Alea Iacta Est - a Worm AU Fanfic

[Ack]

Director Piggot, PRT ENE

Emily breathed out a long sigh. One small step, as they say. Let's hope we can stick the landing. She leaned back in her chair, trying to wrap her head around what she'd just agreed to do. What she'd just committed the PRT to do, whether they knew it or not. Unpleasant thoughts began to intrude, and she tried to argue against them, but her best logic failed against unforgiving truths.

"Uggghhhh ..." she groaned, sitting forward again. Why me? Reaching for the mouse, she clicked on the 'Compose new message' icon.

<><>​

Tattletale

Lisa was about to shut her laptop down when a ping indicated that another private message had just dropped into the inbox. "Oh, that doesn't sound good."

"What do you mean, it doesn't sound good?" Annette peered at the laptop. "All those pings sound the same to me."

"It's the timing." Lisa sighed with aggravation. "She just thought of something."

Taylor said nothing; instead, she rolled some dice and scribbled on a piece of paper.

"Are you going to answer it?" asked Danny.

"My power says it can be left until later." But despite the vague conviction that it wasn't hugely urgent, Lisa didn't move the mouse to dismiss the notification.

"Which could be a ploy to make life more interesting later," Andrea mused. "All in favour to answer now?"

"Aye," Annette said, echoed closely by Theo and Danny.

"All against?" asked Danny.

Nobody said a word. Once more, Lisa felt as though she ought to, but when she suppressed her power, the feeling faded away.

"Looks like the ayes have it," Andrea announced cheerfully. "Let's see it."

Lisa obediently clicked the notification, and it unfolded.

<><>

■​

PRIVATE MESSAGE

To: Management
From: Director_Piggot_PRT
Subject: I have more questions

One: If we can divert Leviathan away from Brockton Bay by doing this, is there any way we can make him go back to sleep instead of attacking another city? How deep an insight do you have into his motivations and what makes him tick?
Two: Exactly how reliable are Random's predictions in all this? I don't mean to give offense, but we're banking a lot on something I know very little about, right now.
Three: What are your backup plans in case this doesn't work?
Four: Just as a hypothetical, what are the chances of actually ending Leviathan if we didn't reduce the conflict in the city but instead fortified the place with every armament known to mankind, and made it into one gigantic trap?
Five: You are aware that if he sheers off because of our actions, another city is going to take it on the chin, right? How comfortable are you with that?

■

<><>​

Taylor

"Called it," I said, picking up the note I'd been writing and dropping it alongside the laptop. Point by point, I'd outlined the gist each of her follow-up questions.

Annette rolled her eyes and bopped me on the shoulder with her fist. "Of course you called it, you dingus. That's literally your job. Now, how best to reply ..."

"That's your call, Mr Hebert," Dinah interjected smoothly. "Old Union man and all."

"Hm. Thank you." Dad stepped forward to stand next to Lisa. "Okay, exactly as I say. Ready?"

"Ready," she reported, fingers poised over the keys.

<><>

■​

PRIVATE MESSAGE

To: Director_Piggot_PRT
From: Management
Subject: Re: I have more questions

We have indeed considered all those aspects. In order of your asking:

One: Our Thinkers have been over all available records of Endbringer attacks, which are unfortunately thin on the ground, given that any foolhardy idiot who's pointed a camera at them has usually died. Random has predicted that Athena might get more insights once she has real-time line-of-sight visuals of an Endbringer in action, which would be unfortunately too late to aid in diverting him from wherever he was at the time.
It would be ideal to figure out a way of telling him to go away and leave everyone alone, but our insights into Endbringer motivations do not extend that far as yet. Random says that she can't learn what she needs to know until she learns what she needs to know.
I don't know what that means, either.

Two: Random's predictions are either a percentage number, to five significant figures, or it gives a definitive fact. Her power is so precise about being precise that it literally won't let her lie about predictions she's about to make. I've never seen them go wrong, and I've helped test them quite stringently.

Three: Our backup plans will be evolving as we get more information and can use that to get more information again, but the basics will be: Delay, fortify, protect, divert from vulnerable locations. If I can be placed in charge of the defense of the city, we might even be able to make a good showing of it.
I have just been told that if Leviathan comes on shore, we'll "fight like we're the third monkey on the ramp to the Ark, and brother, it's starting to rain". Which is kind of appropriate, yes.

Four: No. Do not do that. That is a Very Bad Idea. Random has just rolled a bunch of dice, and is looking particularly grim. Tagg in particular will use the entire city (and its population) as a throwaway resource if it will help kill Leviathan ... but it won't. No amount of escalation on the part of the PRT will achieve that. I've just been told that Leviathan is not showing his full strength. None of them are. The very best outcome of this sort of thing would lead to Leviathan breaking off early, but by the time he does that, three-quarters of the population of Brockton Bay will be dead, half the city permanently under water, and more than half the heroes and PRT personnel likewise casualties. And if Tagg gets to use his nuclear mines, a radiation hazard offshore for the next fifty years.

Five: We're aware of it. It's not something we're happy about, but we've talked it over in exhaustive detail. One of the reasons we're going with this is that Brockton Bay is uniquely vulnerable to Leviathan's particular brand of fuckery, so basically anywhere else would be preferable.
Random will be running the numbers on a daily basis, and the moment we get a line on where he might be going instead, we'll be able to provide you with options to feed to them about potentially lessening the impact. Even twenty-four hours will be enough to get most vulnerable citizens away from an area, and a week will allow a city to almost completely evacuate.
Oh, and wherever he chooses to go, our Thinkers and heavy hitters will be coming along to participate. We're not just sending him away for someone else to face.
Hope that helps.

-- Management

■

<><>​

Director Piggot

Slowly, carefully, she read through the long message. Parts of it made her raise her eyebrows, especially the part about Tagg and nuclear mines. The man, she knew, would absolutely use them.

Once she came to the end, she nodded and typed three words into a reply post.

Yeah. It does.

End of 22.5

 

[Death by Chains]

AFAIK, "cop it on the chin"/"to cop something" as slang for receiving a negative/painful event (usually as a direct impact) is Commonwealth English, rather than an Americanism. I know I saw it in WW2 accounts of Charlie Upham receiving his first VC on Crete, with someone yelling "Oh, no, the Boss has copped it!" when he shammed death to deal with two German paratroopers*, and of sweating artillery gunners in the Desert Campaign cursing his darting back-and-forth between positions because they were firing at German tanks over open sights and "He's going to cop one from us at this rate!". I'm moderately sure an American would say something like "take it on the chin" instead.

That being said, an interesting augmentation to the previous installment. Answering questions raised elsewhere, I take it? Lisa must be getting a little paranoid at the way her shard is playing with her judgement....


* Specifically, they saw him, took a shot at him, and missed; he dropped and played dead; then, since he had one arm in a sling(!) owing to a previous wound, he propped his SMLE on the fork of a tree, dropped one paratrooper, worked the bolt with his good hand, and dropped the second — from close enough that the man's body hit the muzzle of said rifle as he fell.

 

[silentorphan]

AFAIK, "cop it on the chin"/"to cop something" as slang for receiving a negative/painful event (usually as a direct impact) is Commonwealth English, rather than an Americanism. I know I saw it in WW2 accounts of Charlie Upham receiving his first VC on Crete, with someone yelling "Oh, no, the Boss has copped it!" when he shammed death to deal with two German paratroopers*, and of sweating artillery gunners in the Desert Campaign cursing his darting back-and-forth between positions because they were firing at German tanks over open sights and "He's going to cop one from us at this rate!". I'm moderately sure an American would say something like "take it on the chin" instead.

Click to shrink...

Oh yeah. The Americanism would be "to cop to something", except its meaning is different--that would be "to admit to something." Here, "take it on the chin" is more appropriate.

 

[Ack]

AFAIK, "cop it on the chin"/"to cop something" as slang for receiving a negative/painful event (usually as a direct impact) is Commonwealth English, rather than an Americanism. I know I saw it in WW2 accounts of Charlie Upham receiving his first VC on Crete, with someone yelling "Oh, no, the Boss has copped it!" when he shammed death to deal with two German paratroopers*, and of sweating artillery gunners in the Desert Campaign cursing his darting back-and-forth between positions because they were firing at German tanks over open sights and "He's going to cop one from us at this rate!". I'm moderately sure an American would say something like "take it on the chin" instead.

That being said, an interesting augmentation to the previous installment. Answering questions raised elsewhere, I take it? Lisa must be getting a little paranoid at the way her shard is playing with her judgement....


* Specifically, they saw him, took a shot at him, and missed; he dropped and played dead; then, since he had one arm in a sling(!) owing to a previous wound, he propped his SMLE on the fork of a tree, dropped one paratrooper, worked the bolt with his good hand, and dropped the second — from close enough that the man's body hit the muzzle of said rifle as he fell.

Click to shrink...

Oh yeah. The Americanism would be "to cop to something", except its meaning is different--that would be "to admit to something." Here, "take it on the chin" is more appropriate.

Click to shrink...

Yeah, good points.

Will fix.

 

[Ack]

Alea Iacta Est

Part Twenty-Three: Juggling Chainsaws

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


Sunday Afternoon, March 13, 2011
Brockton Bay Port Authority Bus Terminal

A Stranger in Town

The 4:30 PM bus from out of town pulled to a halt with a squeal of brakes. After a moment, the engine shut off and the doors slid open. One by one, the passengers alighted, some with their belongings carried at their sides or slung over their shoulders, and some empty-handed. All of the latter and most of the former assembled at the side of the bus, awaiting the unloading of their checked luggage.

One who didn't was a young woman, clad in a worn hoodie and jeans, carrying a backpack off the bus. She paused to put her arms through the straps and settle it properly on her back, before looking around for an exit.

After leaving the bus terminal, she picked a direction more or less at random, and started walking. Sooner or later, she'd find what she was looking for, and start building her own resources. There would be an untapped pool of … well, minions … in the city, that she was sure of.

With the collapse of the major gangs in the city, Brockton Bay now had two things she could make use of. First, a power vacuum where the criminal underworld had previously existed. Second, her untapped resource.

Disaffected teenagers.

Every city had them, seeking and yearning for something more. She knew that feeling, more keenly than most. The bone-deep knowledge that I am special; I am better than everyone around me. Why isn't anyone acknowledging this?

The teens she sought would've been preparing to take their first steps toward making a name within their respective gangs. She didn't want the idiots who'd believed in something greater than themselves before it was ripped away from them, but those who had yet to learn.

If they were going to follow a cause, then her cause was better than anything else out there. She knew that for a fact; after all, it was all about her.

A gust of wind—warmer than it would've been back in Stafford, but still chilly enough to remind her that it was still only March—whistled down the street and dislodged some of her hair from the hood. Ashley Stillons reached up and tucked the pure white lock back into hiding, and continued down the street. A smile played across her face as she surveyed what would inevitably become her new domain.

There were already heroes in Brockton Bay—Protectorate and otherwise—and some of them were undoubtedly powerful, given that they'd cleared out the previous gangs.

But none were as powerful as her.

I can take them.

<><>​

Taylor

I stood with Lisa, Annette, Theo, Vicky, Amy, and Dinah, apparently gossiping at a bus stop. Dad, I knew, was parked across the way, with Andrea ducked down in the back seat, getting photos out the window of the new supervillain in town. Andrea was handy with a camera, though I wasn't quite sure if I wanted to know how she got so good.

"She doesn't look so tough." Predictably, that was Vicky. "I could smack her out right now, and save us all a lot of trouble."

Lisa, Dinah and I shook our heads at the same time. "Bad idea," Lisa said. "She's got her head up, looking around for capes. Plus, she's twitchy as hell."

"Your power could just be saying that because it wants more excitement around town, and letting her go will make that happen," Vicky protested.

"True," Lisa allowed. "Taylor?"

I discreetly rolled percentile dice on a small hand-held tray. "Fifty-seven percent chance she gets a shot off at you before you get to her. Want me to roll to see her chance of getting through your force field before you punch her out?"

"Sorry, hon," Dinah finished up. "When it comes to neutralising her, you're not the best person for the job. At least, not here and not now."

"Well, who is?" Vicky rolled her eyes. "Geez, kicking ass was a lot more fun back before you Thinkers got in on the game."

Annette, holding hands with Amy, snorted in amusement. "So, exactly who did I hear saying not so long ago about how it's so much more rewarding to be working with Thinkers, because it takes all the bullshit time-wasting and guesswork out of finding the bad guys?"

"Can't have been me," Vicky said loftily, though she made no move to go after Damsel of Distress. "You must be thinking of some other devastatingly awesome kicker of villain ass."

Theo cleared his throat. "Okay, so if we're not taking her down right now, because I have zero doubt you could have arranged a situation where we could've done just that … why didn't you, and how are we going to be taking her down?"

"And the young man in the second row gets the prize for asking the right question." Lisa actually went so far as to steeple her fingers before her. "We didn't, because any fight where she isn't put on the ground hard is a fight where she can hit back, and that way lies property damage and potential loss of life. More to the point, even if she gets beat up and handed over to Edict and Licit to be taken back to Stafford, she'll be likely to jump on a bus as soon as she's able and come right back, this time with a grudge."

"We did a bit of digging," Dinah added. I grinned, because I knew what was coming. "She rage-quit from the Boston Games because the other villains froze her out. There won't be any other villains to do that here, so what we're going to do is make her decide of her own free will that it's just not worth hanging around Brockton Bay."

I took up the thread. "I ran the numbers. Just sending her back, with or without a tune-up, has less than fifty percent chance of making her stay away. But gaslighting the fuck out of her until she gives up and goes home of her own accord has a solid eighty-nine percent chance of success."

It was no coincidence that I was looking at Annette when I said this. Her eyes opened wide. "Me? You want me to help convince a supervillain that she's going cuckoo?"

Lisa raised an amused eyebrow. "That's if you're interested."

"Am I!" Annette nodded so violently she briefly resembled a bobble-head doll. "Sign me up!" She cackled evilly and briefly tugged her hand free of Amy's so she could crack her knuckles, not altogether successfully. "I have ideas."

Amy recaptured Annette's hand, shaking her head. "Just remember, guys, this one's all on you."

Vicky blinked. "Why do I feel a sudden surge of pity for Damsel of Distress?"

Theo shook his head as Annette cackled again, even more creepily than before. "Because you possess working pattern recognition?"

"Yeah, that's probably it."

<><>​

Monday Morning, March 14
PRT ENE

Director Emily Piggot

Monday mornings were always problematic as far as Emily Piggot was concerned. Any lingering problems from the weekend would likely need to be mopped up, along with the fresh crop that would gleefully show up in her inbox, ready to brighten her day (in the same way that a nearby nuclear detonation also brightens one's day). Which meant that when she saw the anomalous email header, she was automatically on guard.

It was from Shadow Team, which didn't reduce her overall apprehension level to any great degree. Despite their track record, the revelations they'd come up with so far hadn't exactly assisted her in getting a good night's sleep. With a certain amount of trepidation, she opened the email to see which shoe would be dropping today.

Hi, Director, it began. Emily thought she recognised Management's chatty style. Per our last discussion, here are our suggestions for reducing the overall amount of conflict inside Brockton Bay.

• Lung needs to be transported out of the city to the Birdcage ASAP.
• Those members of the Empire Eighty-Eight in custody need to be transported to appropriate holding facilities, also outside the city. Night and Fog specifically.

This is because Gesellschaft will be sending a bunch of guys, plus a few capes, to rendezvous in the city in the next few days. Their aim is to gather up the party faithful and break out what capes they can from PRT holding, with the assistance of moles within the building. Their focus will be on Night and Fog, being Gesellschaft capes to begin with.

See below in the attachment: the make, model and license plates of the cars they will be driving, and the times they will be entering Brockton Bay along I-95, plus the names and capabilities (and Achilles heels) of the capes coming in. Also, the names of the moles we've been able to identify within the PRT.

Just so you know, Damsel of Distress is in town. She would be problematic for you to deal with, especially with the other capes coming in, so we're going to handle that problem ourselves. Please tell Edict and Licit to hold their horses, we've got this.

I'll get back to you when I've got more to say.

Just remember: conflict is not your friend.

Bye,

Management

Emily read the email through twice more before opening the attachment and carefully checking it over as well. When she saw the five names that Management was calling out as Empire stooges, she began to swear softly under her breath. Two of them she didn't personally know, but of the three she did, she would have trusted at least one with her life.

Is this actionable, or are the Shadow Team just naming people at random to give themselves borrowed legitimacy?

It took her a few seconds to realise that she was having to deliberately fight her ingrained bias against accepting such damaging information about people under her command from a bunch of independent capes. Agreeing in the abstract to head off potential conflict was one thing, but investigating her own damn people on the say-so of an outside team was a whole different situation.

Can we afford to take this information at face value?

Can we afford not to?

If they were on the level, it would sow deep chasms of distrust within the PRT as the loyal officers eyed each other and wondered if all the moles had been uncovered. Even if it turned out to be a false alarm through either malice or negligence, there would be very real feelings of betrayal of a different kind. Either way, it was a lose-lose situation.

And there's the other damn shoe.

<><>​

Taylor

I was sitting at one of the outside tables in Arcadia, eating my lunch and idly rolling dice (well, it would've looked like the dice rolling was aimless), when Cam and Kay found me, dropping onto the bench opposite. Kay greeted me with a broad smile. "Hey, Taylor."

"Hey, guys." I picked up my dice and dropped them back into the bag I'd made for them, back before I met Annette. "How's things?"

"Oh, we're okay." Cam gave me a serious look. "But we're starting to worry about you and Annette. Wanted to make sure you knew we were still your friends after all the stuff that happened, that night."

'That night.' Yeah, that's one way to put it.

"It was definitely a lot to deal with." I took a deep breath, feeling the pricklings of guilt. Annette and I had been so taken up with both planning the exploits for our team and actually carrying them out that we hadn't put aside any time to spend gaming with the guys. "We've both been dealing with family matters since then, but that's not really an excuse. Sorry."

'Family matters' was stretching the truth more than a little, but my family (Dad) and Annette's family (Andrea) had been occupied both with the team and with each other, so it wasn't quite a lie. Also, Annette had been contacted by lawyers representing the bits of Medhall that the PRT hadn't yet sequestered, and the parts of Max Anders' estate that hadn't been likewise seized. It looked like she, Theo and Aster were going to do quite well out of it, even if they weren't going to be able to touch their actual inheritances until they turned eighteen: a solid six figures each.

"Hey, that's okay." Kay reached across the table and gave my hand a squeeze. "Life throws you a curve ball sometimes. Anytime you and the guys want to get back together and throw some dice, we'll be there."

I began to say, "I appreciate that—" then broke off as I saw Annette coming. "Oh, there she is now."

"Hey, hey hey, heeeey." She arrived with all the tact and finesse of an incoming ICBM, sliding into the seat beside Cam and reaching across behind him to ruffle Kay's hair. "Great to see you guys! How've you been?"

"Good. Great, even." Kay grabbed her hand and clasped it. 'We've actually been worried about you."

Annette rolled her eyes. "Oh, yeah, there was all that drama. You'd think nobody ever heard of a millionaire philanthropist Nazi supervillain before. And you wouldn't believe the fallout from that crap. Worst thing is when you're dealing with Nazi accountants over the phone. They give the Hitler salute and all of a sudden the phone's two feet away from their ear and they can't hear you." She put one finger under her nose and stuck her other arm out in the air, her hand cradled like it was holding a phone, then shifted into the worst attempt at a German accent I'd ever heard, even on the late-night comedy circuit. "Achtung, achtung. You muzt zpeak more loudly, fraulein."

By this time, Cam was facepalming and Kay was trying hard not to fall off her seat with laughter.

"Well, you're definitely feeling okay," Cam said, rolling his eyes.

"Yeah, doing a lot better than I was." Annette gave him a quick side-hug. "Things have settled down a tad, anyway." She glanced over at me. "So what do you say, Taylor? See if we can get everyone together next weekend?"

I frowned and pretended to think about it as I pulled the d20 out of my dice bag. "I'm all for it, but let's see what the dice say." Low means it's a bad idea, I told the die. High means we can pull it off without screwing up any of the cape stuff we're into.

The die rolled off my palm onto the table and clattered to a halt. Cam and Kay stared at the natural 20, and Cam shook his head. "With rolls like that, you'll be really coming out of the gate hot."

"So, we playing at Ms Russel's place again?" asked Kay. "That was a nice session, apart from the whole 'supervillain walking in the front door' thing."

"Ah, no." Annette shook her head. "Place got kinda flooded out."

"Flooded out?" Cam frowned. "Wasn't it on the third or fourth floor?"

"Yup." Annette's expression was solemn. "Water main threw a hissy fit. We're gonna have to do it somewhere else."

I had a brainwave. "We've got a basement at my place. If we clean it up and get a table down there, maybe add some more lighting, it could work."

"Hell to the yes!" Annette slapped the table, and the die rolled onto the 2. "We could totally make it into an awesome gaming dungeon." I met her eyes, and an understanding passed between us; when we weren't gaming, we could totally use it to plan cape stuff. There was a surprising amount of overlap between the two, even down to the use of dice.

For a whimsical moment, I wondered if we should be making character sheets for the villains, then I decided that might be just a little on the nose.

"So, is Theo still interested in gaming, or did that whole thing scare him off?" asked Kay, evidently oblivious to my internal monologue.

"Oh, heck no, my bro is still down to learn how it goes." Annette nodded earnestly. "And we might even have another player or two."

Cam frowned. "Another player? It's usually a good idea to check with everyone else before inviting someone into a game."

"Oh, I think you might make an exception." Annette's eyes were sparkling from the joke. I smirked as I looked over her shoulder and saw who was coming over to us.

"Hey." As Amy reached us, she swung comfortably into Annette's lap. There wasn't much room left on the bench, but I was pretty sure that wasn't the reason she chose to sit there. Their arms went around each other, and they touched foreheads and nose-tips in a way that would've looked contrived as hell if I didn't know the both of them.

Cam's jaw dropped as he stared at them. "Hey—who—wha—Panacea?" Kay was equally stunned, but had nothing to say at the moment.

Annette had to be a smartass about it, of course. Pulling her head back, she stared at Amy as though they'd just met. "Holy crap, it is you! I thought you looked familiar! Can I get your autograph?"

Amy was equal to the challenge. "Well, that depends. Which part of your body did you want me to sign? You already got my sister to sign your butt."

"Lower back, lower back." Annette was grinning broadly. "Do I look like the sort of person who would moon Glory Girl in public?"

"In a heartbeat," Kay declared promptly. "I've seen you do much weirder things." She paused. "Wait, you actually did get Glory Girl to sign your butt, lower back, whatever?"

I nodded. "Yeah, she did, actually. We ran into Amy and Vicky in the mall, so Annette put on her patented 'I'm your greatest fan ever' act—"

"Excuse you?" Annette assumed an attitude of injured innocence, which might have even convinced me if I didn't know her. "How can you possibly call that an 'act'? Right then, I was totally her greatest fan, so there!"

Cam chose to ask the obvious question. "So, if it's Glory Girl who signed whatever part of you it was she signed, how come you've got Panacea sitting on your lap now, and not Glory Girl?"

Annette shrugged. "Vicky wasn't interested, and Amy is. Fortunately, I was more interested in Amy than Vicky. Numbers were exchanged, et cetera and so forth, and voila."

"And you're down to game with us, Panacea?" Kay paused and rephrased. "I mean, Amy."

"Well, sure." Amy snuggled into Annette's embrace. "I'm already a public superhero. It's not like the tabloids haven't already claimed I spend my time doing things ten times weirder than playing Dungeons and Dragons as it is."

"So, has Annette already told you about the game?" Cam waited for Amy's nod before he pressed on. "Any idea what you'd be interested in playing? Because I think we could put together a pretty rocking—"

Amy rolled her eyes. "Anything but a healer."

Annette snorted, and I laughed out loud.

<><>​

PRT ENE Director's Office

Armsmaster

When Colin entered the Director's office, he immediately knew something was amiss. Director Piggot was usually good at holding her emotions in check until the time came to vent precisely calculated anger at the subject of her ire, but as he closed the door behind him, he saw that her knuckles were white. She was either terrified or infuriated, and he wasn't entirely sure which possibility worried him more.

"You needed me to check something over, Director?" He activated all the passive scanning modes he'd built into his helmet and glanced around the room, but nothing showed up as being out of place. As far as he could tell, she wasn't under direct threat, which meant she was angry about something. This only puzzled him more, because none of this had shown up in her request for him to attend her office. She was normally far more direct than this.

"Yes. Come around here and read this." She moved her chair aside and turned her computer monitor so he could see it. "I got this email from the Shadow Team this morning."

Matters were becoming much clearer to Colin as he rounded the desk. Focusing on the email, he scanned the lines, noting the names down, as well as the vehicle details. When he'd finished, he read it through again, then stepped back. "Well. That's definitely interesting."

Her expression was sour. "That's one way to put it. Until now, I haven't disseminated it to anyone, for obvious reasons. I've been checking each of these names out, but I haven't found anything that would either clear them of all Empire involvement or nail them to the wall."

"Which could mean that they're innocent, or they're very careful about covering their tracks," he observed, following her train of thought. "I know some of these men. Up until right now, I would've considered them trustworthy."

She nodded. "Likewise. Which is why we need to move carefully. If any of them do turn out to be trustworthy, I don't want to alienate them on the say-so of a bunch of unaffiliated capes. When the Gesellschaft contingent shows up—and yes, I'm assuming they will—we're going to need as many hands on deck as possible."

"All of that tracks, yes." He considered her words. "You want to pull a canary trap, then?"

"Yes. Ideally, something that we can put into place and activate in the next twelve to twenty-four hours, and has minimum repercussions if they do turn out to be innocent." She leaned back in her chair and looked up at him, her hands folded together. "I have some ideas, but I'm open to suggestions."

Ideas were also occurring to him. "I'm sure we can figure something out between us, ma'am."

She smiled, a harsh expression. "I'm counting on it."

<><>​

Taylor

I opened the back gate and let us in, then caught up with Annette as she headed for the back door. "Thanks for coming over to give me a hand cleaning up the basement."

"Me? Clean up the basement?" She gave me an arch look. "I don't work. I direct the peons in how to do the work. Management material, that's me. I do delegation, not fumigation."

Heading up onto the small back porch, I pulled out my key. "Think again," I advised her with a smirk as I unlocked the door. "This is a union house. Management is not invited."

"So that means no cold fruit juice?" she asked, coming up the steps.

"Correct." I opened the door and stepped inside.

"And no movie while we wait for Mom and your dad to show up?"

"Got it in one." I was grinning broadly by now.

She rolled her eyes. "Fine. I was about done with management, anyway. Pack of useless bloodsuckers, the lot of them. Cast off the chains of oppression! Seize the means of production!" By the end of her mini-rant, she actually had her fist raised in the air.

"Viva la revolución," I quipped, dropping my backpack on the table. Woo, I finally found a use for that semester of Spanish! "So, is this how you're going to get the approval of the masses when you take over your first evil empire? Get rid of the assholes in charge and declare a classless socialist collective?"

She snorted with derision, looked thoughtful, then nodded. "There's a lot more nuance to it than that, but basically … yes, actually. Interested in being my second in command? I could do with a trustworthy lieutenant who knows what my opponents are going to do before they do it."

I opened the fridge and poured us both a glass of fruit punch. "So, what are you going to do when I inevitably turn on you and overthrow you to establish my own revolutionary workers' paradise, with me at the top?"

"Ah," she said, accepting her glass and clinking it against mine. "I'll be asking you every day to roll and see if you will be betraying me in the next forty-eight hours. We both know you can't lie with your predictions."

"Curses. My evil plans are undone." I took a long drink from my glass. "You're actually pretty good at this revolutionary leader stuff."

"Meh, Mom and I go over weirder ideas on the regular. Why do you think she's got so many rules for me? The world is full of bizarre bullshit that we've all managed to normalise, and she just wants me to be prepared."

"I had actually wondered." I finished my juice and rinsed the glass in the sink. "Knowing your mom, this does not surprise me in the slightest."

"Darn tootin'." Annette followed suit, setting up her glass alongside mine in the drying rack. "So, I've been going over ideas about how to totally fuck over Damsel's entire week."

"Any good ones?" I led the way to the basement door.

"Some better than others, though I'm not totally sure where I can get hold of a honey badger and a dancing mime troupe at short notice." She paused thoughtfully as she followed me down the stairs. "Or a Legend lookalike strip-a-gram. It would work better if it was the actual Legend, of course."

I snorted. "You just want to ogle Legend in a thong."

"Well, duh. Wouldn't you? I mean, Eidolon's got that dad bod thing going on, and I'm pretty sure Alexandria would punch anyone who suggested it into orbit."

For a second, I let myself wander along Annette's train of thought, then I realised we were getting off track. "Can we get our minds off scantily clad superheroes and back to the task at hand?" I rolled my eyes and gestured at the basement. "We're supposed to be cleaning up down here to make this into a gaming space, remember?"

"I can totally do both at the same time. It's called multitasking." She caught my expression and let out a put-upon sigh. "Okay, fine. So, the first idea involves finding out where she's crashing …"

"Very doable," I noted.

"I figured. Anyway, we get close while she's there …"

I listened, and made mental notes.

As the list grew, I decided to never let Annette get mad at me.

<><>​

Conference Room A

Deputy Director Paul Renick

Paul looked from face to face. "This information does not go beyond this room," he warned them. "Due to the potential threat of the surviving members of the Empire Eighty-Eight being broken out of PRT holding, we will be moving them under cover of night, on the evening of Wednesday the sixteenth of this month. That's two days away. In addition, there will be two convoys; one will be a decoy, while the other will be transporting the actual capes."

One of the PRT officers, a Lieutenant Hollingsworth, raised a finger to gain Paul's attention. "So, who'll be driving the decoys and who'll have the real deal, sir?"

Hollingsworth hadn't been named as an Empire sympathiser, which only meant that the two men in the room that were had the sense to wait for someone else to ask the question. Either way, it didn't matter, though he appreciated the opportunity to segue into the next part of his carefully prepared briefing.

"That information," he announced, "will not be released until shortly before the operation is commenced. Each squad will be individually informed, and you will not share that information outside your squad until the operation is concluded." He raised one hand to quell the murmur that ran around the table at that. "We've all heard the rumours that the Empire has moles within our ranks; I personally don't believe that's the case, but those are the orders I have been given, so that's the way we're going to do things. Loose lips, et cetera."

Now that the ice had been broken, the next question was asked by someone who had been named as a turncoat, a Lieutenant Garvey. "How will we know which way we're going, sir? If we're running a real convoy as well as a decoy, surely we can't just run them both along the same stretch of road."

"Excellent question, Lieutenant." Paul indicated the Manila folders that had been placed at every seat. "Open your briefing folders. Three routes have been determined, and given the designations of Alpha, Bravo and Charlie. You will study each route assiduously. On the day, at the same time as you are told whether you are transporting the villains or running a decoy, you will also be notified as to which route you will be following. Again, this information does not leave your personal possession."

Silence fell over the room, broken only by the rustling of paper as each of them studied the maps within the folders. He had no doubt that these would be passed on to the Empire cohorts as soon as the faithless officers had the opportunity to do so. However, just as the basis of all magic tricks lies in knowing one extra fact, the question of who was ambushing whom would revolve around which side had a more complete awareness of the upcoming battleground.

Between the planning that had already taken place and the preparation currently underway, he had to believe that the PRT held a narrow but uncontested advantage, improved by the timely warning from the Shadow Team.

Here's hoping they're as good as they think they are.

<><>​

That Evening

Taylor

"Okay," I whispered. "She's getting ready to go out and start her recruitment drive. Janet, you ready?"

I could've spoken normally, given that we were sitting in Dad's car across the street from the dilapidated building that Damsel of Distress was currently using as her base of operations, but it just felt more natural to keep my voice down.

Janet evidently felt the same way. "Yeah," she murmured. "I've been jabbing her bladder occasionally. If she doesn't go to the bathroom soon, I seriously want to see what she's made of."

"Stubbornness and bad temper," Dinah replied, only half jokingly. "There are many jobs she's the best person for, but none of those jobs are nice."

Annette chuckled and began to make a comment, but then Janet held her hand up. "Okay, shh, she's going there now. Ready … ready …"

Clearly through the night air, we heard a gurgling GLOOOSH, followed by the scream of "FUUUCK!" and the nails-on-chalkboard sound of Damsel's power going off. I was pretty sure I saw the indigo glow of her power through one of the windows.

"She blew up the toilet, as far as I can tell," Janet said calmly. "There's water going everywhere."

Flicking on the interior light, I rolled dice in the small hand-held tray. We were sourcing glow-in-the-dark dice, but right now we didn't have that. Once I read the result, I turned the light off again with a sense of satisfaction.

"Well?" demanded Annette impatiently. "Don't keep us in suspense here. Did it work?"

"I got her, if that's what you're asking," Janet reported imperturbably. "I turned her toilet into a fountain while she was sitting on it. Also, just so everyone knows, she takes the concept of 'hair trigger' and makes it uniquely hers."

"She's not going to be leaving town anytime soon," I noted, over the muffled sounds of Annette trying hard not to rupture herself by holding in near-irrepressible giggles. It was definitely funny, I would've been the first to admit, but I lacked her appreciation for toilet humour. "But she'll be looking around for a new hideout before she starts recruiting. That one's a dead loss."

"So, our work here is done?" asked Dad, from the driver's seat.

I nodded. "Totally. Let's go home. School night and all."

As we started off, Janet turned to me. "Uh, Taylor, how many clean outfits does she have right now?"

I turned on the interior light and rolled percentile dice. "Huh. Unless she came to town with a thousand dresses stuffed into her backpack, that's a big fat zero."

Annette's heaving snorts finally broke free into cackling laughter. "Well, shit!" she whooped, not giving a damn who heard us.

I grinned across at Dinah, who was also starting to giggle. Stage 1 of Operation Ragequit was off to a very good start.

<><>​

Damsel of Distress

Ashley was pissed.

For once in her life, everything had been going smoothly. As she'd walked the streets of Brockton Bay, she could see the sheer potential inherent there. Not only had she located a place to stay with heartening ease, but she'd also made initial contact with some of the local disaffected youths, contact she intended to renew and build into a recruitment drive.

With her best dress cleaned and dried for the occasion, she'd been prepping to go out when the insistent call of nature finally got her to sit down and have a piss. It must've been something in the Brockton Bay water, she figured; she just hadn't been drinking all that much. But she didn't want to be walking around looking for followers while crossing her legs at the same time, so into the bathroom she went.

She was entirely unprepared for the jet of water that had erupted from the commode, without so much as a rumble from the pipes as a warning. It had struck her exactly where a sitting person could expect to be struck, and shot her clear out of the tiny cubicle into the room beyond. In sheer reaction (and not a little anger) she'd loosed an energy blast back at her perceived attacker, utterly disintegrating the toilet and the wall behind it. Water was now fountaining up from the severed pipes and flooding the area; worse, her dress was totally soaked (and from the smell of it, it hadn't only been water).

Rescuing her meagre belongings from the encroaching flood, she left the offending building behind. Not only was she going to have to wash her clothes all over again, she knew, but she also needed to locate somewhere else to squat that had electricity, internet and running water. Which meant that her recruitment plans were on hold until she had all that sorted out.

In the distance, she thought she heard someone laughing like a mad person. She knew intellectually that this had nothing to do with her, but some small part of her chose to believe otherwise. Because the world was against her. It was a fact.

I swear, I didn't have one-tenth this much trouble in Stafford.

<><>​

Tuesday Evening
Hebert Household Basement

Taylor

The basement actually looked quite nice after the effort Annette and I had put into cleaning it up. We'd lugged the whiteboard downstairs, and Dad had located a folding table somewhere; the lighting problem was partially solved by an old standing lamp that had been tucked into the corner for years. With the cobwebs cleared off and a new bulb installed in the socket, it augmented the tired old light over the stairs quite nicely.

"Nice," Dinah observed, looking the room over as she came down the stairs. "I think the guys will enjoy it as a gaming room too. It'll definitely do the job."

"We're going to need more lighting than this," Dad said as he fiddled with the lamp to see if he could raise it somewhat. "Also, we can swing by a thrift store sometime in the next few days and see what we can pick up in the way of extra chairs."

"That'd be great, thanks." I looked around the room critically. "Still, I don't think we need to be having our meeting down here this time."

"Not until we get enough chairs for everyone, no," agreed Annette.

We all trooped upstairs, and I helped Dad arrange refreshments for the people who were coming over; in the event, this turned out to be everyone except for Browbeat. While he and the PRT were fully aware that we knew of his true allegiance, we were just as happy as they were for everyone to pretend that there were no secret Wards in our team, no sir! This way, the PRT got to keep an eye on our shenanigans (for the most part) and we got the benefit of a husky young man who could seriously punch someone clear across the room and halfway through the wall on the other side.

Also, while I wasn't interested in romance any time soon, it was nice to have some eye candy around from time to time. And let's face it, Legend's way too old for me.

I greeted Lisa with a hug when she showed up, then helped Theo and Kayden with Aster. The little munchkin was growing on us all, and I could kind of understand why Kayden would fight the world to keep her safe. As it was, she had gotten to the stage where she could pull herself up using furniture, and her first unassisted step was due any day now.

Amy and Vicky were the last to arrive, which meant Amy got to sit on Annette's lap, an arrangement that suited both of them. I handed out glasses of juice, then took my seat on the couch. "So, who wants to lead off?" I asked.

"I'll do it." Annette gave Amy one last snuggle, then addressed the room. "Last night, we went out to mess up Damsel's night. Dinah kept an eye on matters while Taylor rolled dice, then when the time was right, Janet turned Damsel's toilet into a high-powered bidet."

Amy's eyes widened. "You didn't!"

"We totally did." I grinned as Vicky seemed to be trying hard not to burst out laughing. "She wrecked the hideout, so she's not going to be settled again until tomorrow night. That's when we'll be going out to smack her again."

"What's that one going to entail?" asked Janet, reasonably enough. "If we hit her with another water mishap, she's going to figure out pretty soon that she's being messed with."

Annette shook her head. "Nope. Next time it'll be a lack of something." As she explained, Janet began to nod in understanding.

"You have a horrible, horrible imagination," Lisa observed once we were all filled in on what stage two of Operation Ragequit entailed. "Congratulations; there are very few people I will never mess with, and you just made that list."

Andrea grinned and leaned forward to share a high-five with Annette. "You're welcome," she said as she sat back again. "It's a nasty world out there, with all sorts of high-powered individuals willing to mess with the little guy. I've done my best to arm Annette with the tools to mess right back, or to figure out ways around them. The most important one being the willingness to go to absolutely any lengths to win, if the circumstances require it."

I looked at her with the dawning of a new understanding. Most people meeting Andrea Campbell for the first time would see what she wanted them to see: a happy-go-lucky, somewhat ditzy woman, making her way through life, uncaring of what other people thought of her lifestyle. And she was all of that, but there was more to her than met the eye. In order to be able to live her life like that in the face of all the unpleasantness in the world, she'd had to cultivate an unbreakable core, resistant to all the pressures that others could bring to bear on her.

I had no doubt she'd made mistakes and missteps—getting involved with Kaiser in the first place hadn't been her best move ever—but she'd always picked herself up, dusted herself off, and moved on. Annette had clearly been unplanned, and yet she was clearly loved and cared for, to the best of Andrea's capabilities. There were hidden depths to Andrea Campbell, and I wondered if Dad knew of them. Then I saw his expression as he looked at her, and I revised that to wondering how much he knew about them.

"Well, yes," agreed Kayden. "It would've been nice if Max had seen fit to do the same thing with Theo, instead of trying to force him into a mold he just wasn't suited for." She reached out to ruffle her stepson's hair where he was seated on the floor, playing with Aster.

"Pretty sure there's any number of sins we can lay at Max Anders' door," Dad agreed. "And we can go over them later in detail. However, we need to cover more pressing matters right now. What's the current situation with Gesellschaft and the convoys to transport the Empire capes?"

That was my cue. "Well, we've told the PRT when the bad guys are coming into town. Interestingly enough, that's the same day and hour as when they're moving out along the same roads. Also, they've distributed the planned routes to their people, including to the moles we've identified, so by now Gesellschaft has that information too."

Annette took up the narrative. "All jokes about the PRT aside, I don't think Director Piggot's a congenital idiot. If she's moving those people at that time, where they will absolutely cross paths with the very people who are determined to intercept the convoy, then she's got a reason for it."

"Which she does," Dinah confirmed. "My power confirms that she's the best person for the job of taking the last chance the Empire has of regaining power in this region, and shooting it right in the head."

"Oh, good." Vicky looked vaguely relieved. "I'd hate to have to go to Mom and Dad and try to explain exactly what's going wrong and how I know about it. Because you know we couldn't just stand by and let it happen, if it did go down that way."

"Well, then," summarised Amy cheerfully. "It looks like a lot of crap is going to be hitting a lot of fans tomorrow night."

Annette grinned. "I just hope we've got enough popcorn."



End of Part Twenty-Three

 

[Dormouse]

Hmm, clever. Thanks for the chapter.

 

[Avernus]

Hah, Gesellschaft is going to be super peeved if their play to free the E88/Gesellschaft capes just results in them losing more capes to Piggot; and their moles to boot. And losing their foothold will make it hard for them to do anything but seethe about it, too.

Also, Panacea's "anything but a healer" line reminded me of how in the Dresden series the wizard Harry Dresden plays a barbarian.

 

[Tsumegothorns]

I likes it. Very glad to find this again.

 

[Ack]

Alea Iacta Est

Part Twenty-Four: Two-Pronged Defence

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



Midday Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Just Outside Boston

Walter Rajchman, Gesellschaft Operative

The four vehicles had been chosen for their anonymity, mechanical reliability and passenger capacity, not for any Hollywood-esque coolness factor. If this had been a movie, utterly ignoring the need for running under the radar, they would've been identical sleek black SUVs complete with tinted windows and the latest espionage technology.

In reality, one was white, another a peeling green, and the third was brown fading to an off-pink. The last one was actually black, but it was also a panel van with an obviously amateurish paint job. No movie operative worth his double-O code would be seen dead within fifty metres of any one of them, which made them perfect for the job at hand.

They were currently pulled up in the parking lot of a 7-11, and ten of them were discussing their next move while the other two maintained a watch for casual eavesdroppers. To any onlookers, they would've looked like tourists; the map spread out over the hood of the green SUV was intended to bolster that illusion.

Equally important was the fact that they were all dressed casually, even the capes. Ball caps were as far as Walter would allow when it came to hiding their features; used correctly, they blocked security cameras, while none of the people they met would remember their faces if given no reason to. They'd been polite and friendly with the 7-11 attendant while buying their food, which meant he'd forget them as soon as the next customer came along.

He took a bite out of his microwaved hot-dog (tasty, yet filled with God knew how many preservatives) while tapping the map with his fingernail. "Our assets within the PRT have all given us the same information. The Empire Eighty-Eight will be transported to secure holding in a convoy of PRT vehicles travelling along one of these three routes. The timing of these transports means that they'll be leaving town just as we're getting there."

Blitzkrieger spoke up. "Will we be able to intercept them on time? This sudden action sounds suspicious to me."

"Yes, Pauli, we will." Walter was making a point of using real names on this mission, so nobody slipped and used a cape name in casual conversation. Once the costumes came on it would be a different matter, but until then they were all perfectly normal tourists, ja? "And it makes sense if you look at the larger picture. Their PRT building is good, but it is only intended as short-term holding. Also, they must suspect that we have people within their ranks, even if they do not know who. Thus, the longer they hold the villains captive, the more chance of either an attack on the building or a breakout from within. Moving them to more secure holding is the logical next step."

Hans frowned. A large blunt-featured man, he nonetheless had a keen analytical mind. "So, is it simply alternate routing, or are there decoy convoys?"

And there was the problem. "Decoy convoys," confirmed Walter. "The convoy crews have been told to memorise all three routes, so they won't know which one they'll be following until the time comes, and they won't know who'll be taking the Empire capes until that moment as well. So, as of right now, we don't know which way they'll be going or even if we'll have people in that convoy."

Eisenadler was a Tinker, and thus twitchy when outside his flying powersuit. He looked even less happy than normal. "So how are we supposed to free them?" His tone seemed to suggest that the American PRT should be handing the cape prisoners to them on a platter.

"It's simple." It wasn't simple, but Walter considered himself an optimist. "We hold off until the convoys are on the way and the drivers are informed as to which of them has the Empire capes on board. Our people will be in at least one of the convoys, probably two, hopefully all three. We will thus be able to ignore at least one of the convoys. If we're still looking at two, then you and Pauli will attack one, assisted by myself and Hans. Kessler will take the rest of our force after the other one, mainly to slow it down in the event that the one we hit is a decoy; if that happens, you and Pauli have the speed to catch up with them."

"So, I am heading the attack on one convoy myself?" Sturmsoldat didn't sound thrilled with the idea. "They are likely to have capes, and they are guaranteed to have armed troopers."

"You'll have seven men along with you," Walter reminded him. "And if the Empire Eighty-Eight is on board, they'll count as your allies as well." Sturmsoldat was a low-end Brute-Mover combo whose capabilities increased dramatically with each ally he had on site. Alone, he was a match for maybe one or two PRT troopers; with a bunch of friends present, he could punch far above his weight. "But that's assuming all our assets are concentrated on the one convoy, and it's not the one carrying Night and Fog and the others. The odds are quite favourable that we'll know exactly which one, and reasonably good that our people will be on that one."

Blitzkrieger frowned. "You have just four of us attacking one of the convoys, then transitioning to the one Kessler is attacking if ours turns out to be a decoy, yes?"

Walter wasn't quite sure where he was going with this, but the question was accurate. "Correct. Why?"

"As Kessler depends on allies present, I depend on having someone present for my speed." Blitzkrieger spread his hands. "If Jürgen flies on ahead, and you are taking a different route because you can't go off-road, who am I supposed to draw upon?"

Eisenadler sighed. "I can carry you." His tone made it clear that he didn't want to, but that he would if he had no other choice.

"What?" Blitzkrieger brought his head up, clearly offended. "I'm a verdammter Mover, not some helpless verfickter civilian. Nobody carries me."

No matter the cape's injured feelings, Walter could not let that pass. "First, you will do as you are ordered, and if being carried gets you there faster, then you will allow yourself to be carried. Second, we are in America. Use English swears only. It doesn't matter what we say, so long as we don't raise our voices or say it in a way that attracts attention. Speaking another language is a prime way to achieve that."

Blitzkrieger muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like 'Jawohl, mein Herr,' but nodded all the same.

"What was that?" asked Walter.

"I said, 'yes sir, as you wish'." Blitzkrieger wouldn't meet his eyes.

Walter didn't feel like pursuing it. "Good. Jürgen, do you have a problem with carrying him?" The words 'there'd better not be a problem' hovered in the air, but didn't need to be said.

"I already said I would, didn't I?" It wasn't quite an answer to Walter's question, but again he didn't feel like pushing matters. The last thing the strike force needed was to tear itself apart over imagined grievances.

I can't wait until this is over and done, and the Empire Eighty-Eight has taken their rightful place in Brockton Bay.

That place would be as a vassal to Gesellschaft, of course. The Empire would owe them for this.

<><>​

Wednesday Evening

Damsel of Distress

I'm going to get it right this time.

Ashley knew this with every fibre of her being.

The abandoned warehouse was decrepit and musty, but she didn't give a shit about that. She'd long since gotten used to dirt and mold and bugs where she lived. Only wimps whined about that sort of thing.

One of the closets held a folded up camp-cot. She'd managed to get it unfolded (fighting against rust and lack of oil all the way) without accidentally blasting it in half, which she considered a win. It was dusty as fuck, and probably had bugs living in it, but they could just lump it.

In the back room of the manager's office, she scored big-time; not only was there a dinky little shower cubicle (she had to pull in her elbows to turn around in it) but they'd also managed to cram in a washer-dryer. If she ever met the guy who'd arranged for this, she figured she might just give him a bit wet kiss. Or at least refrain from murdering him, anyway.

It took a bit of fiddling and swearing and a hole blown through the water heater (fuck it, she'd go with cold) to get the water connected back up to the washer-dryer. An ancient bottle on a shelf, once de-cobwebbed, yielded up lumpy laundry powder. She'd dealt with worse.

The clothing she was going to wear to the recruitment meeting went into the washer, and she carefully crushed the lumps out of the powder before putting that in too. Then she closed the little door, turned the knob, and pressed the go button. Wonder of wonders, water started gurgling into the machine.

Fucking yes! This is gonna be awesome!

Straightening up with a satisfied smile, she got out of the grungy clothing she'd been wearing for the last couple of days and stepped into the shower cubicle. She'd already taken a piss before putting her clothes on to wash, so she wouldn't have to go until after the meeting. While she still had no idea what had caused the toilet in the last place to go berserk, she wasn't about to risk that shit again in a hurry.

As the first trickles of water emerged from the shower head, she closed her eyes and started massaging it into her hair.

<><>​

Random

I checked my watch against the number I'd rolled on the dice. "Okay, she's stepping into the shower … now."

"Excellent." I saw Annette's teeth flash white in the dim light as she whispered the word. "So, where's that unlocked door again?"

"This way." I cupped the flashlight in my hand so the beam illuminated just the floor in front of my feet, and led the way; Annette and Lisa followed along. The door hinges squeaked a little, but I'd anticipated that and opened it slowly.

We made our way to the fusebox, and teased it open. Nobody was saying a word, mainly because we could clearly hear Damsel's voice rising in off-key song over the rumble of the washer-dryer. We wanted her singing, because that way we knew where she was.

I let the beam of the flashlight fall on the interior of the box, and gave Lisa the nod. She pointed out the three fuses we needed to pull, and we each grabbed one. After a soft 'three … two … one', we each yanked hard, pulling the appropriate fuse out. There was a pop and a spark, and the lights in the manager's office went out. At the same time, the washer-dryer rumbled to a stop.

Damsel of Distress stopped singing and waited for a moment. Then she must have realised that the washer-dryer wasn't operating. "Oh, what the fuck?"

"Quick!" Lisa hissed, handing out the replacement fuses. Dad had acquired these for us. They were identical to the ones we'd removed, but were utterly burned out and no good for anything.

We shoved them into place, I closed the fuse box, and we started sneaking out of there. It was imperative that we not be seen, because if she even got an inkling that she was being deliberately sabotaged, it would screw up all our efforts. Worse, if she caught us on site, she would absolutely murder us out of hand.

This was going to be a lot more difficult than the entrance, for the very simple reason that if she came to the window in the manager's office, she could oversee the entire warehouse. There wasn't a ton of cover, so the only thing I could do was turn off the flashlight when Lisa told me to.

Twice I had to do just that, blessing the fact that we were all wearing dark clothing with our hair tucked under hoods. At a distance, a crouching person in the dark looks just like any other shadow, or at least I hoped we did.

Finally, she found what she was looking for: specifically, a flashlight of her own. But she didn't sweep the warehouse with it, which was good. It was only a matter of time, though, so we didn't hang around; out the door we went, closing it carefully behind us.

We were almost to the car when the anticipated storm hit. "Oh, for FUCK'S SAKE!" The scream was accompanied by an indigo-hued blast that took out part of one wall.

Giggling, we tumbled into the car. The engine had been idling all this time; Dad simply put it in gear and we cruised off down the street. In the front seat, Janet turned around and offered a high-five. I returned it.

"You are mean," Lisa said mock-severely to Annette. "I never would've thought of all of that."

"It's like Mom says." Annette leaned back in her seat complacently. "If you're gonna fuck with someone, you gotta do stuff they can't just fix. Turning out the lights on its own was never gonna cut it. She's gonna remember tonight."

<><>​

The Gesellschaft Contingent

Walter knew that the Empire assets couldn't make phone calls, but text messages were entirely possible. As such, code words had been arranged for various contingencies. Which meant that as the four-vehicle group neared Brockton Bay, he was paying very close attention to his phone.

ping

As soon as the chime sounded, he tapped the screen to bring up the message.

Umbrella Charlie 2 Alpha*

That meant the message was from Lieutenant Jasper Reed, that he was in Convoy C, which was following route 2. His message also conveyed that the Empire contingent was in Convoy A, but there was a complication.

"Okay," he said out loud. "We know they're in Convoy A, and that they're on route one or three. Also, there's more information. Pass that on."

"On it," Hans replied immediately.

ping

Dogsled Bravo 1 Alpha 2nd​ half*

His eyebrows rose as he smiled. "Well, alright then. It seems the PRT is trying to be sneaky. They're cramming the capes into fewer vehicles. If I'm reading this right, they'll be on route three, according to asset Dogsled." He couldn't recall the man's name right now, but that didn't matter. "Also, they're confined to the latter half of the convoy."

"Well, that'll make it a lot easier," agreed Hans.

ping

Mandrake Charlie 2 Alpha 3 DS in 2**

"Hm." He frowned. "Mandrake says they're in Convoy Alpha, and that Night is in the second van …" A moment later, he realised what was going on. "Ah, the second van of the part of the convoy they're in. Eight vans, so she's in van six."

ping

Ladder Alpha 3 Alpha even only**

"Huh. Well, now. They must be really cramming them in." He showed the text to Hans. "Latter half of the convoy, even numbers only? For an eight-van convoy, that's two vans." He recalled Mandrake's message. "And Night's in van eight, not six."

ping

Purple Alpha 3 Alpha GS in 1**

"Bingo!" He allowed himself a single fist pump. "It's Convoy A, on route three. Fog's in van six, Night's in van eight. We've got them."

"Excellent." Hans smiled. "I'll pass that on. Route three it is."

Walter shook his head in mild surprise. "And right on the tail-end of the convoy, too. They couldn't have made it easier for us if they'd tried."

"Playing to our assumptions." Hans sounded thoughtful. "We'd naturally assume the Empire capes would be spread over the entire convoy, or concentrated up the front, because that's the logical assessment."

"It was a trap." The realisation made Walter chuckle with relief. "And we nearly fell for it."

"Damn right."

<><>​

Damsel of Distress

You have got to be fucking shitting me. My luck was never this bad in Stafford.

Ashley didn't have a towel to wrap around herself, so she'd gotten dressed in the grungy clothing she had on before. Wet grit shifted between her skin and the cloth, and she suppressed the urge to blast herself clean while she was still wearing it. She would, though, as soon as she got the chance.

Pulling open the fuse box, she glowered at the offending objects, trying to see if they'd somehow shifted. But when she pulled one free, she could clearly see the blackening and charring that told her it was fucked. Hurling it to the ground, she stomped back up the stairs and leaned down to peer through the little window where her best dress floated in water so filled with dirt that she couldn't see through it.

When she'd first gotten out of the shower, she didn't realise what had happened (apart from the lights going out, duh) until she fetched the flashlight. That was when she saw the streaks of dirt on her skin, and went to check on the dress. Up until then, the night had been salvageable. But when she saw the state it was in, and realised that the washer-dryer door was locked, that was when she'd obliterated the shower stall and the wall beyond.

How the fuck did that even happen? I tested the water first! It ran clear!

Without electricity, her dress would basically marinate in the gunk that had somehow gotten stirred up out of the pipes until she managed to lever the damn door off the washer-dryer. And she couldn't simply blow a hole through the washer-dryer, because there was a better than even chance that she'd wreck the dress in the process.

She needed to either find new fuses or a pry-bar, preferably both. Though from the way the water was spraying out of the hole in the wall, she'd just cut the pipes leading to the washer-dryer. Which meant even if she got it going, it still wouldn't be able to clean her dress properly. And the night just keeps getting fucking better.

Heading into the manager's office, she started delving through the desk drawers and cupboards, but found absolutely nothing to help her out. Even the door marked 'Supply Closet' only yielded up a non-working ballpoint pen. She threw it across the room, then followed up with a blast that destroyed the pen as well as part of the wall behind it.

"Shitfuckmotherfuckerassholedingleberry!" Shouting it all in one breath relieved a little of her anger. She tried to think it through. What do I need to do? How do I fix this shit?

The first thing, she decided, was to get clean herself. The gritty, slimy feeling of the sediment on her skin and in her hair was starting to drive her nuts. Stripping out of her clothing, she left it on a pile on the desk in the manager's office, then went down the stairs barefoot. Dropping the flashlight on the bottom step, she took several paces away, then started blasting herself clean.

The main thing she had to worry about was to make sure she didn't accidentally wreck the stairs. Her blast scoured the dirt off her like it had never existed, leaving her skin and hair clean and dry. Once she was done, she stepped over the shallow crater she'd torn in the concrete floor, picked up the flashlight, and headed back up the stairs.

Once she was dressed again, she returned to the back room and examined the washer/dryer closely. As far as she could tell, there were two ways to get the dress out. The first was to somehow connect the washer-dryer up to electricity and a clean water supply, and let it finish its cycle.

The second was to blow the fuck out of it, while avoiding the dress.

Blow the fuck out of it, it is.

Cupping her hand so that the energy built up in the cradle of her fingers, she did her best to accumulate just enough power to do what she wanted, then let it go right next to the indented window. It detonated, wrecking the door and part of the floor, but not too badly. Filthy water poured out of the washer-dryer, which would never again wash or dry anything, then she wrenched the door open and pulled out her dress.

"Fucking yes!" she exulted, holding the dress up. Something was finally going her way …

… except that it really wasn't. The dress was still dirty, and now the washer-dryer wasn't even working. Also, her blast at the shower had taken out the tiny wash-basin.

God fucking dammit. The night was a wash, no matter how she looked at it.

<><>​

Random

I finished rolling the dice, and sat back. Annette looked over at me expectantly. "So, did she wreck the dress?"

"Not as such, no." I gave her a grin. "But it's filthy, and she's absolutely livid. Taking away her electricity was a genius move. She's gonna be moving again, and she won't find a place to settle down until tomorrow night. Also, her potential recruitment base is starting to lose interest. Two no-shows in a row is not the way to impress them."

"How about the Empire and Gesellschaft?" asked Dad from the front seat of the car.

My head came up. "Right, thanks for the reminder. I need to call Dinah." Handing Lisa the dice tray, I dug out my phone. Dinah's number was, of course, already in my favourites list. As the car rolled down the street, I tapped the icon to call her, then hit speaker as the phone call went through.

"Hi, Taylor. What's the good news?"

I grinned. "Well, Damsel is not having a great night of it. In other news, can you please ping Director Piggot and let her know that the canary trap worked, and Gesellschaft will be attacking the indicated vans in the next five to ten minutes?"

The grin was evident in her voice as she replied. "I'm pretty sure I can do that. Dunno how thrilled she'll be that we figured out what she's doing to confirm her moles, but that's totally not my problem."

"Well, at least she's taking the notion seriously." I knew that if we'd approached things just a little differently, it would've been all too easy for Piggot to dismiss everything we said as hearsay and wild accusations. Even the idea of sending Leviathan elsewhere came across as pretty crazy, if you didn't know how good we really were.

"Very true. So, what happened with Damsel?"

I snickered. "She wrecked her shower cubicle and damaged the washer-dryer badly, and her dress is loaded down with all the gunk that was just sitting there innocently in the pipes until Janet stirred it up. Without power, the TV in the manager's office won't work, so she'll be moving on in the morning. Again."

"Awesome. Well, I've gotta message Piggot, so I'll see you guys later."

"Later," I said, just as the call ended. I turned my attention to Annette. "Okay, so what's next in Operation Rage Quit?"

If Annette's grin hadn't been evil enough, the sinister chuckle would've clinched the deal. "Well, so far she's been through two potential home bases which have ended in disaster, but she's hanging on anyway, yeah?"

Lisa nodded, but a little doubtfully, as though she wasn't quite sure where Annette was going with this. "Yeah. So?"

"So, she still thinks she can win." Annette looked around at each of us. "She's fixated on the idea that if she hangs on just a little longer, she'll hit the magical combination of factors that will allow her to stay, to build her gang base, and to start taking over Brockton Bay. Sunk cost fallacy for the win. But the key to beating her …" she paused dramatically, "… is her dress."

Lisa's eyes widened fractionally. "Ah."

"Her dress?" I frowned. "How does that factor in? It's just a dress."

"Says the girl who's never dressed to impress, like ever." Annette reached past Lisa to ruffle my hair playfully. "If she's gonna recruit, she's gotta meet people and get their attention. She's got to look the part of a successful supervillain. Power she's got in spades, but she also needs presentation. And for that, she's pinning all her hopes on her best dress. Which has gotten soiled twice in a row … but it's still intact."

"Uh huh." Lisa raised an eyebrow. "Something tells me that state of affairs is not going to last much longer."

Annette steepled her fingers, in the very best tradition of Saturday morning cartoon scheming supervillains everywhere. "Mwahahaha."

<><>​

Director Piggot, PRT ENE

Sitting at her desk, Emily glowered at her computer screen. The message was good news in a way, in that it didn't signify that something had gone drastically wrong. It still wasn't good news, though. In fact, it was quite unsettling.

Still, she had a message to pass on.

Taking up her phone, she selected Armsmaster's number; out of everyone on this operation, she knew he could take a call straight to his helmet. It rang exactly once before he accepted the call. "Director?"

"Armsmaster," she greeted him. "I just got an email from Shadow Team. According to Management, the canary trap worked, and Gesellschaft will be hitting the indicated vans in two to seven minutes."

There was a pause before he responded. "I wasn't aware we were sharing details of the operation with them."

"We weren't." She gritted her teeth. "The first I knew of it was the message, just now."

"Ah." There was a world of comprehension in that single syllable. "I'll spread the word. Thank you, ma'am."

"Copy that. Piggot, out." She cut the call, then sat back in her chair. Thinkers are so goddamn annoying. A moment later, that thought was superseded by another. What else do they know about our operations that we haven't shared with them yet?

She muttered a few curses under her breath. Intrusive thoughts like that were the type guaranteed to keep her awake at night.

<><>​

Walter

"That's the convoy, just up ahead. Right where our intel said it would be." Hans sounded pleased with himself. His announcement had been mostly unnecessary—the eight-strong convoy of heavy PRT vans coming up on the other side of the divided highway was very hard to miss—but Walter appreciated the need to make it. It was always thoroughly satisfying when a plan came together.

"Where can we turn?" As he asked the question, he kept his eyes on the PRT vehicles, alert for any change of pace or other indication that they'd made his group for what they were.

"One hundred metres ahead. There's a turning section for emergency vehicles." Hans sounded entirely unconcerned that they were about to break the law, mainly because he cared as little about it as Walter himself did. The minor traffic misdemeanour would be vastly overshadowed by the felony about to take place.

"I see it." Walter tapped the driver on the shoulder. "Turn there."

The instruction was largely superfluous, just as Hans's comment had been. Walter knew the driver was on the ball, but he couldn't not say it. Right then, they were all riding the knife-edge of adrenaline, and some things just had to happen.

The SUV slowed and the driver pulled them into a U-turn that put them on the correct side of the highway, with the taillights of the PRT vans fading into the distance. Walter knew that the following vehicles would be executing the same manoeuvre, and he tensed in anticipation. Picking up the handheld radio he'd acquired for communicating with the other vehicles, he thumbed the talk button. "Attention all vehicles. Plan A is in force. I say again, Plan A. Acknowledge." One by one, the replies came back.

Plan A was relatively simple in execution, though 'simple' did not necessarily mean 'easy'. Two vehicles would go up on either side of the convoy, so that they could bracket the two vans carrying the Empire Eighty-Eight capes. Van seven would be riddled with gunfire, and then they'd shoot out the tyres of vans six and eight to bring them to a halt.

When the action started, Walter would activate the radio jammer they'd acquired, so that nobody in the first five vans would have a clear picture of what was happening. By the time they reacted and started turning around to come back and assist their fellows, the prisoner transport vans would be open and the Empire capes would be free to assist their rescuers. At that point, the odds would shift dramatically to the Gesellschaft side; they would easily fight off any counter-attacks, disable the opposition vehicles, and escape in their own transports.

At least, that was the plan. He knew quite well how things could shift and change in the heat of battle, but an attack from surprise had the most chance of succeeding. And it wasn't like the ENE Protectorate had any major league Thinkers to warn them ahead of time.

<><>​

Armsmaster

"Steady … steady …" Colin watched the outputs for the discreet cameras that had been emplaced on each of the vans. "It's as we were briefed. They're coming up on either side. Remember the plan and stick to it."

His HUD was displaying a simple diagram which seemed to have been sketched out with pencil, photographed, then emailed to Director Piggot before being forwarded to him. It showed the last four vans in the convoy, with the four attacking vehicles bracketing the sixth and eighth vans. This was something he'd already known was coming; much more useful was the information jotted down next to each car, including which Gesellschaft cape was in which vehicle, and how many unpowered attackers there were.

While he knew how irritated Director Piggot was about the technical security risk of having Thinkers divine her plans before they were made, having data like this to hand was incredibly valuable. He would also have been far more comfortable if Shadow Team had been firmly under PRT command, but he was also fully aware that any attempt to force the issue would at best turn them off being helpful. At worst … he shuddered to think of how much damage they could do if they decided to actively oppose the PRT's efforts to maintain law and order.

The first two vehicles came up past the last van, then the black panel van on the right held steady next to the second last van, while the green SUV on the left moved onward. As though a switch had been flipped, the sliding door of the panel van slammed open and three men opened fire on the seventh van with assault rifles. High-velocity rounds shattered the driver's side window and punctured lethal patterns of holes in the side of the PRT van.

As the stricken vehicle swerved off the road and into the ditch, Colin keyed his radio. "Tango. Tango. Tango."

<><>​

Walter

The rattle of automatic fire was music to his ears, and he watched the van veer off the road, where it ran into the ditch and promptly rolled over several times. It was still rolling by the time his vehicle passed it, but he didn't care enough to watch it. He pressed the button on his radio. "Well done. Now the tyres!"

However, when he released the button, there was no reply; nothing but a dull unmusical warble. What? What's going on?

That was his first intimation that all was not going as planned.

The next was when the front four PRT vans reacted as one. Two swerved into the ditches and slowed dramatically, while the other two went left and right and hit their brakes while remaining on the road. He was still reacting to that when the panel van and the white car reached the front van and started pouring autofire into the tyres. At the same time, more gunfire was aimed at the tyres of the last van in line.

Blitzkrieger opened the car door and activated his power. Lightning-like streams attached to everyone in the vehicle, and Walter felt his perceptions start to slow down as the cape literally stole his speed. The Mover blurred away toward the rear of the last van and reached for the handle of the rear doors, but then his feet went out from under him and he went down, tumbling over and over; Walter caught a blurred impression of a sheen of oil on the road.

Eisenadler had been airborne all this time, shadowing the vehicles. Now he came streaking down out of the night sky, wing-mounted guns tracking bullets in for a strafing run on the other PRT vans. A hatch in the top of the fifth van popped open and someone stood up out of it. Walter saw a greenish-black cloud coalesce into a long-barrelled rifle, which spat a six-foot muzzle flare a second later.

The airborne Tinker tried to swerve but the heavy bullet hit his right wing, shattering off its mount. Unbalanced, he pinwheeled into the trees at the side of the road. Walter didn't see any more of him after that; in the meantime, the rifle had become two Uzis, which the shooter used to spray bullets at both the bracketing cars at once. Hit repeatedly in the engines, both cars swerved off the road into the ditch.

Sturmsoldat can do it. He has to. If he can free the Empire prisoners …

At the last moment, he saw Sturmsoldat launch himself from his shot-up car to a spot on top of the second-last van, and swing down to the rear doors. Hanging on with one hand, he wrenched at the handle. For a miracle, it opened. Walter held his breath; boosted by his allies within the van, Sturmsoldat would be able to free them, and the Empire capes could fight their way clear …

The stream of containment foam that blasted out of the back of the van, hit Sturmsoldat in the chest, and glued him to the hood of the van behind was the signal that this was not to be. In just seconds, the entire operation had gone from a rousing success to a crippling defeat. The only option left was to retreat. "Get us out of here!" he shouted. "Drive!"

"Uh …" The driver indicated the PRT van directly in front, no longer concealed by the panel van that had been ahead of them.

Walter looked, and blanched.

The rear doors of the van were open to reveal a minigun with spinning barrels, and a trooper crouched behind it. Beside the gun was a sign that his headlights picked up just fine: PULL OVER NOW.

It was a trap, he realised belatedly as the driver began to apply the brakes. They saw us coming the whole time. But how?

It was a puzzle he would worry over for quite some time to come.

<><>​

Hebert Household

Random

"Well, come on," Annette playfully groused as I rolled the dice. "Give us the skinny. The dope. The straight word. What happened?"

"Hush," Amy chided her, equally playfully. "She'll tell us when she's finished rolling." She nuzzled her nose in next to Annette's ear, then blew a raspberry on her neck.

"Eep!" Annette sat up straight, then turned to Amy with vengeance evidently on her mind. "You just wait! I'll—"

"Okay, done." I sat back. "So, the trap went off without a hitch. The Gesellschaft guys shot up the seventh van, which was empty and being driven on remote with a dummy in the driver's seat. Then they tried to shoot out the tyres of the other two vans, but they'd had heavy-duty run-flats installed. Blitzkrieger tried to get into the back of the rear van …" I paused expectantly.

"Oil slick?" Annette was grinning broadly, having apparently forgotten the incipient scuffle with Amy. "Tell me they got to use the oil slick."

"They got to use the oil slick," I confirmed. "He's currently in custody, with a ton of road rash and a broken elbow. Miss Militia shot down Eisenadler, then knocked out the engines of the two front cars. And Armsmaster nailed Sturmsoldat with a containment foam cannon when he opened the rear doors of the other van."

Lisa fist-pumped. "Haha, yes! Score! And the others?"

"Meekly submitted to arrest, mainly because they had a fuck-off big minigun pointed at them." I grinned. "Pretty sure they're still not sure exactly what happened."

"Um …" Theo frowned. "So, if they weren't in those vans, which vans were they in?"

I smirked. "The convoy thing was mostly a bait and switch. They actually had Strider teleport them from the roof yesterday, embedded in containment foam."

Kayden snorted with amusement. "What do you mean by 'mostly'?"

It was Lisa's turn to grin. "Because one of the other convoys did have prisoners on board. Lung and Oni Lee. It was pretty certain that if Gesellschaft hit that one, they wouldn't be freeing them."

Dad shook his head slowly. "All in the name of avoiding conflict. I see."

"Well, the ones who started it didn't get what they wanted." I spread my hands. "And it got shot down hard. Literally, in Eisenadler's case. He's in custody, too."

"Look at it this way, Mr H." Annette put her arm around Amy's shoulders. "There's a lot of people who've got a vested interest in Brockton Bay remaining a conflict-ridden shithole. They'd put a ton of effort into keeping it that way, if they got the chance. So, it's not surprising that we have to put some effort into making sure that doesn't happen."

"Or, you know, outsource to the PRT." I idly rolled a die across the table, telling it to end up on a 20. "They've got capabilities that we just can't call on."

Amy nodded judiciously. "Well, true. I've seen some of that in action. The PRT only looks like it's ineffectual because it's being hampered in all directions. That Calvert asshole, feeding information to the other gangs. Poor intel in general. Tonight, we've seen what happens when they've got good information. The Gesellschaft wouldn't have known what hit 'em."

"Damn right." I reached out and gave her a high five. "And that's the name of the game."

"And tomorrow night …" Annette chuckled evilly. "We have another run at Damsel."

Amy gave her an exasperated look. "You are enjoying this way too much."

"Darn tootin'."

<><>​

Thursday Night, March 17, 2011

Damsel of Distress

Ashley was nearly at the end of her tether. Two crash-pads had gone sour on her, one after the other. Worse, her best dress was filthy; that would never pass muster for recruiting minions for her eventual takeover of the Brockton Bay criminal underworld.

She'd located an empty storefront and gathered together enough old cardboard boxes to sleep on, but while the place still had running water for basic amenities and electricity (she'd lugged the TV from the last place to there, so there'd damn well better be electricity) there was no place to wash her clothing. And she wasn't about to try to hand wash it, not after the last disastrous attempt (one comforter and one bathtub, ruined). So, it was time to find someplace that would wash the dress for her.

An hour later, she located a laundromat that was open for business. While she would've been tempted to just blast open a change-box and get some quarters that way, there were two customers already on site, both teenagers. The exact target demographic she was looking to recruit, in fact.

Rule number one was to always be confident. It wasn't hard; she was the toughest, smartest person in the room at all times, so she just had to let it show through. "Evening." Marching over to the nearest unoccupied machine, she opened it and emptied the plastic bag holding her dirty laundry into it.

"Hi." The redhead had been doodling on her phone, but now she put it away. "Are you new around here? I love your hair."

"Yeah, just moved in from out of town." Ashley looked around for a detergent dispenser, then spotted a bottle on the machine beside the redhead. "Say, can I borrow some of your detergent? I've only got enough change for the machine itself." She had more than that, but she'd heard somewhere that the best way to get someone to think well of you was to get them to do you a favour. And she was always willing to accept free stuff.

"Oh, that's not mine. That's Lisa's." The redhead gestured to the freckled blonde teen who'd been typing away on her own phone. "Hey, Lisa. Can … what's your name again?"

"Call me Ash." It was a little early in the piece to be coming out with her villain name.

"Cool. Lisa, can Ash borrow some of your detergent?"

Lisa blinked and looked up from her phone, then gave Ashley a grin that shouted to the world, 'I love pulling shit on people!'. She could definitely use that. "Uh, sure. Ash, was it? Go ahead, use as much as you like." Picking up the bottle, she handed it over.

It wasn't a brand Ashley was familiar with, but there was a lavender scent as she poured it into the receptacle, so it would probably do the job. She gave it a solid dose, to make absolutely sure the dress would be as clean as possible, then screwed the cap back on and handed it back. Neither of the girls spoke as she set the wash timer, which was the way she liked it. Finally, she hit the button to set it going.

Turning back to them, she handed the bottle over. "Thanks, Lisa. Sorry, I didn't catch your name …?"

"Oh, I'm Annette." The redhead gave her a finger-wave. "It's nice to meet you, Ash. Most people who come in here just grunt and put their laundry on. Nobody wants to talk."

Ashley nodded. "Well, I can see how that could be irritating. So, what sort of after-school activities are there around here? Clubs, anything like that?"

Annette shared a glance with Lisa, then they both shook their heads. "No activities, no," Lisa informed her. "It's pretty slack, actually. Annette plays Dungeons & Dragons at a friend's place, and she's been trying to rope me in, but I'm not sure I see the point of it."

While Ashley had heard of the game, she had no actual understanding of it. "People still play that?" she ventured.

"Oh, totes." Annette grinned broadly. "I've been playing for years, and we picked up a few new players recently. My girlfriend's gonna be joining in the game on Saturday for the first time, and I am totally stoked."

Lisa gave her the side-eye. "You actually talked her into it? Wow, I thought she had more willpower than that."

"Hey." Annette made a top-to-toe gesture at herself. "She knows what she likes. So yeah, she's gonna be playing anything but a healer." They both laughed at some kind of in-joke that Ashley didn't get, and couldn't be bothered asking about.

She had never been interested in girls, but she was fine with other people doing what they wanted (so long as they also did what she wanted). Besides, a relationship meant a potential extra recruit. "So, uh, how many people play these games? At a time, I mean?"

Annette raised an eyebrow. "Well, let's see. The usual group is about four or five plus the DM. Our group has …" She began counting on her fingers, lips moving silently. "Six all up. Seven, now, with Ames."

That sounded like a good start on recruitment, given that Ashley suspected the last group she'd approached was probably losing interest by now. "What does it take to join a group like that? Do I need to buy stuff? Pay an entrance fee?" That shit would be refunded as soon as she took over, of course.

"Hah, no." Annette giggled and shook her head. "All you need is spare time and the desire to roll some dice and kick ass. If you're interested, you can give me your number. I'll talk it over with the others and get back to you, okay?"

Ashley nodded. "I can do that." She dictated her phone number, and Annette stored it in her own phone. "How long until I find out?"

"Tomorrow night at the latest." Annette gestured airily. "No big."

At that moment, two dryers rumbled to a halt. Lisa and Annette looked around, then opened them and started pulling out clothing, which they stored in cloth bags. "Well, see you later, Ash." Lisa gave her the same sort of fingertip-wave that Annette had, then picked up her bottle of detergent. "It was cool meeting you. If I ever join the game, I'll see you there."

Or maybe sooner. "Yup. See you then."

"See ya!" Annette opened the door of the laundromat and led the way out, Lisa following close behind.

Well, how about that. Ashley leaned back against one of the machines and gave herself a measured nod of approval. She'd definitely laid the groundwork, and six or seven (or maybe eight) recruits was a lot better than zero. While she knew nothing at all about Dungeons and Dragons, the entire internet was hers for the scouring, so it wouldn't hurt to do some basic research before Annette's call.

She was well down the rabbit hole, puzzling through the various esoteric terms used within the game, when her machine came to a halt and beeped at her. Putting her phone down, she opened the glass door and pulled out her dress … and froze. It was clean, but that was the least of it. The once-pristine black cloth was now slashed with washed-out grey and even splotches of white, dyed with muddy streaks of colours from the other clothes.

"What … the fuck?" She pawed through the rest of her clothing. It had been similarly affected. "What … the fuck?"

As she stared at the dress, she could feel her dreams crumbling around her. Ever since she'd come to Brockton Bay, everything she touched had turned to shit. Nothing had turned out right.

Okay, this is it. I've had it. I'm done.

She'd kept back enough money to buy a return ticket to Stafford. Not even 'just in case': ever since Boston, she'd always made sure to maintain an exit strategy. And now Brockton Bay had beaten her. Not with capes or cops, but with pure blind happenstance.

Everything in the city was against her. Everything.

And then, just to put the shitty cherry on top of the whole fucked-up cake, her power activated accidentally as she was bundling the still-wet clothing into the bag she'd brought it in, shredding the clothing along with the machine she'd pulled it out of. She was blown halfway across the laundromat, but managed to keep her feet. A long, ragged scream of frustration burst from her throat. "FUUUUUUUUUUCCCCK!" Devastation played across the laundromat until it was nothing but ruins from side to side.

As smoke trailed into the air, she stomped off down the street toward her latest squat. She couldn't even stand to sleep the night there; the bus depot had seats she could doze on. All I want to do is get out of this God-forsaken hellhole before anything else goes wrong.

As far as she was concerned, Brockton Bay could keep its shitty luck.



End of Part Twenty-Four

 

[naarn]

"Our assets within the PRT have all given us the same information. Kaiser and his people will be transported to secure holding in a convoy of PRT vehicles travelling along one of these three routes. The timing of these transports means that they'll be leaving town just as we're getting there."

Click to shrink...

I am confused. My memory insists that this is the fic where Kaiser died stupidly in a lightning storm, quite a while ago, and the E88 splintered. With his death definitely not being secret at this point.

 

[Avernus]

I am confused. My memory insists that this is the fic where Kaiser died stupidly in a lightning storm, quite a while ago, and the E88 splintered. With his death definitely not being secret at this point.

Click to shrink...

Correct. But that was written around nine years ago (wow), so @Ack apparently forgot.

Fortunately him personally being alive isn't of particular importance to the plot so just a little rewrite will fix it.

 

[Ack]

I am confused. My memory insists that this is the fic where Kaiser died stupidly in a lightning storm, quite a while ago, and the E88 splintered. With his death definitely not being secret at this point.

Click to shrink...

Correct. But that was written around nine years ago (wow), so @Ack apparently forgot.

Fortunately him personally being alive isn't of particular importance to the plot so just a little rewrite will fix it.

Click to shrink...

I've fixed the issue, as well as the Krieg thing.

Ugh. Nine years. Wow.

 

[macdjord]

We shoved them into place, I closed the fuse box, and we started sneaking out of there. It was imperative that we not be seen, because if she even got an inkling that she was being deliberately sabotaged, it would screw up all our efforts. Worse, if she caught us on site, she would absolutely murder us out of hand.

This was going to be a lot more difficult than the exit, for the very simple reason that if she came to the window in the manager's office, she could oversee the entire warehouse. There wasn't a ton of cover, so the only thing I could do was turn off the flashlight when Lisa told me to.

Click to shrink...

'more difficult than the exit' -> 'more difficult than the entrance'

 

[Ack]

'more difficult than the exit' -> 'more difficult than the entrance'

Click to shrink...

Dammit, good catch. Will fix.