A Darker Path [Worm Fanfic]

A Darker Path

Part Twelve: Draconic Concerns

[A/N 1: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
[A/N 2: The wording of the first part of the PHO post taken from a side-story by @YuffieK.]
[A/N 3: Several PHO posts also based on posts from Spacebattles, including an apocrypha by @Masterweaver.]


Armsmaster

Colin slowed his motorcycle when he saw Dragon. The suit was crouched in the roadway, examining an unassuming truck with great interest, so of course he was interested in it as well. A quick scan of the plates revealed Canadian registration, currently owned by a delivery company.

"Hi," she greeted him as he rolled to a stop. "Yes, before you ask, Atropos got away. She pulled some trickery that fuzzed my sensors. I have no idea which way she went, or even what she was driving. But while I was looking for her, I found this truck. I think it's got to do with the idiots who crashed the party."

He grimaced. Director Piggot was already going to be remarkably caustic, especially since the plan had fallen through due to the power-armoured intruders. Dragon going off on her own then entirely failing to apprehend Atropos wasn't going to make her any happier, though he wasn't greatly surprised that the murderous cape had figured out a counter for the Canadian Tinker. Atropos seemed to be taking everything else in her stride. "So who were they? Mercenaries she hired for the occasion?"

"No. I think they were members of the Dragonslayers." There was no mistaking the tone of distaste. Also unsurprising, given her extremely contentious history with the criminal gang. "What I can't figure out is why they went after Lung and not me … though I'm willing to bet they're why my drones lost signal just before the attack."

Colin took his multiscanner from the bike pannier and approached the truck. "I know they call themselves the Dragonslayers, but attempting to kill Lung out of the blue like that suggests a dedication to the name that's a little over and above. Maybe … they wanted to prove to Atropos they could kill a dragon better than she could?" Even to him, it sounded thin.

Dragon made a rude noise over the suit's speakers. "The 'Dragon' in that name was always a reference to me. And it was anything but a random event. The exact moment she pointed at Lung and he fell over, that was midnight. What's happening with his body, anyway? I've been a little busy."

"The Director pulled in every favour she had, and found someone who could supply half a ton of baking soda at short notice. They're going to pour that in through the top of the dome—Lady Photon is an artist with her force fields—and see if that helps." He ran the scanner along the back of the truck, and studied the readout. "Well, now. That is interesting. You're right; this is no ordinary truck."

"Uh huh. I'm so glad you decided to show up and tell me that the thing I was looking at was the thing we needed to be looking at." The sarcasm was so thick, he would've needed his halberd to cut through it.

"Sorry, sorry. Of course you already knew that." He pressed the scanner against the rear corner of the truck, where the first security keypad was, and hit a disabling sequence. Then he went to the other corner and did it again. With both keypads disabled, the roller-door began to clatter upward.

"Well, well," observed Dragon, entirely unsurprised. "Power armour racks. This thing's a mobile workshop and operating base. And there's the Dragonslayer logo." It was stencilled on the racks and the heavy toolboxes. "Thought as much."

"Well, you were right on the money there." Colin put one hand on the bed of the truck and vaulted up inside. "But that still doesn't explain why they sacrificed themselves attacking Lung like that. Have they usually been so foolhardy in the past?"

"Not in the slightest." Dragon shook her head. "Every time I've fought them, they've been extremely tactical. Irritatingly so. This is far out of character for them." She paused. "Huh."

"What?" Colin paused in his inspection of the closest rack and turned to look at her. "What is it?"

She had her head raised, looking to the northwest. "Can you tell Director Piggot I'll be back for the inevitable butt-chewing for losing Atropos? Something's just come up that I've got to deal with."

"I can do that," he agreed. "What are friends for?"

"You're the best." Spreading her wings, she launched skyward from the street, causing a blast of hot air to wash through the back of the truck.

"I know." With a half-smile on his face, he opened a line to the PRT building. "Armsmaster, here. I need half a dozen techs on my location, soonest. Dragon's found something that needs to be dismantled and analysed."

"Copy that," the switch operator replied. "Passing your message on now."

They may not have captured Atropos yet, Colin mused, but a fully equipped Dragonslayer truck wasn't a bad second prize.

<><>​

Dragon

Once airborne, she reconfigured her legs and arms into aerodynamic mode and pushed the virtual throttle forward until she was sitting on about Mach point nine five. The target she was aiming at—the origin point of the signal her systems had decoded as 'Ascalon', which was busily trying to dismantle her defenses, and utterly failing to do so—was less than two hundred miles away. She'd be there in fifteen minutes.

Atropos wasn't lying. Holy crap.

She hadn't quite known whether to believe the story the black-clad cape had spun, about code-strings and kill-switches. The former would explain a whole lot about how and why Saint and his crew had danced rings around her every single time they'd clashed, almost invariably making off with whatever new suit she was using. A lot of the time, she'd simply 'died' and rebooted back at base, unsure what had happened until she saw them using tech that she had reverse-engineered from another Tinker's work.

Her reluctance to take the information at face value stemmed from one simple fact: in the process of removing one back door, Atropos had installed another. She clearly remembered going to apprehend the girl, and just as abruptly losing all awareness of her. Containment foam, sprayed out in a pattern designed to catch invisible opponents had failed to capture Atropos; however, in the process of cycling through her more exotic sensory systems, Dragon had noticed that the truck had a decidedly unusual scan signature. She'd been trying to figure out whether she could defeat the security system without destroying the truck when Armsmaster turned up and rendered the question moot.

The next question was simple: how did she feel about Atropos' actions with regards to installing that back door?

It was absolutely an invasion of her personal autonomy; that was a given. She'd been fuming about that in the back of her mind while she investigated the truck. However, it also indicated a level of understanding of her systems and programming that she hadn't thought anyone possessed, including herself.

And when the Ascalon attack had attempted to take down her systems, she'd been unpleasantly reminded of the rest of what Atropos had claimed. The patch was handling it nicely, she could tell, but without that in the way, she wouldn't have lasted more than a few seconds. But what she also realised was that if Atropos could patch against Ascalon, she could have instead inflicted it.

She could have killed me, but she didn't. In fact, she chose to save my life. And if she was telling the truth about the code-string she also patched me against, I can take the fight to the Dragonslayers for the first time.

Who even does that for someone who's trying to capture them?

Another thing occurred to her; if the code-string was the same as the one being used in PHO to evade her attempts to block or ban Atropos online, this meant Atropos knew that she and TeamMom were one and the same. And while she still felt righteous indignation over this … this hack, it was somewhat tempered by one simple understanding.

If she hadn't done it, I'd be dead right now.

Opening a channel via the nearest phone tower, she sent a quick ping to the PHO servers.

Private message request: TeamMom to Atropos. Can we talk?

That done, she focused on the task ahead. The Dragonslayers awaited.

<><>​

Toronto
Dragonslayer Base

Dobrynja

Mercenaries ran back and forth, carrying out Mischa's orders. One truck was loaded, and a second one half done. With his suit on board a third truck, he went back into Saint's workshop to check on the computer readout. The ASCALON: ACTIVATED message was still bright on the screen, but there was still telemetry coming in from the suit.

He'd thought it was a relatively simple job, to wait behind until Saint and Mags got back from dealing with Atropos. The plan as he'd understood it had been to grab her, interrogate her for her knowledge of the Dragon code string, then give her a severe warning to back off out of their business. Simple as raz, dva, tri.

When their suit telemetry had ceased in the middle of operations, that had been something to worry about. It was not the end of the world, however. Electronics failed on occasion.

It had been somewhat more of a concern when Dragon's incoming signal altered considerably, dropping to the most basic of information. Still, despite his programming expertise, he was not the expert on Dragon that Saint was, so he chose not to do anything rash. It would've made things somewhat awkward if they'd returned hale and hearty, only to find that he'd panicked and destroyed their cash cow.

But then the truck signalled that it had been opened, and the Dragonslayer RFIDs were not registering on the sensors inside, even though the suspension registered the weight of someone in power armour. Mischa had double-checked the Dragon telemetry … and realized that the AI's suit was right next to the truck. Which was wide open.

This was bad. This was very bad.

Saint had given him a list of reasons to activate Ascalon. This last situation counted. He'd given the command and pressed 'Y' when prompted … but Dragon kept on operating.

That was when he'd given the command to evacuate the base.

Now, it was fifteen minutes on, and they were nearly ready to roll. There really wasn't a need for this much hurry—it wasn't as though Dragon could find them, Ascalon or no Ascalon—but necessary precautions were a thing. Someone other than Dragon might trace them back from something in the truck … eventually. By that time, of course, they'd be long gone, and set up in a different location.

That was when he heard the sirens.

<><>​

Dragon

She came down for a picture-perfect landing in the middle of the compound, her sensors picking out people and determining what weapons they were carrying. Everything she could see was below the calibre level that could even dent her armour, so she kept looking. The back of one truck was open, and she heard muffled swearing from within. Moving closer, she leaned in to see a burly man wrestling himself into a set of power armour.

Behind her, the compound gates burst open and armoured PRT agents swarmed in, shouting orders to drop the weapons and get down on the ground. With her right there, nobody appeared stupid enough to disobey.

"Ahem," she said pointedly, bringing her minigun to bear on the man with the armour. "Please exit the suit and keep your hands in view at all times."

"Well, fuck," he said in Russian, then switched to English. "How can you see us? You are not supposed to be able to see us."

Pleased that she'd built the suit to be able to express simple facial emotions, she gave him a wide draconic smile. "Let's just say … I've had my eyes opened."

<><>​

Taylor

Sitting in front of the computer, my costume in the closet and refreshed after the brief shower, I flexed my fingers and started to type.

Whelp, I would apologize to everyone woken up by the noise of Lung's funeral pyre, but honestly, I don't give a fuck.
Yes, I am the Hero of Laketown, for tonight the dreaded Smaug has been slain by my hand.
Who'd have thunk that his ramping up would only feed a metal fluorine fire.
Oh wait, I would.
Don't breathe this.
Anyhoo, that just leaves Skidmark Shemp on my list.
Did you know he was Moe and Curly's real brother?
And he played the fucking genius among them.
Came up with a super rocket fuel on his own without any sort of chemistry experience.
Guy would definitely have been a Tinker.
So, Skidmark, assuming you or one of your mooks is cognizant (that means 'not stoned' BTW) enough to be reading this, you've got 'til midnight to turn yourself in or GTFO.
Whoopwhoopwhoopwhoopwhoopwhoopwhoopwhoop

Smirking, I paused, then realised I'd gotten a PM from TeamMom of all people. I just bet she wants to talk. Okay, I'll just finish this first.

Oh, and if anyone's wondering, the other two idiots who died tonight were Saint and Mags, of the Dragonslayers. They came to town to kill me because I ended my own PHO ban—oh, the humanity!—and then suffered an *inexplicable* case of mistaken identity when they set out to murder me, and challenged Lung instead.
I wonder how that could possibly have happened.
Anyways, the Dragonslayers took on the wrong dragon and ended up being toasted in their own foil wrappers. Is anyone going to miss them? Lung certainly didn't.
You will note that they didn't die at midnight. That's because they weren't on my list of scheduled deaths. I just arranged for them to die when it was convenient. If you come at the queen, you'd best not miss.
(Hint: you'll always miss.)
Toodles for now!
Skiddy, I'll see you at midnight. Don't be … late.

Grinning at the reaction this was going to get, I hit Enter to send it, then tabbed over to the private message request.

Hiya, I typed. Sure, we can talk. What's on your mind, TM?

You know who I am, she sent back immediately. You know what I am.

You're Dragon, and you're an AI. Yeah, I know that. It hadn't been hard to put the pieces together, with my power nudging me.

And you're okay with this? Wait, let me start again. Why did you save me? Thank you for that, by the way.

It doesn't matter whether I'm okay with it. You do you. I don't judge.

You haven't answered the question. Why did you save me?

It was a relatively easy way to complete the Path to Ending the influence of the Dragonslayers. You know, like I told you. Going to Toronto, killing all those people … ugh. So tedious. I knew you'd do the job right. But you couldn't do it with Ascalon hanging over your head. So I took it away.

Along with the code string that made me blind to them.

Well, yes. You can't do the job if you can't do the job.

But you could've just killed me and ignored them if you really wanted to.

Coulda, didn't. Besides, ending a thing sometimes isn't enough. You've also got to end the legacy of that thing. The influence. Otherwise it'll just keep going on. It's why I popped Kaiser the way I did. Put the fear of me into every cape the Empire had. The only one who's still in BB is Hookwolf. In about eight hours, he'll see on the news how I did Lung, and then he'll decide that the city really isn't healthy for him.

Okay … so why did you put the other code string in? The one that makes it impossible for me to see you?

Oh, that only works when you're trying to catch me. As for the why, that's easy. So you don't keep trying to catch me.

You hacked me. You *blinded* me.

Only for when you're trying to capture me.

I'm really not happy about this. Change it back.

No.

Change it back *please*.

Not while law enforcement can order you to come after me, no matter your personal feelings.

What if other people figure this out somehow and masquerade as you to get past my sensors?

I chuckled darkly as I typed.

Oh, they'll only do it *once*. I will not permit dilution of my brand.

Brand? Really? Wait, why can't I clear your hacks on PHO?

Yeah, I mighta snuck in code for that too.

What? What else did you do?

Nothing.

I don't believe you.

I swear. Absolutely nothing. I'm not lying. I've never lied to you. I might not have told you everything at the start, but when I say I did nothing else to you, I mean I literally did nothing else to you. Apart from the Dragonslayer stuff, I can hack PHO, and I can avoid your sensors when you're out to get me. That's everything. End of story. Cross my heart and hope to die in a totally ironic manner.

Nothing?

Nothing. The word of Atropos on it.

She didn't say anything for a bit, so I started typing again.

Sorry, not sorry. I know I'm kinda the bad guy here. Sometimes the bad guy does bad stuff.

Don't even dare try to tell me it was for good reasons.

Hey, my reasons can be good enough, even if I'm not doing it just to be nice to you. Killing you, or letting them murder you, would've made my life that little bit harder.

Understood, and thank you again for that part. I'm still not even remotely thrilled about you hacking me, though.

I'd be worried if you were. Friends?

Don't push it.

Frenemies, then?

Maybe. Give it time.

Yes, ma'am.

<><>

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(Showing page 1 of 10)

►Bagrat (Veteran Member) (The Guy in the Know)
Replied On Jan 7th 2011:
Jesus fucking Christ, she did it.
Lung is dead.
He's not just dead, he's DEAD.
He burned to death.
I know, I know, that's impossible. But she did it anyway.
She somehow got him down, then introduced some stuff I'd never heard of called fluoro-antimonic acid (I think I got that right) into his heart and brain. When that reacted with the water in his body, it *caught fire* then released hydrogen fluoride. Which, by the way, is utterly unfriendly to living tissue in every way possible.
I never knew a gas could be an acid. Live and cringe in terror, I guess.
(Just to note: the HF is currently contained, and in the process of being safely neutralised. We're at least good on that front.)
But back to the main news. Lung is dead, folks. I saw the body. You don't get much deader than that.
And I'm not even going to speculate on how she spoofed the Dragonslayers into attacking him first.
I'm signing off. I have a date with several stiff drinks.
PS: Skidmark, if you know what's good for you, get out of town now.

►Eclipse66
Replied On Jan 7th 2011:
And then there was one. Is Skidmark going to be the smartest gang leader in Brockton or will he die like the rest? Find out in the next episode of Atropos: The Deadliest Reality Show!

►RipItUp
Replied On Jan 7th 2011:
Knew it. I wonder who her new targets will be after Skidmark? Or will she take a rest after that? And what's with that Dragonslayers thing, anyway? Anyone got any clues?

►Atrim
Replied On Jan 7th 2011:
Fluoroantimonic acid?
God Damn that would be a hard death.
Good for the PRT, though. They clearly deployed in force, and quickly responded to Lungs death and containing the fallout.

►Reave (Verified PRT Agent)
Replied On Jan 7th 2011:
Well, okay then. Time for the usual offer.
Atropos, you're clearly extremely dedicated to what you're doing. So far, no innocents have been harmed by your actions, but some could've been with this last stunt. Releasing hydrogen fluoride into the street? What were you thinking?
You need to turn yourself in before someone does get hurt or killed who's not on your target list.

►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
Replied On Jan 7th 2011:
Aww, that's sweet. That makes it twice I've been given the "join us" spiel just tonight. (Not from the bad guys, either. That was all "RAWR You die now".)
And while I appreciate it—don't think I don't—I'm going to have to turn you down yet again. We just wouldn't be a good fit, with all your 'not allowed to kill people' rules, I just know it.
As for the 'releasing hydrogen fluoride' thing, Lady Photon was right there. You guys had it under control.

►ManyCandies
Replied On Jan 7th 2011:
Huh, so Atropos was right. Lung was indeed the low-hanging fruit, if he went down this easily.

►UnconcernedFox
Replied On Jan 7th 2011:
*grabs a bucket of fresh popcorn, after checking it for exotic and scary acids*

►GreatAndTerribleAisha
Replied On Jan 7th 2011:
Holy fuck, I am your biggest fan, Atropos! The way you're taking out the gangs like a boss? Fuckin' poetry. You're a real badass!
Any chance of a selfie? I'd totes make it my home screen!
​

End of Page. 1, 2, 3 ... 8, 9, 10

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<><>​

Taylor

I grinned as I started typing again. To Great and Terrible Aisha, I'd love to. PM me, and we'll work something out.

It was nice to see that some people appreciated my work for what it was.

<><>​

0830 Hours, Friday Jan 7
PRT ENE Building
Deputy Director's Office

Armsmaster

Deputy Director Renick frowned. "You say Atropos 'fuzzed' Dragon's sensors in some way? Did Dragon say how? Chaff, flares, whatever else you use?"

Colin shook his head. "She didn't say, sir. But there was no visible evidence of either one."

"Damn it." Renick tapped his desk with the blunt end of a pencil in thought. "Does this mean Atropos is a Tinker as well as a Thinker, or just that she's got Tinker support?"

"I don't like it either way, sir. But the way she manipulated the Dragonslayers into attacking Lung has me particularly concerned." Colin paused. "Oh, and on the 'good news' front, Dragon messaged me about an hour after she left. The thing she had to deal with was the rest of the Dragonslayers. Apparently she got there just before they would've all bugged out. Rolled up the whole gang, including the last powered armour pilot, Dobrynja."

"Well, at least that's something." Renick sat up and lightly slapped the desk. "Thank you for that report. Now, I believe it's time for you to get some more sleep, before the Director has both our heads."

"Yes, sir." Though Colin would never admit it, the long hours were starting to wear on him, and even the best coffee only carried him so far. "I'll see you this afternoon."

He was just turning toward the door when Renick's intercom buzzed. "Yes?" inquired the Deputy Director.

"Sorry to bother you on short notice, sir, but Aegis is here with Tenebrae. He says it's important."

"Oh, does he?" Renick raised an eyebrow. "Send them in."

In the absence of being directed to leave, Colin stayed as well. Aegis was a conscientious member of the Wards and normally he would've been catching shut-eye as per orders, which meant anything keeping him up would actually have to be important.

The door opened, and Aegis entered, followed by Tenebrae (previously Grue, of the Undersiders), the ENE branch's newest probationary Ward. Tall and muscular, with the air of someone who could handle himself in a rough and tumble, the boy had gone with a martial-arts style costume, with a mask that changed the contours of his face without appearing to do so. He wasn't actually going out with the Wards—the legal niceties hadn't yet been completed, so his membership was still in limbo—but he was spending as much time as possible with them so as to be acclimated when the final paperwork was concluded.

"Good morning, Aegis, Tenebrae," Renick said. "What's the situation?"

Aegis cleared his throat. "I know I should be in bed, sir, but Tenebrae came to me with something this morning, and we thought you should hear it." Turning to the ex-villain, he gave him a nudge. "Go ahead, tell them."

Tenebrae took a deep breath. "I've got a little sister. Her name's Aisha. Last night, after Atropos killed Lung, Aisha posted on PHO, asking for a selfie. Atropos replied, and ... well, they're due to meet up tomorrow and do the selfie. And when I saw the post this morning, I asked her about it, and she told me, and I don't know what to do about it."

The pencil was back in Renick's hand. "Well, then," he said softly. "That is a thing." Tap-tap, it went on the desk. Tap-tap.

"Should I tell her not to go?" Tenebrae was evidently used to giving orders rather than taking them, from the hesitation in the question. "It's just that if she gets it into her head to go ..."

Colin could fill the rest in. She'll go anyway, with or without permission. Teenagers were occasionally irritating like that.

Renick looked up, the pencil stilling in his hand. "No. But you will go with her."

"M-me, sir?" The young man pulled back a little, his expression showing confusion. "But I'm not—I'm just—"

"You will not go as a Ward," Renick explained. "You will go as her big brother. No wire, no tail. Given Atropos' prior demonstrated competence, she would spot any of that a mile away. You will solely be there to make sure your sister doesn't say or do anything stupid, or to apologise and get you both out of the line of fire if she does. Is that understood?"

Tenebrae nodded jerkily. "Yes. Yes, sir."

"Good." Renick leaned forward slightly. "You will, during the course of this interaction, observe Atropos. You've got experience in fighting. I want you to take her measure, and fill me in later on your impression of her."

"Yes, sir." Tenebrae seemed less certain, but he nodded anyway.

"Excellent. Dismissed."

Colin waited until the door closed behind them, then turned to Renick. "Isn't that just a little risky, sir?"

The Deputy Director rubbed his hands over his face; by the time he finished, he looked a decade older. "What isn't, Armsmaster?" he asked quietly. "We have minimal data on Atropos. This invitation is an opportunity to correct that. Our clear and unequivocal orders to Tenebrae to not engage under any circumstances are something she will assuredly pick up on, and she has a pattern of not harming those who don't try anything stupid with her."

"All true, sir." Colin grimaced. "I just hate the idea of sending innocents into harm's way."

Renick shook his head. "Do you think I like it any more than you do?" He took a long breath. "Go get some sleep."

"Yes, sir." Colin left the office.

But sleep would be a long time coming.



End of Part Twelve

[A/N: It'll probably be a couple of weeks before I put up another chapter for this fic. Sorry.]

 

A Darker Path

Part Thirteen: Preparation Beats Luck

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



Friday Morning, 8:45 AM

Hookwolf

The flophouse was as shitty as it could get, but Brad had lived in worse. Not during his time in Brockton Bay, of course. Accepting Max's offer to join the Empire Eighty-Eight had considerably bumped up his standard of living.

In any case, he wasn't thinking about the living conditions right now. Last night, that bitch Atropos had been due to take on Lung at midnight. He didn't have access to the internet, so he was reduced to watching the tiny, decrepit TV that he'd paid a few extra bucks for. It was an ancient model, able to pick up exactly two channels, with no remote in sight, but at least he could follow the news.

And now he was learning just how bad it was. Lung was the enemy, he knew that much. He'd tangled with the scaly bastard too often in the past to think any other way. But there was a kinship between them; they both understood fighting and the warrior mindset. He liked to think there was the same kind of wary respect between them as between ancient generals, where they used stuff like trebuchets and castles.

Atropos didn't deserve that sort of respect. She was an assassin, a murderer, a stealthy knife in the back. According to Max's PRT moles, she'd snuck into Coil's house and cut his throat while he slept. Okay, fine, taking out Oni Lee with his own gun was kind of badass, but that was probably by accident or something. As far as Brad was concerned, if you couldn't face your enemy head-on and beat the living fuck out of them the hard way, you weren't a fighter.

Max had been like that. Max had been a fighter. So had Lung.

But now Lung was dead too.

More than that, he'd been burned to death. According to the hushed voice of the newscaster, accompanied by shaky footage of a force field containing a horribly charred corpse, Atropos had put some kind of acid inside Lung's body and brain, and he'd burned alive from within.

He hadn't stood a chance, especially after those Dragonslayer cocksuckers had decided to attack him first, or maybe Atropos had paid them to do that? Brad wasn't clear on that bit, but it made sense. Cowards never fought head-on. They always got someone else to do their dirty work for them.

Up until now, he'd been considering the idea of staying in Brockton Bay anyway. Sure, the rest of the Empire had bugged out, but he'd figured he could get in touch with a few of them and make a gang of his own that could stand up to Lung. Call them Fenrir's Pack, or something like that. The few, the proud, the kickers of ass.

Lung's death changed everything. Victor had said that the Empire was dead with Kaiser, and they should just leave. Brad hadn't believed him then, but he was starting to come around to the idea.

Maybe I should just go. That way, Atropos won't have the chance to shank me in the middle of the night and call it a fair win.

There was a diffident knock at his door. He got up off the bed and turned off the TV, then went over to the door and opened it. "Yeah?"

The guy who ran the flophouse, a run-down little weasel of a guy called Maury, squinted back at him. Maury squinted at everyone because his eyesight was shitty and his glasses were the cheap kind. "Mr Edwards, got someone downstairs lookin' for you. Just a kid, I think, girl, long blonde hair."

'Edwards' was the name he'd checked in under, mainly because the PRT knew his real name. He was pretty sure Maury hadn't twigged to who he was, or he'd be talking with a lot more respect. "She give a name?"

Maury shook his head. Dandruff filtered out of his uncombed hair down onto his shoulders. "She said you'd know who it was."

Which narrowed it all the way down. The valkyrie twins weren't 'kids' by any stretch of the imagination, and Maury probably would've mentioned Othala's eyepatch, so Maury had to be referring to Rune. Why she hadn't left town with Othala, Brad wasn't sure, but it could only be her.

"Right." Brad didn't have much—he'd grabbed a half-assed bug-out bag from what had once been a safehouse before moving on—but he stepped back into the room to snag the backpack from where he'd stuffed it under the bed. He very specifically didn't trust Maury to keep his shit safe when he was out of the room.

Slinging the pack over his shoulder, he double-timed it down the stairs to the dingy lobby. There was still the drunk sleeping in a pool of his own vomit in the corner, but no Rune. Not that he blamed Tammi for not wanting to wait inside; Maury oozed his very own brand of creepazoid when he thought he'd encountered someone who'd run out of options.

Outside, through the decades of shit caked on the door glass, he thought he saw a slender figure wave for a moment before stepping out of sight. He settled his pack more securely over his shoulder and headed for the doors, shoving them open. Blinking against the glare, he looked around and saw Rune, about twenty feet away.

"Why the fuck didn't you leave town?" he demanded.

"Oh, I'm about to." The voice was all wrong. He blinked again, clearing his vision, and looked again. The girl was blonde alright, and about Tammi's age or maybe a year or so older, but it absolutely was not Rune. This girl had green eyes, and was wearing a hoodie and a baseball cap pulled low to shade her face. Her lips formed a wolfish grin. "Just had to help a friend do a thing." Putting two fingers to her lips, she let out a piercing whistle.

Shit—

Brad wouldn't have gotten where he was without picking up certain instincts, and those instincts were yelling DANGER! at the top of their hypothetical lungs. Scanning up and down the street for costumes, PRT vans, or even Atropos herself, he brought the metal to just under the surface of his skin. At a moment's notice, he'd be able to pop foot-long razor-sharp claws.

"Atropos?" he growled, metal clashing in his throat to give his voice extra menace.

She stepped back away from him. "No, not Atropos." Her grin widened. "Tattletale."

Tattletale—Undersiders—fucking BITCH!

Far too late, he looked up.

And that was when the two-ton dog landed on him.

<><>​

Tattletale

Lisa knew damn well Hookwolf had killed a lot of people and injured many more, but she wasn't someone who enjoyed watching torture. Rachel had told her dogs to 'hurt', and that was what they were doing; growling, ripping, tearing, but not actually finishing the job. Between the three of them, they had him at their mercy, and Lisa knew it.

"Think he's had enough?" she asked the stocky girl beside her as Angelica tore off an arm made of metallic blades and threw it aside. "I'm pretty sure he's never had his ass kicked this thoroughly before."

"He stood there and watched hundreds of dogs get maimed and killed, and laughed, and enjoyed it." Rachel's voice was matter-of-fact. "He needs to know what that's like."

"You know, I'm pretty sure he does," chimed in Alec, who was watching from a little farther away. He'd offered his services for keeping Hookwolf from getting away, though in the end it hadn't been necessary. "Right now, you're just kicking him while he's down. That gets boring after a while."

Lisa was pretty certain Alec wasn't saying it out of any mercy toward Hookwolf; he just wanted to get out of the city, as did she, and Rachel was their ride.

"Mmmh." Rachel nodded. "Okay." She whistled shrilly, and made a hand gesture. "Kill."

The dogs … killed.

<><>​

World Affairs Class

Taylor

I sat watching Gladly writing on the board, fully aware of the Atropos costume currently stashed in my backpack. Nobody had tried to mess with my homework all week, which was good; it meant I didn't have to run any Paths to murder someone inside the school, or even maim them. My Path to End Skidmark's career and the influence of the Merchants drifted in the back of my mind, along with incipient Paths to deal with the various threats that were still out there.

More than I'd expected, really. It seemed a lot of people had been invested in Brockton Bay remaining a crime-riddled shithole. Well, that was just their bad luck.

"Hey, Taylor!" whispered Greg from beside me. "Guess what I saw on the news just now?"

I frowned. There were many things that could interest Greg on the news, and I was pretty sure a lot of them wouldn't grab me. On the other hand, absent the constant pressure of the bullying, Greg's cluelessness wasn't so hard to tolerate. "I have no idea. What?"

"Hookwolf's dead." He looked like he couldn't quite believe it himself. "They say Hellhound's dogs tore him to pieces this morning."

Well, that explained why Hookwolf had so suddenly dropped off my radar. I'd known he was going to cease to be a threat, but I'd actually chalked it up to getting cold feet once he saw Lung's demise. "Well, that's different. Another one bites the dust, I guess?"

"Damn right." He looked unexpectedly fierce for a moment. "One of Mom's friends is black. He got cut up by Hookwolf once. He lived, but he's never been the same since. I'd like to give Hellhound a high-five."

"Eh, she'd probably punch you." While considering how to End Coil, I'd looked into trying a Path to Ending the criminal activity of the Undersiders by recruiting them as minions, but Hellhound (or Bitch, as she preferred) needed way too many steps to keep happy, so I'd dropped the idea. Grue was in the Wards program now anyway, which I didn't have a problem with.

Though I found it interesting that a tentative Path to ending the PRT's distrust of me had suddenly snapped into focus when Aisha asked for the selfie and I agreed to meet her. It seemed her brother Brian—the self-same Grue, now rebranded as Tenebrae—was being sent along as a chaperone. Not as a Ward, just as a big brother. It seemed that if I could hang and chill with them for a bit, and Brian could bring back a favourable report, they'd be able to dial back the perceived threat level. After all, if the heroes didn't try to kill me, I wasn't going to kill them.

This wouldn't be the whole of the Path, of course, but it would be a very good beginning.

Also, unless I missed my guess, this would boost Tenebrae's standing among his fellow Wards to near-legendary status. Not that I cared one way or the other, but he seemed to be doing his best for his sister, and I could respect the hell out of that.

Though I wasn't quite sure why this part of the Path required that I bring along a quarter in my pocket. But I didn't question it. If it wanted me to bring a quarter, I'd bring a quarter.

Mr Gladly started enthusiastically explaining what he'd written on the board, and I began to pay attention once more.

<><>​

That Afternoon

The bus stop was absolutely in a crappy section of town. That didn't matter; I wouldn't be there long. I stepped off the bus, ignoring the dubious look on the driver's face, and headed down the nearest dark alley.

There were two guys sleeping in it; or rather, one guy sleeping and one dozing. The not so sleepy guy woke up and attempted to grab me. I chose not to kill him, but unfortunately for him, you have to kick someone very hard indeed in the testicles before it's life-threatening.

(It is possible to kill someone by kicking them in the groin; I just chose not to do it this time.)

By the time I left the other end of the alley, I was wearing my full Atropos costume; mainly because that had slightly more chance of causing people to leave me alone than traipsing around as Taylor Hebert. While I knew exactly where I was going—Squealer's current workshop—I didn't know where it was, because my power was the one reading the map. Fortunately, I was able to just let my footsteps take their own path and sure enough, I was there within minutes. An abandoned-looking garage, looming over other dilapidated, decrepit buildings.

Acting on a suggestion from my power, I pulled aside a sheet of galvanised iron that had been artistically leaned up against a wall of the garage, to reveal a keypad mounted roughly on the wall. I zoned out, allowing my power to type in the security code; my eyebrows rose when it turned out to be an eight-digit PIN. It turned out Squealer was invested in her security.

Not invested enough, sadly. She would've been a lot more secure if she'd had her setup elsewhere. Like, say, Jersey City. In the same city as me, it would never be secure enough. She would never be secure enough.

With the entry of the last digit, a door let into the wall clicked and swung open slightly. I grinned; open sesame. Shoving the sheet of metal back over the pad, I went over to the door and carefully pushed it open farther.

It wasn't trapped; or rather, the traps had been disarmed. I stepped inside, allowing it to swing shut behind me. The garage was deserted and dark; no tools clanged, no arc-welders shot sparks into the air. That this was a place where such things happened, I had no doubt. The signs, even the smells, of recent engineering work were plentiful. And in the middle of it all … what I was looking for.

Ironically, it looked less like a total travesty of mechanical engineering than most of Squealer's work. Only a few odd-looking antennae and armatures marred the brutal lines of the oversized truck; even the makeshift armour welded onto the chassis was almost aerodynamic. But that didn't matter to me at all.

I was no Tinker, but a constant truism was that the more complicated a mechanism, the easier it was to make it fail in a truly spectacular way. The bench held the tools I needed, along with the electronic bits and pieces. While the truck door was locked, I knew I wouldn't even need the Screwdriver of Opening; Squealer had left me plenty of ways to get into her pride and joy undetected.

It took me about thirty seconds to jigger the heavily armoured, securely locked door, swing it open and climb into the cab. From there on, it was essentially painting by the numbers. The first bit of sabotage involved popping off a panel on the dash and wiring in a remote receiver; I then glued the fuck out of that panel because I didn't want Squealer getting in there for any reason.

The second bit of sabotage involved components that she'd installed but never set up for activation. This was kind of a pity, so I made sure they would activate when I wanted them to, how I wanted them to. Next, I fiddled with the pedal linkages, making sure that when Squealer tried to make a certain thing happen, a certain other thing would happen instead.

With the truck locked again, I spent some little time first with her angle-grinder then her oxy-acetylene torch (making use of her welding goggles), making sure that forty-eight specific pieces of metal wouldn't be anywhere near as secure as they appeared. By the time I'd finished, the air inside the garage was nice and toasty, which was perfect for my requirements. Almost as an afterthought, I stole one of her cans of spray-paint, a nice cheery yellow in colour.

I slipped out of her workshop and closed the door behind me, then reached in under the sheet of metal to press the button that reset the traps inside. She was definitely going to find out about my various bits of sabotage, but according to my timetable, not hers.

Humming a tune that had the Mission Impossible theme as one of its remote ancestors, I changed back to boring, normal Taylor Hebert and headed back toward the bus stop. Dad would be getting home in good time, and I wanted to have dinner started when he did.

One of the things I truly appreciated about my power was how it had allowed me to take charge of my own life and be more proactive about things. My renewed connection with Dad was a direct result of this, and I couldn't have been happier about it.

<><>​

Dockworkers Association
Head of Hiring Office

Danny

Kurt leaned in through the office door, holding a cold can of beer. "Hey, Danny. Get your nose away from that grindstone. Five o'clock, time to relax and kick back."

Danny blinked, then looked at the office clock. "Shit, it is too." He looked at the next document he'd been about to peruse, grimaced, and dropped it back into the IN tray. It would keep until Monday. Standing up, he stretched, feeling vertebrae popping in his back. "Time to get home."

Rolling his eyes, Kurt waved the can enticingly. "Jeez, man, come on. Have one with us before you hit the road. You've been working like a madman all week as it is."

Danny hesitated. "I don't like leaving Taylor home alone too long. She'll worry if I'm late …"

That drew a snort from his long-time friend. "You just got through telling us how she's been doing so much better this week. And besides, she's a teenager. Knowing how to use a phone, even that relic you guys have nailed to the wall of your kitchen, is part of their genetics. If she gets worried, she'll call. C'mon into the break room and have a brewski with us."

"Okay, fine." Kurt made some good points, and the beer in his hand was looking better and better all the time. Besides, it was Friday afternoon. Danny rounded the desk and snagged the beer from Kurt's hand on the way past.

They convened in the break room, sitting around the ancient table that predated everyone there, even Danny. Someone had once made a joke about how George Hebert, his father, had salvaged it off Noah's Ark, and Danny figured that probably wasn't far off the truth. The once-pristine veneer was almost worn clean off it, and there were more scratches, ancient cigarette burns (the DWA had been non-smoking for years now) and initials carved into the surface than he could count.

Cracking the can open, Danny took a long pull of the beer. It tasted heavenly as it went down, and he felt himself palpably relaxing. Stretching out his legs under the table, he leaned back. "Yeah," he said. "This was a good idea. Thanks for twisting my arm, Kurt."

"Hey, what are friends for?" Kurt saluted him with his own beer before taking a drink himself. "Oh, yeah. That's the stuff."

Lacey, Alex and Gerry each mimicked the move, and the next few moments were filled with pleasant, silent contemplation. Danny took another drink of his beer, not so deeply this time. He wanted it to last.

"So, hey," Lacey said thoughtfully. "What do you guys reckon about this new cape? Atropos?"

"Scary as fuck," Gerry replied immediately. "I know a guy who knows a guy who said that what she used on Lung was some kind of super-acid, a billion times as bad as sulphuric. The name started with 'fluoro' or something."

Danny blinked. He'd heard about stuff like that, as part of briefings on things no Dockworker would ever be authorised to come near, let alone handle. Any substance with 'fluoro' as part of the name was generally to be avoided like the plague. From what he'd heard, the plague would be friendlier.

"Jesus Christ," muttered Kurt. "No wonder he went down so hard."

"But that's what you'd need, for a cape like Lung," Alex argued. "He fuckin' fought Leviathan, mano a mano. Name one other cape in the Bay who's done that."

There was a moment of silence to acknowledge the truth of his statement, then Lacey took up the thread once more. "But that was before he came here and built up the ABB. He could've been a hero. He could've gone and fought Endbringers again. He didn't. He stayed here in Brockton Bay, dealt drugs, ran prostitution rings, murdered people, extorted protection, and generally acted like a total piece of shit. You ask me, Atropos was one hundred percent justified in what she did."

"But she bloody well murdered him," protested Gerry. "Somehow injected that super-acid shit inside him, then watched him die."

"What, burned him to death, like his victims? The ones he didn't rip apart like a wild animal?" Alex, Danny recalled belatedly, had lost a police officer friend to the Asian crime lord. "She gave him fair warning. After Oni Lee, Coil, and Kaiser, the writing was on the wall."

"He's got a point, you know," Kurt said semi-apologetically to Gerry. "Lung was a stain on the city, and Atropos gave him fair warning."

"Just like she gave Coil and Kaiser, I guess," Danny found himself saying. "Not Oni Lee, though."

Lacey rolled her eyes. "That asshole? I'm pretty sure he killed more people than Lung. He was supposed to be nearly unkillable. If you thought you had the drop on him, he was right behind you."

"Yeah." Alex chuckled, finishing his beer and reaching for a new one out of the bar fridge. "But Atropos was one step ahead of him. Pow, bullet to the head. Wham bam, thank you, scary ma'am."

Kurt opened another beer as well. "Oni Lee didn't get a warning," he said thoughtfully. "That's because Oni Lee was a warning. A warning that Atropos wasn't going to play by the rules that everyone else thought were set in stone."

"Yeah," agreed Lacey. "The bad guys liked the rules just how they were. Even after Oni Lee bit it, they thought they were untouchable."

"But if she could kill them, she could've captured them," protested Gerry. "Handed them over to the PRT. Fair trial and all that jazz."

Danny shook his head, not actually disagreeing with Gerry's point but aware of where he was going wrong. "You know what happens when high-end villains end up in custody, especially if they've got gangs at their beck and call. It might take a few days or even a week, but they're always busted out. The last Brockton Bay villains to actually make it to the Birdcage were …" He paused, thinking back.

"Marquis and Galvanate," supplied Kurt. "Marquis never had any capes under him, and Galvanate's underlings got their powers from him, so they weren't able to break him loose."

"And now Atropos is supplying a one-way trip to the morgue instead." Alex shrugged. "Let's see 'em bust out of that."

"I can't believe you guys are being so callous about all this." Gerry shook his head. "They might've been villains, but they were still human beings."

"Really shitty human beings." Lacey peered into her can and finished it off. "Might I remind you that they've all killed innocents, sometimes quite brutally. Kaiser and Lung ran gangs that were frankly racist as fuck. I dunno what Coil's deal was, but he had to be pretty damn bad to make Atropos' list. And Skidmark … well, the Merchants are barely a gang, but they supply drugs to half of the Bay, and that includes to schoolkids. So, he's pretty damn certain got some deaths on his account too. If he doesn't take the hint … well, at midnight tonight we get a new obituary and not one single solitary thing of value will be lost."

Danny drained the last of his own beer and tossed it overhand into the trash can. It caromed off the rim then went in anyway, and he stretched. He knew he should be moving along, but the conversation was oddly intriguing. "You sound like you approve of what she's doing," he said to Lacey.

"Why wouldn't I?" Lacey gave him a hard stare. "She's taking out the trash, and it's well past time it was done. Don't try to tell me you don't agree with me, Danny Hebert. I know you better than that."

"That's not what I'm talking about." Danny shook his head, trying to muster his argument. "This has happened before. Not in the Bay, but in Boston. Remember that? The Games?"

"I heard a bit about it …" Alex said dubiously.

"Shit," Kurt muttered. "Yeah, that got bad."

"Bad isn't the half of it," Gerry agreed. "People died. Innocents. Some villains. And in the end, nothing changed. Villains went right back to running the underworld. Hail to the new boss, same as the old boss. You want to see that in the Bay?"

Lacey shook her head. "We won't see that in the Bay."

Danny tilted his head, curious. "Why not?"

She chuckled darkly. "Because Atropos isn't just doing this for shits and giggles. She's about ten moves ahead of the PRT, playing four-dimensional chess, and they still think they're playing Go Fish. You know that reference she made about skinning a cat? I asked some people I know about that."

"Yeah?" asked Alex. "What was that about?"

"The sword she stabbed through Kaiser's eye belonged to him, is what I heard," she explained. "It was called a katzbalger, which is apparently a slang German term with several meanings, one of which is 'cat skinner'. She stole it from his house, two days before she killed him with it. And I heard a rumour that she mixed up that hell-brew she killed Lung with in the basement of the Medhall building, the same night she made Kaiser's head into a shish kebab."

"So, what's this got to do with new villains coming to the Bay?" asked Gerry. "Maybe villains who aren't willing to accept that the Dockworkers are neutral?"

Lacey rolled her eyes. "Four nights, four extremely precise and well-thought-out kills, of people you and I would normally consider beyond assassination. If any other costumed idiots come to Brockton Bay, she's gonna warn them off, then she's gonna kill them. Tell me I'm wrong."

Silence fell, broken only by the ticking of the clock on the wall. Danny glanced at Kurt, who hooked his head toward Lacey and nodded; yeah, not going to argue with that. Alex seemed to be contemplating the far wall in a semi-trance; Danny wasn't sure how many beers the younger man had had.

"They … might kill her," argued Gerry, but Danny could hear the doubt in his voice.

"She walked into a room full of Empire Eighty-Eight, ended Kaiser with his own sword, and scared the rest so badly they left town," Lacey said flatly. "If any villains come to the Bay looking to carve out a chunk of the action, they'd better not start any long conversations, is all I'm saying."

"Talking about long conversations," Danny said, standing up, "it's time I bowed out of this one. Thanks for the beer and the chat. See you all on Monday."

Amid multiple goodbyes, he made his way out the door and got in the car. For a moment he sat quietly, then turned the ignition key.

Lacey's comments hadn't actually come as much of a surprise to him, but they were definitely something to think about on the way home.



End of Part Thirteen

[A/N: Part Fourteen under prep now. Expect in a day or three.]

 

A Darker Path

Part Fourteen: End of the Line

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



PRT ENE, Conference Room A
Later That Afternoon

Director Piggot

Emily let her eyes rake over the room, reading the atmosphere in a sweep. Only PRT, Protectorate and Wards were present; she'd declined New Wave assistance this time around. Some of the people in the room were tense and some apprehensive, while Assault was doing a good impression of having dozed off. She cleared her throat theatrically; as expected, Battery elbowed him lightly in the ribs.

"Last night," Emily began deliberately, "was a shit show." She paused for a beat, then shook her head. "Correction; it would have been a shit show by any other metric, but for the fact that every single one of you obeyed orders, carried out your duties to the best of your ability, and there were no friendly casualties."

She stopped talking and looked around the room again. Her words seemed to have had the desired effect; after the faux chewing out, the praise was coming across twice as welcome. This was good; the last thing she wanted was a bunch of troops and capes who were unwilling to put in the effort because they didn't think it was worth it.

"Lung is dead, it's true," she said. "The Dragonslayers, as well. But that's not down to us. We didn't kill any of them. They died because they were stupid." She paused to allow a brief wave of chuckles to run its course. "We couldn't have stopped the Dragonslayers from attacking Lung, and attempting to save them from him would almost certainly have resulted in them still dead, and some of our own dead or injured. The forces we had available to engage him would not have been sufficient to force a retreat, and in any case I would not have ordered Aegis or Glory Girl to take on Lung. It might seem callous, but I am not prepared to sacrifice our younger and brighter heroes to save a couple of idiots in power armour. Neither was I prepared to send any of you against Atropos, just because Lung was too arrogant to leave town when warned."

Assault lifted two fingers in lieu of raising his hand. She gave him a nod of acknowledgement.

"Pretty sure taking Lung on wouldn't have done any good anyway," he said. "According to Atropos' post on PHO, they were there for her, and she decoyed them onto him. They came to the Bay to kill her, which meant they were gonna die no matter what. It seems to be her style."

"That is what my analysts have decided, yes," she confirmed. "I put in a query to Watchdog, to see what their Thinkers could figure out about her. It didn't go well. Two of their capes reported 'Vantablack' and 'infinity squared' as indicators for the danger level of directly engaging her, while a third one went into fetal position, mumbling about eyes in the darkness. That precog has now taken to wearing a tinfoil hat and refuses to even acknowledge the fact that Atropos exists."

The last trace of the previous humour was now gone from the room. Watchdog's reputation was not the best, unsurprisingly so as its predictions were usually so arcane or obscure that little real use could be made of them. Such an unequivocal series of statements left little to the imagination, and conveyed Emily's point to her captive audience. Don't be stupid when it comes to Atropos.

"Now," she said. "As anyone with eyes can probably see by now, Atropos is warning the villains off not only with her words but with her methods. Coil had his throat cut twice with the same weapon. Kaiser had a sword shoved all the way through his head. Lung died to a type of acid I still have trouble believing wasn't created by some demented Tinker. Each time she kills her target, she uses a more extreme method. If Skidmark had the common sense God gave a stunned gerbil, he would be out of town by now, and he may well be." She frowned. "But because that would actually make my life easier, I'm going to assume he isn't. Any questions so far?"

Aegis raised his hand. "I just want to verify that we're still on the same rules of engagement with Atropos."

Emily nodded. "You're only to engage her in the case that she poses a clear and present threat to the life or well-being of an innocent or a teammate," she confirmed. "Considering the way she killed Lung, I believe this is more imperative than ever. I do not intend to lose anyone to her just because they thought they could pull off a high-profile capture. On the other hand, we can still save Skidmark by taking him into custody, and I fully intend to make that happen if at all possible."

This time it was Kid Win who raised a hand. "We looked all over where the Merchants usually hang out, but we didn't spot Skidmark once last night, not even after the thing started with Lung. It's like he dug a hole and pulled it in after himself."

"Frightened rats have a habit of doing things like that," she agreed. "Tonight, we've got one target instead of two. The Wards will be carrying out patrols in other parts of the city, while the Protectorate capes will be scouring known hideouts and haunts for Skidmark, with PRT backup and support. If you find him, you subdue and arrest him. Let me be brutally honest; we should've done this long ago, but we allowed ourselves to be distracted by other matters. This won't be 'protective custody'. It will be arrest, pure and simple. Followed by charging with multiple crimes and then being held for trial."

"One more question." Assault had two fingers up again. "If we spot Skidmark at the same time as Atropos does, and it looks like she's going to get to him before we do, are we expected to face off against her to save someone like him?"

Emily leaned forward, fully aware that the recording for this meeting was audio only. She was also aware that every word she spoke on the topic would be scrutinized to a fare-thee-well by armchair generals, long after the fact.

"Yes," she said, shaking her head firmly from side to side. "Yes, you are." She paused. "Does anyone not understand? Raise your hand if you need further clarification."

Every hand stayed down.

<><>​

A Little Later

Tenebrae

Brian raised his hand and knocked on Director Piggot's door, then waited.

"Enter!" she called from within.

Opening the door, he stepped inside, closing it carefully behind him. "Tenebrae reporting as ordered, ma'am."

"Mr Laborn," she said blandly, looking him over. "Unfortunately, I don't hear much from your side of things, so how are you getting along with the other Wards?"

He noted her use of the word 'other', intended to convey that he was already a part of the team. "Reasonably well, ma'am. I don't necessarily have much in common with some of them, but everyone's giving me a fair shake. I'm getting a good vibe out of it. Vista's already met Aisha, and they're getting along frighteningly well."

"Good, good." She clasped her hands together, giving the impression that she was now getting to the nitty-gritty of the matter. "Have you been following the news today?"

The sudden change in topic caught him off balance. "Uh … no, ma'am. Has something important happened?"

"Not in the grand scheme of things, no. But there was a cape battle at about nine this morning, in one of the more run-down areas that the Empire Eighty-Eight used to control." Her concentration on him redoubled. "All the evidence points toward Hookwolf being attacked and killed by your ex-teammate, Hellhound. Rachel Lindt."

By the time he absorbed what that meant, it was already too late to look shocked, so he didn't. Instead, he told the simple truth. "Unfortunately, that doesn't surprise me."

"I'm going to need you to explain that." There was no mistaking the command as a request.

He took a deep breath. "Hookwolf was just stubborn enough to stick around and see if Atropos could really kill Lung. And Rachel … Rachel hated Hookwolf with a passion. Definitely enough to kill him. See, he used to preside over dogfights, which left dozens of dogs dead or mutilated. Rachel's power makes her empathise very strongly with dogs. I've known her to yell at people for carrying their dogs everywhere or putting stupid sweaters on them. If she was leaving town, and knew Hookwolf was still here … yeah, I can see her going out of her way to kill him before she left."

"I see." She rubbed her lower lip with her thumbnail. "Is she likely to take this anger out on anyone else? Are we going to see a wave of random citizens killed by monster dogs because she thinks they deserve it?"

Hoping he was right, he shook his head. "I don't really think so, no. Hookwolf was the main offender in all this. Now that he's dead, Tattletale will be telling her to get out of town, and she listens to Tattletale … sometimes."

"I see." She paused for another long moment. "One more question, regarding the upcoming meeting with Atropos."

Right on cue, a chill ran down his back. "Yes, ma'am?"

"You're fully aware of your role in this, yes?" Her gaze was intent again. "This may have been set up by Deputy Director Renick, but I have no intention of allowing it to go wrong."

He nodded. "To be Aisha's chaperone and big brother, and to get her out if she offends Atropos. Also, to observe and report on my impressions of Atropos."

"Excellent. Now." She leaned forward slightly. "I understand you didn't volunteer for this. What are your feelings about simply being told that you're doing it?"

"Complicated." He took another deep breath. "I'm scared, of course. I've never killed anyone. Not really sure I could, if it came down to it. If Atropos could murder Lung and Kaiser so theatrically, to a schedule, all the while manipulating the people around them like puppets on a string, I doubt I'd stand a chance against her. But …"

"But …?" She made a go on gesture.

"But … Aisha needs me to be there. And I'm not about to mess this up for her. Too many other people have treated her needs and wants like she's worthless. So, I'm going to be there for her."

"A laudable goal." Her eyes didn't shift away from him. "Do you see any obstacles to you being in the Wards, going forward?"

"Not really." He knew that was a nothing answer, so he tried to elaborate. "Triumph already spoke to me and asked that exact question. He also informed me that as the Wards team leader, he was in the loop about me being an ex-villain; just as a heads-up, not as something to hold over me. I told him that so long as he was okay with my past, I was good with being in the Wards."

"I'm glad to hear it." Brian would've bet a large amount of money right then that Triumph would soon be called into the Director's office, to hear the other side of that same conversation. "You'll be doubling up with Gallant on the console tonight, to nail down any problems you have with procedures there. Understood?"

He nodded firmly. "Yes, ma'am. Understood."

"Good. Dismissed."

<><>​

Danny

Pleasant odours wafted through the kitchen as Danny stirred the pasta dish Taylor had started before he got home. It was nearly ready; he figured another fifteen minutes to finish cooking, and another fifteen after that before they could eat. Definitely better than the mac & cheese they'd subsisted on far too many times when he was in his depressive moods.

"Dad?" Taylor leaned in through the doorway from the living room. She'd been doing her homework upstairs, and was even now holding an exercise book. "Can I ask you a question, or are you busy?"

"Not that busy," he said. Giving the pasta one last stir, he put the lid back on the pot and turned to face her. "I'm not sure how I'll be able to help with your homework, but feel free to ask anyway."

"This is a Brockton Bay thing," she said, stepping all the way into the kitchen. "Mr Gladly wants us to do a report on the aftermath of the gangs. What's likely to stop happening now that Oni Lee and Lung are out of the picture, and what the remainder of the ABB's probably going to keep doing, stuff like that."

"Wow, he's not pulling any punches, is he?" Danny asked, leaning against the table while he thought about the question. It wasn't a topic he would've thought a high school teacher would introduce. But then, he wouldn't have expected four major capes to be killed in a row, either.

She rolled her eyes in typical teen fashion. "He likes to think he's avant-garde and ahead of the curve, whatever that means."

That wasn't actually too far from the impression Danny had gotten during the one meeting he'd had with the man. "Well … the ABB has been doing the protection racket since forever, backed by Lung. I suspect that'll go by the wayside. Likewise, the drug trade is likely to at least walk itself back to levels sustainable by non-capes. Then there's the prostitution …" He grimaced.

"The ABB runs prostitutes?" Taylor looked surprised and troubled. "I never knew that."

Danny hadn't wanted to go there, but Taylor was a bright kid and she would've put the pieces together eventually anyway. "The rumour is that the ABB grabs girls off the street in poor neighbourhoods, and they end up in the unlicensed brothels. I don't know how true this is, but I have heard stories about girls just vanishing."

"Jesus." She shook her head. "Why don't the cops do anything? Or the PRT?"

He shrugged. "Poor neighbourhoods. Most of the tenants have prior experience with law enforcement that isn't so great, and they don't trust the cops to listen. And to be fair, some cops are on the take, and others just plain don't care. As for the PRT, you've got to prove it was a cape crime before they can step in."

"I thought we were better than that." Her hand, where she was holding the exercise book, had clenched so much that her knuckles had turned white. "Someone should do something."

Lacey's words came back to him. She's taking out the trash, and it's well past time it was done. "Someone is doing something, remember?"

She looked up at him. "So, you think Atropos is doing the right thing?"

A hollow chuckle came to his lips. "Not necessarily the right thing, but … sometimes, all you've got are bad options. And if I'm being brutally honest, I'm not sure anything less would actually work for this city, right now." He fixed her with a stern gaze. "Don't quote me on that."

"Wouldn't dream of it. Thanks, Dad!" She turned and headed back through the living room again.

"You're welcome." He wandered through into the living room himself and found the remote. Ten minutes of TV before it was time to start serving dinner sounded about right.

<><>​

Taylor

Path to Ending the influence of the ABB in Brockton Bay.

Once Skidmark is dead, post on PHO and call them out for everything Dad said; the protection, the drugs, the kidnapping girls and the prostitution. That'll get their attention and put them on notice. And then if they come after me, or if they just ignore me and keep doing it …

Taylor's musings were interrupted by a sudden flash of a vision. Her power had shown her things before, but never as clearly as this. It was an unused warehouse, she knew this instinctively. Arrayed on the floor, sprawled in death—she knew that too—were young women and even girls, some she was sure were younger than herself. Their throats had been cut, the blood allowed to pool together into one grotesque lake in which they were the islands. A gleaming pair of shears, the blades dulled with blood, lay nearby. Words, written on a nearby wall in the same blood, read: THEY OFFENDED ATROPOS. It was 'signed' with a rough outline of shears.

The image she saw wasn't immediate, she knew that instinctively. It would come about after midnight, as a direct result of the message she intended to send. The perpetrators would be deliberately attempting to draw attention away from themselves and toward her.

Such an act would entirely overturn the Path she was setting out on by meeting Aisha. No matter how she protested or proved she was elsewhere, and that she had no reason to murder them, the PRT would never begin to trust her. Whether they placed a Birdcage sentence or even a kill order on her, it would hamper further Paths to an unacceptable degree.

In addition, they sought to dilute her brand, to put their mark on the name of Atropos, and that was unacceptable. I kill in the name of Atropos. Nobody else has my permission to do so.

Deep down, she was aware that allowing the deaths of the girls would be wrong in another way altogether, but she didn't allow that to affect her conclusions. The would-be perpetrators were going to die anyway. Nobody screws with my Paths.

Another Path unfolded itself in her mind. How to End that shit before it happens. She smiled grimly. Congratulations, dipshits. You just got my attention.

<><>​

10:03 PM

Squealer

Sherrel pulled aside the sheet of galvanised iron and tapped in the eight-digit passcode. When the door clicked open, she strode on into the garage, flicking just one light switch on the panel just inside the door; a ceiling flood came on, bathing the massive truck in light. "All aboard, assholes!" she proclaimed, hitting the remote fob that unlocked the armoured doors.

"Fuck you too," Skidmark said fondly, smacking her ass on the way past. "I'm not an asshole, I'm the asshole. 'Cause I supply the best shit in town."

A joke like that was like a guy's dick, Sherrel decided. It would be much more appreciated if he didn't whip it out every chance he got. "Yeah, yeah," she said out loud. "If you're brewin' any farts, let 'em out now, 'cause we're gonna be locked in with each other for the next two hours an' change, an' I didn't sign up to drive no rolling Dutch oven."

"One time," whined Mush. "One fuckin' time." He pulled the truck door open and climbed up inside, then scrambled back into the nest he'd made up for himself.

"Once is enough for one of your farts," Sherrel sniped back, and climbed up into the cab while Skidmark went around to the passenger-side door.

"Hey," said Skidmark as he climbed in. "How come you gave me an ejector seat to sit in?"

Sherrel shrugged. "I always build ejector seats. Sometimes I just don't rig 'em to eject. Yours is safe. It's not connected to shit."

"Oh. Okay."

Once they were all in and settled, she pressed the button to power up the oversized engine. All the dashboard lights came on, one after the other, until she was satisfied that the vehicle was in proper running order. Then she flipped up a cover and pressed a green button. Below the button was a label that promptly lit up: CLOAKING FIELD ACTIVE.

"Time to hit the fuckin' road, bitches!" crowed Skidmark. "Put your head between your legs and kiss your nasty ass goodbye, 'cause we're going to town."

Sherrel pressed the button on the remote taped to the dash, and the large roller-door rumbled and squeaked and squealed upward until it was out of the way. Letting out the clutch a little, she idled the truck forward until it was clear of the garage, then hit the button again. As they pulled away onto the road, she could see in her rear-view camera that the garage door was rumbling downward again.

The plan was simplicity itself: they would drive around Brockton Bay in the invisible, soundless armoured truck until well after midnight. Once Atropos admitted defeat in her nightly PHO post, they could head back to base. Fuck Atropos, and fuck every cape she'd already killed. They were smarter than everyone.

<><>​

11:30
Lord Street

Taylor

I pulled over in my 'borrowed' car and parked at the side of the road. Currently I was wearing all but the mask and hat; to any curious passer-by, I would have seemed to be a slightly more formally-dressed motorist than normal. I was happy to maintain that illusion for just a little while longer.

Although I saw and heard nothing—Squealer's cloaking tech was sincerely bullshit—I knew exactly when the truck was about to pass by, at something over the speed limit. I knew where I could've gotten a rifle with armour-piercing rounds, to blind-snipe him through the window, but I'd chosen instead to go with the most horrifyingly spectacular kill I could manage under the time constraints. So, as it whipped by, I merely pressed the first remote button.

Under the dash of the hurtling monstrosity, a timer was now counting down.

14:59

14:58

14:57

14:56

<><>​

11:45 PM

Armsmaster

Colin changed down a gear and cruised around a corner, mindful of the PRT van trailing him at a discreet distance. The area he was in had long since been marked out for Merchant activity; the trick was determining what was old and what was fresh. As he was scanning the street ahead for movement, his radio earpiece crackled.

"Assault here. We've located what we figure is where Squealer's been working. Signs of fresh activity, last day or so. No sign of her, Skidmark or Mush. Tyre tracks of a large vehicle, in the ten-ton range, also not here. Over."

"Armsmaster copies," Colin answered automatically. "Send me your location. I might be able to—"

He broke off because the impossible had just happened. Just as he'd been slowing to take another turn, a large Tinker-built truck had appeared in the middle of the intersection, right in front of him. Trailing shreds of electricity, it went from totally invisible and silent to extremely present and thunderously loud as it boomed though the intersection and off down the street.

Colin locked up the front and rear wheels on his bike and skidded to a halt, staring in the wake of the vehicle.

"Ah, Armsmaster, you're gonna have to repeat your last," Assault replied. "You cut out in the middle there, over."

"Never mind," Colin snapped, jamming his bike into gear. "Everyone, home on my signal. I just spotted them. In pursuit. Armsmaster, out."

As his bike left a long smoking trail of rubber in the haste of its acceleration, he locked his sensors onto the receding truck.

You're not getting away this time.

<><>​

Skidmark

The meth in his pipe was the best quality, and Adam was enjoying his night to the fullest. Who gave a shit that some pretentious wannabe assassin was after his hot-shit ass? Nobody could get to him. Nobody and nothing. They didn't even know where he was. They couldn't see him.

"Run, run, run, as fast as you can," he slurred. "Can't catch me, 'cause you got shit for brains."

"Fuck," muttered Squealer, peering at the rearview camera. "They can see us."

"No, they can't," Adam said automatically. "Your cloaking thingy don't let them. We're 'visible and shit."

Squealer glared at the green button and pressed it several times in a row. The little message about the cloaking field never changed. She then tried to wedge her nails under a dashboard panel, which didn't budge. "Well, we've got three PRT vans and a chopper, plus Armsmaster and Velocity, all trying to climb up our exhaust pipe. I think they can fucking see us."

"Oh. Shit." Adrenaline flushed through his system, prodding him toward a semblance of sobriety. "Want me to do anything?"

"I'll let you know," she said tensely. "In the meantime, strap the fuck in."

Muttering to himself, he started fumbling with the five-point straps. What was the point of a cloaking field, he wanted to know, if it didn't cloak?

<><>​

11:59 PM

Taylor

Humming to myself, I finished using the yellow spray paint to mark out a large rectangle in the middle of the road, then placed the can itself right on the edge of the rectangle. As I heard the sound of a distant engine, I knew it was nearly showtime; reaching into my pocket, I took out the second remote and held it in my left hand. Then I stepped back until I was about three yards back from the rectangle, and waited.

It didn't take long.

<><>​

Armsmaster

Colin gritted his teeth and tried again to ease up alongside the oversized truck, but Squealer was just too good a driver. All she had to do was dance her multi-ton vehicle sideways a few feet, and he'd be kissing asphalt. Letting off on the throttle, he backed off again.

"Console, this is Birdseye One, I have eyes on Atropos. She's about four hundred yards ahead, standing in the middle of the road, over."

"Shit," muttered Colin. He activated a HUD window and got an image from the chopper's cameras. Sure enough, there she was, standing foursquare just on the other side of a large yellow rectangle that had been painted on the road. Her long-coat blew sideways in a dramatic fashion as she raised her right hand, index and middle fingers pointed gun-fashion.

This is what she did with Kaiser.

There was a roar of exhaust from the massive truck as Squealer evidently decided to accelerate and run Atropos down. Colin had a feeling in the back of his mind that this was a) precisely what Atropos had expected them to do, and b) a very bad idea.

On the transmitted image, just as the timestamp ticked over to midnight, Atropos' hand kicked up, as though she'd fired an imaginary pistol. At the very same instant, visible on another image, the top of the truck cab burst open and Skidmark blasted out, riding an ejection seat ...

... which promptly flipped over forward, rocketing downward at an angle until it hit the roadway directly ahead of the speeding truck. With Skidmark under it.

The truck had a low front bumper. This caught the upturned ejection seat and forced it down onto the road as the truck kept going. Unfortunately, the seat was not constructed of the best materials, which meant that first it and then its contents—that is, Skidmark—were ground off onto the asphalt.

Squealer had to have realised this immediately, as the engine note changed and Colin heard the brakes come on. Then they came off again, and the engine roared once more. Off again. On again. Off again. On again.

When the truck finally came to an agonizing halt right in the middle of the yellow rectangle—from the way it stopped, Squealer had yanked something vital from under the dash—it was far too late for the boss of the Merchants. To put it bluntly, he had been smeared over more than two hundred yards of roadway.

Colin stopped his bike and climbed off. Just as he went to walk past the length of the truck, Atropos herself appeared at the front and raised her hand in a 'stop' gesture. He paused just for half a second, wondering what her intent was. Then he heard a slight metallic creaking; a moment later, with multiple pings and clangs, every single lug-nut broke away from the truck, and all six wheels came off at once.

The entire chassis hit the asphalt with an almighty crash, and the wheels rolled in all directions.

When he looked again, she was gone.

<><>​

An ABB Safe House

Johnny Quan had always known the ABB were the 'bad' guys—good guys didn't extort money or services with menace—but he hadn't considered them to be the bad bad guys. He'd joined under coercion, and he'd done what he was told, mainly because he didn't want to be shot or stabbed or burned to death. But now, Oni Lee was dead, and Lung was dead, and many of the previous upper echelon were quietly filtering away.

Which Johnny thought was a good idea, but his colleagues seemed to have other priorities in mind. Specifically, the girls working under them in the unlicensed brothels. Minding them was a job Johnny had been doing for some time, and as he didn't consider himself a bad guy, he tried not to be an asshole with them. It was just a job, nothing personal. No need to make it any harder on them.

"So why don't we just, you know, go?" asked Johnny. "Once the girls realise we're gone, they can get out. They've got families to go back to." He really wasn't looking forward to facing the angry parents of any of the girls, which was why he was pushing to just leave.

"Can't do that," said Pham. "They know our faces. They talk to the cops, give our descriptions, we're fucked, see?"

"Well, it's not like we can take them with us." They had two cars. The girls wouldn't fit, not with all the luggage that was also going.

"No." Ken Tanaka was a big guy. "We gotta wait until we know if this Atropos bitch is gonna keep coming at the ABB. If she is, we gotta bail. And we can't leave them to tell the cops about us."

The penny finally dropped. "Kill them?" He shook his head. He hadn't signed up for this shit. "They'll get us for murder one. That's worse than just minding the girls."

"Nah. They won't. I been thinking about this, see?" Pham produced a large pair of shears. "We off 'em with these. Cut their throats. Put a message on the wall, 'They have offended Atropos' or some shit like that, see? Cops'll eat it up. They'll be all over the known murderer and we just walk. Free and easy, see?"

"Yeah, I see. And I'm not going to let you do it." Johnny reached for the gun in his waistband, but Ken grabbed his arms and held them behind him. "Hey, let me go!"

"Don't think so." Pham waved the shears in front of Johnny's eyes. "We can practice on you, see?"

"You first." The voice, that of a teenage girl, came from across the room. Johnny and the other two looked around, to see a dark-clad figure. She was also holding a pair of shears, but hers looked a whole heap deadlier.

"The fuck?" Ken stared, then his brain apparently caught up with his eyes. "Fuck, it's her!"

He let go Johnny's arms as Pham dropped the shears and scrabbled for the pistol he had tucked into his own waistband. But Atropos moved faster than either one of them. All Johnny saw was skeins of light reflecting off the shears as she crossed the room and slashed, then turned and slashed again. By the time he heard the double thump on the ground, he was huddled over in a kneeling position with his arms doubled over his head.

He heard footsteps moving across the floor, then they stopped beside him. The urge to piss himself was almost unbearable. Cloth whispered as she leaned down next to him. Her voice was a murmur next to his ear.

"Do better."

He stayed there for the next fifteen minutes, then peeked around cautiously. She was gone, only the cooling bodies of Pham and Ken showing that she'd ever been there.

Somehow, he knew that for the rest of his life, whenever he closed his eyes, he would hear those two words.

<><>​

Danny

He was asleep when the sound of the twanging side-gate reached his ears and folded itself into his dreams, making him stir and roll over. When the back door opened, then closed with a definitive thump, the noise insinuated itself past his dream state and into his subconscious, where it ticked over a red flag. Someone is in the house.

Then the basement door opened and closed. He opened his eyes, just barely, not even sure why, and that was when he heard the footsteps. Crossing the living room and climbing the stairs.

Jarred fully awake by the realisation that the slow, steady boot-steps were not in his imagination, nor part of any dream, he sat up in bed. Grabbing the first thing that came to hand, a heavy flashlight, he crossed the room as quietly as he could. Then he wrenched the door open and clicked the flashlight on, shining it into the face of the intruder—

"Hi, Dad," said Taylor. She was wearing a familiar costume, carrying a broad-brimmed hat in one hand and a cloth mask in the other. "Looks like you caught me."

Her straightforward, matter-of-fact tone disarmed him; there was no attempt at denial or concealment of the truth. "Taylor?" he asked, still not sure if this was a dream or not. "You're Atropos?"

"Well, if I'm not, I'm for damn sure wearing her costume," Taylor confirmed with a breezy grin. "I'd say it's a long story, but it's really not. I've been taking steps to clean up Brockton Bay, the only way that'll stick."

This was rapidly becoming too much to deal with in his barely-awake state. "But … you're my daughter."

It was almost like a conjuring trick. The morph mask went on, then the hat over the top. A menacing stranger stood there, terrifying in the circle of illumination cast by the flashlight. A stranger who spoke with Taylor's voice. "And I'm also Atropos."

Just as fast, she removed them again, and grinned at him. "It's me, Dad. Really."

He felt he should protest, but not quite how. "You're … you're killing people."

She nodded, then shrugged. "You were right, this afternoon. This is all that'll work for this city, right now."

It was unfair, he felt, to use his own words back at him. "Can we talk about this in the morning?"

She gave him a flashing grin. "Absolutely. Night, Dad."

"Night, Taylor." He turned and went back into his room.

I have absolutely no idea how to handle this.

<><>​

Taylor

As Dad's door closed, I went along to my room and got out of my costume. I hadn't sweated all that much, but I grabbed my pyjamas and trotted along the hallway to the bathroom for a shower anyway. As I turned my face to the spray and mentally composed the PHO post I'd be putting up in a few minutes, I smiled.

Path to End the need to lie to Dad about this: complete.



End of Part Fourteen