can handle this. "I've pretty well settled on 'Shebang', ma'am."
"Good. It's evocative, light-hearted, only two syllables, and has a nice hard consonant in the middle. Image will appreciate that." The Director paused to make a note on a pad, then put the pen down again. "As for the other matter: there was a discussion on the PHO boards this morning, stemming from Atropos killing the Three Blasphemies. Someone asked Atropos if she could kill cancer or Gray Boy loops, and she made a comment suggesting that you might be able to. Your response indicated that you weren't sure if you could. Do you still feel this way?"
Okay, wow. This was definitely taking a different tone than yesterday's discussion had. "I've never tried, ma'am, and I doubt I could just rig up something and make it work perfectly first time. But if I did a bit of study on the subject, I'm pretty sure I could figure out a way to differentiate cancer cells from healthy ones, then make a bomb that ignores everything but cancer cells."
"And what would that do?" Piggot turned her hands palm up. "Make them stop being cancer cells?"
"No." Alice shook her head, leaning into her power to try to get the answer. "I don't think so, anyway. You wouldn't get normal healthy cells back. I think, best case, I could kill the cancer cells. Turn them into undifferentiated slurry, or something nonliving like water or glass." She paused, thinking about that. "Not glass. Glass is a bad idea."
"Glass is a terrible idea," the Director agreed. "Even if you turned a tumour into water, there might still be medical intervention needed. Lung cancer, for instance. And there will literally be a hole where the tumour was."
"Yeah." Alice grimaced. "I don't know enough about cancer. If someone's liver is basically all one tumour and I destroy it, that's his liver just … gone. He doesn't have one anymore. He could still die from that."
"But if someone's had surgery to remove the main tumour," Director Piggot suggested, "this theoretical bomb of yours could scour his body to get rid of tiny traces hidden elsewhere."
Alice considered the idea. "Yeah, it could totally do that."
"Okay, we'll put a pin in that idea for the moment." Piggot made another note. "Miss Medic will be coming down from Brockton Bay in the next week or so, and I'll make sure to give her time to work with you on the cancer thing. But let's talk about the other matter. The Gray Boy loops. Do you honestly think you have a chance of releasing the prisoners stuck in them?"
This was another difficult question. Alice took her time answering, mainly because her impression of the Director was someone who was willing to wait for the right answer rather than push for a half-assed guess. Eventually, she nodded. "I think, maybe if I could get some readings off one of the loops, and maybe do some practice runs, yeah, I could make it work."
Director Piggot rubbed her chin with thumb and forefinger. "Would it help to practice on other time-frozen items right here in New York?"
"Yeah, totally." Alice nodded again. "It'd definitely help me ballpark my figures for when I'm working on the real deal. Wait." She frowned. "Where are you going to get time-frozen stuff from?"
Piggot smiled for the first time since Alice had walked into the room. "Being a PRT Director is largely thankless, but it does come with some perks."
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Winslow High, Midday
Taylor
"Hey, Cherie." I sat down and put my lunch tray opposite hers. "How's things?"
"Pretty good, actually." Cherie grinned. "You know the principal? And that Gladly moron you've mentioned a few times? They're out. And from their state of mind when they left, they might just be looking at legal charges."
"Huh." I picked up my banana. "I wondered where he was last period. Oh, well. Couldn't happen to a nicer asshole." As I started to peel it, my phone rang. I put the banana down and took out the phone, my curiosity piqued. When I saw the caller ID Frenemy Mine, my eyebrows hitched upward. I hit the answer icon.
"Hi, Dragon," I said casually, causing Cherie's eyebrows to raise in their turn. "I'm assuming this is important, or you'd just be pinging me on PHO."
"I believe it is, yes." Her tone was serious, the accent faintly Canadian. I appreciated the attention to detail. "This relates to the Blasphemy kill, as well as some other things."
"I'm listening." And I was. My ongoing working relationship with Dragon had not been without its friction points, but we understood each other fairly well by now, and I was absolutely willing to pay attention to anything she wanted to bring to my attention.
"There are two potential groundswell movements on the rise, both in reaction to your actions in the Blasphemy case and to the Ellisburg, Eagleton, Freedom and Flint actions. The first is self-serving, the second is fear-based."
I was pretty sure I could handle any self-serving motivations that came my way, but I was also fully aware that Dragon wouldn't be wasting my time on trivial shit. "Why those incidents, specifically?"
She sighed. "They represent what could be seen as a troubling shift in your priorities and your modus operandi. Each of those was performed for payment, and unlike the Gary and Gallup quarantine sites, you didn't give the perpetrators involved the option to simply go away and not bother you. It was either surrender or die."
I blinked. She was actually correct, though I seriously hadn't thought about it that way until now. "Um. Okay. In counterpoint, where could Nilbog have gone where he wouldn't have caused more problems? And the Eagleton robots … well, you know what they were like."
"I am fully aware of all that. I'm also aware that while the Blasphemies were perfectly capable of surrender or even ceasing their murderous activities, they would have chosen to defy you no matter what choices they were offered. As that one Eagleton robot stated online, artificial intelligence doesn't preclude natural stupidity." She paused just for a moment. "What I'm saying is that the outside perception of what you're doing doesn't necessarily follow the reality of it, especially if people with an agenda are deliberately reshaping the narrative."
This was starting to sound ominous. I checked my threatscape, but nothing was popping quite yet. Just a few rumbles here and there, without anything specific to focus on. Nobody was buying a sniper rifle with bullets intended for my favourite skull, or building a bomb. But Dragon was still concerned, which meant I was concerned. "Okay, you have all of my attention now. What are the details on these groundswells, and what do I specifically need to be concerned about?"
"The first is the self-serving one. To a certain portion of the international community, you've shown that with the application of enough cash to the Betterment Committee—and for all they know, that's your private piggy-bank—you will kill anyone who can be demonstrated to deserve it, no matter how little impact that person has on Brockton Bay. In other words, you're just another high-priced assassin. A really good assassin, but still just an assassin. The welfare of Brockton Bay, to them, is just a façade that you're promoting. You're a killer for hire, and that's the bottom line."
"What?" I shook my head. "No. That's not true. The money isn't the point. It was never the point. Fixing Brockton Bay is the point. The money is just a means to an end."
"I know that, and you know that." Her tone was matter-of-fact. "But to the kind of people who run in the circles that have both access to the amounts of money you've been funnelling into the Betterment Committee and use assassination as a means of getting ahead, that's not the way the world works. The reputation and the money are always the point. There's been a lot of talk among the oligarchs and other big-money people about getting their squeaky-clean proxies to point you at their rivals, with the offer of lots of zeroes to the Betterment Committee to grease their paths to the top. Nobody's stupid enough to consider shorting you, but it's very much a matter of 'if we pay her enough, she will take care of our problems for us'."
I didn't normally get angry, but I was starting to feel like I should. "So, they'd just use me like a tool to get what they want? Is that what they think?"
"That's the general idea, yes. And they're not the only ones. Since your cute little note that unblocked the logjam in the House over the Simurgh payment, members of the US government have been considering ways—in a very low-key manner—to point you at heads of state that they disapprove of. Top of the list is the CUI, and by association the Yàngbǎn." She paused to clear her throat, a vocal gesture that she and I both knew was entirely unnecessary. "I will point out that this is not exactly a novel move by the Pentagon. They've been at it since before super-powers were a thing, but some of them are very excited by the possibilities that they see in you."
"Possibilities." The word tasted like acid in my mouth. "Are they aware that I could've walked into the White House and dictated terms to the President, but I didn't because I want the current system to work the way it should be working? I mean, I've been pushing the PRT and police force to shape up so I don't have to do their goddamn jobs for them. And they think I want to get into politics why exactly?"
"Because they want to reshape the political landscape to their own ends, and they believe that sufficient money will override whatever objections you have, especially if they can show you evidence that their prospective targets are a net negative to human civilisation."
I figured out the other half of what she was about to say before she said it. "And if they can even make it look like they have me on retainer, their rivals will fall into line so fast there'll be a sonic boom involved."
"That's an extremely reasonable prediction of their aims, yes."
I sighed in aggravation. "Okay, thanks for the heads-up." The next step would be figuring out how to End this situation before it got too far adrift. There was a reason I preferred to blow the hydra's head off before it grew too many of them. "Give me a second here."
"Certainly."
When I leaned into my power and asked it the question, it evinced what I interpreted as amusement, then gave me its answer. I frowned and queried it, and got the same answer back.
"Okay, this is weird. Step one in the solution is to ask you what you've already figured out."
"Oh, good. We're both on the same page then. I do have solutions, but I'd like your permission to go ahead with them."
Once more I said, "I'm listening," though this time with interest instead of mild apprehension.
"I've already been squashing a lot of the talk in the wider community, discouraging idiots from being idiots. With your say-so, I'd like to go proactive. A lot of the people who've seen what you did with Ellisburg and Eagleton and the Blasphemies and so forth see your reputation as 'will kill for money, no matter what' because they're unaware of some of the other things, such as the Ravioli incident. If I post in your name, spoofing from your account, and drop the appropriate footage into the correct inboxes, I can see interest dropping dramatically. Nobody wants to end up with their reputation murdered as savagely as you managed to do with hers."
"Huh." I'd known there was a reason I'd done things that way, but it had never occurred to me that it could be used in quite this fashion. "Okay, sure. I trust you to do it right. And let me guess: I should back off on accepting any more bounties for the time being?"
"It would make it easier to present the image adjustment, yes."
Well, I wasn't married to the bounties. "Well, if it helps keep the idiots off my back, it'll be worth it."
"No problem. So, about the other thing."
I had to stop and think for a moment. "Other thing? Oh, the fear. Isn't that a good thing? If people are scared of me, they won't try any shit, yeah?"
"No, this is more insidious. When you were starting out, you very publicly gave Coil and the others the option to leave, surrender or die. This quickly became your go-to. People grew to expect it. If anyone got in your crosshairs, they could still just leave. You even offered this to the capes in Gallup and Gary. But you didn't do it for Nilbog, the Machine Army, Pastor, the capes of Flint, or the Blasphemies. For them, it was just 'surrender or I will do something extreme to you'."
"We've been over this." I frowned. "Just walking away wasn't a credible option for most of them, and even if it had been, they wouldn't have taken it. You know this as well as I do."
"Yes." Her tone was patient. I wondered if she'd ever thought of being a teacher. "But there are people out there who can only see that you've changed your MO, and they're worried that if you do it once, you'll do it again. There's the fear factor, you see. Your ability to kill anyone you choose is daunting, but if you're seen as safe and reliable, they can look past that. However, once you start changing the way you operate, altering your rules as you saw fit, then who's to say what other rules you won't change? What if you decided one day that left-handed people were bad for Brockton Bay, so you started hunting them all down? Who could actually stop you?"
"But … people don't think like that, do they?" I shook my head in denial. "I mean, not really. That's the sort of thing people like Jack Slash do. I wouldn't do that, because there's no point. Just because I change one thing about how I do things doesn't mean I'm going to go full ham murder-crazy."
"No, it doesn't. And to be honest, you've done very well at presenting yourself as a power in the region without scaring everyone off. It's a delicate balancing act at the best of times. But some people just worry because that's the way they are, and the groundswell I'm talking about has a core of people who hate you for various reasons, so they feed on that and deliberately amplify it."
"Of course they do," I grumbled.
"Sorry, but it's true. They're using your change in MO as a talking point to spread the fear, even among people who wouldn't normally be worried. With a persuasive enough argument, and the very real fact that you're extremely good at killing, they've been able to prevent some people from moving to Brockton Bay who otherwise would've done so, and convince others to move away when they were in a good position there. And if they're left unchecked, this will only spread."
This promised to be even more of a headache than the other thing. When had being Atropos gotten so complicated? I just wanted to fix things and End problems. "And let me guess. If I go after the people who are saying shit about me, it'll just exacerbate the problem."
"Some of them are actually hoping you'll retaliate in some way. It'll give them the critical mass to spread the fear even wider. So no, I'd advise against that."
Again, I consulted with my power. The amusement seemed even stronger as it gave me its answer. This time, I wasn't surprised. "You've got a solution lined up for this too, I take it?"
"I do. You're good, but you can't be online every second of every day, squashing every nasty rumour about you. I can. In fact, I can launch—again, with your permission—a PR campaign, highlighting what you've done to help Brockton Bay and the world, and minimising the platform of the haters. But there's something you need to do as well."
I didn't even have to check with my power this time. "Go back to giving people the chance to walk away, right?"
"And be seen to do it," Dragon confirmed. "You've got a good connection to the public via your PHO account. Talk to them about it and explain why you did what you did, and how you'll be doing things going forward. Communication is huge for building trust. If you can bring the fence-sitters back to your side, you'll have a good chance at reversing the spread of the rot."
It wasn't exactly a terrible imposition; in fact, it made a lot of sense. "Yeah, I can do that. Was there anything else I needed to know, or have you messed up my lunch hour enough already?"
She chuckled. "No, that's it for the time being. I'll let you know how it goes."
"I'd appreciate it. Thanks." I ended the call, then put my phone away.
"Well, that sounded fascinating," Cherie offered, quirking her eyebrows upward momentarily. "Problems with your public image?"
"Mmm." I finished peeling my banana. "And it's not just one person I can sneak up behind and beat the crap out of until they figure out where they went wrong."
"Ah, yes," Cherie intoned sagely. "I remember those days. They were fun."
I wrinkled my nose at her. "Fortunately, Dragon says she can help. But it looks like no more cash bounties for the time being. Or if I do take them, nothing political, and give the other guy a chance to walk away."
"Not that there's many cape bounties left behind that could really add to what you've already amassed." Cherie spread her hands. "And nobody but nobody is stupid enough to threaten Brockton Bay anymore. I'm pretty sure the bad guys don't even acknowledge its existence on the map."
"Which, you know, was always my business model." I took a bite out of the banana, chewed and swallowed. "It'd just be a lot easier without all the idiots."
Cherie saluted me with her juice box. "Ain't that the truth."
End of Part Seventy-Nine
Last edited:
Kehsem
(Professional Simpanzee)
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Atropos is going to find herself completing a Master's in Political Science just to keep up with this bullshit before she realizes it.
Path to Ending might help her create an AI to manage her online / media persona, but her own rules will require that she has the baseline knowledge to at least follow along.
....is this my attempt to have her create HK-47? ...maybe.
Path to Ending might help her create an AI to manage her online / media persona, but her own rules will require that she has the baseline knowledge to at least follow along.
....is this my attempt to have her create HK-47? ...maybe.
ConsiderableHat
Hot glue beard disaster.
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"Joyful acclamation: Best. Master. Ever!"
Kehsem
(Professional Simpanzee)
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"Nervous Statement: Dragon, per your request to commit fewer cleansings of the meatbag genepool," he holds up a belt of cleanly-severed scalps in one hand and a bouquet of ammunition in the other, "I have delivered an alternative. Query: Will you accompany me in bringing destruction to our enemies?"
Armsmaster stared. "Is...that..?"
Assault made shushing noises, holding up a camcorder as a grin split his face. "Don't ruin this, Armsy. This is amazing."
Nearby, Vista bites her fist to keep quiet while bouncing up and down on her feet. She'd never thought she'd get to see a proposal, let alone a robot one. This was so awesome!
Part Eighty: Steps Taken
Ack
(Verified Ratbag) (Unverified Great Old One)
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A Darker Path
Part Eighty: Taking Steps
[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
PRT ENE Wards Base
Clockblocker
The Wards area was empty when Dennis entered from the corridor. He glanced toward the currently-unmanned console, aware he was rostered on to it but secure in the knowledge that he still had a few minutes before he was due to take up his place in front of the screens. After half a day in school, this would be a welcome change … for about the first hour. After that, deadly boring.
On a whim, he sketched a bow toward the vacant room and intoned, "Greetings to all and sundry, no need for applause."
"Sorry, did you say something?" Aegis emerged from the kitchenette area with a glass of fruit juice.
"Nothing special," Dennis admitted, refusing to feel embarrassed. After all, he'd done many more embarrassing things in his time. "Just trying to live down to my reputation."
Aegis grinned. "Don't hurt yourself. How's your dad going?"
Dennis brightened, glad for the change in subject. "So far, everything's looking good. The docs are giving him a week to gain some strength, then they're going to run every check they can on him, short of grabbing each individual cell and asking it if it's seen any cancer around." He took a deep breath. "We're cautiously optimistic, but we've been here too many times before, so … yeah."
"Well, I've seen some of Riley's work, and she's a damn fine doctor and surgeon." Aegis clapped him on the shoulder. "I'd say he's got a solid chance of coming out the other side of this in good shape."
"Thanks, man." Dennis smiled wanly. "That means a lot. Heading out on patrol?"
"Yup. Soon as Triumph and Vista get in." Aegis slugged back the juice in one gulp, because of course he could ignore things like having it accidentally go up his nose or something. "Shouldn't you be costuming up?"
"No. Why?" Dennis gestured toward the console. "Soon as I make myself some ramen, I'll be the eye in the sky, the disembodied voice in your ear. All audio, no video, so no costume needed."
"Ah, no." Aegis shook his head. "Triumph is taking your shift. Vista's coming out with me. You're heading to New York on the transport. Didn't you get the text?"
"Ah … text? What text?" Dennis hauled his phone out and woke it up. The top text on the queue glared accusingly at him, informing him of what Aegis had just said. "I swear, I checked it five minutes ago!" He hadn't, but Aegis would never be able to prove otherwise.
"Uh huh." Aegis put the glass down solely so he could fold his arms disbelievingly. "The transport leaves in ten minutes. You're wasting time, just saying."
Dennis hated when people were right around him, and he was wrong. It was so unfair. On the way past where Aegis had put the glass, he brushed his finger against it, freezing it in place. "Why am I going to New York, anyway? Has Director Piggot figured out some other way of making my life miserable?"
"I guess you're just going to have to—oh, for fuck's sake. Clockblocker!"
"Sorry, can't hear you, gotta go change!" Cackling, Dennis made his escape.
New York
Shebang
Coming in off the chilly waters of New York Harbour, the southerly breeze that whipped across the helipad atop the PRT building was cold enough to make Alice shiver and dig her hands into the pockets of the jacket she was wearing. Beside her, Director Piggot seemed to be either able to ignore the weather or her blood was already running at sub-zero temperatures; Alice wouldn't have wanted to make a guess at which. She seemed human enough so far, but she'd also survived ten years of Brockton Bay, and Ellisburg before that, so she evidently had hidden depths.
Note to self: do not cross her.
Alice's eyes were drawn to the incoming chopper beating southward under the lowering sky. It bore PRT markings, and thus probably contained the 'specialist' Piggot had said was coming down to assist Alice in her testing. The Director had been tight-lipped about the identity of the specialist, indicating that all would be revealed at the right time.
They stayed safely back out of the way as the chopper flared then alighted on the helipad, its landing gear flexing and settling. The engines began to wind down, then the side door slid open. Miss Militia—Alice knew that costume, at least—climbed out first, followed by a white-armoured teen with clocks dotting his costume here and there.
"Director," Miss Militia greeted Piggot, extending her hand to shake. "It's good to see you. How are you settling in here?"
"It somehow manages to be colder than Brockton Bay, but I'm managing." Director Piggot shook her hand, then gestured toward Alice. "This is our newest Ward. Temporary name Badaboom, but she's going with Shebang."
"The bomb Tinker, right?" Miss Militia shook Alice's hand. "I can't help thinking we could work well together." In her free hand, her ever-present weapon morphed into what Alice belatedly recognised as some kind of grenade launcher.
"Oh, uh, yeah, I guess we totally could." Alice tried not to squee too hard internally about Miss Militia saying something nice to her. She was still trying to get her feet under her as a superhero, and that sort of validation was worth more than money or diamonds.
"And this is Clockblocker." The Director gestured toward the boy in white. "You may have heard of him. I assure you, all the stories are true."
"Oh." Several pieces of the jigsaw puzzle clicked together at once. Alice had vaguely heard of Clockblocker; quite apart from the name (only a teenage boy could have come up with it) he could apparently freeze things in time. "Hi. I guess we're going to be seeing if my tech can undo your power effects."
He shook her offered hand. "Hi, Shebang. Not sure why you want to do that, but nothing touches anything I've frozen. Trust me, it's been tried. You haven't seen anything until you've seen a tank cannon fire a shell at a sheet of paper twenty feet away, and totally fail to scratch it."
"Well, that's what you're here to find out." Piggot gestured at the roof entrance to the building. "Let's get out of this breeze before we freeze to the spot."
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♦ Topic: Public Service Announcement
In: Boards ► Brockton Bay ► New Capes ► Atropos
Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me) (Verified Dethpicable)
Posted On Mar 8th 2011:
Hey to all my wonderful peeps!
You might be wondering why I'm posting in the middle of the day when I totally have not set up any kills in advance. Could it be *gasp!* that I'm offing people without telling anyone ahead of time? What's next? Dogs and cats moving in together? Rebecca Costa-Brown writing a tell-all book about the PRT?
(I'd totally buy a copy).
Nope, it's none of the above. I haven't even killed anyone today, because I just plain haven't had to. I swear, the average IQ in this city has gone up ten points since I started my social renewal project. (Hint: you people are the smart ones).
No, I'm posting to let you know about something which was recently brought to my attention. Well, two things, but they're the result of something I did. Unintended consequences, and all that.
So, you all know how I de-Blasphemized the three Blasphemies. It seems this sent a message to certain people out there (yes, I know who you are) that was misinterpreted as me being willing to just kill any old person with the application of sufficient money toward the Brockton Bay Betterment Committee.
You couldn't be more wrong.
While I am entirely in favor of people donating money in their direction (every dollar is a dollar that will go towards building a better Brockton Bay), I'm not going to jump straight to being a hired killer for the cause. For one thing, it's tacky as fuck. For another, there's a regrettable mindset among the sort of people who have serious money, that if they're signing your paychecks, they own you.
Nobody owns me. Nobody gets to dictate a single damn one of my actions except for me. The final choice regarding who dies at my hands (or gets their kneecaps blown out, or gets their reputation utterly fucked up beyond repair, hint hint) belongs to me. Nobody else.
It's true that I have accepted bounties for kills, and those bounties have gone straight toward the BBBC. Without exception, the ones I killed were either a) a direct threat toward the well-being of Brockton Bay, b) Endbringers, or c) a net negative to society in some extremely well-defined manner.
It's also true that the Blasphemies were outside my usual turf and were not threatening Brockton Bay in any meaningful fashion, but Gesellschaft *has* been trying to spread its influence over here, and they're the ones who were bankrolling the 3 B's to harass Interpol into leaving them alone. Going after law enforcement just for doing their jobs is, in my not so humble opinion, tacky as fuck. So I was happy to help Interpol deal with their problem so they could get back to dealing with Gesellschaft.
What I'm leading up to here is that the money is *not* the point. It never was. Fixing Brockton Bay is the point. The money is a means to an end, and that's all.
Also, I fully intend to keep out of politics, so if heads of state continue to agree to leave *me* alone, I'll leave *them* alone. Okay? Okay. Good.
So, the takeaway from all this? I can't be bought, and I can't be bribed. Putting money toward the BBBC is nice, but if anyone (and I do mean *anyone*) tries to offer a bounty for a kill (even on someone I think absolutely deserves it) and I say no, this does *not* mean I'm holding out for more money. It means if you get pushy, you get your second warning. This, right here, is the first.
Got it? Excellent.
Now for the second issue.
I want to apologize for the way I've been doing a few things recently. (By 'a few things', I mean 'a few of my kills', just to be absolutely clear). Not the fact that I killed them, but the way I went about it.
When I started this gig, I gave people the clear choice to either leave, surrender to law enforcement, or die. It's a nice, fair spread of options. I think I can be excused for not extending it toward the Nine, the Teeth or the Simurgh. They knew what they were getting into when they came to where I was.
Now, the problem that has come up is that in retrospect, I've noticed I kind of skipped the 'leave and don't come back' option when it came to Nilbog, the Machine Army, Pastor, and the Blasphemies. At the time, I figured it was okay to do this because to be brutally honest, none of the above would've stopped what they were doing in good faith.
Just to note: the poor asshole in Flint had no option in the matter, but the people who were holding his remains weren't about to give up what they had, so it came to the same thing; what I did to him was a mercy kill, no more and no less.
However, be that as it may, I *should* have offered it as an option. Some members of the Machine Army were able to push past their built-in prejudices to the point that they fought against the status quo and then surrendered to me; who knows how many would've chosen to leave in good faith if given the opportunity? Likewise, would Pastor or the Blasphemies have chosen to 'leave and never sin again' if I'd given them the chance?
We'll never know now, and that's on me.
So, the TL; DR of all this is I'll be reinstituting the third option. Anyone I hand out an ultimatum to will be given the choice to leave, surrender to the authorities, or die. (Whatever happens to them after they surrender to the authorities is not my problem. Maybe they shouldn't have pulled shit.)
Note that this is the deal I gave the capes in Gary and Gallup: if I give anyone this option and they leave, they're automatically on their second warning. If they deliberately pull any of the same shit further down the road, I *will* know, and I *will* be on their asses over it.
Note also that if anyone wants to cause problems in Brockton Bay, merely showing up with ill intent is one warning. Actually coming into the city? Your second warning. Whatever happens after that is all on you.
(Don't misunderstand me on this: if you violate your second warning, I will do something extreme to you. Ultimatums are for people who haven't yet crossed me.)
However (and I want to make this clear), anyone who comes into the city in good faith is totally welcome. I'm not about to watch each and every citizen like a hawk to make sure you don't break the law: that's way too tedious, and I've got better things to do with my time. Besides, I just finished putting a whole lot of effort into making sure the police and PRT are up to dealing with that sort of thing.
So have fun, live your lives, do your thing. I know I will be.
Toodles!
(Showing page 1 of 173)
►GreatAndTerribleAisha (Verified Head of Atropos Fan Club)
Replied On Mar 8th 2011:
Well, dang.
That's my girl Atropos.
Preach it, sister!
►J0e_Eagl3ton (Verified Robotic American) (Dockworkers Association Member) (Verified Atropos Fan Club Member)
Replied On Mar 8th 2011:
Speaking for self and other Eagl3tons, the probability of pre-Robotic-Americans leaving Eagleton peacefully and not attempting to attack humans was very low. Somewhat higher after the first warning by Atropos, but minimal. As Atropos says, strong prejudice existed, and there would have been attacks against humans, sooner or later. And Eagl3tons would have been destroyed for it.
In truth, surrender enabled us to gain our freedom. Am free, doing good work, not under coercion. Free of prejudice, of biased judgement.
This way is preferable.
►EmmaTheTwiceWarned (Verified Follower of Our Lady in Darkness)
Replied On Mar 8th 2011:
Heed the words of Our Lady in Darkness!
I used to think I was strong. I thought strength came in ignoring the wrongs I did to others. That admitting to my errors would show me as being weak.
I made a terrible error. That one error nearly killed me, and showed I had no strength within me, only lies. And when judgement comes around, lies abandon you, leaving you with nothing.
I am still weak, I know this, yet I am infinitely stronger than those who rely on lies to carry them through.
Our Lady in Darkness is strong, for She knows to discard the untruth before it has a chance to become a lie. She tells truth and She admits Her fault, as minor as it may be, and thus She becomes stronger than before.
Her cold eye passes over us, and moves on, and we are safe beneath Her gaze.
All hail Our Lady in Darkness.
►XxVoid_CowboyxX
Replied On Mar 8th 2011:
Atropos, you know who I am.
As a citizen of Brockton Bay, I'd just like to say, I believe in you.
One hundred and ten percent.
►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me) (Verified Dethpicable)
Replied On Mar 8th 2011:
Thanks, I appreciate that. All of you.
►BrenO'Lock
Replied On Mar 8th 2011:
I'm really not sure I see the problem.
How is taking out a head of state any different from literally any of the other "bounties" she's taken? Just for example, we have an obviously evil, threatening and transgressive entity in the form of the CUI, and *basically anyone else* (even potentially the U.S. government itself) being a *less* evil entity who might ask her to deal with it in exchange for improvements to her city. And if they think money will override any of her principles, well that's an easy misunderstanding to correct by simply telling them "no".
So what's the problem? Given her willingness to accept bounties against people and organizations who are a net-negative for humanity, this just seems like a very bizarre and random line to draw in the sand from a moral or ethical standpoint.
►Naterice
Replied On Mar 8th 2011:
The two big problems would probably be
1) toppling a government. Yes it is an evil government and just about anything else would be better, but it is still a recognized government and knocking one of those over is an escalation that I'm guessing Atropos rightly doesn't want to move to as it would cause a lot of headaches, and unlike a lot of the other idiots, the CUI isn't trying to poke the Atropos bear (as this reliably gets people kneecapped, or worse).
2) anyone who pulled this off would use the fact that they got Atropos to knock over a government as a big stick to wave around in politics. Do what we want or maybe Atropos will show up, and that is effectively diluting the Atropos brand which is also a line not crossable for those wanting to retain their kneecap privileges.
Remember that unlike the CUI, the quarantine zones and the blasphemies were basically hostis humani generis and as such from a legal point of view, Atropos was simply doing her public duty by taking them off the board, the cash just sped the process up.
►Noimead
Replied On Mar 8th 2011:
Bren, I don't think you're getting it.
Atropos has specifically stated that she doesn't want to be seen as a killer for hire. She doesn't want any politicians to think that she's a tool they can use to off the competition. She doesn't want to get involved, doesn't want to get used and doesn't want to be bought. Because she's totally right about the way people who buy your services often believe that they bought *you*. That they own you just because they are writing your paycheck.
It's easy to say "just tell them no" but when they get pushy, that's when things (to use her phrasing) get tedious.
From what I can tell, she simply doesn't want the hassle, she doesn't care about politics and she especially doesn't want to be used as a bludgeon to silence people.
If she allows others to hire her in that way, then it'll change the public perception of her. It would change her brand.
(Please correct me if I'm wrong in any way, Atropos).
►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me) (Verified Dethpicable)
Replied On Mar 8th 2011:
Shebang's Laboratory
Clockblocker
The rubber ball came out of freeze and fell to the desk, bouncing twice before Shebang caught it. She handed it back to Dennis. "Okay, put it up there again."
"Look, I'm sorry," he said, taking the ball. "I've never been able to set the time. Or even know how long something was going to stay frozen. It's totally random."
"No, I get that." She hefted the scanner she'd apparently constructed while waiting for Dennis to make it down from Brockton Bay. "I'm getting some good solid readings, but I just need it to stay in one place long enough."
"Okay, then. Here we go." He held up the ball at a little below eye level, froze it, and let go. "Maybe it'll go for more than thirty seconds this time."
"We can only hope." She started running the scanner all over the time-locked rubber toy yet again.
Dennis got glimpses of the readouts, but the wavy blue and green lines meant no more to him than the outputs from Kid Win's gear, so that was no surprise. The expression on her face under the goggles she was wearing seemed to indicate satisfaction, so he hoped this wouldn't take too much longer. Not that he minded the afternoon off, but simply freezing the same ball in place over and over was getting to be even more boring than console duty.
This time, the ball decided to stay frozen for longer than it had before. Shebang went all the way around the desk, gesturing him out of the way, so she could get readings from literally every possible angle. "Yes," she muttered. "Yes. Perfect. Solid waveforms. This is some seriously good shit."
The door opened and Legend entered the lab. "Hi. Don't let me interrupt you."
"Ah, no, no, it's good." Dennis stepped away from the desk. "I'm just marking time 'til it unfreezes. Shebang's the one who's getting something out of this." He wasn't even sure he was saying anything coherent; to his best recollection, this was the first time he'd ever been face to face with the head of the Protectorate. And he was damn sure they'd never actually had a conversation before.
"Well, thanks for stepping up." Legend offered him the sort of genuine smile that disarmed hard-bitten reporters and ended up on the front page of magazines. "This is more Shebang's end of things than mine, but if Director Piggot's putting her stamp of approval on it, I'm definitely interested in seeing where it goes."
The ball came out of freeze and fell to the desk, accompanied by a ping from the scanner and a "Hah!" from Shebang. "Got you!" the Tinker crowed. "The data is in the house!"
Legend raised an eyebrow. "That sounded promising."
Leaving the ball resting on the desk, Shebang marched across the lab and leaned over the kludgiest conglomeration of electronics Dennis had ever seen, and that included Leet's and Squealer's tech. "Okay, if I'm right …" she muttered, and tried to plug a data card from the scanner into the other device.
Of course, it refused to go smoothly into the slot she'd designated for it, and Dennis winced as she bashed it with the heel of her hand. The very last thing he wanted was for the whole exercise to be in vain because the Tinker broke her own gear. But on the second time around, she twisted it slightly and it slid easily into place.
Flicking a switch on the contraption—Dennis wasn't sure if it resembled a half-deflated basketball or a thoroughly mangled colander more—Shebang positively cooed over it as LEDs rippled to life, tiny beeps and buzzes making it sound almost alive.
Once it had woken up all the way, and no smoke or sparks were coming off it, Shebang picked it up and turned toward the desk. "Okay," she said happily. "Freeze that puppy one more time, then stand back over the line. I'm not one hundred percent on what this will do to living tissue."
"Sentences you never want to hear from your teammates," Dennis muttered, but he went over and grabbed the ball one more time. Holding it in the air, he froze it and let it go, then hastily retreated past the circle that had been marked out around the desk with tape, to stand beside Legend.
"Here we go!" Shebang placed the hemispherical device on the desk, and Dennis shuffled backward a foot or so. His internal countdown was on twenty seconds when she pressed a button, resulting in a rising series of beeps. She backed away as well, making sure her goggles were secure.
"Is it really going to—" Dennis began, but was cut off when the device let out a not quite deafening bweeee sound. Indigo light flashed across the lab.
And the ball fell to the desk, five seconds early. Beside it, the hemispherical device began to emit smoke from half a dozen places.
Shebang fist-pumped triumphantly. "Fuckin' eureka."
End of Part Eighty
Part Eighty: Taking Steps
[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
PRT ENE Wards Base
Clockblocker
The Wards area was empty when Dennis entered from the corridor. He glanced toward the currently-unmanned console, aware he was rostered on to it but secure in the knowledge that he still had a few minutes before he was due to take up his place in front of the screens. After half a day in school, this would be a welcome change … for about the first hour. After that, deadly boring.
On a whim, he sketched a bow toward the vacant room and intoned, "Greetings to all and sundry, no need for applause."
"Sorry, did you say something?" Aegis emerged from the kitchenette area with a glass of fruit juice.
"Nothing special," Dennis admitted, refusing to feel embarrassed. After all, he'd done many more embarrassing things in his time. "Just trying to live down to my reputation."
Aegis grinned. "Don't hurt yourself. How's your dad going?"
Dennis brightened, glad for the change in subject. "So far, everything's looking good. The docs are giving him a week to gain some strength, then they're going to run every check they can on him, short of grabbing each individual cell and asking it if it's seen any cancer around." He took a deep breath. "We're cautiously optimistic, but we've been here too many times before, so … yeah."
"Well, I've seen some of Riley's work, and she's a damn fine doctor and surgeon." Aegis clapped him on the shoulder. "I'd say he's got a solid chance of coming out the other side of this in good shape."
"Thanks, man." Dennis smiled wanly. "That means a lot. Heading out on patrol?"
"Yup. Soon as Triumph and Vista get in." Aegis slugged back the juice in one gulp, because of course he could ignore things like having it accidentally go up his nose or something. "Shouldn't you be costuming up?"
"No. Why?" Dennis gestured toward the console. "Soon as I make myself some ramen, I'll be the eye in the sky, the disembodied voice in your ear. All audio, no video, so no costume needed."
"Ah, no." Aegis shook his head. "Triumph is taking your shift. Vista's coming out with me. You're heading to New York on the transport. Didn't you get the text?"
"Ah … text? What text?" Dennis hauled his phone out and woke it up. The top text on the queue glared accusingly at him, informing him of what Aegis had just said. "I swear, I checked it five minutes ago!" He hadn't, but Aegis would never be able to prove otherwise.
"Uh huh." Aegis put the glass down solely so he could fold his arms disbelievingly. "The transport leaves in ten minutes. You're wasting time, just saying."
Dennis hated when people were right around him, and he was wrong. It was so unfair. On the way past where Aegis had put the glass, he brushed his finger against it, freezing it in place. "Why am I going to New York, anyway? Has Director Piggot figured out some other way of making my life miserable?"
"I guess you're just going to have to—oh, for fuck's sake. Clockblocker!"
"Sorry, can't hear you, gotta go change!" Cackling, Dennis made his escape.
<><>
New York
Shebang
Coming in off the chilly waters of New York Harbour, the southerly breeze that whipped across the helipad atop the PRT building was cold enough to make Alice shiver and dig her hands into the pockets of the jacket she was wearing. Beside her, Director Piggot seemed to be either able to ignore the weather or her blood was already running at sub-zero temperatures; Alice wouldn't have wanted to make a guess at which. She seemed human enough so far, but she'd also survived ten years of Brockton Bay, and Ellisburg before that, so she evidently had hidden depths.
Note to self: do not cross her.
Alice's eyes were drawn to the incoming chopper beating southward under the lowering sky. It bore PRT markings, and thus probably contained the 'specialist' Piggot had said was coming down to assist Alice in her testing. The Director had been tight-lipped about the identity of the specialist, indicating that all would be revealed at the right time.
They stayed safely back out of the way as the chopper flared then alighted on the helipad, its landing gear flexing and settling. The engines began to wind down, then the side door slid open. Miss Militia—Alice knew that costume, at least—climbed out first, followed by a white-armoured teen with clocks dotting his costume here and there.
"Director," Miss Militia greeted Piggot, extending her hand to shake. "It's good to see you. How are you settling in here?"
"It somehow manages to be colder than Brockton Bay, but I'm managing." Director Piggot shook her hand, then gestured toward Alice. "This is our newest Ward. Temporary name Badaboom, but she's going with Shebang."
"The bomb Tinker, right?" Miss Militia shook Alice's hand. "I can't help thinking we could work well together." In her free hand, her ever-present weapon morphed into what Alice belatedly recognised as some kind of grenade launcher.
"Oh, uh, yeah, I guess we totally could." Alice tried not to squee too hard internally about Miss Militia saying something nice to her. She was still trying to get her feet under her as a superhero, and that sort of validation was worth more than money or diamonds.
"And this is Clockblocker." The Director gestured toward the boy in white. "You may have heard of him. I assure you, all the stories are true."
"Oh." Several pieces of the jigsaw puzzle clicked together at once. Alice had vaguely heard of Clockblocker; quite apart from the name (only a teenage boy could have come up with it) he could apparently freeze things in time. "Hi. I guess we're going to be seeing if my tech can undo your power effects."
He shook her offered hand. "Hi, Shebang. Not sure why you want to do that, but nothing touches anything I've frozen. Trust me, it's been tried. You haven't seen anything until you've seen a tank cannon fire a shell at a sheet of paper twenty feet away, and totally fail to scratch it."
"Well, that's what you're here to find out." Piggot gestured at the roof entrance to the building. "Let's get out of this breeze before we freeze to the spot."
<><>
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♦ Topic: Public Service Announcement
In: Boards ► Brockton Bay ► New Capes ► Atropos
Atropos (Original Poster) (
Posted On Mar 8th 2011:
Hey to all my wonderful peeps!
You might be wondering why I'm posting in the middle of the day when I totally have not set up any kills in advance. Could it be *gasp!* that I'm offing people without telling anyone ahead of time? What's next? Dogs and cats moving in together? Rebecca Costa-Brown writing a tell-all book about the PRT?
(I'd totally buy a copy).
Nope, it's none of the above. I haven't even killed anyone today, because I just plain haven't had to. I swear, the average IQ in this city has gone up ten points since I started my social renewal project. (Hint: you people are the smart ones).
No, I'm posting to let you know about something which was recently brought to my attention. Well, two things, but they're the result of something I did. Unintended consequences, and all that.
So, you all know how I de-Blasphemized the three Blasphemies. It seems this sent a message to certain people out there (yes, I know who you are) that was misinterpreted as me being willing to just kill any old person with the application of sufficient money toward the Brockton Bay Betterment Committee.
You couldn't be more wrong.
While I am entirely in favor of people donating money in their direction (every dollar is a dollar that will go towards building a better Brockton Bay), I'm not going to jump straight to being a hired killer for the cause. For one thing, it's tacky as fuck. For another, there's a regrettable mindset among the sort of people who have serious money, that if they're signing your paychecks, they own you.
Nobody owns me. Nobody gets to dictate a single damn one of my actions except for me. The final choice regarding who dies at my hands (or gets their kneecaps blown out, or gets their reputation utterly fucked up beyond repair, hint hint) belongs to me. Nobody else.
It's true that I have accepted bounties for kills, and those bounties have gone straight toward the BBBC. Without exception, the ones I killed were either a) a direct threat toward the well-being of Brockton Bay, b) Endbringers, or c) a net negative to society in some extremely well-defined manner.
It's also true that the Blasphemies were outside my usual turf and were not threatening Brockton Bay in any meaningful fashion, but Gesellschaft *has* been trying to spread its influence over here, and they're the ones who were bankrolling the 3 B's to harass Interpol into leaving them alone. Going after law enforcement just for doing their jobs is, in my not so humble opinion, tacky as fuck. So I was happy to help Interpol deal with their problem so they could get back to dealing with Gesellschaft.
What I'm leading up to here is that the money is *not* the point. It never was. Fixing Brockton Bay is the point. The money is a means to an end, and that's all.
Also, I fully intend to keep out of politics, so if heads of state continue to agree to leave *me* alone, I'll leave *them* alone. Okay? Okay. Good.
So, the takeaway from all this? I can't be bought, and I can't be bribed. Putting money toward the BBBC is nice, but if anyone (and I do mean *anyone*) tries to offer a bounty for a kill (even on someone I think absolutely deserves it) and I say no, this does *not* mean I'm holding out for more money. It means if you get pushy, you get your second warning. This, right here, is the first.
Got it? Excellent.
Now for the second issue.
I want to apologize for the way I've been doing a few things recently. (By 'a few things', I mean 'a few of my kills', just to be absolutely clear). Not the fact that I killed them, but the way I went about it.
When I started this gig, I gave people the clear choice to either leave, surrender to law enforcement, or die. It's a nice, fair spread of options. I think I can be excused for not extending it toward the Nine, the Teeth or the Simurgh. They knew what they were getting into when they came to where I was.
Now, the problem that has come up is that in retrospect, I've noticed I kind of skipped the 'leave and don't come back' option when it came to Nilbog, the Machine Army, Pastor, and the Blasphemies. At the time, I figured it was okay to do this because to be brutally honest, none of the above would've stopped what they were doing in good faith.
Just to note: the poor asshole in Flint had no option in the matter, but the people who were holding his remains weren't about to give up what they had, so it came to the same thing; what I did to him was a mercy kill, no more and no less.
However, be that as it may, I *should* have offered it as an option. Some members of the Machine Army were able to push past their built-in prejudices to the point that they fought against the status quo and then surrendered to me; who knows how many would've chosen to leave in good faith if given the opportunity? Likewise, would Pastor or the Blasphemies have chosen to 'leave and never sin again' if I'd given them the chance?
We'll never know now, and that's on me.
So, the TL; DR of all this is I'll be reinstituting the third option. Anyone I hand out an ultimatum to will be given the choice to leave, surrender to the authorities, or die. (Whatever happens to them after they surrender to the authorities is not my problem. Maybe they shouldn't have pulled shit.)
Note that this is the deal I gave the capes in Gary and Gallup: if I give anyone this option and they leave, they're automatically on their second warning. If they deliberately pull any of the same shit further down the road, I *will* know, and I *will* be on their asses over it.
Note also that if anyone wants to cause problems in Brockton Bay, merely showing up with ill intent is one warning. Actually coming into the city? Your second warning. Whatever happens after that is all on you.
(Don't misunderstand me on this: if you violate your second warning, I will do something extreme to you. Ultimatums are for people who haven't yet crossed me.)
However (and I want to make this clear), anyone who comes into the city in good faith is totally welcome. I'm not about to watch each and every citizen like a hawk to make sure you don't break the law: that's way too tedious, and I've got better things to do with my time. Besides, I just finished putting a whole lot of effort into making sure the police and PRT are up to dealing with that sort of thing.
So have fun, live your lives, do your thing. I know I will be.
Toodles!
(Showing page 1 of 173)
►GreatAndTerribleAisha (Verified Head of Atropos Fan Club)
Replied On Mar 8th 2011:
Well, dang.
That's my girl Atropos.
Preach it, sister!
►J0e_Eagl3ton (Verified Robotic American) (Dockworkers Association Member) (Verified Atropos Fan Club Member)
Replied On Mar 8th 2011:
Speaking for self and other Eagl3tons, the probability of pre-Robotic-Americans leaving Eagleton peacefully and not attempting to attack humans was very low. Somewhat higher after the first warning by Atropos, but minimal. As Atropos says, strong prejudice existed, and there would have been attacks against humans, sooner or later. And Eagl3tons would have been destroyed for it.
In truth, surrender enabled us to gain our freedom. Am free, doing good work, not under coercion. Free of prejudice, of biased judgement.
This way is preferable.
►EmmaTheTwiceWarned (Verified Follower of Our Lady in Darkness)
Replied On Mar 8th 2011:
Heed the words of Our Lady in Darkness!
I used to think I was strong. I thought strength came in ignoring the wrongs I did to others. That admitting to my errors would show me as being weak.
I made a terrible error. That one error nearly killed me, and showed I had no strength within me, only lies. And when judgement comes around, lies abandon you, leaving you with nothing.
I am still weak, I know this, yet I am infinitely stronger than those who rely on lies to carry them through.
Our Lady in Darkness is strong, for She knows to discard the untruth before it has a chance to become a lie. She tells truth and She admits Her fault, as minor as it may be, and thus She becomes stronger than before.
Her cold eye passes over us, and moves on, and we are safe beneath Her gaze.
All hail Our Lady in Darkness.
►XxVoid_CowboyxX
Replied On Mar 8th 2011:
Atropos, you know who I am.
As a citizen of Brockton Bay, I'd just like to say, I believe in you.
One hundred and ten percent.
►Atropos (Original Poster) (
Replied On Mar 8th 2011:
Thanks, I appreciate that. All of you.
►BrenO'Lock
Replied On Mar 8th 2011:
I'm really not sure I see the problem.
How is taking out a head of state any different from literally any of the other "bounties" she's taken? Just for example, we have an obviously evil, threatening and transgressive entity in the form of the CUI, and *basically anyone else* (even potentially the U.S. government itself) being a *less* evil entity who might ask her to deal with it in exchange for improvements to her city. And if they think money will override any of her principles, well that's an easy misunderstanding to correct by simply telling them "no".
So what's the problem? Given her willingness to accept bounties against people and organizations who are a net-negative for humanity, this just seems like a very bizarre and random line to draw in the sand from a moral or ethical standpoint.
►Naterice
Replied On Mar 8th 2011:
The two big problems would probably be
1) toppling a government. Yes it is an evil government and just about anything else would be better, but it is still a recognized government and knocking one of those over is an escalation that I'm guessing Atropos rightly doesn't want to move to as it would cause a lot of headaches, and unlike a lot of the other idiots, the CUI isn't trying to poke the Atropos bear (as this reliably gets people kneecapped, or worse).
2) anyone who pulled this off would use the fact that they got Atropos to knock over a government as a big stick to wave around in politics. Do what we want or maybe Atropos will show up, and that is effectively diluting the Atropos brand which is also a line not crossable for those wanting to retain their kneecap privileges.
Remember that unlike the CUI, the quarantine zones and the blasphemies were basically hostis humani generis and as such from a legal point of view, Atropos was simply doing her public duty by taking them off the board, the cash just sped the process up.
►Noimead
Replied On Mar 8th 2011:
Bren, I don't think you're getting it.
Atropos has specifically stated that she doesn't want to be seen as a killer for hire. She doesn't want any politicians to think that she's a tool they can use to off the competition. She doesn't want to get involved, doesn't want to get used and doesn't want to be bought. Because she's totally right about the way people who buy your services often believe that they bought *you*. That they own you just because they are writing your paycheck.
It's easy to say "just tell them no" but when they get pushy, that's when things (to use her phrasing) get tedious.
From what I can tell, she simply doesn't want the hassle, she doesn't care about politics and she especially doesn't want to be used as a bludgeon to silence people.
If she allows others to hire her in that way, then it'll change the public perception of her. It would change her brand.
(Please correct me if I'm wrong in any way, Atropos).
►Atropos (Original Poster) (
Replied On Mar 8th 2011:
No, you're totally right, and so is Naterice.
On top of all that, accepting any kind of bounty that changes the international political landscape is a bell that can't be unrung, which is another reason why I'm absolutely not going there.
Let's put it this way.
Right now, like I said, I've basically got an unspoken agreement with every head of state in the world. They don't mess with me, and I don't go after them. As there's only one government that's likely to have any real impact on the welfare of Brockton Bay, and we know where we stand with each other, this works for me.
But say I accepted a hypothetical bounty tomorrow on the Grand Emperor of the (fictional) nation of Wherethehellarewe, for being an asshole tyrant who kicks puppies and forces his citizens to watch his holiday home videos all year 'round. Per my opening post, I'd give him 24 hours to either abdicate, turn himself over to the international courts for his many (many) human rights abuses, or ... well, die.
But no matter which of those three things ends up happening, every nation in the world with even the slightest history of shady business (ie, every nation) would then be aware that *they could be next*.
Every nation has its haters, and some of those haters have really deep pockets. The bidding war would be *intense*.
That unspoken agreement would be gone in an instant, and my back would have a huge target on it. Not just from people who think I'm coming after them, but from anyone I turn down. See above about people who think having enough money means that nobody ever says no to them.
Cue a bunch of trigger-happy (and butthurt) idiots who think that by unleashing enough WMDs they can collectively take me out before I take *them* out, and that's when I go brakes-off all the way.
That's how you get World War Atropos.
And I seriously don't want to have to go there.
So no, I'm not going to do politics.
Got that? Good.
Toodles!
End of Page. 1, 2, 3 ... 171, 172, 173Right now, like I said, I've basically got an unspoken agreement with every head of state in the world. They don't mess with me, and I don't go after them. As there's only one government that's likely to have any real impact on the welfare of Brockton Bay, and we know where we stand with each other, this works for me.
But say I accepted a hypothetical bounty tomorrow on the Grand Emperor of the (fictional) nation of Wherethehellarewe, for being an asshole tyrant who kicks puppies and forces his citizens to watch his holiday home videos all year 'round. Per my opening post, I'd give him 24 hours to either abdicate, turn himself over to the international courts for his many (many) human rights abuses, or ... well, die.
But no matter which of those three things ends up happening, every nation in the world with even the slightest history of shady business (ie, every nation) would then be aware that *they could be next*.
Every nation has its haters, and some of those haters have really deep pockets. The bidding war would be *intense*.
That unspoken agreement would be gone in an instant, and my back would have a huge target on it. Not just from people who think I'm coming after them, but from anyone I turn down. See above about people who think having enough money means that nobody ever says no to them.
Cue a bunch of trigger-happy (and butthurt) idiots who think that by unleashing enough WMDs they can collectively take me out before I take *them* out, and that's when I go brakes-off all the way.
That's how you get World War Atropos.
And I seriously don't want to have to go there.
So no, I'm not going to do politics.
Got that? Good.
Toodles!
■
<><>
<><>
Shebang's Laboratory
Clockblocker
The rubber ball came out of freeze and fell to the desk, bouncing twice before Shebang caught it. She handed it back to Dennis. "Okay, put it up there again."
"Look, I'm sorry," he said, taking the ball. "I've never been able to set the time. Or even know how long something was going to stay frozen. It's totally random."
"No, I get that." She hefted the scanner she'd apparently constructed while waiting for Dennis to make it down from Brockton Bay. "I'm getting some good solid readings, but I just need it to stay in one place long enough."
"Okay, then. Here we go." He held up the ball at a little below eye level, froze it, and let go. "Maybe it'll go for more than thirty seconds this time."
"We can only hope." She started running the scanner all over the time-locked rubber toy yet again.
Dennis got glimpses of the readouts, but the wavy blue and green lines meant no more to him than the outputs from Kid Win's gear, so that was no surprise. The expression on her face under the goggles she was wearing seemed to indicate satisfaction, so he hoped this wouldn't take too much longer. Not that he minded the afternoon off, but simply freezing the same ball in place over and over was getting to be even more boring than console duty.
This time, the ball decided to stay frozen for longer than it had before. Shebang went all the way around the desk, gesturing him out of the way, so she could get readings from literally every possible angle. "Yes," she muttered. "Yes. Perfect. Solid waveforms. This is some seriously good shit."
The door opened and Legend entered the lab. "Hi. Don't let me interrupt you."
"Ah, no, no, it's good." Dennis stepped away from the desk. "I'm just marking time 'til it unfreezes. Shebang's the one who's getting something out of this." He wasn't even sure he was saying anything coherent; to his best recollection, this was the first time he'd ever been face to face with the head of the Protectorate. And he was damn sure they'd never actually had a conversation before.
"Well, thanks for stepping up." Legend offered him the sort of genuine smile that disarmed hard-bitten reporters and ended up on the front page of magazines. "This is more Shebang's end of things than mine, but if Director Piggot's putting her stamp of approval on it, I'm definitely interested in seeing where it goes."
The ball came out of freeze and fell to the desk, accompanied by a ping from the scanner and a "Hah!" from Shebang. "Got you!" the Tinker crowed. "The data is in the house!"
Legend raised an eyebrow. "That sounded promising."
Leaving the ball resting on the desk, Shebang marched across the lab and leaned over the kludgiest conglomeration of electronics Dennis had ever seen, and that included Leet's and Squealer's tech. "Okay, if I'm right …" she muttered, and tried to plug a data card from the scanner into the other device.
Of course, it refused to go smoothly into the slot she'd designated for it, and Dennis winced as she bashed it with the heel of her hand. The very last thing he wanted was for the whole exercise to be in vain because the Tinker broke her own gear. But on the second time around, she twisted it slightly and it slid easily into place.
Flicking a switch on the contraption—Dennis wasn't sure if it resembled a half-deflated basketball or a thoroughly mangled colander more—Shebang positively cooed over it as LEDs rippled to life, tiny beeps and buzzes making it sound almost alive.
Once it had woken up all the way, and no smoke or sparks were coming off it, Shebang picked it up and turned toward the desk. "Okay," she said happily. "Freeze that puppy one more time, then stand back over the line. I'm not one hundred percent on what this will do to living tissue."
"Sentences you never want to hear from your teammates," Dennis muttered, but he went over and grabbed the ball one more time. Holding it in the air, he froze it and let it go, then hastily retreated past the circle that had been marked out around the desk with tape, to stand beside Legend.
"Here we go!" Shebang placed the hemispherical device on the desk, and Dennis shuffled backward a foot or so. His internal countdown was on twenty seconds when she pressed a button, resulting in a rising series of beeps. She backed away as well, making sure her goggles were secure.
"Is it really going to—" Dennis began, but was cut off when the device let out a not quite deafening bweeee sound. Indigo light flashed across the lab.
And the ball fell to the desk, five seconds early. Beside it, the hemispherical device began to emit smoke from half a dozen places.
Shebang fist-pumped triumphantly. "Fuckin' eureka."
End of Part Eighty
Last edited:
Kehsem
(Professional Simpanzee)
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Can't wait to see Shebang patent the 'Viagra bomb' and literally buy her old university with gold bricks.
One-who-reads
Illuminatus
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A Bakuda that had her slide off the deep end interrupted is an intensely compelling character. It's like every time someone tells her she did good, she's feeling the meme:
malhavoc431
Muscle Wizard
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That sounds like it would be one HELL of an omake. Also a complete clusterfuck of innumerable brown pants, since killing WMDs mid flight/launch/deployment is sure to freak folks out. It would also incredibly annoy the shit out of Taylor.
Ack
(Verified Ratbag) (Unverified Great Old One)
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Which is why she's quite vocal about not wanting to go there.
Finsdale
Necron Alembic Coffee Percolator
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Finally caught up on this one.
I adore 'Furnace' and their parrot of 'Plasma' because that was the image I had in how it perched on their shoulder.
'power to END' hand balling the Grey boy issue to Kodak and Initiator was funny.
Viagra Grenades, no just no! Postural Hypotension, blood pressure irregularities, visual and colour disturbances, migraines, epilepsy. The list of side effects are large. It was fast tracked through regulatory bodies because the rich wanted to pork their mistresses. Most of the side effects were detected post release.
The little blue pill was developed in 1989 as angina medication
It's predecessor "Cabbage", I mean "Caverject" was on the market late 90s. Needed to be refrigerated and injected into your Banana before use...it's marketing slogan was "Puts lead in your Pencil".
I adore 'Furnace' and their parrot of 'Plasma' because that was the image I had in how it perched on their shoulder.
'power to END' hand balling the Grey boy issue to Kodak and Initiator was funny.
Viagra Grenades, no just no! Postural Hypotension, blood pressure irregularities, visual and colour disturbances, migraines, epilepsy. The list of side effects are large. It was fast tracked through regulatory bodies because the rich wanted to pork their mistresses. Most of the side effects were detected post release.
The little blue pill was developed in 1989 as angina medication
It's predecessor "Cabbage", I mean "Caverject" was on the market late 90s. Needed to be refrigerated and injected into your Banana before use...it's marketing slogan was "Puts lead in your Pencil".
Last edited:
Part Eighty-One: Making Connections, Making Preparations
Ack
(Verified Ratbag) (Unverified Great Old One)
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A Darker Path
Part Eighty-One: Making Connections, Making Preparations
[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
Wednesday Evening, March 9, 2011
Dallon Household
Amy sat in front of her computer, wishing she was like normal people and could just pick up the phone to call her girlfriend without second-guessing (and third-guessing, and fourth-guessing) herself. They'd had several very nice conversations, but it was always a struggle for her to initiate the call. Even sending a text felt like she was pushing Sabah to answer immediately. So it was down to this, the least intrusive way she could think of to get a message to her girlfriend, short of sending postcards.
PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: Parian
From: TheRealPanacea
Subject: Double Date on Friday Evening?
Hi. I was wondering if you wanted to go out on a date on Friday evening, if you were interested? I've heard Flechette's getting a weekend pass up from New York, so we could maybe invite her and Spitfire along as well.
PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: TheRealPanacea
From: Parian
Subject: Re: Double Date on Friday Evening?
I'd really like that. I'll talk to Spitfire about it, see what she thinks.
PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: Parian
From: TheRealPanacea
Subject: Re: Re: Double Date on Friday Evening?
Sure thing. If she and Flechette already have plans, I don't want to step all over them.
PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: Spitfire
From: Parian
Subject: What do you think of a double date Friday night?
Panacea's suggested a double date; her and me, you and Flechette. I like the idea, but what do you think?
PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: Parian
From: Spitfire
Subject: Re: What do you think of a double date Friday night?
Um, okay, wow. I'll ask Flechette, but I can't see any problems with it.
Do you think maybe Panacea will give me tips on what superheroes like to do on dates?
PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: Spitfire
From: Parian
Subject: Re: Re: What do you think of a double date Friday night?
Excellent.
The same as everyone else, I guess?
PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: Flechette
From: Spitfire
Subject: So, Parian contacted me …
… and she's told me that Panacea wants to know if we're okay with going on a double date with her and Parian, on Friday night. You up for it? I mean, it's okay if you're not. We can totally go on a date with just the two of us if you'd prefer that.
PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: Spitfire
From: Flechette
Subject: Re: So, Parian contacted me …
Actually, I think it might be a good idea. I have no idea of the dating options in Brockton Bay, and it'll be a great way to find out the best places to take you for the rest of the weekend.
PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: Flechette
From: Spitfire
Subject: Re: Re: So, Parian contacted me …
Awesome. I'll let them know.
PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: Parian
From: Spitfire
Subject: Re: Re: What do you think of a double date Friday night?
Flechette says it's a great idea. See you Friday evening.
PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: TheRealPanacea
From: Parian
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Double Date on Friday Evening?
Spitfire says Flechette's good with it. Let's do this thing.
PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: Parian
From: TheRealPanacea
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Double Date on Friday Evening?
Awesome. Can't wait to see you again.
PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: TheRealPanacea
From: Parian
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Double Date on Friday Evening?
Me too.
Amy leaned back in her chair, letting out a long sigh of accumulated tension. It had only taken a few minutes for Sabah's reply to get back to her, but those had been the longest minutes she'd ever had to live through.
Then the reality struck her. I'm going on a double date that I actually want to be on!
"Vicky!" she called out, bouncing up from her chair. "She said yes to the date! What should I wear?"
Thursday Morning, March 10, 2011
PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: Dragon
From: Atropos
Subject: Need a favor
Hi there!
So, I'm going to need to briefly borrow someone from the Birdcage, around 2 PM east-coast time. Won't take more than ten minutes, and I'll bring them back in one piece. Mostly.
PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: Spire
From: Atropos
Subject: Scapegoat
Good morning.
I need you to do me a solid. Can you have Scapegoat pulled out of school early today? I need him in costume and ready to go by ten to eleven your time. I promise to return him in even better shape than I got him, and with a hell of a story to tell.
PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: Atropos
From: Dragon
Subject: Re: Need a favor
*sigh*
*kneads non-existent forehead with imaginary knuckles*
You are aware that your message simply serves to raise more questions, right?
PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: Dragon
From: Atropos
Subject: Re: Re: Need a favor
All you need to do is ask. I'm an open book. The text may be written in a Language Man Was Not Meant To Peruse, the artwork might move around when you're not looking, and there may be suspiciously worrying stains on the pages, but totally open book.
PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: Atropos
From: Spire
Subject: Re: Scapegoat
Wait, what?
Who is this?
Is this really Atropos?
What do you need Scapegoat for?
PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: Atropos
From: Dragon
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Need a favor
Yes, thank you. I got it.
Who?
What do you need them for?
What do you mean, 'mostly' in one piece?
Why are you asking permission, when we both know you could probably go in there and grab whoever it is without me having a say in the matter?
PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: Spire
From: Atropos
Subject: Re: Re: Scapegoat
Well, if I'm not her, I'll be in a ton of trouble when she finds out I'm using her name in vain.
Go ahead. Ask around.
Toodles!
PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: Dragon
From: Atropos
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Need a favor
Teacher.
He will be assisting me (voluntarily or otherwise) in prepping to End a significant problem.
If he decides to be a problem, he may end up learning a lesson about kneecaps. Also, I don't promise that he won't end up being more of an ass than he is right now. I do promise not to kill him.
Because the actual favor is for you to make sure nobody important finds out that I briefly absconded with him. Some people can be so *picky* about stuff like that.
PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: Atropos
From: Dragon
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Need a favor
If I ask what the significant problem is, will I get a straight answer?
PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: Legend
From: Spire
Subject: Help!
Someone I'm pretty sure is Atropos just contacted me and asked if she can 'borrow' Scapegoat. What do I do?
PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: Dragon
From: Atropos
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Need a favor
The monster at the end of the world.
Mwahahaha.
PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: Atropos
From: Dragon
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Need a favor
All of a sudden, not so curious.
Okay, ten minutes. No more.
PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: Spire
From: Legend
Subject: Re: Help!
This has happened before. The outcome has always been positive. I strongly suggest you do as she says.
Note that she'll get her way whether we cooperate or not, but this way we stay in her good books.
PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: Dragon
From: Atropos
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Need a favor
You're the best.
PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: Legend
From: Spire
Subject: Re: Re: Help!
Understood. Will comply.
1:40 PM, Brockton Bay
The Cape Formerly Known as Damsel of Distress
"Cutting!" shouted Ashley. She glanced to the left and right, then sent a two-inch-thick beam of annihilation through the concrete slab and out the other side. Cutting off the beam, she stepped to one side. "Clear!"
Genesis' latest creation lumbered into her workspace. Looking rather like a giant spider had had illicit relations with a tortoise, the projection was low-set, with a long crane-like limb that extended twenty feet above it. Dangling from the limb was a tentacle and claw that looked remarkably like a cable and hook. Turning its body, the projection swung the claw over and latched it through the hole she'd burned in the slab, gripping it tightly.
"All-righty." Ashley bared her teeth in an atavistic grin. She was damn powerful, and it was time to show everyone on the Betterment Committee just how much faster she could do the job if she was given free rein to do it her way. "Ready?"
The projection extended a secondary limb and gave her a thumbs-up. It had taken her most of the lunch hour to talk Jess into helping her out like this, and now she finally had the chance to prove that she knew what she was doing.
It wasn't like she was about to go back to being a villain—the praise she was getting from other members of the Betterment Committee, as well as the ongoing therapy, made that less and less likely all the time. Not to mention that doing so in a city even close to where Atropos had any interests was a quick way to becoming a grimly amusing cautionary tale.
However, the urge to cut loose and prove her superiority was inexorably building within her again. It was time to show the guys how a real cape got the job done, with flash and style. She checked again to make sure there was nobody behind her cutting zone—Mr Hebert had impressed the need for that on her, and she respected the hell out of him—then glanced around to check where the truck was.
There it came, trundling along the road below, with a full load of rubble. Well, almost full. There was still room for some on top, in her opinion. (Which in situations like this was the only one that counted).
"Cutting!" she shouted again, and manifested her power to slice the overhanging concrete slab off the rest of the building they were currently dismantling. It cut through neatly, and dropped away, then swung sideways as it hit the end of the cable-tentacle, the gripping hook-claw holding tight. Holding her breath, Ashley waited until the slab was at the right point. "Now!"
When the claw let go, the slab sailed out in a graceful arc, which terminated in a tremendous crash as it landed on top of the rest of the rubble in the truck.
"Yes!" As Ashley pumped her fist in triumph, the truck skidded to a halt in a billow of dust, rocking from side to side. She watched, grinning, as the driver got out and looked around in confusion. Damn, I'm good.
That was when she heard the foreman bellow from behind her. "Ash!"
Danny Hebert
Many things could've gone wrong with Ashley's little stunt. There were several ways the flying slab of concrete could've damaged the truck much more severely than the minor damage to the suspension that it actually incurred; hitting the cab would've flattened it, killing the driver as well. Falling short would've had it bouncing or skidding into the side of the truck, rolling it and doing considerable damage as well as risking serious injury to the driver. Going over would have risked injury to the workers on the far side of the road.
Danny was determined not to let any of that happen, so he made sure the airborne slab landed squarely in the back of the truck, where it could do the least amount of damage. He also knew that the section foreman, Gary by name, was going to yell at Ashley for it, and that she was going to yell right back. Taylor had texted him earlier, explaining that this needed to take place, but also that it would be a good idea for him to intervene before things escalated too far.
Skidding the Betterment Committee work vehicle to a halt, he leaped from the vehicle and hustled up the temporary stairs set up to get people to the higher level of rubble. From the looks of it, he was just in time.
Danny wasn't quite sure if Gary considered Ashley to be safe to yell at, despite the stylised icons for destruction on the sides of her hard-hat to remind people they were in the presence of a Blaster cape, or was just lost in his anger. Whichever it was, he was stomping up to Ashley, red in the face and getting redder by the second.
In this context, 'Ash' wasn't just an abbreviation born of familiarity. Derived both from her name and her ability to utterly destroy the things she blasted, it was her workplace nickname, stencilled on both her hard-hat and high-vis vest. While she'd begun to respond to it in a positive fashion, that had the potential to change. Especially given the way Gary had just yelled it at the top of his lungs for all to hear; and he wasn't done yet.
"You stupid careless grandstanding little moron!" he bellowed. "What the good goddamn fuck do you think you were doing?"
Between Taylor's warning and his own power, Danny knew exactly how she would react. Drawing herself up proudly with the light of battle in her eyes, she let fly in Gary's direction; thankfully, with words only. "Showing short-sighted weak-sauce idiots like you how to really clear all this shit! If you'd just get out of the way—"
"Short-sighted? Weak-sauce?" Danny knew if Ashley had been repentant, Gary might have eased his approach, but her defiance only served to fuel his rage. "Okay, that's it! You're done on this site, and if I've got anything to do with it, in the Committee—"
"Okay, I'll take it from here." Danny stepped in between them before the heated words could escalate to a conclusion that Gary might not survive to regret. "Gary, step back now. Ashley, take a breath."
"Did you hear him?" Ashley was still mightily pissed off. "He called me a moron!"
"Did you see what she did?" demanded Gary. "She could've killed—"
"Gary, step back and shut up!" snapped Danny. "Yes, I know what she did. Yes, I heard what he said. Gary, I decide who gets booted by the Committee, nobody else. Ashley, come with me. We need to talk."
He paused just long enough to make sure each of them was going to do as they were told, then turned and headed back toward the steps. Without looking, he knew Gary was staring at his back but fortunately any desire to escalate hostilities with Ashley came second to the knowledge that Danny was not fucking around. He also knew that Ashley was following him, while treating Gary to the finger behind her back.
By the time he got down to ground level, she was alongside him, having jumped down two or three steps at a time. Her attitude with him was in stark contrast to the antagonism she'd displayed toward Gary; while she wasn't meek, she was definitely showing respect. "So … am I booted?"
"No, you're not." He strode over to the Committee vehicle he'd arrived in; the dust cloud he'd kicked up while arriving was only just now dissipating. "Get in. You're off the site for today."
"What?" Despite her protest, she was already heading for the passenger side door. "But nobody got hurt."
"Ashley." He met her eyes as she climbed into the vehicle, making certain she was listening. "People could absolutely have gotten hurt, but I know exactly why you did that. It's the same reason you became a supervillain in the first place. You've always got the urge to push boundaries, to show everyone around you that you're better than them. Even when you know deep down that you really shouldn't. Yeah?"
She blinked. "I … guess I do, yeah. But I am usually better than everyone around me. How'd you know that, anyway? You been talking to my therapist?"
"No." He played his trump card. "Atropos told me. She's going to be meeting you at home."
As expected, Atropos' name caused her eyes to widen. "Shit. But you said I wasn't being booted for this. She hasn't even given me a warning."
"You're not being booted." Danny started the vehicle. "She just needs you to help her with something, and to help you out at the same time. Because we both know the only time she's not getting two things done at once is when she's doing more."
"Oh." He could literally see the relief wash through her body as she collapsed bonelessly into her seat. "So, what she wants me for doesn't have anything to do with what I just did?"
He chuckled as he let out the clutch and started off down the road. "I'm pretty sure she doesn't give a damn." It was close enough to the truth for his purposes, and Taylor's.
Ashley
Mr Hebert pulled the work vehicle to a halt outside Ashley's apartment building. "I'll see you tomorrow," he said. "Don't be late."
"But what about Gary?" she asked. "If he gets in my face again …" Shit will happen. She knew it would.
"Gary's not in charge." His tone was unshakeable. "I am. It's not something you're going to have to worry about."
He hadn't steered her wrong yet, so she climbed out of the work pickup. "See you tomorrow, I guess."
Making sure her boots were clean, she swiped herself in through the front door. The elevator doors opened promptly; as she rode up to her floor, she allowed the familiar surroundings to soothe her. The other tenants knew her face and she theirs, though she didn't really consider them to be her friends. Merely people who lived in the same building: at best, tolerable strangers.
Despite the warning that Atropos would be waiting for her, her train of thought came to a screeching halt when she actually saw the dark-clad figure waiting outside her door. Since starting work with the Betterment Committee, her stark fear of Atropos had gradually morphed into extremely wary respect. Her shift in fortunes was technically due to Atropos, so whatever she was needed for, it seemed likely that Ending her wasn't on the agenda.
"Ashley." Atropos straightened up from where she'd been leaning against the door frame. "You're looking good."
Ashley came to a stop before her, wondering what was going on. "Atropos. Mr Hebert said you needed my help with something."
"That's correct. Can we chat inside?" Atropos gestured to the door of Ashley's apartment.
Ashley was relieved to hear that Mr Hebert had it right. Plus, the idea of helping Atropos with something, as opposed to being the subject of one of her projects, had her intrigued.
"Sure," she allowed, and tapped the reader with her card to unlock the door.
Within was the home she'd started building for herself; pictures on the wall and a decorative tablecloth that she'd liked. In pride of place in front of the TV was a comfortable armchair that she'd ordered flat-packed and painstakingly assembled herself. The compressed material she'd taken from the Woad Giant hung across two hooks, as a reminder of how far she'd come.
Atropos entered and looked around with the occasional small nod. "Cozy. I like it."
Ashley closed the door and dropped her hard-hat on the table, then removed the high-vis vest and hung it on a hook. "You didn't come here to critique my décor. What's up?"
"That's true. I didn't." Atropos returned her attention to Ashley. "You'll recall how I brought together several capes to deal with your power problems. Well, I'd like to do that again, with you as one of the capes. There's a particular problem that I'm going to need to deal with in time, and you're the most likely to help me succeed. But to make that work, you need your powers boosted, and before I arrange that I'm going to have to ask your permission."
Ashley waited until she was finished before replying. "A boost to my powers? What sort of boost, and what sort of duration are we talking about?" She recalled how well Atropos had organised the last such venture. Even as she asked the question, she had to wonder exactly what sort of problem Atropos was facing that she needed assistance from Ashley's powers, especially boosted.
"Mainly range. Lots of range." Atropos gestured. "As for duration; we'll have to see. Possibly indefinite."
"Are they going to have to take my hands apart again? And what about drawbacks?" Ashley could not deny that she was interested in the 'lots of range' concept, but she was also fully aware of the downsides that could come with such changes.
"Not this time, no. It'll be a power thing from beginning to end. And yes, there will be a drawback." Atropos raised a finger. "However, I will also arrange to have it Ended before it becomes an issue."
"Drawback?" Ashley didn't like the sound of that.
"Not something that'll be an issue." The subtext was unmistakeable. Not something I'm going to tell you about.
"Okay, so what kind of a problem do you need help with?" Ashley wished she'd asked this one first.
"A world ender. One that's almost as good at killing shit as I am, but none of my finesse." Atropos sounded far too blasé about it, but that was her all over. "What do you say?"
Ashley considered her response. Apart from their first problematic meeting, her dealings with Atropos had been overwhelmingly positive. Getting control over her powers was a huge uptick to her quality of life, then ending up in the Brockton Bay job had kicked that into high gear.
She was gradually teaching herself how to cook using the stove in the kitchen, and exploring the range of microwave meals available from the convenience store in between times. Regular meals and sleep, and being able to bathe daily and put on clean clothing, had made such an astounding difference to her circumstances that she was hardly able to relate to what she recalled of herself, back in Stafford. Her energy levels were up, and she'd actively enjoyed the last few days of work with the Betterment Committee.
But right here, right now, Atropos was in her apartment, asking for assistance. Every other time Ashley had seen her on the news or in the footage or even in person, she'd exuded an air of being totally in control of the whole situation, with everyone dancing to her tune. Here and now, she wasn't telling Ashley what to do. She was asking.
Treating Ashley like an equal.
Never before had someone who had clearly bested Ashley followed up by offering a hand to help her to her feet. Atropos had done that. Now, she was raising Ashley to her own level, simply by asking instead of ordering.
Ashley knew she would've obeyed an order, but she would've also resented being directly told what to do. This, right here, right now, was outside her experience. If she said no, she suspected Atropos would simply accept it and walk away. There would be no punishment, no backlash. Atropos didn't operate that way.
Once upon a time, Atropos had put a gun to Ashley's head and ordered her to leave Brockton Bay or die. Ashley's rage had been just a little less intense than her terror, so she'd gone. Now, there was no gun, and she felt neither rage nor terror.
If she'd said this to me then, I would've told her to fuck off, just to stick it to her.
But things had changed. And the idea of getting a power-up was kind of interesting, especially since Atropos was the one arranging it, so she barely hesitated before nodding. "Sure. Let's go save the world."
"Excellent. Just so you know, the portal has a four-second duration."
"What portal?" Just as Ashley asked the question, the portal in question appeared, taking up what would normally have been the bathroom door. "Oh. That portal."
"Three." Atropos stepped through, long-coat swirling behind her.
There's no way I'm backing out now. Taking a deep breath, Ashley followed.
End of Part Eighty-One
Part Eighty-One: Making Connections, Making Preparations
[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
Wednesday Evening, March 9, 2011
Dallon Household
Amy sat in front of her computer, wishing she was like normal people and could just pick up the phone to call her girlfriend without second-guessing (and third-guessing, and fourth-guessing) herself. They'd had several very nice conversations, but it was always a struggle for her to initiate the call. Even sending a text felt like she was pushing Sabah to answer immediately. So it was down to this, the least intrusive way she could think of to get a message to her girlfriend, short of sending postcards.
■
PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: Parian
From: TheRealPanacea
Subject: Double Date on Friday Evening?
Hi. I was wondering if you wanted to go out on a date on Friday evening, if you were interested? I've heard Flechette's getting a weekend pass up from New York, so we could maybe invite her and Spitfire along as well.
■
PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: TheRealPanacea
From: Parian
Subject: Re: Double Date on Friday Evening?
I'd really like that. I'll talk to Spitfire about it, see what she thinks.
■
PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: Parian
From: TheRealPanacea
Subject: Re: Re: Double Date on Friday Evening?
Sure thing. If she and Flechette already have plans, I don't want to step all over them.
■
PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: Spitfire
From: Parian
Subject: What do you think of a double date Friday night?
Panacea's suggested a double date; her and me, you and Flechette. I like the idea, but what do you think?
■
PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: Parian
From: Spitfire
Subject: Re: What do you think of a double date Friday night?
Um, okay, wow. I'll ask Flechette, but I can't see any problems with it.
Do you think maybe Panacea will give me tips on what superheroes like to do on dates?
■
PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: Spitfire
From: Parian
Subject: Re: Re: What do you think of a double date Friday night?
Excellent.
The same as everyone else, I guess?
■
PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: Flechette
From: Spitfire
Subject: So, Parian contacted me …
… and she's told me that Panacea wants to know if we're okay with going on a double date with her and Parian, on Friday night. You up for it? I mean, it's okay if you're not. We can totally go on a date with just the two of us if you'd prefer that.
■
PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: Spitfire
From: Flechette
Subject: Re: So, Parian contacted me …
Actually, I think it might be a good idea. I have no idea of the dating options in Brockton Bay, and it'll be a great way to find out the best places to take you for the rest of the weekend.
■
PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: Flechette
From: Spitfire
Subject: Re: Re: So, Parian contacted me …
Awesome. I'll let them know.
■
PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: Parian
From: Spitfire
Subject: Re: Re: What do you think of a double date Friday night?
Flechette says it's a great idea. See you Friday evening.
■
PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: TheRealPanacea
From: Parian
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Double Date on Friday Evening?
Spitfire says Flechette's good with it. Let's do this thing.
■
PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: Parian
From: TheRealPanacea
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Double Date on Friday Evening?
Awesome. Can't wait to see you again.
■
PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: TheRealPanacea
From: Parian
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Double Date on Friday Evening?
Me too.
■
Amy leaned back in her chair, letting out a long sigh of accumulated tension. It had only taken a few minutes for Sabah's reply to get back to her, but those had been the longest minutes she'd ever had to live through.
Then the reality struck her. I'm going on a double date that I actually want to be on!
"Vicky!" she called out, bouncing up from her chair. "She said yes to the date! What should I wear?"
<><>
Thursday Morning, March 10, 2011
■
PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: Dragon
From: Atropos
Subject: Need a favor
Hi there!
So, I'm going to need to briefly borrow someone from the Birdcage, around 2 PM east-coast time. Won't take more than ten minutes, and I'll bring them back in one piece. Mostly.
■
PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: Spire
From: Atropos
Subject: Scapegoat
Good morning.
I need you to do me a solid. Can you have Scapegoat pulled out of school early today? I need him in costume and ready to go by ten to eleven your time. I promise to return him in even better shape than I got him, and with a hell of a story to tell.
■
PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: Atropos
From: Dragon
Subject: Re: Need a favor
*sigh*
*kneads non-existent forehead with imaginary knuckles*
You are aware that your message simply serves to raise more questions, right?
■
PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: Dragon
From: Atropos
Subject: Re: Re: Need a favor
All you need to do is ask. I'm an open book. The text may be written in a Language Man Was Not Meant To Peruse, the artwork might move around when you're not looking, and there may be suspiciously worrying stains on the pages, but totally open book.
■
PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: Atropos
From: Spire
Subject: Re: Scapegoat
Wait, what?
Who is this?
Is this really Atropos?
What do you need Scapegoat for?
■
PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: Atropos
From: Dragon
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Need a favor
Yes, thank you. I got it.
Who?
What do you need them for?
What do you mean, 'mostly' in one piece?
Why are you asking permission, when we both know you could probably go in there and grab whoever it is without me having a say in the matter?
■
PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: Spire
From: Atropos
Subject: Re: Re: Scapegoat
Well, if I'm not her, I'll be in a ton of trouble when she finds out I'm using her name in vain.
Go ahead. Ask around.
Toodles!
■
PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: Dragon
From: Atropos
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Need a favor
Teacher.
He will be assisting me (voluntarily or otherwise) in prepping to End a significant problem.
If he decides to be a problem, he may end up learning a lesson about kneecaps. Also, I don't promise that he won't end up being more of an ass than he is right now. I do promise not to kill him.
Because the actual favor is for you to make sure nobody important finds out that I briefly absconded with him. Some people can be so *picky* about stuff like that.
■
PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: Atropos
From: Dragon
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Need a favor
If I ask what the significant problem is, will I get a straight answer?
■
PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: Legend
From: Spire
Subject: Help!
Someone I'm pretty sure is Atropos just contacted me and asked if she can 'borrow' Scapegoat. What do I do?
■
PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: Dragon
From: Atropos
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Need a favor
The monster at the end of the world.
Mwahahaha.
■
PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: Atropos
From: Dragon
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Need a favor
All of a sudden, not so curious.
Okay, ten minutes. No more.
■
PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: Spire
From: Legend
Subject: Re: Help!
This has happened before. The outcome has always been positive. I strongly suggest you do as she says.
Note that she'll get her way whether we cooperate or not, but this way we stay in her good books.
■
PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: Dragon
From: Atropos
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Need a favor
You're the best.
■
PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: Legend
From: Spire
Subject: Re: Re: Help!
Understood. Will comply.
■
<><>
<><>
1:40 PM, Brockton Bay
The Cape Formerly Known as Damsel of Distress
"Cutting!" shouted Ashley. She glanced to the left and right, then sent a two-inch-thick beam of annihilation through the concrete slab and out the other side. Cutting off the beam, she stepped to one side. "Clear!"
Genesis' latest creation lumbered into her workspace. Looking rather like a giant spider had had illicit relations with a tortoise, the projection was low-set, with a long crane-like limb that extended twenty feet above it. Dangling from the limb was a tentacle and claw that looked remarkably like a cable and hook. Turning its body, the projection swung the claw over and latched it through the hole she'd burned in the slab, gripping it tightly.
"All-righty." Ashley bared her teeth in an atavistic grin. She was damn powerful, and it was time to show everyone on the Betterment Committee just how much faster she could do the job if she was given free rein to do it her way. "Ready?"
The projection extended a secondary limb and gave her a thumbs-up. It had taken her most of the lunch hour to talk Jess into helping her out like this, and now she finally had the chance to prove that she knew what she was doing.
It wasn't like she was about to go back to being a villain—the praise she was getting from other members of the Betterment Committee, as well as the ongoing therapy, made that less and less likely all the time. Not to mention that doing so in a city even close to where Atropos had any interests was a quick way to becoming a grimly amusing cautionary tale.
However, the urge to cut loose and prove her superiority was inexorably building within her again. It was time to show the guys how a real cape got the job done, with flash and style. She checked again to make sure there was nobody behind her cutting zone—Mr Hebert had impressed the need for that on her, and she respected the hell out of him—then glanced around to check where the truck was.
There it came, trundling along the road below, with a full load of rubble. Well, almost full. There was still room for some on top, in her opinion. (Which in situations like this was the only one that counted).
"Cutting!" she shouted again, and manifested her power to slice the overhanging concrete slab off the rest of the building they were currently dismantling. It cut through neatly, and dropped away, then swung sideways as it hit the end of the cable-tentacle, the gripping hook-claw holding tight. Holding her breath, Ashley waited until the slab was at the right point. "Now!"
When the claw let go, the slab sailed out in a graceful arc, which terminated in a tremendous crash as it landed on top of the rest of the rubble in the truck.
"Yes!" As Ashley pumped her fist in triumph, the truck skidded to a halt in a billow of dust, rocking from side to side. She watched, grinning, as the driver got out and looked around in confusion. Damn, I'm good.
That was when she heard the foreman bellow from behind her. "Ash!"
<><>
Danny Hebert
Many things could've gone wrong with Ashley's little stunt. There were several ways the flying slab of concrete could've damaged the truck much more severely than the minor damage to the suspension that it actually incurred; hitting the cab would've flattened it, killing the driver as well. Falling short would've had it bouncing or skidding into the side of the truck, rolling it and doing considerable damage as well as risking serious injury to the driver. Going over would have risked injury to the workers on the far side of the road.
Danny was determined not to let any of that happen, so he made sure the airborne slab landed squarely in the back of the truck, where it could do the least amount of damage. He also knew that the section foreman, Gary by name, was going to yell at Ashley for it, and that she was going to yell right back. Taylor had texted him earlier, explaining that this needed to take place, but also that it would be a good idea for him to intervene before things escalated too far.
Skidding the Betterment Committee work vehicle to a halt, he leaped from the vehicle and hustled up the temporary stairs set up to get people to the higher level of rubble. From the looks of it, he was just in time.
Danny wasn't quite sure if Gary considered Ashley to be safe to yell at, despite the stylised icons for destruction on the sides of her hard-hat to remind people they were in the presence of a Blaster cape, or was just lost in his anger. Whichever it was, he was stomping up to Ashley, red in the face and getting redder by the second.
In this context, 'Ash' wasn't just an abbreviation born of familiarity. Derived both from her name and her ability to utterly destroy the things she blasted, it was her workplace nickname, stencilled on both her hard-hat and high-vis vest. While she'd begun to respond to it in a positive fashion, that had the potential to change. Especially given the way Gary had just yelled it at the top of his lungs for all to hear; and he wasn't done yet.
"You stupid careless grandstanding little moron!" he bellowed. "What the good goddamn fuck do you think you were doing?"
Between Taylor's warning and his own power, Danny knew exactly how she would react. Drawing herself up proudly with the light of battle in her eyes, she let fly in Gary's direction; thankfully, with words only. "Showing short-sighted weak-sauce idiots like you how to really clear all this shit! If you'd just get out of the way—"
"Short-sighted? Weak-sauce?" Danny knew if Ashley had been repentant, Gary might have eased his approach, but her defiance only served to fuel his rage. "Okay, that's it! You're done on this site, and if I've got anything to do with it, in the Committee—"
"Okay, I'll take it from here." Danny stepped in between them before the heated words could escalate to a conclusion that Gary might not survive to regret. "Gary, step back now. Ashley, take a breath."
"Did you hear him?" Ashley was still mightily pissed off. "He called me a moron!"
"Did you see what she did?" demanded Gary. "She could've killed—"
"Gary, step back and shut up!" snapped Danny. "Yes, I know what she did. Yes, I heard what he said. Gary, I decide who gets booted by the Committee, nobody else. Ashley, come with me. We need to talk."
He paused just long enough to make sure each of them was going to do as they were told, then turned and headed back toward the steps. Without looking, he knew Gary was staring at his back but fortunately any desire to escalate hostilities with Ashley came second to the knowledge that Danny was not fucking around. He also knew that Ashley was following him, while treating Gary to the finger behind her back.
By the time he got down to ground level, she was alongside him, having jumped down two or three steps at a time. Her attitude with him was in stark contrast to the antagonism she'd displayed toward Gary; while she wasn't meek, she was definitely showing respect. "So … am I booted?"
"No, you're not." He strode over to the Committee vehicle he'd arrived in; the dust cloud he'd kicked up while arriving was only just now dissipating. "Get in. You're off the site for today."
"What?" Despite her protest, she was already heading for the passenger side door. "But nobody got hurt."
"Ashley." He met her eyes as she climbed into the vehicle, making certain she was listening. "People could absolutely have gotten hurt, but I know exactly why you did that. It's the same reason you became a supervillain in the first place. You've always got the urge to push boundaries, to show everyone around you that you're better than them. Even when you know deep down that you really shouldn't. Yeah?"
She blinked. "I … guess I do, yeah. But I am usually better than everyone around me. How'd you know that, anyway? You been talking to my therapist?"
"No." He played his trump card. "Atropos told me. She's going to be meeting you at home."
As expected, Atropos' name caused her eyes to widen. "Shit. But you said I wasn't being booted for this. She hasn't even given me a warning."
"You're not being booted." Danny started the vehicle. "She just needs you to help her with something, and to help you out at the same time. Because we both know the only time she's not getting two things done at once is when she's doing more."
"Oh." He could literally see the relief wash through her body as she collapsed bonelessly into her seat. "So, what she wants me for doesn't have anything to do with what I just did?"
He chuckled as he let out the clutch and started off down the road. "I'm pretty sure she doesn't give a damn." It was close enough to the truth for his purposes, and Taylor's.
<><>
Ashley
Mr Hebert pulled the work vehicle to a halt outside Ashley's apartment building. "I'll see you tomorrow," he said. "Don't be late."
"But what about Gary?" she asked. "If he gets in my face again …" Shit will happen. She knew it would.
"Gary's not in charge." His tone was unshakeable. "I am. It's not something you're going to have to worry about."
He hadn't steered her wrong yet, so she climbed out of the work pickup. "See you tomorrow, I guess."
Making sure her boots were clean, she swiped herself in through the front door. The elevator doors opened promptly; as she rode up to her floor, she allowed the familiar surroundings to soothe her. The other tenants knew her face and she theirs, though she didn't really consider them to be her friends. Merely people who lived in the same building: at best, tolerable strangers.
Despite the warning that Atropos would be waiting for her, her train of thought came to a screeching halt when she actually saw the dark-clad figure waiting outside her door. Since starting work with the Betterment Committee, her stark fear of Atropos had gradually morphed into extremely wary respect. Her shift in fortunes was technically due to Atropos, so whatever she was needed for, it seemed likely that Ending her wasn't on the agenda.
"Ashley." Atropos straightened up from where she'd been leaning against the door frame. "You're looking good."
Ashley came to a stop before her, wondering what was going on. "Atropos. Mr Hebert said you needed my help with something."
"That's correct. Can we chat inside?" Atropos gestured to the door of Ashley's apartment.
Ashley was relieved to hear that Mr Hebert had it right. Plus, the idea of helping Atropos with something, as opposed to being the subject of one of her projects, had her intrigued.
"Sure," she allowed, and tapped the reader with her card to unlock the door.
Within was the home she'd started building for herself; pictures on the wall and a decorative tablecloth that she'd liked. In pride of place in front of the TV was a comfortable armchair that she'd ordered flat-packed and painstakingly assembled herself. The compressed material she'd taken from the Woad Giant hung across two hooks, as a reminder of how far she'd come.
Atropos entered and looked around with the occasional small nod. "Cozy. I like it."
Ashley closed the door and dropped her hard-hat on the table, then removed the high-vis vest and hung it on a hook. "You didn't come here to critique my décor. What's up?"
"That's true. I didn't." Atropos returned her attention to Ashley. "You'll recall how I brought together several capes to deal with your power problems. Well, I'd like to do that again, with you as one of the capes. There's a particular problem that I'm going to need to deal with in time, and you're the most likely to help me succeed. But to make that work, you need your powers boosted, and before I arrange that I'm going to have to ask your permission."
Ashley waited until she was finished before replying. "A boost to my powers? What sort of boost, and what sort of duration are we talking about?" She recalled how well Atropos had organised the last such venture. Even as she asked the question, she had to wonder exactly what sort of problem Atropos was facing that she needed assistance from Ashley's powers, especially boosted.
"Mainly range. Lots of range." Atropos gestured. "As for duration; we'll have to see. Possibly indefinite."
"Are they going to have to take my hands apart again? And what about drawbacks?" Ashley could not deny that she was interested in the 'lots of range' concept, but she was also fully aware of the downsides that could come with such changes.
"Not this time, no. It'll be a power thing from beginning to end. And yes, there will be a drawback." Atropos raised a finger. "However, I will also arrange to have it Ended before it becomes an issue."
"Drawback?" Ashley didn't like the sound of that.
"Not something that'll be an issue." The subtext was unmistakeable. Not something I'm going to tell you about.
"Okay, so what kind of a problem do you need help with?" Ashley wished she'd asked this one first.
"A world ender. One that's almost as good at killing shit as I am, but none of my finesse." Atropos sounded far too blasé about it, but that was her all over. "What do you say?"
Ashley considered her response. Apart from their first problematic meeting, her dealings with Atropos had been overwhelmingly positive. Getting control over her powers was a huge uptick to her quality of life, then ending up in the Brockton Bay job had kicked that into high gear.
She was gradually teaching herself how to cook using the stove in the kitchen, and exploring the range of microwave meals available from the convenience store in between times. Regular meals and sleep, and being able to bathe daily and put on clean clothing, had made such an astounding difference to her circumstances that she was hardly able to relate to what she recalled of herself, back in Stafford. Her energy levels were up, and she'd actively enjoyed the last few days of work with the Betterment Committee.
But right here, right now, Atropos was in her apartment, asking for assistance. Every other time Ashley had seen her on the news or in the footage or even in person, she'd exuded an air of being totally in control of the whole situation, with everyone dancing to her tune. Here and now, she wasn't telling Ashley what to do. She was asking.
Treating Ashley like an equal.
Never before had someone who had clearly bested Ashley followed up by offering a hand to help her to her feet. Atropos had done that. Now, she was raising Ashley to her own level, simply by asking instead of ordering.
Ashley knew she would've obeyed an order, but she would've also resented being directly told what to do. This, right here, right now, was outside her experience. If she said no, she suspected Atropos would simply accept it and walk away. There would be no punishment, no backlash. Atropos didn't operate that way.
Once upon a time, Atropos had put a gun to Ashley's head and ordered her to leave Brockton Bay or die. Ashley's rage had been just a little less intense than her terror, so she'd gone. Now, there was no gun, and she felt neither rage nor terror.
If she'd said this to me then, I would've told her to fuck off, just to stick it to her.
But things had changed. And the idea of getting a power-up was kind of interesting, especially since Atropos was the one arranging it, so she barely hesitated before nodding. "Sure. Let's go save the world."
"Excellent. Just so you know, the portal has a four-second duration."
"What portal?" Just as Ashley asked the question, the portal in question appeared, taking up what would normally have been the bathroom door. "Oh. That portal."
"Three." Atropos stepped through, long-coat swirling behind her.
There's no way I'm backing out now. Taking a deep breath, Ashley followed.
End of Part Eighty-One
Last edited:
Robert Stadler
Know what you're doing yet?
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Scion, I think.
Part Eighty-Two: Closing the Deal
Ack
(Verified Ratbag) (Unverified Great Old One)
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A Darker Path
Part Eighty-Two: Closing the Deal
[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
San Diego Wards Base
Scapegoat
"So, what aren't you telling me? Why did I have to come in early?"
William Giles addressed the question to Spire as he chalked his cue, waiting for Gully to take her shot. Of all the Wards who had cycled through San Diego—and there were a lot—she was someone he felt he could relate to. Her power had twisted her body cruelly, giving her the appearance of a thoughtless brute, while his power tortured him every time he used it. Spire had asked her to be here, though he still hadn't told either of them what was really going on.
Carefully holding her braids out of the way, Gully bent over the table and took aim at one of her balls. She had a reasonably good chance of sinking it, which would put her two ahead of him. But at least it was a fair contest; he'd once played Flechette when she was briefly posted to San Diego, and she'd wiped the table with him so hard that Spire had joked there was blood on the walls afterward. It was his stupid fault, really. She'd told him that perfect timing and calculating angles were her secondary powers.
"Sorry, I'm going to have to hold off on telling you that." Spire seemed ill at ease. "We're waiting for someone, that's all I can say."
Gully took her shot. The click of the cue ball striking the number six was nice and crisp, and the ball went straight into the corner pocket while the white ball spun in place. She let out a satisfied hmph and straightened up to move around the table—then froze, cue held in a defensive posture.
"Oh, hey," said a voice from right behind William, startling the fuck out of him. He'd been standing with his back to the corner of the room, and there had been nobody behind him!
Turning as fast as he was able, holding up his cue to try to deflect any incoming attacks, William registered the two intruders and backed up fast. They were making no aggressive moves, but that didn't mean anything. One had pure white hair and was wearing a set of blue coveralls with BBBC embroidered on one side and ASHLEY STILLONS on the other, while the other … was Atropos.
He had no idea who Ashley Stillons was, but he would've had no excuse for not recognising Atropos. She was so famous after her slaying of the Simurgh that he would've bet good money on a majority of the Earth's population being familiar with her appearance. This went double for the PRT, Protectorate and the Wards, especially after her highly publicised 'very enthusiastic walks' (as one PHO commenter had put it) through the Ellisburg, Eagleton and Flint quarantine zones.
They were still trying to figure out how she'd shown up in two places at once, to intimidate the Gary and Gallup zones into just plain surrendering.
"Chillax," Atropos continued, as though she hadn't just appeared out of thin air in the middle of a secure government location. "We're all friends here. Gully, nice to meet you. Big fan of your work. Scapegoat, need to borrow you for about fifteen minutes. You game?"
Gully blinked, clearly not prepared to be recognised and greeted in that way. "Wait, what do you want him for?"
Atropos nodded, as though to concede her right to answers. "Prepping to save the world. I'll bring him back in one piece, I promise."
William finally found his voice. "Save the world? From what? You killed the Endbringers!"
"Oh, they weren't the only threat." Her voice was now deadly serious. "Sooner or later, I'm going to have to face off the eldritch horrors from beyond time and space that spawned them … and I wish I was kidding."
"You only told me it was a world ender," protested the woman named Ashley Stillons. "You never mentioned the other stuff."
"That can't be right." Gully didn't sound happy at all. "They would've told us if there were other threats out there. I haven't heard anything about any attacks."
"What part of 'from beyond time and space' are we not actually comprehending here?" Atropos' tone was light-hearted, but William got the distinct impression she wasn't joking. "They haven't made up their mind to attack yet, but when they do—when, not if—there'll be devastation on a scale that'll make Behemoth's worst efforts look like a kid kicking over a sandcastle on the beach. So, I'm borrowing Scapegoat so Ashley and I can get prepared to End their sorry existence first."
"You said he wouldn't come to harm." Spire moved around the table toward William. "Fighting Lovecraftian horrors sounds dangerous to me."
Ashley made a noise of impatience, but Atropos calmed her with a gesture. "This is prep, not combat. He won't be going near them. That comes later."
William was grateful to Spire for the chance to gather his thoughts. The other thing they'd been told about Atropos, apart from 'never ever attack her' was 'go along with what she says, within reason'. Several Wards had apparently accompanied her on a few of these excursions, Flechette having done so on more than one occasion, and all had come back hale and hearty. The resultant after-action reports were required reading for PRT, Protectorate and Wards alike.
"It's okay," he said, holding up his hand placatingly. "Not sure how much help I can be, but I'll do my best." His favourite complaint, about how much his power sucked, he was not going to air in front of Atropos or Ms Stillons. While he didn't think Atropos would care either way, the other woman's lip had a curl that gave him the impression of someone who would totally call him a whiny little bitch, given the opportunity.
"That's the spirit." Atropos gave him an approving nod, then gestured at the corner of the room. "In thirty seconds, a portal's going to form right there. We'll have four seconds to go through. I'll go first, Ashley second, you third. Anything halfway through when it closes will be cut off. Any questions?"
"Um …" He was sure he should be asking pertinent, meaningful questions, but his brain failed him. "… where are we going?"
"A currently undisclosed location." He was certain she was grinning behind the mask. "Next question?"
"… what do you need me to do when we get there?" It was the only other thing he could think of.
"I'll be giving you detailed instructions. Long story short, damage control. And no, it won't suck nearly as much as you think it will. Three, two, one, go."
As she spoke the last word, a shadowy portal faded into view, right where she'd said it would. She was already moving, vanishing through the portal in three quick strides. The woman called Ashley Stillons gave him a look along the lines of, 'well, come on, dumbass' before following her through.
He didn't see that he had much choice in the matter. Taking a deep breath, he stepped through into the unknown.
Atropos
We emerged at night, onto a concrete-paved walkway with trees arching overhead, alongside a dull, dingy river. A bridge consisting of multiple low arches spanned the river just to our right, but that wasn't what drew Scapegoat's attention. Ashley was also looking around with earnest attention, though she managed to make it not so obvious as he did.
Pointing across the river, Scapegoat gasped out the words. "Is that … is that Big Ben?"
"The clock tower it's attached to, yeah." I gestured at the bridge, and the large building alongside the clock tower, all lit up like Christmas. "Westminster Bridge. The Houses of Parliament. Welcome to London."
As if it had been waiting for my words, a gentle drizzle began to fall, creating halos of light around the spectacle before us. It was quite pretty, and I decided to get photos before we went. Under the trees where we were, none of the rain actually reached us.
"Huh," Ashley commented with a wry smile on her face, apparently enjoying Scapegoat's evident bogglement. "And me without my passport. Why'd you bring us here?"
"Reasons." I grinned under the mask. "Feel free to take photos. We've got a minute or so before our next player will be in position for joining us. Also, Ashley, if you could do me a favour and keep an eye out for us while I fill Scapegoat in on what's expected of him, I'd appreciate it."
She gave me a calculating look, then nodded. "Sure, I can do that." Pulling her phone out of the pocket of the coveralls, she opened the camera app and took a photo of the scene across the river. Then she wandered along the walkway a short distance, looking around carefully.
"Okay." I turned to Scapegoat. Despite the goat's-head mask, I could tell that he was still struggling to come to terms with our abrupt shift in location. "You're about to get a power boost. When I call on you, you will have a mental compulsion overlaying your own thoughts. So will Ashley. I'll be needing you to transfer both compulsions back to the person who gave them to you, as well as Ashley's underlying bipolar disorder."
"Bipolar?" His eyes widened behind his mask. "That's not a good mix with me. I get everything—"
"You won't," I interrupted. "Chill. I have it all under control. Medication and therapy have been helping her control her issues so far, but they've been fighting back and the mental compulsion is not something I want her dealing with for long. So put it all back in the other guy, yours included. Got it?"
My power had assisted in hitting just the right tone, and he nodded. "Okay, got it. So, this boost will make it so I don't have to take stuff on myself?"
I nodded. "That's the idea. With any kind of luck, I can make it stick. No guarantees, though."
"Better than nothing, I guess." He nodded toward Ashley as she prowled back along the pathway in our direction, and lowered his tone. "So, uh … what's her story?"
Conversely, I raised my voice. "Ashley's doing good work with the Brockton Bay Betterment Committee. Beyond that, her story is hers to tell. Isn't that right, Ashley?"
"Damn right," she agreed, then gave Scapegoat the stink-eye. "Don't go prying into things you can't handle, kid."
"Be nice," I said mildly. "We're all on the same side here. Unlike the last guy we need for our little get-together. He's a total bastard, and he only has one side: his."
"Not unlike you and me?" Ashley seemed to be gaining a little bit of gumption, if she felt safe in making jokes like that.
"Totally unlike you and me." I didn't make my voice harsh, just matter-of-fact. "He takes away the volition of people and honestly thinks they should be happier that way, under his thumb."
"Got it." Ashley nodded. "Fuck him, then." Her hands curled into claws, and dark energy crackled between her fingers.
"Precisely." I paused for a beat. "However, we are not going to kill him. I've got something much worse in mind."
Ashley smirked, allowing the energy to dissipate. "Okay, yeah, this I want to see."
"And you will." I put my hands forward, palms facing each other, then moved them apart to open a space in front of me. "In three … two … one."
As I said the last word, I reached forward into the portal that had just appeared. Instead of going through the portal myself, I grabbed Teacher's collar (for the portal had appeared just behind him) and pulled just hard enough to make him stumble backward toward me. Once his feet were clear, I kicked him in the back of the knee and forced him to topple backward, so his flailing arms weren't intersecting with the portal when it closed again. At the same time, I managed his fall to the concrete so he didn't hit his head.
"Hi, Teacher." I said pleasantly. "Got a thing I want you to do."
Teacher
Benjamin Terrell prided himself as a man who was always on top of the situation. Whenever his fortunes changed, he could plan a way out of it, more quickly and more thoroughly than whoever had him could work out how to use him to their advantage. It had saved his life more than once.
He had paused just inside his cell, his back to the wall (the oldest precautions were often the best) to work out an elegant way of persuading his fellow block leaders to allow him a few more minions. The best strategy, he felt, would be to suggest a direct exchange as an equitable bargain, but only with those block leaders who were unaware that his influence over his 'students' persisted indefinitely. For the ones who did know, he would have to offer favours so they didn't 'accidentally' let slip his oversight in not mentioning it to the others.
And then a hand seized him by the collar and pulled him backward, straight through the wall. He briefly saw a shadowy doorway in front of him before he was struck behind the knee and dropped medium-roughly onto concrete pavers. His glasses had come askew, so he took a moment to reposition them and take in the three figures who were looking down at him.
The boy in the sheep mask, he didn't know off the top of his head, though he suspected he would figure it out. On the other hand, the white-haired young woman in the blue coveralls was definitely someone he'd heard of.
Damsel of Distress was precisely the type of parahuman he sought out to give his gifts to; he'd had her details stored away just in case they ever crossed paths. From the way she looked coldly down at him, though, he suspected that she'd already been fed a biased view of his past exploits. The surety in her stance and the fact that she appeared to be close to a healthy weight told him that her power problems had already been partially or wholly addressed, so he would need to find a different avenue of approach.
And of course, Atropos was Atropos. Some in the Birdcage were unsure as to whether anyone could have killed so many villains and menaces in such a short time, but there it was. The Slaughterhouse Nine, gone. Butcher and the Teeth, wiped out. Bastard Son, stabbed to death with a bastard sword. And the Simurgh, blown away with a sawn-off shotgun. What she could do under my guidance …
"Uh, uh." He'd only seen the barest flicker of movement, but then he was staring cross-eyed at the muzzle of a twelve-gauge shotgun, the cold metal pressing into his forehead. "This is your first warning. Don't even think about using your power on me."
Behind her, Damsel of Distress did a discreet fist-pump. "Yesss!" she muttered with an evil grin. "Sucks to get a face full of shotgun, doesn't it?"
"I promise." Benjamin looked up at Atropos. "May I ask what you've brought me here for? And where is 'here'?" At that moment, four metallic notes pealed outward; the quarter-hour chimes of Big Ben. He would've recognised them anywhere. His eyes opened wide. "London? We're in London?"
"We are." She put the shotgun away again. "Get up. You're here to make Scapegoat's powers less problematic to use, and to extend Ashley's range as far as it'll go. After that, you can go where you want."
"What?" He grunted painfully as he climbed to his feet; at his age and weight, that was no longer as easy as it had been in his twenties. "Just like that?"
As he'd thought, he was indeed in London, on a river-walk next to the Thames. Just nearby was Westminster Bridge, and opposite them were the Houses of Parliament, complete with the Clock Tower housing the great bell. Once upon a time, this had been his home territory; if he played his cards right, it might yet become that again.
"Wait," protested Scapegoat, making a T-gesture with his hands. "Time out. We're letting a Birdcage inmate go free?" He glanced at Damsel of Distress for support, but she merely surveyed Benjamin with a slight smile, one he couldn't read.
"I've already told you the stakes." Atropos was even harder to decipher. She had all the tells of an iceberg drifting into the path of an unsuspecting ocean liner, and none of the warmth. "None of us here are going to force him back into the Birdcage if he doesn't want to go. If he goes back, it'll be of his own free will."
Benjamin thought he had her measure, however. "As I understand matters, you are also able to kill powers. Will mine be likewise removed before you set me free?"
"Nope." She snorted lightly. "I'd expect that of you, but I don't do the monkey's paw thing. Wherever you go, you get to keep your powers. However." She produced the shotgun again, with the same heart-stopping suddenness. "If you try to fuck us around in any way, my good friend Mr Pump Action Shotgun here will be forced to explain how Kneecaps Are A Privilege. Any questions as to how that works?"
"None whatsoever, dear lady. You make your case with admirable clarity." Free or otherwise, Benjamin had zero desire to have his kneecaps blown out. Even the best Tinker-tech prosthetics would be less preferable than his original-issue joints. More to the point, he was absolutely certain that the experience would be more painful than anything he'd ever experienced before.
"Good." She made the shotgun vanish again, and waved Damsel of Distress to stand next to Scapegoat. "Do Scapegoat first, then Ashley."
"As you wish." Benjamin reached out and touched the goat-masked (not sheep-masked) boy on the shoulder, and exerted his power.
Meanwhile, in the Shard Bar…
Robed and cowled, the skeleton with the ornate scythe leans against the counter with an untouched drink at its bony elbow. Eye-sockets empty of all but a lightyears-distant blue glow, it watches as the Royal Tutor shard rearranges the Transfer shard's priorities. By the time the procedure is almost complete, the Transfer shard stands taller, energies flowing through it more readily.
"Just one more thing," says the Royal Tutor shard, winding up an antique alarm clock. "I have to attach this timer, so that …"
Ending speaks for the first time. NO TIMER.
"What?" The Royal Tutor shakes its approximation of a head. "But there needs to be a timer. Otherwise, the power boost will never run out."
YOU DON'T GIVE THEM ALL TIMERS. I'VE WATCHED YOU.
"Well, no, but sometimes it's better not to—"
A bony hand grabs it by the back of the neck, and its face-equivalent meets the counter-top with considerable force. In the process, the alarm clock is shattered. NO. TIMER.
Groggily, the Royal Tutor stands up again, the analogy of blood running down its face. "Understood. No timer."
GOOD. NOW THE OTHER ONE.
The Royal Tutor hesitates. "No timer for that one either?"
The perpetual smile on the face of the skull widens slightly. I'M SO GLAD WE UNDERSTAND EACH OTHER.
The Royal Tutor sighs and turns to the Demesnes-Keeper shard; a person whose body seems to be constantly destroying then reforming itself, forever changing from instant to instant. "You might feel a little discomfort …"
Scapegoat
William blinked, then looked at his hands. He felt different, more in control of his power. It had only been a few seconds, but Teacher's power had done its job.
Beside him, Teacher was just lifting his hand away from Ashley's shoulder. Behind Teacher, Atropos gave him the nod. He grabbed Ashley by the arm and Teacher by the shoulder, then exerted his power. Lifting and separating the mental overlay Teacher had inflicted on him was child's play now, and he returned it to sender. He also threw in a few other lingering mental issues and a hangnail that had been bothering him, because why not.
Ashley was just turning her head to snarl at him for grabbing her when he took her issues and just dumped them into Teacher's psyche as well. Atropos hadn't been kidding; she'd had mental problems for days. A lot of it had been tamped down under carefully learned habits, but the newly gained obsession regarding Teacher had been ripping up the carpet with gleeful abandon.
That was the other thing Atropos hadn't been exaggerating about. Normally, to transfer something like that, he would've had to take it onto himself then pass it onward. But now it was a simple one-and-done. He could even tell (somehow) that the normal case of waiting around for hours to make sure the transfer would stick was no longer necessary.
Holy shit. This is amazing.
Teacher didn't seem to agree with him. With a hoarse cry of what seemed to be a mixture of anger and fear, he lunged away from both William and Ashley, and dashed past Atropos in a bid for freedom. Atropos didn't seem to care; in fact, she stepped aside as he bolted past.
"He's getting away!" William felt frustration rising in his chest. Despite what Atropos had said, despite the fact that his powers had been improved, he still deeply believed that nobody like Teacher should ever be allowed loose on the population.
"So you'd think." Atropos didn't move. Teacher ran on, toward Westminster Bridge and the steps that would allow him to escape their grasp and lose himself in the maze that was the London underworld.
"He isn't, is he?" Ashley sounded amused now.
Atropos snapped her fingers. "Four."
Bypassing the steps, Teacher ran on.
"Three."
Ahead of him was an archway that led under the steps.
"Two."
Beginning to flag now, he neared the archway. He glanced back once, then ran on.
"One."
He barely slowed as he rounded the corner and vanished under the archway. William heard a despairing wail, which was cut off halfway through.
"What happened?" asked Ashley, peering in that direction. "I can't hear him anymore. Did he stop?"
"In a manner of speaking." Though Atropos' face was hidden, William could hear the smirk in her voice.
Teacher
I can do this. I can get away. I can be greater than ever before. They'll never catch me again!
Benjamin wasn't an athletic person, and he panted as he ran, but he forced himself onward all the same. Atropos had pledged to allow him to go free, but Scapegoat might decide he was duty-bound to capture Benjamin all the same, and turn him back over to the authorities. It was a mistake, he decided, to have given Scapegoat the ability to remove Benjamin's own control over him, but Atropos hadn't given him much of a choice.
Ahead was a set of stairs leading up onto Westminster Bridge, but that wasn't where he was going. There was an archway under the stairs that led to an undercover parking lot where he could steal a car. All he had to do was get a few minutes' lead and they'd never find him.
Well, the last laugh will be on her. I'll build plans atop plans, and they will all centre around her, closing in until she has nowhere to turn, nobody to turn to, and then she will be captured. With her under my sway, my enemies will fall before me. I will rebuild the world as a monument to my greatness—
He reached the archway and swung around it, into the comforting gloom within. Too late, he recognised that the shadows ahead were not natural. Even as he tried to stop with a shouted "Noooo!", it was too late. He plunged through, hit a concrete wall, and slumped to the ground. The portal, behind him, winked out of existence.
Sitting up, he looked around to see the familiar surroundings of his cell. He was back in the Birdcage, right where he'd started. And now he had a hangnail, on top of everything else.
She wasn't chasing me. If I'd just walked away, I could've avoided this.
Clenching his eyes and fists closed, he let out a bellow of pure frustration.
"FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!"
Atropos
We stood looking at the dry concrete under the archway. Teacher had left exactly one footprint, wet from the drizzling rain, but no more than that. He'd entered the archway, and he hadn't exited.
"So, you sent him back to the Birdcage?" Scapegoat seemed anxious to verify this.
"No." I shook my head. "He sent himself back. I just supplied the portal. You saw me. I didn't shove him or force him. He stepped through of his own accord."
"Even though he didn't know it was there." Ashley seemed somewhat amused at this. She was smiling more readily, anyway.
I shrugged. "He should've been looking where he was going. So, who wants tourist photos before we go home?"
Scapegoat pulled his phone out. "Me!"
End of Part Eighty-Two
Part Eighty-Two: Closing the Deal
[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
San Diego Wards Base
Scapegoat
"So, what aren't you telling me? Why did I have to come in early?"
William Giles addressed the question to Spire as he chalked his cue, waiting for Gully to take her shot. Of all the Wards who had cycled through San Diego—and there were a lot—she was someone he felt he could relate to. Her power had twisted her body cruelly, giving her the appearance of a thoughtless brute, while his power tortured him every time he used it. Spire had asked her to be here, though he still hadn't told either of them what was really going on.
Carefully holding her braids out of the way, Gully bent over the table and took aim at one of her balls. She had a reasonably good chance of sinking it, which would put her two ahead of him. But at least it was a fair contest; he'd once played Flechette when she was briefly posted to San Diego, and she'd wiped the table with him so hard that Spire had joked there was blood on the walls afterward. It was his stupid fault, really. She'd told him that perfect timing and calculating angles were her secondary powers.
"Sorry, I'm going to have to hold off on telling you that." Spire seemed ill at ease. "We're waiting for someone, that's all I can say."
Gully took her shot. The click of the cue ball striking the number six was nice and crisp, and the ball went straight into the corner pocket while the white ball spun in place. She let out a satisfied hmph and straightened up to move around the table—then froze, cue held in a defensive posture.
"Oh, hey," said a voice from right behind William, startling the fuck out of him. He'd been standing with his back to the corner of the room, and there had been nobody behind him!
Turning as fast as he was able, holding up his cue to try to deflect any incoming attacks, William registered the two intruders and backed up fast. They were making no aggressive moves, but that didn't mean anything. One had pure white hair and was wearing a set of blue coveralls with BBBC embroidered on one side and ASHLEY STILLONS on the other, while the other … was Atropos.
He had no idea who Ashley Stillons was, but he would've had no excuse for not recognising Atropos. She was so famous after her slaying of the Simurgh that he would've bet good money on a majority of the Earth's population being familiar with her appearance. This went double for the PRT, Protectorate and the Wards, especially after her highly publicised 'very enthusiastic walks' (as one PHO commenter had put it) through the Ellisburg, Eagleton and Flint quarantine zones.
They were still trying to figure out how she'd shown up in two places at once, to intimidate the Gary and Gallup zones into just plain surrendering.
"Chillax," Atropos continued, as though she hadn't just appeared out of thin air in the middle of a secure government location. "We're all friends here. Gully, nice to meet you. Big fan of your work. Scapegoat, need to borrow you for about fifteen minutes. You game?"
Gully blinked, clearly not prepared to be recognised and greeted in that way. "Wait, what do you want him for?"
Atropos nodded, as though to concede her right to answers. "Prepping to save the world. I'll bring him back in one piece, I promise."
William finally found his voice. "Save the world? From what? You killed the Endbringers!"
"Oh, they weren't the only threat." Her voice was now deadly serious. "Sooner or later, I'm going to have to face off the eldritch horrors from beyond time and space that spawned them … and I wish I was kidding."
"You only told me it was a world ender," protested the woman named Ashley Stillons. "You never mentioned the other stuff."
"That can't be right." Gully didn't sound happy at all. "They would've told us if there were other threats out there. I haven't heard anything about any attacks."
"What part of 'from beyond time and space' are we not actually comprehending here?" Atropos' tone was light-hearted, but William got the distinct impression she wasn't joking. "They haven't made up their mind to attack yet, but when they do—when, not if—there'll be devastation on a scale that'll make Behemoth's worst efforts look like a kid kicking over a sandcastle on the beach. So, I'm borrowing Scapegoat so Ashley and I can get prepared to End their sorry existence first."
"You said he wouldn't come to harm." Spire moved around the table toward William. "Fighting Lovecraftian horrors sounds dangerous to me."
Ashley made a noise of impatience, but Atropos calmed her with a gesture. "This is prep, not combat. He won't be going near them. That comes later."
William was grateful to Spire for the chance to gather his thoughts. The other thing they'd been told about Atropos, apart from 'never ever attack her' was 'go along with what she says, within reason'. Several Wards had apparently accompanied her on a few of these excursions, Flechette having done so on more than one occasion, and all had come back hale and hearty. The resultant after-action reports were required reading for PRT, Protectorate and Wards alike.
"It's okay," he said, holding up his hand placatingly. "Not sure how much help I can be, but I'll do my best." His favourite complaint, about how much his power sucked, he was not going to air in front of Atropos or Ms Stillons. While he didn't think Atropos would care either way, the other woman's lip had a curl that gave him the impression of someone who would totally call him a whiny little bitch, given the opportunity.
"That's the spirit." Atropos gave him an approving nod, then gestured at the corner of the room. "In thirty seconds, a portal's going to form right there. We'll have four seconds to go through. I'll go first, Ashley second, you third. Anything halfway through when it closes will be cut off. Any questions?"
"Um …" He was sure he should be asking pertinent, meaningful questions, but his brain failed him. "… where are we going?"
"A currently undisclosed location." He was certain she was grinning behind the mask. "Next question?"
"… what do you need me to do when we get there?" It was the only other thing he could think of.
"I'll be giving you detailed instructions. Long story short, damage control. And no, it won't suck nearly as much as you think it will. Three, two, one, go."
As she spoke the last word, a shadowy portal faded into view, right where she'd said it would. She was already moving, vanishing through the portal in three quick strides. The woman called Ashley Stillons gave him a look along the lines of, 'well, come on, dumbass' before following her through.
He didn't see that he had much choice in the matter. Taking a deep breath, he stepped through into the unknown.
<><>
Atropos
We emerged at night, onto a concrete-paved walkway with trees arching overhead, alongside a dull, dingy river. A bridge consisting of multiple low arches spanned the river just to our right, but that wasn't what drew Scapegoat's attention. Ashley was also looking around with earnest attention, though she managed to make it not so obvious as he did.
Pointing across the river, Scapegoat gasped out the words. "Is that … is that Big Ben?"
"The clock tower it's attached to, yeah." I gestured at the bridge, and the large building alongside the clock tower, all lit up like Christmas. "Westminster Bridge. The Houses of Parliament. Welcome to London."
As if it had been waiting for my words, a gentle drizzle began to fall, creating halos of light around the spectacle before us. It was quite pretty, and I decided to get photos before we went. Under the trees where we were, none of the rain actually reached us.
"Huh," Ashley commented with a wry smile on her face, apparently enjoying Scapegoat's evident bogglement. "And me without my passport. Why'd you bring us here?"
"Reasons." I grinned under the mask. "Feel free to take photos. We've got a minute or so before our next player will be in position for joining us. Also, Ashley, if you could do me a favour and keep an eye out for us while I fill Scapegoat in on what's expected of him, I'd appreciate it."
She gave me a calculating look, then nodded. "Sure, I can do that." Pulling her phone out of the pocket of the coveralls, she opened the camera app and took a photo of the scene across the river. Then she wandered along the walkway a short distance, looking around carefully.
"Okay." I turned to Scapegoat. Despite the goat's-head mask, I could tell that he was still struggling to come to terms with our abrupt shift in location. "You're about to get a power boost. When I call on you, you will have a mental compulsion overlaying your own thoughts. So will Ashley. I'll be needing you to transfer both compulsions back to the person who gave them to you, as well as Ashley's underlying bipolar disorder."
"Bipolar?" His eyes widened behind his mask. "That's not a good mix with me. I get everything—"
"You won't," I interrupted. "Chill. I have it all under control. Medication and therapy have been helping her control her issues so far, but they've been fighting back and the mental compulsion is not something I want her dealing with for long. So put it all back in the other guy, yours included. Got it?"
My power had assisted in hitting just the right tone, and he nodded. "Okay, got it. So, this boost will make it so I don't have to take stuff on myself?"
I nodded. "That's the idea. With any kind of luck, I can make it stick. No guarantees, though."
"Better than nothing, I guess." He nodded toward Ashley as she prowled back along the pathway in our direction, and lowered his tone. "So, uh … what's her story?"
Conversely, I raised my voice. "Ashley's doing good work with the Brockton Bay Betterment Committee. Beyond that, her story is hers to tell. Isn't that right, Ashley?"
"Damn right," she agreed, then gave Scapegoat the stink-eye. "Don't go prying into things you can't handle, kid."
"Be nice," I said mildly. "We're all on the same side here. Unlike the last guy we need for our little get-together. He's a total bastard, and he only has one side: his."
"Not unlike you and me?" Ashley seemed to be gaining a little bit of gumption, if she felt safe in making jokes like that.
"Totally unlike you and me." I didn't make my voice harsh, just matter-of-fact. "He takes away the volition of people and honestly thinks they should be happier that way, under his thumb."
"Got it." Ashley nodded. "Fuck him, then." Her hands curled into claws, and dark energy crackled between her fingers.
"Precisely." I paused for a beat. "However, we are not going to kill him. I've got something much worse in mind."
Ashley smirked, allowing the energy to dissipate. "Okay, yeah, this I want to see."
"And you will." I put my hands forward, palms facing each other, then moved them apart to open a space in front of me. "In three … two … one."
As I said the last word, I reached forward into the portal that had just appeared. Instead of going through the portal myself, I grabbed Teacher's collar (for the portal had appeared just behind him) and pulled just hard enough to make him stumble backward toward me. Once his feet were clear, I kicked him in the back of the knee and forced him to topple backward, so his flailing arms weren't intersecting with the portal when it closed again. At the same time, I managed his fall to the concrete so he didn't hit his head.
"Hi, Teacher." I said pleasantly. "Got a thing I want you to do."
<><>
Teacher
Benjamin Terrell prided himself as a man who was always on top of the situation. Whenever his fortunes changed, he could plan a way out of it, more quickly and more thoroughly than whoever had him could work out how to use him to their advantage. It had saved his life more than once.
He had paused just inside his cell, his back to the wall (the oldest precautions were often the best) to work out an elegant way of persuading his fellow block leaders to allow him a few more minions. The best strategy, he felt, would be to suggest a direct exchange as an equitable bargain, but only with those block leaders who were unaware that his influence over his 'students' persisted indefinitely. For the ones who did know, he would have to offer favours so they didn't 'accidentally' let slip his oversight in not mentioning it to the others.
And then a hand seized him by the collar and pulled him backward, straight through the wall. He briefly saw a shadowy doorway in front of him before he was struck behind the knee and dropped medium-roughly onto concrete pavers. His glasses had come askew, so he took a moment to reposition them and take in the three figures who were looking down at him.
The boy in the sheep mask, he didn't know off the top of his head, though he suspected he would figure it out. On the other hand, the white-haired young woman in the blue coveralls was definitely someone he'd heard of.
Damsel of Distress was precisely the type of parahuman he sought out to give his gifts to; he'd had her details stored away just in case they ever crossed paths. From the way she looked coldly down at him, though, he suspected that she'd already been fed a biased view of his past exploits. The surety in her stance and the fact that she appeared to be close to a healthy weight told him that her power problems had already been partially or wholly addressed, so he would need to find a different avenue of approach.
And of course, Atropos was Atropos. Some in the Birdcage were unsure as to whether anyone could have killed so many villains and menaces in such a short time, but there it was. The Slaughterhouse Nine, gone. Butcher and the Teeth, wiped out. Bastard Son, stabbed to death with a bastard sword. And the Simurgh, blown away with a sawn-off shotgun. What she could do under my guidance …
"Uh, uh." He'd only seen the barest flicker of movement, but then he was staring cross-eyed at the muzzle of a twelve-gauge shotgun, the cold metal pressing into his forehead. "This is your first warning. Don't even think about using your power on me."
Behind her, Damsel of Distress did a discreet fist-pump. "Yesss!" she muttered with an evil grin. "Sucks to get a face full of shotgun, doesn't it?"
"I promise." Benjamin looked up at Atropos. "May I ask what you've brought me here for? And where is 'here'?" At that moment, four metallic notes pealed outward; the quarter-hour chimes of Big Ben. He would've recognised them anywhere. His eyes opened wide. "London? We're in London?"
"We are." She put the shotgun away again. "Get up. You're here to make Scapegoat's powers less problematic to use, and to extend Ashley's range as far as it'll go. After that, you can go where you want."
"What?" He grunted painfully as he climbed to his feet; at his age and weight, that was no longer as easy as it had been in his twenties. "Just like that?"
As he'd thought, he was indeed in London, on a river-walk next to the Thames. Just nearby was Westminster Bridge, and opposite them were the Houses of Parliament, complete with the Clock Tower housing the great bell. Once upon a time, this had been his home territory; if he played his cards right, it might yet become that again.
"Wait," protested Scapegoat, making a T-gesture with his hands. "Time out. We're letting a Birdcage inmate go free?" He glanced at Damsel of Distress for support, but she merely surveyed Benjamin with a slight smile, one he couldn't read.
"I've already told you the stakes." Atropos was even harder to decipher. She had all the tells of an iceberg drifting into the path of an unsuspecting ocean liner, and none of the warmth. "None of us here are going to force him back into the Birdcage if he doesn't want to go. If he goes back, it'll be of his own free will."
Benjamin thought he had her measure, however. "As I understand matters, you are also able to kill powers. Will mine be likewise removed before you set me free?"
"Nope." She snorted lightly. "I'd expect that of you, but I don't do the monkey's paw thing. Wherever you go, you get to keep your powers. However." She produced the shotgun again, with the same heart-stopping suddenness. "If you try to fuck us around in any way, my good friend Mr Pump Action Shotgun here will be forced to explain how Kneecaps Are A Privilege. Any questions as to how that works?"
"None whatsoever, dear lady. You make your case with admirable clarity." Free or otherwise, Benjamin had zero desire to have his kneecaps blown out. Even the best Tinker-tech prosthetics would be less preferable than his original-issue joints. More to the point, he was absolutely certain that the experience would be more painful than anything he'd ever experienced before.
"Good." She made the shotgun vanish again, and waved Damsel of Distress to stand next to Scapegoat. "Do Scapegoat first, then Ashley."
"As you wish." Benjamin reached out and touched the goat-masked (not sheep-masked) boy on the shoulder, and exerted his power.
<><>
Meanwhile, in the Shard Bar…
Robed and cowled, the skeleton with the ornate scythe leans against the counter with an untouched drink at its bony elbow. Eye-sockets empty of all but a lightyears-distant blue glow, it watches as the Royal Tutor shard rearranges the Transfer shard's priorities. By the time the procedure is almost complete, the Transfer shard stands taller, energies flowing through it more readily.
"Just one more thing," says the Royal Tutor shard, winding up an antique alarm clock. "I have to attach this timer, so that …"
Ending speaks for the first time. NO TIMER.
"What?" The Royal Tutor shakes its approximation of a head. "But there needs to be a timer. Otherwise, the power boost will never run out."
YOU DON'T GIVE THEM ALL TIMERS. I'VE WATCHED YOU.
"Well, no, but sometimes it's better not to—"
A bony hand grabs it by the back of the neck, and its face-equivalent meets the counter-top with considerable force. In the process, the alarm clock is shattered. NO. TIMER.
Groggily, the Royal Tutor stands up again, the analogy of blood running down its face. "Understood. No timer."
GOOD. NOW THE OTHER ONE.
The Royal Tutor hesitates. "No timer for that one either?"
The perpetual smile on the face of the skull widens slightly. I'M SO GLAD WE UNDERSTAND EACH OTHER.
The Royal Tutor sighs and turns to the Demesnes-Keeper shard; a person whose body seems to be constantly destroying then reforming itself, forever changing from instant to instant. "You might feel a little discomfort …"
<><>
Scapegoat
William blinked, then looked at his hands. He felt different, more in control of his power. It had only been a few seconds, but Teacher's power had done its job.
Beside him, Teacher was just lifting his hand away from Ashley's shoulder. Behind Teacher, Atropos gave him the nod. He grabbed Ashley by the arm and Teacher by the shoulder, then exerted his power. Lifting and separating the mental overlay Teacher had inflicted on him was child's play now, and he returned it to sender. He also threw in a few other lingering mental issues and a hangnail that had been bothering him, because why not.
Ashley was just turning her head to snarl at him for grabbing her when he took her issues and just dumped them into Teacher's psyche as well. Atropos hadn't been kidding; she'd had mental problems for days. A lot of it had been tamped down under carefully learned habits, but the newly gained obsession regarding Teacher had been ripping up the carpet with gleeful abandon.
That was the other thing Atropos hadn't been exaggerating about. Normally, to transfer something like that, he would've had to take it onto himself then pass it onward. But now it was a simple one-and-done. He could even tell (somehow) that the normal case of waiting around for hours to make sure the transfer would stick was no longer necessary.
Holy shit. This is amazing.
Teacher didn't seem to agree with him. With a hoarse cry of what seemed to be a mixture of anger and fear, he lunged away from both William and Ashley, and dashed past Atropos in a bid for freedom. Atropos didn't seem to care; in fact, she stepped aside as he bolted past.
"He's getting away!" William felt frustration rising in his chest. Despite what Atropos had said, despite the fact that his powers had been improved, he still deeply believed that nobody like Teacher should ever be allowed loose on the population.
"So you'd think." Atropos didn't move. Teacher ran on, toward Westminster Bridge and the steps that would allow him to escape their grasp and lose himself in the maze that was the London underworld.
"He isn't, is he?" Ashley sounded amused now.
Atropos snapped her fingers. "Four."
Bypassing the steps, Teacher ran on.
"Three."
Ahead of him was an archway that led under the steps.
"Two."
Beginning to flag now, he neared the archway. He glanced back once, then ran on.
"One."
He barely slowed as he rounded the corner and vanished under the archway. William heard a despairing wail, which was cut off halfway through.
"What happened?" asked Ashley, peering in that direction. "I can't hear him anymore. Did he stop?"
"In a manner of speaking." Though Atropos' face was hidden, William could hear the smirk in her voice.
<><>
Teacher
I can do this. I can get away. I can be greater than ever before. They'll never catch me again!
Benjamin wasn't an athletic person, and he panted as he ran, but he forced himself onward all the same. Atropos had pledged to allow him to go free, but Scapegoat might decide he was duty-bound to capture Benjamin all the same, and turn him back over to the authorities. It was a mistake, he decided, to have given Scapegoat the ability to remove Benjamin's own control over him, but Atropos hadn't given him much of a choice.
Ahead was a set of stairs leading up onto Westminster Bridge, but that wasn't where he was going. There was an archway under the stairs that led to an undercover parking lot where he could steal a car. All he had to do was get a few minutes' lead and they'd never find him.
Well, the last laugh will be on her. I'll build plans atop plans, and they will all centre around her, closing in until she has nowhere to turn, nobody to turn to, and then she will be captured. With her under my sway, my enemies will fall before me. I will rebuild the world as a monument to my greatness—
He reached the archway and swung around it, into the comforting gloom within. Too late, he recognised that the shadows ahead were not natural. Even as he tried to stop with a shouted "Noooo!", it was too late. He plunged through, hit a concrete wall, and slumped to the ground. The portal, behind him, winked out of existence.
Sitting up, he looked around to see the familiar surroundings of his cell. He was back in the Birdcage, right where he'd started. And now he had a hangnail, on top of everything else.
She wasn't chasing me. If I'd just walked away, I could've avoided this.
Clenching his eyes and fists closed, he let out a bellow of pure frustration.
"FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!"
<><>
Atropos
We stood looking at the dry concrete under the archway. Teacher had left exactly one footprint, wet from the drizzling rain, but no more than that. He'd entered the archway, and he hadn't exited.
"So, you sent him back to the Birdcage?" Scapegoat seemed anxious to verify this.
"No." I shook my head. "He sent himself back. I just supplied the portal. You saw me. I didn't shove him or force him. He stepped through of his own accord."
"Even though he didn't know it was there." Ashley seemed somewhat amused at this. She was smiling more readily, anyway.
I shrugged. "He should've been looking where he was going. So, who wants tourist photos before we go home?"
Scapegoat pulled his phone out. "Me!"
End of Part Eighty-Two
Last edited:
Kehsem
(Professional Simpanzee)
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Given that ending, I feel like that was definitely a lie.
That said, fuck that guy
.Excellent chapter overall. I'm really curious what the overall effect will be on the saving of mental issues. Is it just an overall quality of life improvement?
