Charm Learning Shard (Worm/Exalted) (COMPLETED)

Daniel Snuts · Jul 13, 2022

Their plan for defeating Bakuda is to wander around the city randomly, in full view of everyone.

"Leet built an exotic particle detector," Uber explains. "With the bombs we've seen, her lab is definitely going emit a bunch of those."

"No one trusted you with a real target, huh?" You concentrate on getting the tone and cadence right, punctuating the question with a dismissive flick of your fingers. Normally you'd be more polite to capes you're trying to infiltrate, but you've got a role to play here.

"Only an idiot would hide out in a known safehouse at a time like this," Uber says - which you note is not a 'no'.

"I'm sure you know best."

One peculiar upshot of this plan is the audience participation. Their normal modus operandi is more of a quick smash and grab, since they have to worry about heroes coming to arrest them. But tonight the heroes have every incentive to leave them alone, which means they have time to sign autographs and pose for pictures.

This is how you learn that Leet is actually cool and suave - when compared to his fans!

The more bearable minority just freeze up and stop functioning completely in the presence of celebrities, girls and/or cameras. Most of them very much don't. They think they have something to contribute to the show, some witticism or bon mot, or in one particularly awful case, a little dance. You never thought you'd look back fondly at the eggplant-based communication they used online, but here you are. These are the people you need to please if you want to get invited back.

It vindicates the hell out of your decision to go fully in character, though, because it means your attitude is supposed to be one of open disdain and mild bullying. When the next loser starts to speak, you yawn. Long and loud, stretching luxuriously and thrusting your chest out for the cameras. He completely loses track of what he was doing. "That was very interesting," you singsong once you're done. "You can go now."

"Oh look, another one."

"I'm curious. How do you ever commit a robbery without getting mobbed by spastics?"

Oh, did you say you missed the eggplant-based communication? Because one fan just attempted it IRL. Uber, showing great presence of mind, quickly draws his sword and interposes himself between you before Fenrir can bite anything off.

"Such a naughty boy," you comment lightly, your true expression safely hidden behind your mask. "Can you believe he once compared that little worm to an eggplant? Tut, tut, lying on the internet."

By some unspoken agreement your hosts turn towards the rougher parts of the city after that, where muggers presumably lurk and fanboys fear to thread. It works, and you get some uninterrupted quality time with Uber's power. It's so good! And he clearly agrees with your evaluation of how amazing it is, because he's never not using it to be good at something (currently: reconnaissance, to spot any suicidal muggers early). And it's only one kW difficult! Depending on how the evening goes, you may only need to come back one more time to get it.

It's such a breath of fresh air after dealing with the likes of Rune and Ballistic and their super-complicated powers. Heh, Ballistic. If he knew about the tingles his girlfriend was feeling right now, Uber would be a smear on the wall. Oh god, did you just drool a little? You did, you totally just drooled into your mask and you can't wipe it off without exposing your face to the cameras and now you have to wait for it dry on its own.

To distract yourself at least a little, you initiate conversation.

"I'm surprised you're not dressed up as the orc." you remark to Leet.

"There was a poll," Uber explains.

"The what?" Leet aks.

"You know, the pig-man bad guy. Those are called orcs, right?"

"You mean bokoblins? Or moblins? Because-"

"She means Ganon," Uber interrupts.

"Is he the one who kidnaps the princess and steals the magic triangles?" you ask.

"Ganon isn't an orc!" Leet shouts. "He's a gerudo."

"A what?"

"In some timelines he pretty much is a pig-man," Uber says placatingly.

"Don't get me started on the timelines!" Leet exclaims, and then promptly gets started on a long and involved explanation of 'the timelines', his earlier shyness completely forgotten. You don't really follow it all that well, partly because you're concentrating on studying Uber's power but mostly because it sounds like a whole lot of nonsense.

You were kinda hoping to get Leet's soul price, but you can only do that at the end of a conversation. And he won't stop talking.

("Oni Lee is dead," Uber interrupts at one point, having gotten a situation update from the other cape teams. Your own outfit doesn't even have clothes, much less pockets, so you left your phones at their lair)

"Wait, let me get this straight," you say half an hour later. "The world flooded, and this was so terrible for the fish-people that they had to evolve into bird-people to survive?"

"I know, right? That's why, in my personal timeline-" Leet then goes on to confuse you even further by launching into a completely different interpretation of events, which contradicts most of what you already heard. Which, if you understood things correctly, was the way the people who actually made the games meant things to be.

Except that maybe they never intended to tie everything together in the first place, and only made up the connections much later? Which is why everything is such a mess? And people care passionately about this? There's clearly something about this 'geek' thing that you don't understand.

You're saved from further confusion when Uber's hat sprouts a duck face and starts quacking wildly. Except the opposite of that, because what? Duck face hat? But it interrupted Leet's rant.

"Hey, listen!" Leet says. "Those are the exotic particles we've been looking for." At a second glance, the duck is jabbing its beak in a particular direction.

Hang on, the particle detector was the hat all along? Leet's tinkertech famously explodes roughly 25% of the time, and Uber was wearing it on his head? You can't believe you were so focused on his power you didn't even notice until now.

Leet wants his Tinker power to work properly.

Finally! Unfortunately Quicksilver has a somewhat spotty record of actually helping people out with these things - you'd call it a 50% success rate, with all the complications that implies for someone who has done it 3 times. And you'd have to risk studying it first.

---

"This is it," Leet says as you arrive behind a nondescript warehouse, far from ABB territory. "There's something odd about this wall." He hovers in front of a patch of brick wall indistinguishable from any other, even with sorcerer's sight. It might be a line from the game?

In response, Uber takes out a giant skull-decorated hammer from... somewhere. The head alone is almost as big as he is, but he swings it like it's entirely weightless (it probably is). You expect a huge crash and bricks flying everywhere as it hits the wall, but instead a Fenrir-sized area around where it hits simply puffs into smoke. You were right about the crash, though - it's still very loud, and through the smoke you spot the glowing silhouette of a parahuman jumping in fright.

The smoke clears up in a second or so, and you see that it is indeed Bakuda in there. The room is exactly the rat's nest of random electronics you'd expect of a Tinker's workshop. Several pieces glow to your vision, indicating that they're already assembled and ready to explode. The brightest one is... the one on the floor that Bakuda is staring at in horror, that she dropped when she was startled by the crash. It's getting brighter.

"Fucking run!" you and Bakuda shout in unison.

Uber reacts instantly and is already booking it by the time Fenrir gets turned around, but a few seconds is enough for you to catch up and overtake him despite his power making him a world-class sprinter. Whatever tech powers Leet's wings isn't any faster, and you leave both of them in the dust.

You hunch down low over Fenrir's back to minimize air resistance and keep up a steady monolog of swearing under our breath, pausing only to warn any pedestrians you pass by: "Bakuda bomb!" You don't have to say anything more to get people running in the same direction.

You only got the barest glimpse of the device, you have no idea what it does. Bakuda seemed to think that running was an option, which is a good sign at least. It's been what, ten seconds and it hasn't gone off yet? It was clearly building up power, you can only hope it doesn't do so faster than Fenrir is running away. You don't know exactly how fast that is - wolves don't come with speedometers - but if he was a car you're pretty sure you'd be breaking traffic laws right now.

Fifteen seconds. The longer it takes the better, right? Fenrir is running at a constant speed, but the power required for whatever the hell is going to happen should increase with the cube of the radius, right? Maybe not, though, it's not like you're dealing with conventional physics here.

Twenty se-

A sound like someone tapping a wineglass, but magnified thousandfold, makes you turn around in your lack of saddle - and then promptly recoil, pain stabbing straight through your brain and into your soul as sorcerer's sight lights up the brightest you've ever experienced. It's like staring into the sun, if the sun was twenty yards away.

You frantically turn it off, and reflexively try to blink away spots that aren't there - sorcerer's sight having nothing to do with your actual retinas. Ow your soul though. You're not going to use any more powers tonight, because it feels like they might fall off.

Without sorcerer's sight the evening gloom is undisturbed. No fires, no explosions, no strange glowing phenomena. Whatever it was, it took out every street light in its radius before stopping the aforementioned twenty yards behind you. Considerably further behind you now, because Fenrir sensibly didn't stop running.

"Stop, turn back." Unfortunately you can't be so sensible, because you need to figure out what happened. As best you can without turning sorcerer's sight back on, because ow. "Don't go any closer than the last functioning streetlight," you add. That should be safe, right?

As you get closer, the light of the last streetlight is enough to reveal... is that one of the people who were running away? It is. He's frozen in mid stride, and.. glimmering? Glimmering and purple and faintly translucent. If you were to take a wild guess, you'd say he was transmuted into solid amethyst. There are other indistinct shapes behind him, that may also possess certain gem-like qualities.

Your brain skips a few tracks as you try to calculate Fenrir's running speed, times twenty-ish seconds, squared and times pi. Times population density. Did, did Bakuda just hit a four digit body count on her way out? Above you, a pigeon flies past the last streetlight and falls to the ground as it turns into amethyst. Oh god it didn't just amethyst-splode people, it created a stable amethyst-ization field. Four digits and counting, because people are going to keep blundering into the area until the news get out.

"Let's go," you say numbly, turning Fenrir around. Not a moment too soon either, you can feel your condition getting worse just from being this close to the effect, even without sorcerer's sight active. Well, either that or you got a lethal dose from the initial blast and it's getting worse because you're about to keel over from soul hemorrhage, but you hope that doesn't happen. You need to get back to the lair and recover your phones so you can report this.

===

Haha, did you really think I'd let Taylor have the First Adorjan Excellency so easily, when a big consideration of how I set up the crossover was to starve her of dice-adders? Also she cannot be allowed happiness, those are simply the rules laid down by Wildbow that I am powerless to change.

Oh, the bomb? Exalted fans will have recognized it as a canonical area-denial WMD from Creation. In addition to turning living things into amethyst, it also completely shreds all Essence in its area of effect. Translated into equivalent Earth weapon-functionality, it stops anything needing electricity from working, which is why the streetlights are out.

It still shreds Essence too, which is why Taylor's Essence-esque parabiology hurts from the near miss. She'll be fine, though.

daemonette_lickr: they'll be fine right?
ryu6969: course they'll be fine. Cockroaches don't die
goatyballz: omg omg omg omg omg omg
edible_undrpnts: stop fooling urself, their ded
bigg_gunns: ye all cams cutting out like that means tehy done got blone op
leetfan1: just arrived, did they cancel the stream?
goatyballz: omg omg omg omg omg omg
stream_viking: why is it showing the guest lair tho?
bigg_gunns: only cam that didny get expodeded
thus_spaketh: I for one enjoy watching an empty room, it's almsot as exciting as drying paint
vempires_suck: i cant belive they finlally died and we didnt even get to see it
thus_spaketh: It's Midna!
ryu6969:

bigg_gunns: heeey midna
demonchan: are tehy ok?
Leet: No they're dead.
edible_undrpnts: toldya
tap_bootay: noooooooooooo
Leet: Good news is Bakuda died too
tap_bootay: -oooooyay?
goatyballz: were safe now?
ryu6969: suck it heroes, villains get things done
Leet: I know, right?
bigg_gunns: show us your tits!
<bigg_gunns has been banned by Leet>
daemonette_lickr: if their ded, how we get refund for not seeing tits?
daemonette_lickr: show tits!
stream_viking: man's got a point
<Leet has logged out>
ryu6969: midna come back
ryu6969:

thus_spaketh: Remember when I told you I figured out the location of their guest lair?
leetfan1: yeah and we told u u were full of shit
thus_spaketh: I bet she can't cart away all their stuff before I get there. See you on ebay, suckers!
ryu6969:

ryu6969:

Daniel Snuts · Jul 14, 2022

You feel a lot better the next morning, at least physically/spiritually. You're not dying of soul hemorrhage, you mean. Your soul still hurts... but less so than last night, and you're able to turn sorcerer's sight back on without issue. Mentally you're still lamenting Uber's death (and everyone else who died you guess, but you didn't know any of them personally). The few pieces of unsafe-to-use tinkertech you were able to salvage from their lair is scant consolation.

You debate dragging yourself out of bed, but settle for browsing the internet on your phone instead, to see how people are reacting to last night's events. You don't really know why you bothered. It's exactly the mix of awed, horrified and celebratory you'd expect. Though you imagine the heroes must be quietly shitting enough bricks to build another headquarters, because there's basically no way the amethyst bomb wasn't intended to be set off next to their current one.

The PRT have been working overnight, using live mice and very long poles to determine the exact shape of the effect (perfectly circular - or rather, as some rodent-dangling drone flights demonstrated, spherical) and cordon off the area. No timetable for any solution, or even recovery of the bodies, because unmanned vehicles that enter the area stop working as surely as the streetlights did.

You could maybe help analyze the effect - if you were ever going close to that area ever again, which you're not. Instead you make a throwaway account and describe how you felt really sick after being close to the boundary - there must be all sorts of horrible radiation going on that they're not telling you about, best keep your distance. It sets off a minor panic among everyone who doesn't call you a hypochondriac conspiracy theorist, which is the intended effect. The fewer people who expose themselves to whatever-it-is the better.

But the world doesn't stop moving just because a huge tragedy happens, and you've got powers to steal. Luke is very understanding of your low spirits - a lot of people died, some of whom you knew personally. You do your best to ensure it doesn't affect his enjoyment of your time together.

The thought occurs to you that you could perhaps ask about some of the things you're curious about now. You do know each other quite well now, so to speak.

Tomorrow, you decide. You'll bring the matter of his origins up tomorrow.

---

"Luke?"

"Yeah?"

"You know I'm a Thinker."

"Boy do I." He reaches over and affectionately gropes your butt.

"Stop that. No, it's fine, you can continue. I mean, I'm a bit of a regular Thinker as well. I can sort of tell when someone has a big secret."

His groping hand freezes in place. "Oh."

"I don't get... details. I'm just asking... Do you want to talk about it?"

He sighs, lets go of you and sits up in bed, hugging his knees. "I don't know."

"That's alright."

"I suppose I'd have to tell you sooner or later, if I didn't want to be the worst scumbag on earth." He sighs again. "Yeah, I'll talk about it. I was in Madison during the attack, way past the safe limits. I had to escape the containment zone afterwards."

What!?

He closes his eyes and turns away after seeing you recoil in surprise, only to startle in turn when he feels you cuddling up to him from behind, resting your head on his shoulder.

"Poor boy." You know exactly how he feels. You'd like to pretend that you don't hesitate before offering him the truth about Simurgh victims, but you do, just a little bit. It would be very dangerous if the wrong people found out that Quicksilver knows it. "Do you want to know a terrible secret that almost no one knows? It will make you feel a little bit better, and a whole lot worse."

He considers that for a while. "So overall, it will make me feel worse?"

"Almost certainly."

"Then no." You just nod, and keep hugging him. "Out of curiosity though, when you say that almost no one knows..?"

"You'd have been the third person on earth to find out."

After another period of silence he starts telling his story - incidentally revealing his interdimensional origins. "See, that's the secret I thought I was talking about!" you say, with somewhat strained levity. When he describes the scream, you hang on to every word. You need to know just how abnormal your own experience was.

"You start to have- not quite hallucinations, but really vivid mental images, that you can't stop thinking about."

"What were they? If you don't mind talking about it."

"A lot of what you would expect. Being trapped in a cave, hunger, loneliness... My friends abandoning me... My father spanking me..." He feels you tensing up, because he hastens to add "He never did that in real life! He was a perfectly fine dad, never raised his hand to his kids. Just something she put in my mind." You try to relax and let him believe that was what upset you. "In the vision he kept shouting 'what's in store for the tailor?' and for some reason it completely terrified me at the time. In retrospect it just seems absurd."

You completely fail at relaxing. As you do, when an Endbringer addresses you personally.

"I don't want to talk about this anymore," you say.

"Okay."

"I'd like it if you turned around and hugged me back, though." At least her plans include playing matchmaker. Silver fucking linings.

He does. "Does it have something to do with the terrible secret?" he asks.

"Yeah. It's making me feel a whole lot worse."

---

But life keeps going on, eventually bringing you to your Friday patrol shift with the Empire. As you enter the bar, you hear a familiar voice. A loud, familiar voice.

"Of course I have empathy for them!" Mike is shouting. "Their situation sucks! If my country sank I would want to go somewhere else too, and displace the native population to continue my line! That doesn't mean that it's morally wrong for the natives to fight back against invasion! I'm a native, of course I'm fighting back!"

"Someone accused Mike of hating japs," Sven explains to you, sotto voce.

"I don't hate anyone!" Mike shouts, having overheard. "I'm not a hateful person!"

"You hate people who accuse you of being hateful," Alex quips.

"Shut up!"

"You hate people who interrupt your rants," Johnny offers.

"Shut the fuck up!"

"You hate jews and their shabbos goys," Sven says.

"Okay, that's fair," Mike admits calmly, before instantly regaining his volume on the next sentence. "But I don't hate anyone else! I don't even hate niggers! I don't want to live around them, because they fucking suck! But I don't hate them!" Several people nod along with that.

"What?" you demand, causing the collective listener of the Empire 88 to turn towards you. "I suppose it's easy enough for you fuckers with a cushy inner patrol beat, huh? 'It's just a little race war, no big. We're winning, right? They show up with their little war parties, and the brass sends them packing for us.'"

"Her trigger event-" Sven leans over to Johnny and starts adding commentary your own rant.

"Never fucking mind my trigger event! That shit was personal! This isn't about me, this is about him!" You point an accusing finger. "This is about Serious Policeman Mike never having to put faces on the numbers! This is about him never having to arrive too late! Maybe he'd begin to hate if he saw the hate crimes that will never get prosecuted, huh?"

No one really has anything to say to that. You, too, get nods of agreement from the audience. Some brave soul pats your shoulder.

"The whole 'hate crime' thing is just jewish bullshit made up to attack white people," Otto tells you. "You should trying hating jews instead."

No one has anything helpful to say.

With no more shouting forthcoming, people turn away and conversations resume as they judge the show to be over. Mike beckons you to come sit as his table.

"No hard feelings," he says. "I get where you're coming from."

"I'd fucking hope so, or you'd be a pretty shitty nazi," you say, but your heart isn't really in the banter.

"You can hate niggers all you want," Sven agrees. "It's fine. Otto's right though, it's not productive. If you want to change anything, you have to realize who brought them here in the first place, and turned them loose on us. Who was behind civil rights and forced integration. That's who you need to attack."

"Hey," Alex says, "cool it with the antisemitic remarks. She's down with the 14, the 88 will happen on its own eventually. You don't have to force it. She's not in the mood." Part of you wants to bristle at how he's speaking on your behalf, but he's right. About that last sentence, you mean, you do not share his conviction re: the inevitability of antisemitism.

"Yeah, okay." Sven offers you an apologetic shrug.

"You gotta read the room," Alex continues. "You don't just show up at a party and start denying the holocaust."

"I denied the holocaust at a party once," Mike says. "It was great, I made a jew cry."

Something about his straight-faced, matter-of-fact delivery of that line just completely destroys your somber mood and forces an unladylike snort out of you.

"So what's up with the rank and file now that the crisis is over?" you ask.

"I heard blockbusting might start up again, with ABB's gone," Sven says. "Weren't you gonna sign up for that, Alex?"

"Nah. Wife wouldn't go for it anymore, not with a kid on the way," Alex says.

"Blockbusting?" you ask. Apparently loudly enough for Big Brain to overhear, because he jumps into the conversation before anyone at your table can open their mouths.

"Well you see Low Key," said worthy begins, "about a hundred years ago - a better time - people used to enter into gentlemen's agreements with their neighbors, that they would not sell their house to a black person. As a countermeasure, blacks would hire white lawyers-"

"'''White,'''" Sven interrupts, pronouncing more quotation marks around a single syllable than you thought was physically possible.

"-yes, thank you, ''white'' laywers to represent them-" He's not quite the verbal virtuoso that Sven is, but you get the gist. White skin, but perhaps also prominent noses and elevated risk of Tay-Sachs disease? "-and in so doing obfuscate who the ultimate buyer of the property was, sometimes through multiple layers of intermediaries. Once one such gambit succeeded, the block was 'busted open' for further encroachment, as the remaining white population would want to move out, no longer caring who they sold their property to."

"Because once a neighborhood is full of niggers it has this mysterious tendency to turn into a shitty slum," Alex finishes for him.

"Indeed. And since no one wants to live in a slum, not even blacks, this process would repeat over and over, gradually destroying large sections of our previously fair cities as they sought to escape the inevitable results of their own dysfunction. What we do when seeking to expand our territory is simply the reverse. A handful of our own people moving into a block is enough for people to get the hint."

You nod. He could have used a lot fewer words to explain that, because it's pretty obvious once you think about it. Another gang might gleefully annex the territory of a fallen rival, but what the hell would the Empire want with a neighborhood full of asians? It has to gentrified first, in a technically legal manner so as to not invite direct retaliation from law enforcement.

"All right you fucking nerds, break it up!" Rune shouts from the door. "I'm here to save my girl before her ears fall off!"

Daniel Snuts · Jul 15, 2022

At last you understand, and you can't help but laugh as a truth sears itself into your soul.

"What's so funny?" Rune asks.

Having finally acquired her power after months of intermittent effort, you're giddy enough to try to explain the truth that was given to you - without, of course, revealing what is actually going on.

"Doesn't it ever strike you as weird?" you ask.

"What?" In response, you just gesture around yourself, at the two of you and the world at large. "No..?"

"Of course not! Because sometimes rocks fly!"

Rune huffs with amusement. "Oh, that."

"Sure, you're used to it. But imagine trying to explain it to a physicist from 50 years ago, who still believed in conservation of energy."

She just grunts noncommittally, not sharing your wonder at the beauty of the (un)natural world. Man, if this power works the way you think it does, you can't wait to try it out.

---

You're riding back towards the secluded spot where you hide your civilian clothes when something hits you in the shoulder. Ow, what- Turning your head to look makes you poke yourself in the face with the shaft of an arrow. Someone shot you with an arrow? From the rooftops, judging by the angle at which it's sticking out. They have must been- Crossbow bolt, not arrow. Shadow Stalker. Whose bolts... famously contain... tranquilizers...

Damn. I hit the bitch all right, she's out like a light. But I kinda expected her Master projection to pop as a result. Instead it's standing over her with its hackles raised, growling threateningly. It's looking right at me, too. Not that it can reach me up here, but just seeing it again sends a twinge through my right hand. My hand that Panacea swears up and down is genetically and physically identical to the old one, but she's fucking lying. Something's wrong with it, I can tell. It-

No, focus. How do I deal with this? I don't know what that thing is capable of (aside from- no, stop it). Without her to order it around, is it like a beast, or a robot? Or is her mind in there piloting it while her body sleeps?

Well, there is one obvious thing to try: Shoot it. It's big, but my tranqs are rated for Brutes. What if it's a big Brute, though? Better shoot it twice. One. Two. Two crossbow bolts hit home, carefully phased to rematerialize partway inside the thing, in case it has Brute hide too. Like shooting fish in a barrel, with it shielding her like that.

That's several months worth of creative accounting down the drain if it doesn't work - of course the fucking paper pushers demand to know where every single dose of tranq goes, and there's only so often I can write 'missed target, couldn't recover bolt' on a report before being assigned remedial training. Because this isn't an official bust, oh no. I know how the game is played, and there's no way I'm letting her get forced into the Wards. Not on my watch.

Ah, it's starting to wobble. And it carefully lurches to the side to avoid falling on top of her. Good. Her being crushed to death under her own power would be... poetic or some shit like that, I guess. But not nearly what she deserves. It still doesn't pop, even with both of them unconscious. Huh. Well, whatever. I turn into shadow and glide down to the street before carefully approach- Fuck it, why am I being such a weak-ass bitch about this? They're unconscious. I won, dammit. I'm safe. And now this bitch is going to pay for what she-

Fuck shittity fuck it was just playing dead I should have known! There's no time to dodge as it lunges at me shadow form won't save me I desperately bring the crossbow to bear I'm going to die here its jaws are practically closing around me as I pull the trigger and it... vanishes?

She's shooting again, but this time I'm ready! Dematerialize! Ow!

Ow?

That was... supposed to... pass through...

It finally popped? I just stand there for a while, trying to get my breathing under control as my blood pounds in my ears. Fuck, I pissed myself at the end there. I legit thought I was going to die. But I won?

I look at the three bolts lying on the ground in front of me. No sign of the monster they were stuck to a moment ago. It's gone. I won.

"I won."

Saying it out loud somehow snaps me out of my funk. With renewed determination, I step over to where Low Key is lying. She's unconscious, but her mask is eternally smirking, as if mocking me for soiling myself. With a snarl, I tear it from her f-

"No fucking way!"

---

It's not a number I've ever seen before. But I won't discover anything by not answering. "Hello?"

"Help."

"Taylor? Are you-" I verbally stumble as several questions try to come out at the same time. Are you hurt? Are you in trouble? Are you thinking about suicide again? Yes, my power supplies, all of the above. "Where are you!?"

"Don't know."

I'm already halfway out the door. "Tell me what you see, I'll find you! I'm on my way!"

---

It's easy enough to find the general area: "There's ABB people here." ABB territory is a lot smaller than it was only a few days ago, because between the loss of all their capes, and the heroes being eager to make up for the loss of face that was the Bakuda crisis, they've been losing manpower fast. Not just to arrests, but also to defections/resignations - the writing is on the wall, and the smarter ones can read it.

But tracking down the specific place - "it's an alley" - takes some work, because Taylor says she can't leave said alley to look at other landmarks. But after making her describe the buildings on either side, and the fine details of the graffiti on their walls, and the god damn position of the moon in the sky, I finally find her in the third alley I check. And I find out why she said she couldn't leave.

That would be because she's stark naked and covered in blood from head to toe, and - fairly irrelevant in the grand scheme of things, but someone also wrote 'NAZI' on her forehead with a marker pen. There are indeed ABB people here, three of them to be precise. But I don't need to worry about them, because they're where the blood came from. I quickly avert my eyes from the gruesome sight, but my power goes off regardless, telling me things I didn't need to-

Marks around their throats - held down by telekinesis and repeatedly stabbed. Mixed stab wounds, both direct telekinesis and knife. Kept stabbing after they died.

-things I probably did need to know, because they relate to Taylor's mental state. That would be the knife she is still clutching, unsurprisingly also covered in blood. Blood doesn't stick to the edge. Edge is not metal. Tinkertech. She drops the phone - taken from one of the corpses - when she sees me, but keeps hold of the knife. She doesn't say anything.

"Hey," I say softly as I walk closer - but not too close, because the way she's more interested in holding on to that knife than covering herself up is concerning. "Let's get out of here, yeah? I've got a car."

She nods, and starts walking towards the mouth of the alley - and I know she's got Brute powers and all, but she really ought to pay more attention to where she's putting her feet, barefoot as she is. Another bad sign.

I dart in behind her and pick up the phone she dropped, because leaving fingerprints at a murder scene is just bad form. Is there anything else police forensics could pin on her?

There are traces of her blood on their genitals.

Fuck.

I was really hoping that wasn't what happened here. How could regular thugs even-

She was drugged. Brute powers let her regain consciousness earlier than expected, while they were still-

Fuck. I don't know how to deal with this. But one step at a time. I hurry to catch up to Taylor and open the passenger door for her.

"You stole a car for me," she says.

"Yeah, I did." It's good that she's talking, right?

She doesn't say anything else for the entire drive back.

I somehow manage to get her out of the car, into the building, into the elevator and into my apartment without anyone seeing us. She doesn't put up any resistance as I guide her into the shower. I hate to leave her alone even for a moment, especially with a knife - but trying to pry it away from her would be an even worse idea, and I really, absolutely must do something about the trail of bloody footprints leading right to my door. I grab a mop and a bucket, and call for backup on the dead thug's phone while it's filling.

"I'm really horny, babe. What are you wearing right now?" Alec answers. Doesn't know it's me, it's how he answers all suspected telemarketers.

"It's me."

"Oh. Well, what are you-"

"Not now. Serious business. I need a favor."

"Is the favor dick pics? Because-"

"There's a stolen car with blood all over the seats that needs to be driven out to the boat graveyard and set on fire."

"Man, I never get invited to the good parties anymore."

"Look..."

"Okay. I was just about to finish this level anyway."

When I finally, finally get back Taylor is still in the shower, still - not fine, but, you know. She's just sitting there and letting the water run over her, but at least she's dropped the knife. Wait, where did it- extradimensional storage space. Ah. Not important right now.

Now that neither of us are in imminent danger of being arrested, let's take a moment to think about things more carefully. First order of business: Most of the blood has washed off her skin by now, but her hair is going to need more active intervention. Dear power, how do I apply shampoo without being held down by telekinesis and stabbed to death?

---

Blatant abuse of my power lets me clean her up, and dry off all the bits that won't provoke a violent reaction. Just like the last time I found her naked in an alley - god, I wish this was more like last time - she gets the bed while I take the couch.

I wake up to a loud crash and a scream from the bedroom. Dammit, where did I put the gun? Who saw us? Why did they wait until now to attack? How-

There is no danger.

Huh? I walk over to the bedroom door and carefully peek inside. Oh. Bubbles decided to materialize atop my bed, something its legs were not rated for. But Taylor is hugging him and crying, so I elect not to complain about it and instead sneak back to the couch.

---

Lisa is waiting for you on the couch as you walk out of her bedroom, dressed in borrowed clothes. She gestures towards a glass of water and a carton of pills on the coffee table.

"You're going to want to take one of those," she says.

You glance at the label. Yeah, you are. The nice thing about a Thinker friend is that you don't have to say anything out loud.

"On a scale from one to negative ten, how are you feeling?" Lisa asks once you've taken your medicine.

"I'll live," you say simply. You will. "Shadow Stalker, on the other hand..."

Lisa's power lights up at that. Oh, did it not deduce the heroic involvement until now? Apparently not. You politely wait for it to finish, having nothing to add to the conversation.

"You could go to the police," she says eventually. "Her tranquilizers will show up on a tox screen, she'd be completely fucked."

Hah, yeah. Because the heroes definitely wouldn't just grab you from right under the cops' noses and stick you in an M/S cell to keep you away from journalists and cover the whole thing up and then press-gang you into working for them too, just to rub salt in the wound. But it would take a lot of words to convey that to someone so naive. "She wouldn't get the death penalty," you say instead, because that is also a sufficient reason not to do it.

Lisa sighs. "I don't suppose there's any way I could talk you into a course of action that won't immediately land you in the Birdcage?"

"I don't know, Thinker. Is there?"

===

Charms:
Taylor: All-Encompassing Sorcerer's Sight, ???
Tattletale: Know the Soul's Price
Bitch: Spirit-Tied Pet
Aegis: Ox-Body Technique
Browbeat: Shaping the Ideal Form
Dragon: Implicit Construction Methodology
Kid Win: Industry and Forge Wisdom
Lung: By Rage Recast
Vista: Mind-Hand Manipulation
Cricket: Mantis Form
Faultline: Charm of Lesser Unmaking
Labyrinth: Hell-Walker Technique
Othala: Verdant Emptiness Endowment
Rune: Sometimes Horses Fly Approach

"We sell condoms too, you know," the cashier says with a disapproving frown.

"It's not for me," I reply through gritted teeth. "It's for a friend." Dammit Lisa, when you asked me for an emergency favor I expected to have to get rid of a stolen car or something, not buy you Plan B. This is not workplace appropriate sharing!

"A 'girl'... friend?" he suggests.

"Yes, a friend who is a girl. Who I did not sleep with, but who is a bit of an idiot sometimes!"

"Bruh!" the guy behind me in line exclaims, butting into the conversation. "She's making you run her errands and you're not even sleeping with her? You gotta respect yourself more, man!"

"Just. Ring up. My goddamn. Purchase."

Daniel Snuts · Jul 18, 2022

Aegis stands up to confront Shadow Stalker when she enters the common room.

"You're late," he says.

"Yeah well excuse me for being jumped by Low Key on my way to work."

"An unprovoked attack? By an Empire cape, outside their territory? That's not their M.O."

"Fuck their M.O., that bitch has it out for me!"

He shakes his head. "You went after her, didn't you? Into Empire territory, on your own."

"I'm fucking telling you she went after me."

"And I'm calling you a liar."

"What are you, a spic nazi sympathizer?"

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that. Look, we all know you hold a grudge over the ha-"

"Don't fucking talk about my hand! My hand is fine!" She tries to push past him - and when he doesn't budge, turns into shadow and passes right through.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"Gonna take a piss. Why, did you want to watch?"

"This conversation isn't over," he says, but he makes no further move to stop her from leaving.

"Careful," Clockblocker says. "You might get jumped by nazis if you go on your own."

"Suck my dick!" She throws a middle finger over her shoulder.

She strides down the corridor and enters the men's room without hesitation - startling Kid Win, who is washing his hands in there.

"Wha- Sophia?"

Another finger is all the communication she offers as she walks past him and enters the furthest stall. Locking the door behind her, she activates the scanner in her mask and checks the floor. She doesn't spot any electrical wiring below her, and so turns into shadow and falls through. The room she lands in is dark, but the warmth, soft humming and smattering of blinkenlights identifies it as a server room.

"I'm in," I say. "But which machine do I stick the dongle in?"

"Do they have labels?" Lisa asks. "Describe them to me."

Shadow Stalker takes out a flashlight and starts looking around.

"Any alarms?" I ask. I don't really pretend to understand how the computer stuff works, but apparently she has hacked the PRT enough to be able to tell when an alarm goes off, but needs me to stick the dongle in the right machine in order to hack them more? Something like that.

"None so far. They don't have any cameras in the server room, and I guess your act passed muster."

"What's taking her so long?" Carlos asks rhetorically.

"Maybe she was jumped by nazis in there after all," I suggest.

He just shoots me a look. "If she was in a fight, she might be hiding injuries. Missy, could you go to the ladies' room and check on her?"

"Actually she went to the men's room," Chris says.

"What, why?"

"She didn't say."

"She did tell me to suck her dick," I muse. "Do you think she maybe-"

"I'll go check on her," Carlos announces, rather than engage in this line of conversation.

"Would you still do her if she was packing?" Chris steps up to the plate in his stead.

"I dunno. Are we talking 'secretly a man all along' or, like, Case 53 girl-dick?"

"Whatever helps you rationalize your decisions."

"I mean... yeah, I'd probably suck her girl-dick if she reciprocated."

"Gay."

"What, no. I'm not gay. C'mon man, we just established it was a girl dick."

"Sucking a dick is still pretty gay, bro."

"I'm leaving," Missy announces.

"No wait," I call after her. "We need your female perspective to settle the argument: Would you suck a girl-dick?"

"No, because I'm not gay."

"Uh, which side of the argument does that support?" Chris asks. But she has already left without elaborating.

"Are we there yet?" I ask for the third time.

"34%" Lisa answers, steadfastly refusing to be annoyed. "Oh crap, that's the alarm. Get out there and cause a ruckus, distract them while the download finishes."

"Can do."

"If I could shoot one person on my way out, who would it be?" Shadow Stalker asks herself. Never let it be said that I'm not a magnanimous host. Or, well, it's more like she's the host. Never let it be said that I'm not a magnanimous parasite?

"Aegis. No, Piggy. Aegis wouldn't really mind." She answers the instant I cede control of her vocal cords. No struggling, no pleading. Whatever else you might say about her, the girl certainly has her priorities in order (one of the other things I might say is 'are you my long-lost half-sister?', because I did not think this level of fucked up occurred naturally).

"Who's 'Piggy'?" I ask.

"PRT Director Emily Piggot?" Lisa suggests.

Yeah, that'd cause a ruckus alright. And I do have instructions to thoroughly burn her bridges with the heroes before the day is over. Looks like everyone can get what they want, how nice.

"It's going to be such a pain to start over when they find the device and change up all their security," Lisa grumbles, because some people are just born grouchy. She was the one who wanted to double-hack the PRT in the first place!

"How do I get to the director's office?" I ask the sourpuss, gesturing towards the map on the table.

...was what that entire thing was. But you figured that out already, didn't you? But did you figure it out early, or did you assume that I had come down with amateur-writer-itis and forgotten which perspective I was supposed to be using?

I'm sure you can also figure out roughly what happened between the last chapter and now, but let's go back to second person, and back in time...

---

So what did Shadow Stalker do after leaving you in that alley? She went home and went to bed. You don't know if she expected you to get your throat cut before waking up, or if it simply never occurred to her that you might know her identity, and that the address of one Sophia Hess is publicly available.

Fenrir reports that Sophia is asleep and the house is otherwise empty, so you just pick the lock and let him lead you to her room. Her costume and gear is just sitting there out in the open. Or rather it's tucked into a gym bag, which is just sitting there out in the open. But then she is a Ward, isn't she? Her parents already know.

It certainly makes things convenient for you, as you just grab one of her tranquilizer bolts and stab her with it. The effect isn't quite instant - she has time to startle awake from the pain, and see who is leaning over her. You're wearing a throwaway face in case anyone spots you around her house, but you also brought one of your spare Low Key masks that you put on before stabbing her, for exactly this moment. Her expression as she realizes what is happening is everything you could have hoped for.

She can't cry out, because your hand is over her mouth. But she can turn into shadow and fall through the bed - and right into the mind-hands you deployed underneath it to catch her.

"Excellent reflexes," you compliment her as you drag her out, but she's already unconscious, and solid once more.

With that taken care of, you pack up a bunch of her clothes and personal effects - she is running away from home, after all. Oho, what's this tucked away in the back a drawer? Broadhead crossbow bolts? You're pretty sure heroes aren't supposed to use lethal ordnance like that. Naughty, naughty.

You also go through her equipment with sorcerer's sight and industry and forge wisdom. Two tinkertech crossbows - one spare for when the other is getting maintenance, you guess. Some sort of scanner built into the mask, and some light armor integrated in the costume. No tracking devices. Well, the comm gear can probably be tracked, it'll have to go. You toss it under the bed.

With the gear sorted out, you turn back to the parahuman. You brought a bag of your own, one large enough to fit a teenage girl, if properly folded. You didn't bother with padding, so perhaps she gets a bit banged up as you drag everything out into the street and get it loaded into your freshly stolen car (can't use mind-hands in public, have to use your Brute 0 muscles). But that's not exactly a downside, is it?

Your destination is another abandoned property, that Lisa identified as having suitable criteria for the next step. She promised she'd have a more permanent place for you by tonight, for a suitably hefty commission.

You didn't try to haggle. 'By tonight' is ridiculously fast for this kind of thing, but Lisa clearly has all the best shady contacts, and you shouldn't be too surprised that people who own real estate in Brockton Bay would be willing to work weekends and cut corners to move it.

---

Alec stops in the doorway and takes in the scene before him. His eyes move from the materialized Fenrir, to the unconscious Sophia held in the wolf's jaws, to you. He raises one elegant eyebrow.

"She took what I said about getting invited to the good parties to heart," is all he says.

"I heard you were in the market for slave puppets," you say, your tone equally casual. "I have a Shadow Stalker I'd be willing to lease at reasonable rates."

"That's her? And you're..." He considers the situation for a moment. "It takes several hours to make a puppet, and she needs to be awake - and restrained - for a good part of it."

"Magic shadow-biting wolf teeth."

"Ah, that makes sense. I'll just get started, then."

You nod, and take your leave. As much as you'd like to stay and watch his power at work, you have things you need to do. While your mind-hands and Fenrir's teeth can both hold her shadow form in place, and Alec will be able to puppeteer her soon enough, it would be unreasonable to expect the three of you to sleep in shifts forevermore. No, you're going to have to smith a set of shadow-binding restraints.

You consider the pile of materials Fenrir fetched before he materialized. You've been lax about gathering reagents lately, but this is the last of your orichalcum anyway. You should be able to salvage enough rare earths from Leet's leftovers to make do. You reach for the paper slips...

Once there was a maiden...
...who considered herself a predator.
She declared that to a predator, all the world was prey.
For years she hunted as she pleased, until one day she made a mistake.
What she thought was a sheep, turned out to be a wolf hiding beneath a sheepskin!
The wolf devoured every part of her, until not a single speck was left.
"This just proves me right, you know," she said with her last breath.

It's a simple enough enchantment, all you need to do is to make it solid in the immaterial realm. You have less than a kilogram of orichalcum to work with, but the nice thing about indestructible materials is that you can make them as thin as you want. Let's see, a pair of manacles, connected to a neck shackle, and a generous length of chain that can be looped around a pillar or otherwise attached to the environment. No locks or clasps, you'll attune it to yourself so you can fuse it closed with a touch. Get that vial of Aisha's blood (foresight!) and work it in, so your minion can do the same in your place.

You didn't get any blood from Alec, but you are after all leasing, not selling. A sudden scream from the other room tells you that Sophia just woke up and found out about the magic shadow-biting wolf teeth. Hm, yes. You etch a second set of circuits into the throat shackle, that can be activated to prevent the wearer from making any noise. The whole point of it is to let people sleep, after all.

Even after the artifact itself is done you keep working, carefully coating everything in a thick layer of rubbery black plastic. Can't have anyone spotting that golden glow, because there's no way an upstanding citizen like Smith would ever get mixed up in business this unsavory. You even make a little box full of tinkertech circuitry (also salvaged from Leet's stuff) and attach it to the neck shackle. Literally the only thing it does is make a red LED on the outside blink once per second when the shackle is closed, but it serves to further hide its nature.

With that done you finally let the paper strips burn away, and catch the finished restraints as they fall out of the air. There hasn't been any screaming for a while now, which means that Alec is probably done as well.

Sophia is giving him a shoulder massage when you return, which indicates that this is indeed the case.

"I like it," she says. Or he does, through her mouth. "How much did you want for it?"

"One thing at a time. First she needs to betray her comrades, and become a fugitive villain."

"I like the way you think."

---

"Will Piggy- will Director Piggot be alright?" Kid Win asks.

"Her condition is still critical," I say.

"Can't you have Panacea-"

"The director has apparently signed a form refusing all parahuman treatment, even in life-threatening situations."

"What?" Vista exclaims. "Why?"

"She has not chosen to share her reasoning with me. However, we are here to discuss Shadow Stalker." I look around at the assembled Wards (and Triumph, who is here because he was the Ward leader when Shadow Stalker was recruited). "Tell me what happened today."

They relate what happened, little as it is, from her arrival until they discovered her missing.

"She said she was attacked?" I ask. "By an E88 cape?" It's an obvious red flag: Cape gets waylaid while alone, later attacks her allies due to post-hypnotic command - but the E88 doesn't have that kind of Master, nor does it fit their M.O. More likely she was simply lying, trying to direct our attention away from whoever her real paymaster is. Probably Coil, it wouldn't be the first time he tried to sneak an agent into the PRT.

"Yeah," Aegis says. "We didn't really believe her, though. We thought maybe she had gone looking for trouble on her own, but..."

"Everyone knows she was freaking out over the hand thing," Clockblocker chimes in.

I nod. She had even gone so far as to track down and confront Panacea over it. Panacea's report on the matter was admirably succinct: "It's psychosomatic. I don't do brains."

"Do we know what she was after?" Aegis asks. "I mean, if she only wanted to shoot P- the director, she could have gone straight to her office."

"Yes. We discovered that the secure mainframe was tampered with, and forensic data analysis indicates that her co-conspirators were able to download the entire PRT database. Including the confidential, secret and top secret sections."

"The entire- our names are in there!" Kid Win says.

"Yes. It's the worst data breach in the history of the institution." I'm personally more worried about the information on the security measures of the various containment zones throughout the country. Everyone knows that the response to breaking the unwritten rules is swift and terrible, but if some fool were to get it into their heads to poke at Nilbog...

"I can't believe she'd do this to us," Clockblocker mutters.

"She may have been coerced, or-" Aegis starts to say.

"Oh please," Vista interrupts him. "Are we really pretending that she wasn't an awful person? How many times did she violate her parole but was let off with nothing but a warning, if that?"

"None that I am aware of," I say sternly. "Triumph? Aegis?"

"Uh, I'm not saying it never happened, but-"

"Maybe once or twice, but-"

"Twenty-three times that I'm aware of," Vista interrupts them again. Lie. I'm taken aback as my lie detector pings for the first time during the briefing. Has Vista been compromised as well?

"Look, we all know you two didn't get along," Aegis says. Truth. "Now you claim to know that number off-hand-"

"I don't," Vista bites out. "I reviewed my diary prior to this meeting, because I knew it contained relevant information. Some of us are fucking professionals." Truth.

"It wasn't twenty-three times," I say.

Vista looks at her feet. "Twenty-six if you count the times I was the only witness and didn't tell anyone." Truth.

Daniel Snuts · Jul 19, 2022

You're just standing around minding your own business and looking like someone else when Shadow Stalker phases through the wall next to you. You jump, and almost stab her to death with mind-hands before you can get control of yourself. She doesn't even acknowledge your presence, just runs across the street and phases into the building opposite. You take deep breaths and try to stop shaking. Calm down. You knew that would happen. It was part of the plan. The plan that didn't take into account that Future-Taylor (you) would get a face full of surprise Shadow Stalker. Your plans suck.

You remain for a few minutes, before nodding to yourself and walking away. You're pretty sure no one is following her, partly because no parahumans came anywhere near you, and partly because a note appeared in your hand, that said 'no one chased her' in a cypher only you know. You have no idea how you accomplished that second part, but your working hypothesis is that at some point in the future you learn how to time travel.

But never mind that for now. You call up Alec, and have a conversation consisting of two words: "You're clear." Then you stroll towards the designated meeting point - a secluded spot in a local park - where Sophia is waiting for you in civvies. She's yours now, you remind yourself again. That's Alec behind her eyes, you need to remain calm. Alec himself is keeping out of sight - you can tell which direction he's in from the tendril of power connecting them, but you haven't studied it enough know his range.

"So what's next?" he/she asks.

"Nothing much until Lisa comes through with my new lair," you say. "Part of the lease agreement is going to be me studying both your powers, and we can't exactly activate hers in public. So I'm just going to stare creepily at you for a while."

"'Kay."

For a while Alec amuses himself by making Sophia make sexy poses and kissy faces at you, but he eventually gets bored of that and just has her stand there slack-jawed.

"Sophia?" someone says from behind you. Crap. In a city this size, what are the odds of randomly stumbling across someone who'd recognize her? Fortunately you also recognize that voice, it's someone you both know.

Thinking quickly you shift back into Taylor's face before turning around. Your hair doesn't match, but that can be blamed on barbers and dye.

"Well if it isn't our old pal Emma," you say cheerfully, speaking quickly to hide how winded you are from the rapid transformation. "How you doing these days?" You move next to her and throw your arm around her shoulders, none too gently.

"T-Taylor?"

"In the flesh. Did you miss me?"

"Uh, I, uh..." Her Loyalty is long gone, but that just means there's no complicated friendship feelings getting in the way of how terrified she is of you. When Alec/Sophia follows your lead and puts an arm around her shoulders from the other side she freezes up completely. "I..." Oh yes, this was her greatest fear, wasn't it? That Sophia would switch sides, and team up with you against her.

"What's the matter little mousey?" Sophia asks. "Cat got your tongue?" Alec knows roughly what's up here, you briefed him on what you know about Sophia to help him sell the act, and he's studied the message history on her phones.

You don't say anything, but you're grinning so wide it hurts. You had been fine with calling it quits between you, but if she insists on blundering back into your life... Watching her face as her entire world crumbles into nothing is like the sweetest ambrosia.

"See, me 'n Taylor was having a private conversation, so if you could scurry on out of here, it'd be 'preciated." Sophia removes her arm from Emma's shoulders and gives her a bit of push on the back. You do the same, except you also stick out your leg in front of her. Sophia laughs when she faceplants on the ground.

Emma doesn't even try to get up. She just starts crying, great heaving sobs. Mm. It's so- she's- you grab Sophia around the waist and squeeze, hard. You don't know what to do with all these feelings.

Sophia nudges Emma with a foot. "Scurry, scurry," she says. Emma does just that, scrambling away on all fours for a while before she manages to get her legs under her.

"Wow," Sophia/Alec says once she's gone. "We destroyed that girl. She's probably gonna go kill herself now, if I'm any judge." She looks down at how you're still squeezing her, a smile quirking her lips. "Did that turn you on?"

You quickly let go of her and step away. Did it? Is that what you- "It's complicated," you say.

"Sure pissed her off, though," Alec/Sophia says. "She got so angry I almost lost control for a moment there."

"Wait, she's awake in there? Seeing everything that happens?"

"Yes? Thought you knew that. You seem to know everything else."

"Damn. So if you were to, say, go up to Panacea and hug her, she'd be less 'yay, hugs' and more 'oh sweet Jesus what's up with your stress hormones?'"

"I guess, why?"

"Just an idle thought." You stiffen as a considerably less idle thought occurs to you. "Did you run into Gallant back there?"

"Didn't see him. Again, why?"

"That fucker can sense emotions."

"Oh."

Sometimes you really wish you were a worse person, because then you could identify a threat like that and simply eliminate it without remorse. This is the second time you escape his notice through nothing but pure dumb luck.

---

Lisa eventually comes through with an address - you could, you suppose, just pick an abandoned property, kick out any squatters and install new doors and locks. But since you'll be working with Alec, you'd really prefer for your base of operations to have decadent luxuries like electricity and plumbing. He strikes you as the pampered sort.

"Swanky," Sophia/Alec says, looking around the completely bare room.

"It's a work in progress," you say. "For now..." You really should get started on studying her power, but with the revelation that she's aware... "Hold still."

You materialize your knife and step into her personal space. Without charging it, you place the tip just below her left eye, and carefully cut a shallow line down her cheek.

"That stings, you know," she says calmly.

"Hush." You position the knife for another cut.

"That's kinda fucked up," Aisha says (the note wasn't time travel, you realize). "I mean, I guess we're already kidnapping and enslaving her, but still."

Oh right, you never told her what Sophia did to earn this treatment. You rectify that.

Aisha is silent for a while, mulling things over. "...give me the knife," she says eventually. You do, and she cuts a matching line down Sophia's right cheek.

"Could you maybe chain her up instead, so you're not torturing me?" Alec complains through her mouth.

---

Without Alec controlling her she obviously turns to shadow the next time you try to cut her. Which is why you suspended her chains from the ceiling. Shadowy feet barely even sink into the floor as her immaterial form dangles from your magical manacles.

You could always use mind-hands to cut her instead, but... it's not like she's going anywhere, is it? If she wants to let you study her power without Alec's help, that's fine too. You just hold the knife inside her, following her motions as her shadowy form twists and kicks in an attempt to get away. You wonder how long she can keep it up.

The answer is 'slightly less than a minute', but that's not the interesting part. Judging by how she screams and convulses when she finally reforms (without making any sound, due to the enchantment on the collar), phasing into a solid object is much more painful than being stabbed the conventional way (well, either that or her pain tolerance is much lower than yours). She turns back into shadow to escape, but she can't even hold it thirty seconds the second time. Interesting.

She barely manages ten seconds on the third go, and spends noticeably longer screaming afterwards before turning into shadow once more. You take a deep, satisfied breath, but pull the knife away - god only knows what will happen if the knife is still in there when she finally runs out of shadow juice completely, but it can't possibly be healthy. And you're very concerned about her health, because you're going to keep her around forever.

She reforms the moment the blade is clear of her flesh. The defiant stare she gave you after Alec released her is nowhere to be seen, she just hangs limp in her chains, panting. You hold the knife in front of her face so she knows what's going to happen next, before slowly moving to cut her again.

She turns into shadow again.

It must be a reflexive response to pain, you suppose. You wonder how long it will take to train that out of her.

---

Watching her scream is so satisfying, that for the longest time it doesn't even occur to you that you could combine business with pleasure - okay, studying her power could be considered business, but you meant torturing her for information. You carefully wipe the tears and snot from her face, disable the silencing effect on the collar, and wait. It takes a while.

"Where is my costume?" you ask when her eyes finally focus on yours.

"I burned it," she gasps.

You shake your head sadly. "Wrong answer." Does she really expect you to believe that she wouldn't keep it as a trophy? When you know each other so well? You silence her again and resummon your knife. "I'll let you sleep once you tell me."

---

The lair may have plumbing and electricity, but that's all it has. So the next day (Sunday) you go shopping for other decadent luxuries, like chairs and tables and beds and a couch and a TV and a gaming console. And a fridge and an oven and plates and cutlery and a dishwasher and... It takes you several trips to get everything you need, because furnishing a decent lair is basically indistinguishable from furnishing a home. It also puts an uncomfortable dent in your funds, but that's not going to be a problem for long.

Thankfully stores selling such things have plenty of muscular men eager to help a big spender (who also happens to be a not too unattractive young woman) load up her truck, and Aisha is there to help you unload - by which you mean she keeps a lookout for witnesses while your mind-hands do all the heavy lifting. It's just sensible division of labor. The power-based cheating doesn't end there, either.

"Really?" Aisha asks when she sees you take out the paper strips.

You shrug. Just because you normally use this power to create wonders of orichalcum doesn't mean you can't use it to install a kitchen and assemble flat-pack furniture. The blood loss is negligible.

Aisha once again insist on having you translate a piece of verse.

Once there was a maiden...
...whose family was not so great.
So she ran away from home, though she had nowhere to go.
Her siblings pursued her, enraged that she would no longer share their suffering.
She kept running and hiding, until one day she met a wizard.
"What's up?" she asked, and the wizard showed her what was up.
"Huh," she said. "Neat. What's the gobbledygook say?"
"Psyche," said the gobbledygook, "I was talking about a boy all along."

"That makes even less sense than last time," she complains.

Soon afterwards Alec arrives. "What's up?" he greets you.

You just tilt your head towards the coffee table that's currently floating in midair and assembling itself. The current state of affairs is fairly self-explanatory, you feel.

"Huh," he says. "Neat." Just like Aisha did, he leans down to examine the writing on the paper strips hovering around your wrists. "What's the gobbledygook say?" he asks.

Aisha's expression is priceless. "I- you- what?" She points an accusing finger at Alec. "You're fucking with me, aren't you?"

"Huh?" Alec, of course, has no idea what's going on.

Aisha throws her hands in the air in disgust. "Let me guess, you haven't even told anyone you're on the run from your family."

"Who told you that?" Alec snaps, instantly defensive.

"A fucking wizard apparently."

Alec groans and shoots you a disgusted look. "I need fewer Thinkers in my life."

"Tell me about it."

It's nice that they're bonding, but now that everyone is here you should send Aisha out to get food while you finish up with the furniture. Alec stays to help you out - by which you mean he unpacks the console and plugs it into the TV.

"No games?" he asks.

"I don't know what's good," you say. "I was going to leave that part to you."

"Hint: It's not this," he says, holding up the soccer game that came with the console. Then he inserts the disc and starts playing it anyway, because apparently it's better than being useful.

You have Alec grab Sophia, and release her from the chains. Once she's out of the way you remodel her room for permanent occupancy by a chained, immaterial being. An elevated bed, so she can lie down without giving her enough slack in the chains to phase through the floor. Plumbing options slightly more dignified than soiling herself. Et cetera. You even construct a stereotypical 'secret door disguised as bookcase' to hide the room itself, just because you can.

"This is not mint condition," Alec complains after examining the merchandize.

"She's fully functional, and her costume doesn't show any skin," you counter. Towards the end there she managed to suppress her reflexes more often than not, but she did finally tell you where she stashed your costume. Like every sensible person who can turn immaterial she hides things by sticking them inside other things, but when she does it they become solid again once she lets go. The space she used was too small for Fenrir to fit inside, so you had to use the charm of unmaking to make a hole.

When Aisha returns, the four of you sit down around the newly-assembled kitchen table.

"The first step of the plan is done," you announce. "Shadow Stalker has betrayed the heroes, and is now a fugitive." The others nod. "But that isn't enough on its own."

"Oh my god," Aisha exclaims theatrically, "what if she was Mastered into doing that? She might be innocent, you guys!"

"Exactly," you say. "The next step is for her to have a long and prosperous career as a villain, to remove all doubt about her culpability. Thus, I call the first meeting of villain team BITN to order."

"Hell yeah," Aisha says. "Let's be bad guys." Her second soul price remains in place - she might technically be a badass villain now, but no one respects or fears her yet.

"You realize I already work for the Undersiders, right?" Alec says.

"Regent does," you agree. "But Ghost here-" you gesture towards the former Shadow Stalker "-has nothing to do with Regent, now does she? If devilishly handsome civilian Alec occasionally comes over to hang out in our lair, that's an entirely unrelated matter."

Alec nods slowly, pursing his lips. "I guess I wouldn't mind a second paycheck," he says. He's playing it cool, but sorcerer's sight shows the Loyalty forming as he accepts your offer of a full-time slave puppet.

"Bitten by who, though?" Aisha asks.

"What?"

"You said villain team Bitten."

"Bee Eye Tee Enn," you enunciate. "It's an acronym. See if you can figure it out, Imp."

"That's my cape name? Guess I can live with that. Ghost, Imp, and..?" she gestures towards you.

"Poltergeist," you say, grabbing a fork with a mind-hand and holding it above the table.

Daniel Snuts · Jul 20, 2022

You have so much to do, you can't believe you're still going to school. You have to make costumes for BITN, and plan an appropriately villainous debut for the team - you have an idea already, but it's dependent on the power you'll get from Shadow Stalker. And you won't find out how that goes for another twelve hours or so of intense study. Alec is already complaining about the workload. Mostly for the sake of complaining, you suspect - his Loyalty isn't fraying, and it's not as if he has to do anything except turn into shadow over and over again while his main body plays video games. If anyone should be complaining about their workload it's you.

But keeping up appearances is important. There's also the fact that you'd much rather work yourself ragged and collapse into bed every night than have any time for introspection. Even so, you had to tell Luke you're too busy to see him for a while. Just as well, considering- alright, that's enough thinking about things! You have a patrol to get to.

But of course Rune is late, as usual. You should get a new patrol partner, now that you finally have her power. Some might call the result a disappointment, but you have Luke lined up to hopefully take care of the 'Blaster by way of throwing rocks at people' fun you missed out on. No, don't think about Luke. You need a distraction.

"What's even worse, the faggots or the degenerates?" Alex is saying.

"Trick question," Mike says. "Name one faggot that isn't degenerate."

"I dunno, Legend?" Steve suggests. "Married, kids... He's actually doing the bit. For-"

"How the fuck would you know that?" you demand, inserting yourself into the conversation with the grace of a stampeding elephant. "You think the heroes are telling you the truth?"

"Well, he's... uh... huh." Steve trails off, looking thoughtful.

"She's right," Mike agrees. "He's the big gay icon of the whole LGBP movement, it's not as if they would ever print the story if he got caught doing what faggots do."

"He could be getting fisted by a hundred, a hundred twenty guys every weekend and we'd never find out," Sven agrees.

"Who's to say he's not fucking his kid in the ass?" Mike says.

"Okay, stop," Sven says. "That's just gross."

"Does he even have a kid? We don't know his secret identity, we don't know," Mike says instead.

"He could be spreading the Gift to everyone he arrests," Sven speculates, despite asking Mike to stop not a moment ago.

"Guys, guys," Alex says. "You're not thinking jewy enough: What if he's straight?"

There's a moment of silence as everyone digests this.

"Wow..." Mike says.

"Hey there goy," Sven says in the nasally 'I'm impersonating a jew' voice they use around these parts. "We're gonna need a faggot in the Triumvirate, see? Eheh. Eidolon refused and, uh, frankly he's a lot scarier than you are. So, uh, just suck it up, like all the dick you're going to pretend to suck from now on."

"That poor bastard," Alex says, shaking his head.

"Don't pity him," you say rather sharply. It's not that you believe this theory, but stipulating that it's true... "A good man would have refused. What were they going to do, fire a member of the Triumvirate?"

"Probably JFK him," Sven says. "I mean, that's what happens to people who go against the jews."

"...is that what happened to Hero?" Mike asks. "I don't want to be conspiratard here, but..."

Thankfully Rune shows up at this point, and you bail on the conversation as it goes off the rails completely.

---

Like most patrols this one is peaceful - which leaves you with nothing distracting you.

"What's wrong?" Rune asks.

"Nothing."

"Uh huh. If you want to talk about it..."

"I said it's nothing!"

She backs off. Objectively speaking you really should keep escalating, get into a proper pointless screaming row, burn bridges, get a new patrol partner. But somehow you can't bring yourself to do that, not when she's showing genuine concern.

"Everything is broken and I'm trying to live in the ruins," you say after a while.

"That's America for you," Rune agrees readily, though her tone is more commiserating than flippant. "It sucks."

"No, I- never mind."

---

Just as planned you collapse into bed completely exhausted. You let out a long breath, cuddle up to Fenrir and close your eyes. You... keep it together, during the day. You enjoy your time with Sophia. You're fine. You haven't cried since the first night. Not much, and Fenrir won't tell anyone.

You sigh again and cuddle closer. Sweet, perfect Fenrir, who doesn't mind if you get gross snotty tears all over his fur when you can't keep it together any more (it all falls off when he dematerializes anyway). You don't ~~know~~ want to think about what you'd do without him. You haven't had any nightmares so far, and maybe that's because you're a natural-born badass, but maybe it's because you're so undeniably warm and safe sleeping next to a giant wolf.

Poor Fenrir though. You have him, but all he has is you. What have you done to deserve him lately? Less than nothing, because you're making him unhappy by visibly hurting. Wouldn't he be better off without you? A thought occurs to you as you consider the question. A terrible thought that you'd normally dismiss out of hand, but... it's all ruined anyway, isn't it? What does it matter anymore? If not him, then who?

You lie there for a while, letting the idea bounce back and forth through your head. Perhaps it's not so terrible after all.

"Hey," you whisper to Fenrir. He doesn't open his eyes, or move at all beyond twitching one ear in your direction. But you can tell that he's fully alert, hanging on to your every word. Because you are the center of his universe.

---

It feels weird that you can just look up a map of every storm drain and sewer pipe in the city, and consequently which buildings they pass underneath. You'd think that'd be the sort of information they'd want to keep out of the hands of communist spies and terrorists - or domestic villains like yourself, whatever. But you guess that would just lead to a huge headache for the civil engineers, and sufficiently motivated bad actors would just infiltrate and/or hack things anyway.

---

"What do you think?" you ask. "I'm thinking this is going to be Poltergeist beneath the mask." You're shorter than your true form, and broader across the everything. Frizzy hair and-

"Seriously?" Aisha says. "You're doing blackface?"

You shrug. Out of everything you've done, that's what she objects to? "Thought the team should match."

"It's no fun when they don't squirm," Aisha complains, pouting at your indifferent reaction. "Forgot you were a nazi for a moment there."

"I need a new voice too..." you muse.

---

"Got it," you say. "We're done."

Alec doesn't react, focused on his video game, but Ghost holds her hand up for a high five. You stand up and move to return it, but just as your palms are about to connect, you turn into shadow. Tendrils of liquid darkness curl through the air and flow around her body before coming together and reforming behind her. You even manage to turn around while it's happening, so you end up still facing her - poised to strike, if this was a fight.

Ghost stands there with her arm in the air for a second before turning around. "Can't even be mad at being left hanging," he/she says, shaking her head. "So that's how you do your thing?"

"Yeah. I'll want Regent's power as well, later. But this will do for now."

"How many powers do even you have?"

"A dozen or so," you say, keeping things vague not out of distrust, but just to avoid having to explain the edge cases.

"Must have taken forever. Never thought I'd say this, but I'm glad I'm not the OP power-stealing Trump here." She pauses briefly, tilting her head to the side. "Well, I guess technically I steal their powers along with the rest of their bodies..."

You nod absently, your mind elsewhere. The 'pass through and hit them from behind' maneuver came to you almost instinctively, but something about it felt off (not that you could describe the sensation to anyone else if you tried). You turn around, and try to phase through the wall into the kitchen.

Instead you sort of wash up against it for a moment (definitely can't describe that sensation), before slinking off to the side and through the door. Ah. You're formless, but not immaterial. Unfortunate. Frowning, you close the door - and then turn into shadow and flow through the keyhole. You reform in the living room without issue - you don't even think it took any longer than flowing around Ghost, despite having to squeeze your entire non-immaterial body through a hole a quarter of an inch across. Okay. You can work with this.

"Aren't you worried about revealing all this?" Aisha asks from where she's sitting next to Alec on the couch. "I mean, if your Thinker bullshit says Alec 'n me are trustworthy that's fine and all, but what about her? What if she gets captured?"

You shake your head. You could have tried to limit the information she's exposed to, but to what end? She'd find out that Low Key has mind-hands and shapeshifting at the very least. Nor could you really hope to hide your Quicksilverian obsession with tedious power study, just in case anyone needed more hints about your true nature. Besides...

"How could she possibly be captured? Worst case she just dives straight into the ground and dies in indescribable agony as she rematerializes." You smile and stroke Ghost's cheek, trailing your fingers down the angry red scars you made the other day. "Isn't it lovely, having minions who would rather die than betray you?"

Aisha doesn't respond.

"But speaking of powers, that reminds me." You turn away from Ghost and towards Alec. "I can also make you better at things, if you want."

"Define 'things'," he says guardedly.

You shrug. "What do you want to be better at? I made her smarter-" you gesture at Aisha ("That's private!") "-but I can do strength and beauty as well." You purse your lips as you look him over. "Well, beauty might not work on someone who's already as pretty as you. Skills? I could do the Matrix thing. Say the word, and you'll know Kung Fu."

"I'm good, thanks."

"Okay." A shame, you guess you'll have to do with a single layer of Master effects on him. You sit back down.

"You made her smarter," Alec says after a while (Aisha mutters something inaudible). "Could you make people more emotional instead?"

He must be talking about himself, because your power reaches out and latches on when he says it. But it can't find anything to do - apparently 'emotions' do not qualify as an ability, or even an attribute - and retreats in confusion.

"'fraid not. Why?"

"Just an idle thought."

===

Charms:
Taylor: All-Encompassing Sorcerer's Sight, ???
Tattletale: Know the Soul's Price
Bitch: Spirit-Tied Pet
Aegis: Ox-Body Technique
Browbeat: Shaping the Ideal Form
Dragon: Implicit Construction Methodology
Kid Win: Industry and Forge Wisdom
Lung: By Rage Recast
Vista: Mind-Hand Manipulation
Cricket: Mantis Form
Faultline: Charm of Lesser Unmaking
Labyrinth: Hell-Walker Technique
Othala: Verdant Emptiness Endowment
Rune: Sometimes Horses Fly Approach
Shadow Stalker: Bloodless Murk Evasion

"A perfect defense," I hear you say. "That's spicy. Doesn't she have infinite essence? Doesn't that mean she's completely invulnerable now?"
Yes, and no, to answer the questions in order. A) She can't dodge things she can't see coming (yet - there are charms for that too). B) This charm can't defend against 'Holy' keyword attacks. Won't it be fun to find out how that translates into Worm? C) In the Exalted cosmology, 'perfect defenses always trump perfect attacks' is a law of nature, but this is not the Exalted cosmology. In Worm, perfect attacks beat perfect defenses. Like a modern-day Odin, Alexandria gave an eye for this knowledge.

Daniel Snuts · Jul 21, 2022

You stride confidently into the bank, flanked by your two new teammates. Thanks to a certain invisible wolf scouting ahead, you know exactly where the security guards are standing. A pair of glowing mind-hands whip out and disarm them before they can even react to your presence.

You hold the guns aloft a few feet above your shoulders, just so everyone has a visible reminder that they're dealing with a parahuman. You gesture towards Aisha with a regular hand.

"Alright, everyone listen up!" she yells, getting everyone's attention. Though between the masked, armed, black-clad figures and the light show caused by your mind-hands, most people already had their attention on you. "We're BITN, this is a robbery, and you're our hostages!" Mostly redundant information - a lot could be inferred from context, but it needs to be stated for form's sake.

One of the security guards, displaying more bravery than his salary deserves, lunges for you barehanded. A single punch from your third mind-hand sends him to the floor before he can cross even half the distance.

"Don't do that!" Aisha yells. "That's the opposite of what you should do! Everyone stay cool and listen to the boss, and you get to go home unharmed!" She gestures back to you.

"Thank you, Imp," you say. Your new voice is something else, a hoarse, raspy thing achieved by shape-shifting your neck to put pressure on your throat just so. It sounds pretty badass, if you do say so yourself. Though Aisha almost died of laughter spectating the development process: It took a fair few tries to make it more Godfather, less Donald Duck.

Anyway, it makes for an excellent contrast with Aisha's shouting. Your captive audience is straining to make out your words, their attention focused entirely on you.

"I am Poltergeist, these are my associates, Imp and Ghost." You gesture to Aisha and Sophia in turn. You're not even pretending that Ghost isn't Shadow Stalker: She's wearing exactly the same outfit she did as a hero, except that her mask, originally a dark gray, has been painted white.

You and Aisha are dressed much the same, all in black with white masks. Hers depicts a grinning devil, yours a screaming ghost. Aisha is carrying Shadow Stalker's spare crossbow, and they both have black duffel bags slung over their shoulders. Quite the matched set.

"I will be keeping you company here while they see to the technical details," you continue. "Please do not try anything funny. While I like to consider myself a reasonable person, my associates may take offense on my behalf, and I cannot be held responsible for their actions. Believe me, you do not want to make an enemy of Ghost. Not unless you hate consensual sex and love biohazardous waste."

There are a couple of gasps from the audience at this. One woman tries to to make a break for the doors. You gently restrain her with a mind-hand before she can start a trend.

Ghost, of course, does not try to deny anything you just said, but Imp pipes up. "Don't lump us together like that! I'm not a psycho like her!"

"Of course not," you agree, your voice not bereft of a certain amount of irony. "And no one has ever ended up unconscious and naked in a dumpster, lucky to be alive."

"I never- Oh. That." Her shoulders slump as she realizes what you're talking about. Admittedly you're being a bit unfair to her here: That's what she does to her friends. If a civilian hostage acted out you doubt she'd do more than follow them home, squat on their table and pee in their coffee.

"What the hell is wrong with you people?" the remaining security guard demands. What is it with these people and guts above their pay grade?

Imp is practically dancing with eagerness to answer that particular question, hopping from foot to foot in her excitement at being given a setup like that. "Oh. Oh! I know, can I tell him? Can I?"

You motion for her to go ahead. "Prenatal drug exposure!" she crows triumphantly, jabbing herself with a thumb. "So much drug exposure, you have no idea." You have to admit, the guard's reaction to this statement is pretty funny - but not nearly as funny as your realization that Imp looked up the word 'prenatal' specifically to present a more sophisticated image in case the 'what is wrong with you' question ever came up again.

"Daddy touched me," Ghost adds. "He touched me in so many ways." Oh god, the fond, wistful tone with which she drops that bombshell, you have no words. You should have named the gang 'the Comedy Club.'

Now everyone is turning towards you, friend and enemy alike, as if they expect you to somehow top this.

You shrug (letting the motion continue on through your mind-hands to set the guns bobbing in the air, just for effect). "I dunno. These crazy bitches are a bad influence, I guess."

"You're their leader!" the security guard shouts. That's what scandalizes him, not the child-rearing practices of the North American pavement ape?

"A good leader enacts the will of the people," you retort, and telekinetically punch him in the face. "Places, people," you add to your subordinates.

Ghost phases into shadow and leaps through the wall, heading straight for the vault. Aisha remains long enough to shoot out the cameras in the lobby - you made some solid steel bolts for just this purpose - before heading deeper into the building through more conventional means (ie, doors).

You lean back against a wall and meaningfully look back and forth across the room. No one seems inclined to give you trouble after that little exchange.

"C1, complete," comes Aisha's voice through your earbud a while later. "You missed a spot," she adds. "Behind you, to the left."

"B1, complete," she confirms a few seconds later.

You hum a little tune - it amuses you how it sounds with your broken voice.

"C2, complete."

You idly juggle the guns you took from the security guards between your mind-hands.

Fenrir shows up (to you alone - he's still immaterial) and gives you a nod: The cops have set up a barricade outside, as expected. He taps his paw against the ground three times: Three capes are there with them. You nod back calmly. If they were going to charge into a building full of hostages, they'd have done so already. Everything is proceeding according to plan. Fenrir walks back out through the wall, heading for his next assignment.

You grab a couple of pens from a nearby desk and add them to your juggling routine.

"C3, complete," Aisha reports.

"Play it safe, wrap it up," you order in response. Then you wait.

"B3, complete," Ghost reports, and you let out a breath. B3 was the only part of the plan you would consider 'risky', even if Ghost is strictly speaking expendable.

You straighten up and walk over to the security guards. Both of them have more or less recovered from your earlier altercations, and tense up as you approach. "You're free to go," you tell them. "Please make sure that no one is trampled on the way out."

You turn away before they can properly process this, and follow Aisha's steps into the back of the building. She's waiting for you in the expected place. A power drill is lying atop the bag she was carrying, and she's just finished cleaning up the dust on the floor as you arrive.

You get down on your hands and knees and peer through the hole she drilled, into the alley beyond. This close to the floor it will be pretty hard to spot, especially once she sticks a piece of tape over it. Inelegant to leave any evidence behind at all, but needs must. Once it turned out you couldn't actually walk through walls, nor maintain the shadow state long enough to sneak through ductwork, you had to add step C3: A tiny hole to escape the building through.

"Good work," you tell her.

Aisha hands you a note. Fenrir sticks his head through the wall and gives you a nod. The alley is clear. You turn into shadow and pass through the hole. You remain in the alley only long enough to spot the hole in the building opposite (drilled last night). You turn into shadow once more and reappear inside a disused storage room.

"A2, complete," you report, mostly for form's sake.

Now that's how you rob a bank.

(You're holding a note that says 'C4 complete', which... is a bit disconcerting. What specifically needed to be done with plastic explosives? But you trust the notes, so you resolve not to worry about it.)

While the labelled parts of the plan are all done, there are a few lingering details to take care of. You start by changing into civilian features, and an outfit closely resembling that of a city maintenance worker, and make your way into the storm drains. Specifically, the section that happens to pass right underneath the vault of a certain bank. Along the way you retrieve and roll up the antenna and signal repeater (also put in place last night) that let Ghost communicate from down here.

Alec and Ghost are waiting for you next to a trolley stacked high with bags. Alec is dressed up as a maintenance worker too, though you feel it's not all that convincing - he's way too pretty to be working in the drains. Still, he had to be down here so that she/they could calibrate how much to phase the bags being tossed down here.

"We lost three bags," Ghost says. Meaning she misjudged the phasing and/or the throw, and they ended up stuck in the ground somewhere.

"Within expected parameters," you say. "Good work." As long as B3 - Sophia's escape - was successful, you'd have accepted considerably heavier financial losses. Having her die fused into the earth was a risk you were willing to take, but it wouldn't have made you happy. You're nowhere near done with her.

Ghost takes off, and you and Alec start pushing the trolley down the tunnel. They'll probably figure out how you emptied the vault pretty quickly - but not quickly enough. You've parked your truck a suitable distance away, where a pair of inconspicuous maintenance workers can load it up with nondescript bags.

---

"Guess we found out what Shadow Stalker was planning to do next," Clockblocker remarks as he enters the room. He's already heard the news. I nod, waiting to speak until the rest of the (remaining) Wards have filed in.

"So," I say. "There was a robbery at the AmBank branch office earlier today. Three parahumans. We've been asked to look over the security footage, for reasons that will become obvious."

I bring up the black-and-white footage on the main screen. Three villains walk into a bank.

"Is that Shadow Stalker?" Kid Win asks.

"Yes. Keep watching."

The original security footage had no sound, but several hostages had partial footage of the event on their phones, and that audio has been spliced in, and subtitles added.

"Ghost, huh?" Clockblocker remarks. I shush him.

When Poltergeist explains why you shouldn't piss off Ghost, I have to pause the video. "One at a time, please. Gallant?"

"Her voice was hard to make out, Gallant says. "Is that subtitle really accurate?"

"The eyewitnesses were unanimous, I'm told. It left a bit of an impression. Kid Win?"

"What did she do?"

"We don't know. No victim has come forward. It could just be an intimidation tactic from Poltergeist."

"An oddly specific one," Clockblocker says.

"I bet she did it while she was still a Ward," Vista says glumly.

I start the footage rolling again, only to have to pause it once more a little later.

"Did he?" Vista asks.

"Again, we don't know. Shadow Stalker never made any accusations. Her parents are separated, but to my knowledge she never spoke about why."

The rest of the viewing session passes without incident. The security footage cuts out as Imp shoots the cameras, making way for poorly angled cellphone footage of Poltergeist standing around doing nothing for a while before leaving.

"That's it?" Vista asks.

"They got away clean," I say. "Despite the police - along with Assault, Battery, and Triumph - setting up a perimeter outside. The vault was mostly - but not completely - cleaned out, and we have no idea of their movements after the cameras were taken offline. The hostages were all unharmed except for the two you saw Poltergeist attack, who got away with light injuries."

I take a deep breath before I continue.

"Okay. This was mostly to inform you of Shadow Stalker's new career, and the company she's keeping. If you encounter her again, she's to be treated like any other villain. You all know her ratings, and the way she fights. Be aware that she will likely start using lethal ammunition again, like she did when she was a vigilante."

"She sure wasn't tranquilizing the cameras," Clockblocker says.

I nod. "Now, let's do this by the book. Power evaluation. Poltergeist first." I set the screen to loop the footage of her. "Any thoughts on her telekinesis?"

"It's not telekinesis," Vista says. "See the way the guns leave ripples in space as they move?"

I peer closely at the grainy footage. "No?" A look around the room meets with shrugs.

"Ignore the light connecting them to her. Look, there, behind them. They leave a trail."

It takes a while of rewinding, zooming and slowing down the footage as Vista gets increasingly annoyed, but eventually everyone is able to agree that there's some sort of rippling effect there.

"See? She's not applying force, she's warping space."

"Okay. Could you counter her power?"

"I don't know. I don't think so. Levitating an object like that, moving it at that speed... That takes a stronger, more - more curved warp than anything I can do. I could probably mess with her fine control, though."

"How fine is her control?" I ask.

"Not sure. Did she damage the holsters when she took the guns?"

"I'll ask. Good thinking, Vista."

"She was confident enough in her control to juggle loaded weapons for fun," Gallant says.

"She might just be nuts," Clockblocker points out. "Anyway, what about the punches? Moving objects about, okay, but how do you punch someone with space?"

"I... don't know," Vista admits. Her fingers twitch and space ripples around her as she tries something. "Maybe... no. Or? but the Manton limit..."

"Let's table it until we see what the medical report says," I decide. "Now, what about Imp?" I queue up what little footage there is of Imp.

"I don't know what you want us to say, boss," Clockblocker says. "It's just her shooting out cameras over and over again. Anyone can do that."

"Not a combat Thinker, from the way she keeps missing," Vista says.

"The names," Gallant says. "A poltergeist throws things around. A ghost-" he pronounces the word with distaste "-walks through walls. An imp does what? Flies? Tricks people? Throws fire?"

"A Tinker," Kid Win says, speaking up for the first time. "Process of elimination."

"How's that?" I ask.

"Imp went to the security room, right?"

"Yes." I fiddle with the controls a bit and find the relevant footage. Imp in the security room, aiming her crossbow at the camera.

"Bring up the footage from the vault," Kid Win says.

I do so. "See," Kid Win says, "she shoots out two of the cameras in the vault right away, then stands around for a while before turning around and taking out the last one."

"Okay?"

"She was waiting for Imp to get to the security room - check the timestamps, they match up. Imp gets there, looks at the monitors, and tells Shadow- tells Ghost that there's still one camera left."

"How does that make Imp a Tinker?" Clockblocker asks.

"Sha- Ghost was inside the vault. A regular radio signal couldn't have gotten through to her. They have tinkertech comms."

"Could be from Toybox," Gallant says.

"A new team like that?" Kid Win objects. "Where would they get the money? ...I mean, before robbing a bank."

"The PRT database was likely worth a fair amount," I point out grimly. "Then again, we suspect there was someone bigger backing her on that - they may only have paid a commission, not a percentage."

"The crossbows!" Clockblocker exclaims. "She was always bitching about her crossbows breaking down."

Kid Win nods. "They're tinkertech. If they're still using the crossbows a month from now, they have a Tinker."

---

► ReadyRoom
Replied on May 5, 2011:
Bitten by who, though?

► Imp (Unverified Cape)
Replied on May 5, 2011:
It's an acronym. See if you can figure it out.

► long_distance_chef
Replied on May 5, 2011:
Bitches In This Team Escape Neatly?

===

Under ideal circumstances you probably could use Bloodless Murk Evasion to escape through ductwork - but it lets you move a maximum distance of (temporary Willpower points remaining) yards in shadow form, and Taylor has been spending a lot of Willpower on 'appear fine' lately.

Daniel Snuts · Jul 22, 2022

Aisha is waiting for you back the lair. She's jumping from foot to foot with anticipation, but stills when she see that you're empty-handed.

"I thought we were going to split the loot?" she says.

"Do you have any idea what security measures they have in place to keep you from just stealing money out of a bank vault and spending it willy-nilly?" you ask.

"Well..." She frowns. "Not really?"

"Me neither. Which is why I hired professionals to handle the laundering process."

"Oh." She nods to show that she understands, but still looks crestfallen.

"I get it," you say. "In the movie currently playing out in your head - titled 'Aisha becomes a respected and feared villain' - the loot-splitting scene is really cool, with laughter and wisecracks and money scattered all over the table."

From the look on her face you were dead on the money with your guess, but she hadn't actually put it into words until you did.

Alec chuckles and shakes his head. "Fucking Thinkers, eh?" he says.

"Look," you say, "I'll call them and ask them to send over a bunch of cash instead of just putting everything in a bank account for you. Come back here tomorrow after school and we'll do it properly."

"Fine," Aisha mutters, slightly happier at being indulged than upset at being condescended to.

Objectively speaking paying Number Man's fees for overnight cash delivery is a giant waste of money, but employee morale is important when you only have soft Master powers. It's not as if you're in this for the money anyway. Once the Number Man comes through you'll have more money than you could possibly need for day-to-day matters, while still being well short of the amounts needed for large-scale orichalcum production. The marginal value of a few grand here or there is basically zero.

---

Lisa sends you a message the next day while you're at school. Not, as you had expected, congratulations or chastisement for becoming a better villain than her on your first try (not your intention at all, but as far as you know the Undersiders still haven't robbed any banks). It just says 'watch chnl 4 2nite'. Did she take your success so personally she's going to one-up you tonight?

You'll find out soon enough, so you just shrug and go about your day - still trying to stalk Glory Girl without her boyfriend catching you. Your study of her is about halfway done, you think. You don't even remember how long you've been doing this now, but the way you've been snatching glimpses one lunch break at a time makes Rune seem quick and easy. Looking at the calendar, you might not actually finish before she graduates. But what else are you supposed to do at school?

Number Man (or rather, some minion of his) delivered the cash to a storage locker at Brockton Central Station, and texted you the combination. It's barely a detour to pick it up on your way to the lair, but your own minions are all there waiting for you anyway. Well, Aisha is younger than you, her school probably lets out earlier. And neither of Ghost goes to school in the first place.

"'Sup goys," you greet them as you throw the money on the table.

"'Sup, what?" Aisha asks.

Oops. "'Goys,'" you repeat calmly, not letting any hint of consternation show on your face or in your voice. "From the Hebrew 'goyim', 'gentiles'."

"Did you just accidentally drop nazi slang on your black friend?"

"Since when are we-" Your response is reflexive, but trails off when your brain processes what your mouth is saying. "Huh. Since when are we friends?"

"Beats me," Aisha says cheerfully. "Guess I grow on people."

"Like a fungus," you agree. "Still works as a greeting, doesn't it? I'm assuming you're not a Black Israelite."

"Would you gas me if I said I was?"

You snort. "Nazis fucking love Black Israelites. They're hilarious, and piss off real jews something fierce."

"Heh. Bet they hate BITN, though."

"Not really? We hold no territory and no ideology, and we haven't attacked them, so why would they care? Can't even use us to make a statement about black crime, because all capes are psychos regardless of race. Anyway," you gesture at the bag you dropped on the table, still unopened, "did you maybe want some money?"

---

You have to admit, Aisha's loot-splitting scene is enjoyable. There's something inherently satisfying about shoving big stacks of cash around, in no way diminished by the way you also give each member a shiny new debit card containing several times that amount. Aisha also insisted that each of you place your mask on the table next to your loot pile. You indulged her, amused at how seriously she took a photo op occurring entirely inside her own head.

She is not entirely content, though. She glances from her pile of loot, to Ghost's slightly larger pile, to your significantly larger pile.

"What gives?" she demands.

"I get a double share, because-" you start ticking points off on your fingers "- one, I'm the boss. Two, I came up with the plan. Three, I paid for everything out of pocket - including the lair you're chilling in and the costume you're wearing." It's cute that she changed into her costume for this.

"Okay, okay." She holds up her hands in some combination of surrender and 'please stop talking'. "But-"

"Ghost gets a bit extra since she's eating for two," you say, not quite able to keep a smile from your lips.

Aisha stares wide-eyed at Sophia. "She's preggers?" Alec also glances between her and you, one eyebrow raised in question.

You burst out laughing. "No, silly. Ghost is literally one mind in two bodies. Duh."

"You set me up for that," Aisha grumbles.

"You can't prove anything."

She grimaces, but leans back and starts playing with a wad of bills. "Fine, you got me. What's next, boss?"

"Next? Do you owe money to the mafia? Are they going to break your legs if you don't pay them back next week?"

"No..?"

"Then what's next is kicking back and relaxing, and enjoying being rich. I know you like being a villain, but if villainy is full-time job you're doing it wrong."

"Isn't he-" Aisha gestures at Alec, who holds up his hands in protest.

"I get paid a retainer to be on call for villainy," he says. "Most days I don't do shit."

"Okay, I get it. I dunno, I sort of expected..."

"Taylor's clever plan to get us nemeses, like all proper villains should have?" you suggest.

Aisha pouts in your direction. "Do you have to be a Thinker all the time?"

"They really do", Alec says. As Tattletale's teammate, he'd know.

"I mean, yeah, I kind of wanted a nemesis to fuck with. It's not fair, I bet you both already have one."

Do you? You hadn't considered it in those terms before, but to ask the question is to answer it. You do have a nemesis. Fucking Gallant. "I do," you confirm.

"Not me," Alec says. "I guess Shadow Stalker was the collective Undersiders nemesis ever since she almost killed Grue, but-"

"She what?" Aisha demands. She holds out a hand in your direction, but her eyes are fixed on Sophia. "Knife."

You lean across the table and materialize your knife so that it falls into her hand, while Alec rolls his eyes. "I'm not happy with how he bled all over my couch either, but could you hold off until I'm not inside her?"

"No," Aisha says firmly.

"Villainy is more of a feminine role anyway," you say, phrasing it that way specifically to see if it annoys Alec. It doesn't, at least not above his baseline annoyance at Aisha carving patterns into Sophia. "You can take steps to appear more thwartable, but ultimately it's up to the heroes to make the first move and suggestively foil your plans. In the nemesis marketplace you're the pursued, not the pursuer."

Aisha makes a vaguely affirmative grunt, her attention focused elsewhere. "The two of us could have a movie night at the lair if you want," you suggest.

That gets her attention. " What about-" She gestures towards Alec.

"Alec will be busy tonight."

Alec groans his 'fucking Thinkers' groan. It's funny how once you have a reputation as a smug Thinker, people assume all your knowledge is supernatural in origin.

"You go-" You hesitate. Aisha is the minion, but between the two of you, you're the one currently dressed in civvies. "I'll go buy snacks, you put Ghost to bed."

---

"What the fuck?" you demand. Channel 4 is broadcasting live from a charity event celebrating the defeat of the ABB. It's not that you're opposed to charity, or unhappy about the city no longer blowing up. It's that the event is chock full of heroes, who are taking credit for it. The fucking gall of these people.

"Yeah," Aisha says. "They should at least acknowledge who killed Bakuda." She pauses for effect. "Bakuda herself! Maybe a statue... Oh wait, she's already a statue!"

"And who made that happen?" you grumble.

"Uber?" Aisha suggests innocently, before dodging thrown popcorn. It's not that you told her what happened - Uber&Leet's final stream is by far their most viewed, with copies archived all over the internet. Everyone knows what happened. Which just makes the heroes trying to claim credit even more annoying. Wow, you arrested everyone too stupid to stop wearing gang colors when all their parahuman muscle was gone, really impressive.

(if they'd arrested them slightly faster- no, don't think about it)

You're not even sure Lisa is doing crime tonight, anymore. She might just have Thinker'd that you don't really watch TV anymore, and given you the heads up so you could get good and mad tonight. Possibly as a therapeutic measure. She-

Belay that. Three monster dogs just crashed through the ceiling, sending glass shards raining down on the cream of Brockton Bay's society. Riding them are, of course, Tattletale, Grue, Regent and Hellhound. As well as... huh. You've heard capes in costume referred to as 'clowns' before, but that girl takes it literally. Parahuman mercenary Circus, you presume.

That's all you see before darkness explodes out from Grue, covering the entire room - or at least the camera.

"You knew that was going to happen," Aisha accuses.

"Sort of." You shake your head in amazement. Yes, the amount of jewelry present in that room would no doubt make for a decent payday. But also present is the entire goddamn Protectorate, and a fair chunk of the Wards - and you're pretty sure you spotted Victoria Dallon in the crowd. Good luck stealing her diamond necklace.

Any sane villain who knew about this event would rob literally any other place tonight, while the heroes are all busy schmoozing the 1%. But you have to admit, if they somehow pull this off Lisa will have handily topped you in the villain game.

The black screen cuts to a harried-looking news anchor type person, who promises that they will report what is happening as soon as they find out themselves. In the meantime, a hastily assembled panel starts discussing the history of the Undersiders, and speculating as to why the previously sneaky team would suddenly throw themselves straight at the most retarded risk/reward ratio imaginable.

You'd like to know that yourself, but you're more likely to find out by asking Lisa tomorrow - assuming she doesn't get herself arrested.

"Another movie?" you suggest. Aisha shakes her head, her eyes glued to the screen. Okay, so she's more invested in this than you are. You lean back and eat some popcorn. How long can a cape fight last, anyway?

---

There is no further footage from the fight, but you are able to piece together what happened from interviews with eyewitnesses. To sum it up, no one ended up looking very good. The Undersiders (plus Circus) started out by selectively dispelling parts of the darkness in sequence to defeat the heroes in detail. This worked extremely well, right up until it didn't.

One slip was all it took, and Grue ended up in containment foam. But he responded by pumping out as much darkness as possible, covering the entire building and a fair bit of the surrounding neighborhood. It's not just darkness, either - it also suppresses sound and radio signals, and messes with people's sense of direction. It was almost an hour before the heroes managed to find and sedate him.

The whole time the rich elite of Brockton Bay was trapped in supernatural sensory deprivation, stumbling into walls and falling down stairs in their panic. And apparently Thinker beats Shaker, because the rest of the Undersiders managed to find their way outside and got away. But they barely got any loot, and lost one of their members. As you said, no one ended up looking good.

"We have to save him!" Aisha says.

"No we don't." You hold up a hand to forestall an argument. "Because the Undersiders are going to do that already. You can offer them your services if you want, but BITN plotting a separate jailbreak and getting in their way serves no one."

Daniel Snuts · Jul 25, 2022

For the second day in a row, Lisa sends you a message during school hours. Your math teacher is unamused, but you're not going to ignore something your Thinker friend thinks you need to know. Her message consists of two words, and a link:

< GET OUT postbin.com/fRjQpf

You click the link, of course, but you're on your feet and grabbing your bag before it even loads. "Sorry, it's an emergency," you tell the teacher as you hurriedly walk towards the door. 'Get out' doesn't leave much to the imagination.

The link loads to a page titled 'Empire 88 unmasked'. Well, shit.

The scroll bar keeps shrinking as you watch, so there must be all sorts of pictorial evidence loading in to back up their claims. But you only need to look at the hyperlinks at the top to confirm your fears, because one of them reads 'Low Key - Taylor Anne Hebert - 06/11/1995'. You break into a run.

Suddenly plotting your way into the school full of Wards and New Wave seems like a less than brilliant idea. Yes, going after capes in their civilian identities is supposed to be a big no-no, but these are heroes you're dealing with. No sense of right and wrong.

Case in point: You've barely cleared the doors of the math building when you run straight into Kid Win. Such collisions are a lot more amusing for cartoons than for real people, because real people clonk their heads together and bite their tongues and scrape themselves on the concrete when they fall over. The sensation is unpleasant even when your Brute rating prevents bleeding.

You both roll/scramble to your feet in short order, despite a certain disorientation. The good news is that sorcerer's sight shows him to be unarmed, and therefore completely useless in a fight. Well, he did invent the technique for storing weapons Elsewhere that you've made such good use of, but the way he isn't pulling a gun from nowhere and shooting you indicates that he isn't armed in that way either. He must have been headed for his locker to remedy that.

What was his name, though? Richard? No. "Chris, wasn't it?" you say, and he nods. "Wanna pretend neither of us know why the other is in such a hurry?"

He just nods again, sensibly not trying to engage the Master-sub-rating-Brute 4 in hand-to-hand.

"Cool," you say. "Come forth!" Fenrir materializes in front of you. It's not as if you have anything to hide at this point, and you need to get out before the non-Tinker Wards show up. And since it's Friday, you're not even leaking information by summoning him more often than you 'ought' to.

"How did you know?" Kid Win asks as you mount up, still making no move to stop you. He doesn't specify what you know, on the off chance you don't and are guessing wrong.

"Maybe don't doodle such detailed laser guns during English class," you suggest.

"Oh." His shoulders slump on learning that you know everything.

"See you around, kid." You kick Fenrir into a gallop.

"Stop!" someone cries. You look back to see Gallant running up, masked but otherwise dressed in school clothes. He gestures towards you, and you duck down and cling on tight. As a result you're not thrown off your mount by the blast, though it sends Fenrir stumbling sideways a few steps.

You're around the corner before he can fire again, and you shake your head in resignation. So much for unwritten rules, eh? Just assume the worst, and you'll be proven right every time. Wait, why aren't you angrier about that? That fucker must have blasted you with apathy in an attempt to get you to turn yourself in, and it's not pissing you off nearly as much as it should!

A few blocks later, your Empire phone rings.

"Way ahead of you," you answer it.

"Your identity has been- oh. Don't go to a safehouse."

Because who knows if they have been compromised as well, you mentally fill in. "Got it."

"We'll get back to you," he says curtly, and hangs up on you. You don't take offense. You imagine they are quite busy at the moment.

You appreciate the warning, even if their timing could use some work. If Lisa hadn't been on the ball... but no, you shouldn't be too hard on them. You doubt any other Empire cape was in half as precarious a position as you, because what sane villain would go to Arcadia?

Come to think of it, this cloud may have some silver lining. You never forget a soul price, and one in particular springs to mind here.

Kaiser wants his son to become a worthy heir.

At least now you can find out who his son is. You switch phones, moving carefully so as not to drop anything (at no point did Fenrir stop running). The page is still loaded, and Kaiser, unsurprisingly, is at the very top of the list.

Max Anders. CEO of Medhall. Ex-husband of Heith Anders and Kayden Anders (Purity), father of - god fucking damn it! - Theodore and Aster Anders.

You scroll back up in disgust, and click on the link to your own entry next. It's fairly short, and the evidence isn't what you'd call ironclad - but it doesn't need to be, given the company it keeps. It compares the dates Taylor definitely wasn't at school with the dates Low Key probably wasn't on patrol. There are also pictures of you in and out of costume. You agree with the arrows saying 'same hair', but find the ones saying 'padded costume' quite rude.

► long_distance_chef
Replied on May 6, 2011:
Midna's tits were fake? :(((((((

► Answer42
Replied on May 6, 2011:
@long_distance_chef
My world is ashes.

There are no hints whatsoever of you being a shapeshifting Trump, which is the important part.

It looks like you've gotten away clean, with no heroes pursuing you from school. Since you are a shapeshifting Trump could just find a secluded spot, turn into someone else and go about your business. But that would require dismissing Fenrir. And while Low Key's weaknesses are grossly exaggerated, it's true that if Fenrir dematerialized right now, he wouldn't be able to rematerialize for several hours. And you have a feeling that Ops will want you in the field before too long. You need somewhere inconspicuous to park a wolf for a bit. Which is why you're headed for Empire territory. If they want you combat ready, they can find you a parking spot.

Someone else is calling you. You answer it- no, that was Quicksilver's phone you grabbed. You grope around in your bag until you find Poltergeist's phone, which is the one that's actually ringing.

"I didn't do it!" Aisha blurts out before you can say anything.

"I know." You don't actually know that - but you'll be able to tell instantly the next time you see her in person, from the state of her Loyalty. Until then, you've either demonstrated trust towards a loyal minion, or lulled a traitor into a false sense of security. You believe her, for what it's worth - you'd be extremely surprised if it turned out she betrayed you.

"Good, that's good. Uh, I'm still at school, but if you need anything..."

Well, if the Empire safehouses are compromised... Next follows an interlude that would have been less comical if you'd thrown caution to the wind and given Aisha a second boop of smarts yesterday - or at least worked out a code beforehand. Because there are certain keywords that must never be said over the phone. But eventually you're able to explain to her that she should be careful about going home, because you might have company over. And that she's still expected to water the plants, but that she should do so quietly. And that she should tell your mutual friend to stay away entirely for the time being, as he doesn't have her talent for being quiet.

As soon as this is over you're going to invest in redundant lairs, so this doesn't happen again.

Once you enter Empire territory, you start to encounter a lot of mortals with openly carried firearms and masked faces. Ah, of course. You've been living in a spy thriller for too long, that you were thinking 'inconspicuous'. The Empire is undeniably under attack. Why would they wait quietly for the other shoe to drop, when they could be mobilizing? This is a war movie now.

They're just standing around and talking to each other, not marching anywhere. Guarding things, you suppose. For now. Several of them greet and/or cheer you as you ride by. There's a certain tension in the air, but no fear. And why would there be, when the Empire outnumbers and outguns any other faction in the city?

Well, you come across one guy who's pretty worried, because he's the only guy on his street who showed up. You decide to take pity on him, and guide Fenrir up next to him before dismounting.

"Low Key," he greets you with a slight bow, trying to hide his nerves. "Are you, ah, here to help?"

"Something like that. I need to run an errand first." You turn to Fenrir. "Guard. Bite anyone who doesn't belong."

The lone soldier perks up at hearing that. "If you need to hide your face..." He offers you his scarf and hat, but you turn him down.

"Got that covered," you say, patting your bag. Then you find a secluded spot, turn into someone else and get on a bus like nothing happened.

You stop by your lair only long enough to drop off your school bag and pick up your Low Key costume - your identity is forfeit, but that was an awful lot of guns back there, and your costume is bulletproof. You also make sure the secret door to Ghost's room is properly shut, in case you need to share your uncompromised safehouse with imperial capes. They'd be the least likely to judge you for imprisoning and torturing Shadow Stalker, but you'd prefer to avoid the questions it would raise.

When you get back you discover that Nervous Guy has gotten reinforcements, that the rank and file quite like wolves, and that Fenrir considers belly rubs and snacks to be entirely compatible with guard duty.

"Quite the party you got going without me," you say dryly.

"We just, uh-" You wave away the stammered apologies, and join in on the belly rub action (giving, not receiving!).

It's been quite a while since the news broke, and you expect to hear from Ops at any time. But it's Lisa who calls you first. On your empire phone, which is all kinds of suggestive. How did she get that number? How did she know to warn you so quickly? Just who compiled that information?

"Taylor! I need-"

"Did you fuck me?" you ask softly.

"-your help. What?"

"Did you fuck me?" She's a Thinker, she'll figure it out.

"...it's complicated."

"Doesn't sound complicated to me, friend. Did you fuck me, yes or no? Here's a hint: How many people knew my identity, who were not loyal to me?"

"It's complicated, but the answer is functionally identical to no. Okay?" Or, translated from Traitor Bitch into English, 'yes, but I want to talk my way out of it.' "Seriously, I'm going to fucking die unless you help me out."

"I'm sure the many people who you did not fuck over just now would be sorry to hear that."

"This isn't funny, Taylor!"

"Do I sound amused?"

"Purity is trying to kill me!" Oh, that's what's causing the rumbling sounds in the background. Collapsing buildings. "She thinks I did this-"

"Because you did."

"Shut up! They took her children!"

That little bombshell completely blows away your calm, friendly persona. "Who did what?"

"Joint PRT/CPS taskforce, almost as soon as the news hit."

"That's-"

"Illegal and against the unwritten rules? Since when has that stopped anyone?"

Ah. Of course. Just hero things. You find your calm reasserting itself. "Not seeing how that makes it my problem, friend."

There's an unusually loud rumble in the background, and Lisa completely loses her cool. "Here's a hint, you dumb bitch! Would she sell her soul to get them back!?"

Oh. Oooh. Yes. "You know where they took them?"

"I could find out, if she'd stop trying to kill me for five minutes!"

"On it."

You end the call, dial Ops. They are a bit slow to pick up. Gee, you wonder why.

"You said you were safe," is how they greet you. Implication: Why the fuck are you jogging our elbow?

"I need to talk to Purity."

"You and everyone else! She's not picking up."

"Who's with her? Have them take a message."

"Look-"

"I know where her kids are."

"Fuck! Stay on the line!"

---

"Where is Aster?" Purity demands as soon as she catches sight of you. Heh, ouch. No one loves Theo. But you get no feeling of recognition from her, no 'I'm standing next to someone whose soul price I know', which means that her soul price has changed just as Lisa suggested it would have.

"One hundred and twenty," you reply.

"Do I look like an imposter?" the glowing silhouette demands of the wolf rider.

Not really, no. But you need to extract the soul price before granting it, and it takes at least some conversation to do that. Exchanging passcodes will do. "Protocol is protocol, lady."

She growls at you at that, and is sufficiently worked up that it takes her a while to calculate the countersign. "One hundred and one. Where is she?"

"Lose the glow and hop on," you say. "They'd see you coming a mile away."

Purity wants to save her kids.

Aw, look at that. Kids, plural. At least her soul cares, a little.

---

You park Fenrir outside a nondescript apartment building, indistinguishable from any other on the block. PRT safehouse, according to Lisa.

"Third floor, apartment 17," you say. Purity rekindles her glow and blasts the door open. With the ability to fly, she pulls ahead of you on the stairs. You reach the third floor just in time to see her blast her way through the door of apartment 17. There's a shout of alarm from inside, interrupted by a flash of light and a loud crash. Arriving at the door, you spot Theo on the floor, Aster on the couch, a hole in the wall, Purity hovering in the middle of the room, and a PRT agent stumbling backwards. Then Purity fires a beam at the PRT agent. The world turns white.

When your vision returns, the PRT agent is gone, and there's a hole in the wall behind where he stood. And in the wall behind that. And the wall behind that, and the exterior wall of the building. And the wall of the building across the street. Yeah, he's super dead. The hole in the wall(s) on the other side of the room presumably indicates a colleague who met the same fate. You find that you don't have all that much sympathy for people who helped kidnap a toddler.

Purity has stopped glowing, and is cradling a crying Aster in her arms. You watch the Loyalty bloom. Then Fenrir starts howling outside, clearly audible through the holes in the wall.

"It's a trap!" you shout. There's a thump, and the howling takes on a distinctly muffled character. Foam grenade.

Purity is looking between you and Theo, indecision on her face. "I can't carry all three of you," she says.

Yeah, no, you're not losing her brand new Loyalty by leaving the loser behind. "Take the kids and go. I'll distract them." You step up close to her and hand her your ring of keys.

"Empire safehouses might be compromised," you whisper in her ear. You point to one of the keys. "I have a private one at 67 Marten street. Don't touch my books."

She nods, and starts glowing again. With Aster in her arms and Theo clinging to her back, she makes for the nearest hole in the wall. Unfortunately Dauntless shows up outside said hole before she can leave, spear and shield at the ready. He hesistates to attack, though. What, he's fine with kidnapping little babies, but not quite ready to stab/electrocute them? Purity, taking advantage of his hesitation, manages to get an arm free to blast him. The world goes white again.

"Other way!" you shout, running past her before your vision even clears. But sorcerer's sight does not rely on your retinas being functional, and you can still make out both capes perfectly fine, if not the walls or floor. Dauntless managed to absorb the blast without moving an inch, though it did knock his shield out of commission. It's recharging quickly, but not quickly enough.

"Fuck youuuuuu!" you shout as you launch yourself at him. Encumbered as she is, Purity would have no chance of outrunning him without you evening the odds. And you're not losing that Loyalty. You cling on tightly with one arm - falling three stories without a wolf to catch you would suck - and repeatedly stab him with the other.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" you swear with each thrust, but your entirely non-magical knife does not penetrate his mildly magical armor. No, you don't use your extremely magical knife, which would cut through his armor like tissue paper. See above re: falling three stories. Right now you just need to encumber and distract him.

Just as planned, your weight and violent stabbing motions seem to mess with his flying boots, as he's listing to one side and wobbling in the air. You start kicking at his legs to further aggravate the issue. If you could force him to land, or at least lose altitude...

"Dammit. Stop that, kid. It won't work." You ignore him and keep stabbing ineffectually. You're being a distraction. He sighs, then grabs you with his shield hand and brings his spear around to tap you on the shoulder. Lightning courses through your body, causing you to spasm and drop your knife. His armor protects him completely, the bastard.

Well, that sucks. If he can just keep tasing you without tasing himself- wait. There, on his belt. A tinkertech glow, distinct from his self-empowered equipment. Is that- yes! Not expecting you to recover so quickly, he does not react in time to prevent you from grabbing the grey cylinder, twisting it to arm it, and shoving it in his face.

"Shit," Dauntless says. Then the foam grenade explodes, engulfing you both. The foam must interfere with his flying boots somehow, because you proceed to drop the aforementioned three stories. But the landing is soft. What was it you said about containment foam? '10/10, would be encased in while falling out of the sky again?' Looks like you got your wish.

"Begone," you mumble through the foam. The muffled howling finally cuts out. You relax and wait to be formally arrested. Once it was revealed to be a trap you pretty much knew it would end up like this, and considered it a better outcome than revealing your true nature.

But if Purity didn't make it away after all that, you're going to ruin everyone's day.

---

Oh. Everything makes sense now. That's what she's been doing at night.

Oh. Everything makes sense now. That's why she's so deep in the closet.

Oh.

Wait, no. Things make less sense now.

Daniel Snuts · Jul 26, 2022

Rather than dissolve the foam and arrest you on the spot, they detach the whole lump from the ground and load it into a van. You suppose you should be flattered that they consider you so dangerous, but mostly you're happy that you're not prone to motion sickness. You can breathe just fine through regular containment foam, but you wouldn't want to experiment with a puke-suffused variant.

From the way the traffic noise drops off long before you stop, you conclude that they're taking you across the forcefield bridge to the Rig. Looks like you get to see the less touristy parts this time around. When everything comes to a stop and they finally do dissolve the foam, you find yourself alone in a tiny room.

"Please undress completely," a voice says from a speaker near the ceiling. Right. Of course they're going to steal all your stuff. With any luck, remaking your stupid complicated chestpiece will be the largest time loss resulting from this bullshit. No, what are you thinking, you're rich now. You can pay some chump to do it for you.

Once you're naked there's a mandatory shower, followed by a brief but unpleasant interlude featuring a female PRT officer and two sets of disposable latex gloves. Satisfied that you're free of contraband, they give you ill-fitting underwear and a festive orange jumpsuit (and socks, but no shoes) before they go on to draw blood and take fingerprints.

They say no plan survives contact with the enemy. You were planning on breaking out pretty much immediately, but then they stuck you in an interrogation room with Miss Militia. Miss Militia, whose power is always active.

Never let it be said that you cannot improvise.

---

"You're telling me that no further arrests have been made?" Director Piggot is saying from the teleconference screen. She does not look happy - she never looks happy, but even less so since being shot by Shadow Stalker. Scuttlebutt has it that the Chief Director herself called the hospital and forced her to accept Panacea's healing so she could get back on duty to handle the current crisis.

"They do outnumber us," Colin points out. "And the leaks did not affect their morale as much as we hoped. If anything, the Aster Anders affair has left them more determined than before. We're taking casualties in almost every engagement, which seriously limits how hard we can push without committing Panacea to the field."

"That is not a risk I am willing to take, even if Brandish would consent to it - which she will not."

"As you say, director."

"Now, as for the Aster Anders affair, our faint silver lining. Miss Militia."

"Ma'am." I straighten up at her harsh tone.

"You spent all day with Low Key, when we very badly needed you out in the field. Report."

I lick my lips, considering how to put things. "Low Key - Taylor - is an emotional wreck," I say, trying to maintain an even tone. "She spent most of the time crying. When her father arrived, she hid her face and refused to speak with him at all."

"What of her mother?" Piggot asks.

"Dead, as of a few years ago. When-" I have to stop and swallow before I can continue. "When I tried to leave, she cried out 'don't leave me again, mom!'" My weapon appears in my hand, taking on the comfortable bulk of a high-caliber pistol as I think back to the despair with which she clung to my arm. But there is nothing to shoot, no tangible enemy. With an effort of will, I send it back to my hip.

"That's a good sign," Colin says calmly.

"What!?"

"Excuse me?"

He looks at us as if we're stupid, then gestures towards me. "That she is able to view someone of your ethnicity as a maternal figure indicates that she does not have strong ideological ties to the E88. It increases the odds of us recruiting her into the Wards - where, I'll remind you, she'll be expected to serve under Aegis."

"That is your recommendation, then?" Piggot asks.

"Yes. Anything we can do to mitigate the manpower disparity would be very welcome. And in her case it would be a two for one deal."

"I agree," I say firmly. "I want her in the Wards, if only to get her a psychologist."

"Hm. I'll send some Wards over after school tomorrow to assist in recruitment, then. According to her file Vista has had friendly contact with her before. Who else?"

"Apparently she and Clockblocker have a... friendly online rivalry?" I shrug. "I suspect I'm too old to understand the fine details, but that's what I've heard."

It was exhausting, but you're a tiny bit proud of your performance back there. Just a tiny bit. Cape brains or no, it's not as if 'childless woman in her thirties' is a hard target to hit. But god damn did you hit it masterfully or what? Good thing she has that going for her too, because her soul price is worthless.

Miss Militia wants to take in your tired, your poor, your huddled masses, and to share with them the same chance she was given.

Ah yes, America. Land of opportunity, nation of immigrants! When she wraps herself in the flag, it's not just literal. It's not that you don't get where's she's coming from - escaping whatever war-torn shithole spawned her clearly left a deep impression. But as your informal history lessons with the rank and file have made clear, the America she believes in is all madey-uppy.

The actual America was always very selective about who it let through those sea-washed, sunset gates... right up until the nineteen-sixties, when immigration reform was foisted upon an unwilling populace through base trickery (you are entirely prepared to believe the trickery part, given how racist everyone agrees the sixties to have been), by a cabal of nefarious jews seeking to enact white genocide (you're still somewhat dubious about that part).

But never mind all that, you have work to do. As soon you realized you were going to the Rig - before they even let you out of the foam - you instructed the nervously hovering Fenrir to scout the place out and provide you with maps.

He was only too happy to keep busy - seeing you crying your eyes out when he came back to report in partway through out made him very agitated, even though you reassured him that it was all an act ("I'm not crying, everything is fine, this isn't really happening" - Miss Militia took your words rather differently).

When they finally deposit you in a cell, he proudly drops an immaterial notebook full of floor plans on the bunk. The cell, you note with some amusement, was originally large enough to fit a monster wolf, but someone hastily welded up a bunch of steel bars haphazardly crisscrossing the space. More than anything, it looks like the world's least ergonomic jungle gym.

Have you mentioned how much you love tinkers, by the way? The camera in your cell is tinkertech - you don't know if every cell sports one of those, or if Armsmaster is giving you special treatment after what you did to his bike, but it certainly helps! It's well hidden by mortal standards (which is why you take care not to look at it directly) but sorcerer's sight lets you know its exact position, orientation and capabilities - and by extension just how to sit to hide a mind-hand paging through an invisible notebook.

Fenrir isn't exactly the best draughtsman (it's that lack of hands again), and the whole thing is damp with wolf slobber, but it's decipherable enough when he's not trying to copy down text. You don't judge, because you doubt you'd do much better if you had to hold the pen in your mouth. In addition to doors and windows and such, all tinkertech is also marked - but not labelled. Fenrir can spot tinkertech as easily as you can, but he doesn't have the technical chops to tell anything beyond 'magic item, yes or no'.

Not that there is very much tinkertech throughout the base - Tinker tech requires Tinker maintenance, and Armsmaster has better things to do than play janitor all day. You're able to plot out a prospective escape route that avoids almost all of it.

Since you have plenty of time (Miss Militia appears to have 2 kW worth of power, which means you'll need to stick around for another full day of 'interrogation') you send him off to find the immaterial cellphone holder you made way back when. He can photograph the entire route, and you'll review it again to make sure it's good.

The funny thing is, you'd be worse off if they'd just tossed you in the drunk tank at the local PD - and not just because of the privacy the single-occupancy cell affords you. See, regular jails are designed from the ground up to be secure - usually in a basement, with a single, guarded exit. Not so here. It's not even because the government secretly wants villains to escape, you don't think - they generally prefer for escape attempts to happen during transport between facilities, where collateral damage happens to other people's property.

It's just that this is an old oil rig that was converted into a headquarters as a big PR stunt, and whichever glamorously overpaid architect they hired for the job treated 'holding facilities go here' with the same nonchalance as 'conference rooms go here'. You're not really escaping from jail so much as you're escaping from an office building that happens to have cops working there.

To his credit, Armsmaster is clearly aware of the architectural shortcomings: The one piece of tinkertech you won't be able to avoid is hidden in the ceiling of the corridor outside - you spotted it when they put you in here. But as long as you know exactly where it is, and what it does...

With nothing else to do for the time being, you cry yourself to sleep. There is a camera in your room, after all.

---

There is, of course, one problem with copying Miss Militia's power while in custody: Her power isn't just the ability to be armed at all times, but also the necessity. The specific weapon may change (usually a small knife while she's with you, because she's trying to appear non-threatening, but her control isn't perfect), but she is never not armed. You don't mind picking up another permanent power, it's just that things are likely to get uncomfortably hectic if you were to suddenly pull a gun right now.

You did memorize a secondary escape route leading from this room, but you'd still like to avoid having to fight Miss Militia if at all possible. So you try your best to direct your hypothetical subconscious influence over the expression of copied powers towards less exciting results. It mostly involves hoping really hard, because you still don't really have any idea what you're doing or how. But if at all possible you'd like a less exact copy this time around, please and thank you.

When you feel her power slip into place you tense up and furiously repeat to yourself don't be armed, don't be armed, I don't want to be armed. It... works. No weapon appears in your hand. Or maybe nothing you did made any difference, you'd never have gotten an exact copy regardless, and you got worked up over nothing at all. You slump forwards and rest your head on the table. You'll figure out what it does later.

"Can I go home now?" you ask in a small voice.

Miss Militia looks stricken. "Taylor, you know you can't..."

"Can I go back to my cell?" you clarify. "I want to rest."

"I... I can take you back there, yes. But there are some people people coming soon who will want to talk to you. Do you think you'll be up for that?"

"Okay."

---

"Another day spent consoling the little nazi?" Piggot asks. She's here in person this time, having arrived together with Vista and Clockblocker. The Wards are waiting outside while the three of us hold a quick sitrep meeting.

"I will do full shifts in the field again tonight to make up for it. It's not as if I need to sleep, and I did not want to leave her alone for too long."

"I read Vista's report on their interactions. She described her attitude as 'calm hiding simmering anger', and also mentioned her sense of humor. This is not how I expected her interrogation to go. Do we have any idea what's going on here?"

"Not really," I admit. "She's less... helplessly distraught than yesterday, but she still mostly refuses to talk."

"I do have an idea," Colin says. "Her bloodwork came back."

I do not like the look on his face. "Drugs?"

"No. Remember the case that was referred to us last week for possible parahuman involvement? The three dead bodies found in former ABB territory?"

"Oh no," I breathe.

"Her DNA is a match," he confirms grimly.

Piggot swears under her breath. "Looks like you were right to treat this one with kid gloves. What-"

She's interrupted by the intercom blaring to life. "Sir! Director! Low Key has escaped her cell! She's headed for the stairs!"

"Send a team to intercept." "Retract the bridge." "Secure the boats." "Force field to full power." For all that they have their occasional disputes over jurisdiction and procedure, when faced with a crisis Piggot and Armsmaster act in perfect lockstep, taking control of the situation without hesitation.

"How did she escape?" I ask.

With a gesture, Colin brings up a camera feed on the wall screen. It shows Low Key in her cell. She's standing with her her forehead resting against the door, her back to the camera. I glance at the corner to check the timestamp, but look back up at a sudden motion: The entire door falls out of its frame, landing in the corridor outside with a thud. Low Key stumbles and almost falls, but catches herself. She appears briefly startled when she looks up, but she doesn't immediately run off. After a moment, she nods.

"Thank you," she says. She shuffles sideways through the doorway, as if avoiding something that doesn't show up on the camera.

"Stranger protocols!" Piggot shouts. "Emily Piggot, passcode Umbra-7."

"Uh, Trooper Johnson, passcode Benedict-45," the voice from the intercom responds. Colin and I voice our passcodes in turn. Low Key has left by the time we finish, leaving the feed showing nothing but an empty cell. Was she unzipping her jumpsuit as she left? Why?

Another gesture from Colin, and the view switches to a camera outside the cell. A foam turret is deploying from the ceiling as Low Key runs down the corridor. It doesn't look like she's going to make it, but just as it's about to fire on her she dives forward, literally jumping out of her clothes. She scrambles away while the turret covers the bright orange jumpsuit in foam. I shake my head in grudging admiration, while Colin mutters something about targeting algorithms. She's past the turret and into the stairwell before it can reorient on her.

Meanwhile, the director has moved to the window. "I want eyeballs on all approaches. North quadrant, clear."

"There's nothing on the radar, ma'am," Johnson says.

"Eyeballs!" Piggot repeats. "We're dealing with a Stranger effect that defeated our cameras."

"Yes ma'am. Uh, eastern quadrant clear."

"Trooper Wilford, passcode Truncheon-22," another voice cuts in. "Low Key spotted in sector 7-C!"

"She's heading upstairs?" Colin asks.

"Lock down the helicopter!" Piggot snaps instantly. "Where are my eyeballs for south and west quadrants? Do we we have incoming?"

"Negative, ma'am. All quadrants clear."

"Where is the rest of the rescue?" Piggot wonders aloud. "Send a squad to protect the generator. The Stranger might- but then why not do that first..?"

"Releasing the prisoner could just be a distraction," Armsmaster says. "Whoever's left, secure the server room! I will not have another Shadow Stalker situation."

"Director..." I say hesitantly. "If it's not a rescue, she might be intending to jump."

Piggot swears again. "You! Get up there and try to talk her down. Armsmaster, take the Wards below and set something up to catch her. Vista should-"

"Ma'am!" Johnson's voice comes through the intercom. "The camera in Grue's cell just went down!"

"Go," Piggot says, shooing us towards the door. "I'll deal with this."

You regretfully trail a hand against the fuselage of the helicopter as you dash past it towards the edge of the roof. In a perfect world they would have been overconfident enough to leave the forcefield down. It doesn't matter, industry and forge wisdom whispers in your ear. The helicopter has remote shutdown functionality, which has been triggered. It's not going anywhere without three hours of maintenance. Or ten minutes should you break out the paper strips, but you have neither paper nor minutes right now.

But the question was never whether you could escape, only how many trump cards you would need to play to do so. It would have been nice if you could get away with only revealing yourself as the best fifteen year old helicopter pilot in town, but there's no use crying over spilt milk. You should still be able to keep this escape... plausibly low key.

Well, Low Key plus mysterious rescuer. You'll have to think up a cape name for the kind Stranger who disassembled your cell door. Fiddle, perhaps. As in 'played like a-'. The Master/Stranger protocols are there for good reasons, but the paranoid mindset leaves heroes susceptible to jumping towards certain conclusions when inexplicable things happen.

Or maybe that's harsh. 'The imprisoned Master is secretly also a Shaker who can disassemble objects with a touch' is pretty far-fetched. Credit where it's due, too. The lock may not have been tinkertech, but it couldn't have been cheap either. You have to completely understand something to unmake it, and it took you several tries to fit all the moving parts into your brain at once. But that only made your charade stronger, as you were genuinely startled when it finally ended up working.

Ultimately, they caught you too late. After months of continuous effort, you have finally leveraged your Trump ability into becoming a force to be reckoned with. And you're about to prove it to them... by leaving them thinking that you're a perfectly ordinary cape.

"Taylor!" Miss Militia comes sprinting onto the roof, but in this she is also too late. "Don't-" You leap off the edge before she can back the sentiment up with containment foam.

Fenrir launches himself after you and, without air resistance, quickly catches up and passes through you. He materializes between your legs, and you activate a power you've never used in public before, but is a perfect fit for Low Key: Sometimes wolves fly, and now would be an excellent time.

"No!" Clockblocker shouts. "She can't do that! That's bullshit!"

"So that's why she wasn't worried about being abandoned on top of a building," I murmur to myself as I stare up at her. The spike of terror I felt on seeing her fall has given way to a kind of quiet awe. I really wish we could have been on the same team.

It's an odd form of flight. Fenrir's legs are moving as he pulls out of the dive, looking for all the world like he's running down an incline and onto level ground. Maybe he is, an invisible forcefield of some sort? All I can tell is that space is not being warped.

Maybe she's just showing off. If she wasn't showing off, wouldn't she have mounted up before jumping off the roof? She doesn't appear to have gained any speed from the maneuver, she's approaching the forcefield at - as best as I can judge it - Fenrir's normal running pace. How is she-

From one moment to the next, it's as if a second sun had appeared in the sky. As I move to shield my eyes there is a terrible screeching whine, followed the sound of explosions coming from within the Rig.

The light vanishes as quickly as it appeared. Blinking, I can just about make out Low Key past the the bright glowing blotches covering my field of vision. She's on the other side of the force field.

"Capacitor bank C offline," Armsmaster is saying. "Forcefield at 77%. Breach lasted 0.912 seconds."

"What was that?" I ask.

"Orichalcum," Armsmaster says. "I recognize the emission spectrum."

"None of those words mean anything to me," Clockblocker says, and I silently agree.

"A knife," Armsmaster says. "She cut through the forcefield with a tinkertech knife."

"Where would she get a knife?" I demand. "She was in jail!"

"I dunno, did you check her secret ninja compartment?" Clockblocker says.

"Her-" It takes me a moment to understand what he's saying. When I do, I make sure to punch him in the arm as hard as I can. "Ewwww. Clock, that's-"

"Yes," Armsmaster says in a voice entirely bereft of humor. "We did."

"Oh." I stare at the receding form of Low Key. "If you take down the forcefield I could still reach her with my power."

"We can't do that," Armsmaster says. "There are other infiltrators in the base."

Soon enough she leaves my range, but there is definitely something weird with her flight: It slows down drastically whenever she tries to gain altitude. But it never stalls out, either. It's as if she has two speeds, one for going straight and one for going up.

"Why is she bothering to go higher if it slows her down so much?" I muse.

"She is ensuring that shooting down the wolf will result in her falling to her death, thus tying our hands," Armsmaster says. "Typical villain trick. It will not serve her. Dauntless is currently engaged with Hookwolf, but Aegis is moving to intercept."

"Her wolf can't fly," Clockblocker insists sullenly. "There's no way. No one sandbags that hard. I cornered her, and she didn't fly away. She engaged in hand-to-hand combat with me rather than fly away. Me! Clockblocker!"

"She won," Armsmaster notes.

"There was a really embarrassing internet video that wouldn't have happened if the wolf could fly?" Clockblocker tries.

"There's Aegis," I say, pointing towards the little rust-red speck approaching the slightly larger grey speck of Fenrir.

As they meet, there's another flash of light.

Daniel Snuts · Jul 27, 2022

"Nothing personal," you tell Aegis's severed head. "I just didn't have a better way to stop a Brute of your caliber."

He glares at you, and his lips move. But just because he's currently absorbing oxygen through his sinuses doesn't mean he can pass air across his vocal cords.

"Sorry, not a lip reader. Blink twice if you just called me a psycho bitch."

Aegis, slowly and deliberately, blinks twice.

"That's really hurtful, you know. And unfair. A psycho would have cut down the street, not across the road." You trace a finger down his forehead and along his nose to illustrate your meaning (said nose is twitching in a rather amusing fashion as it takes over the function of his heart).

When your finger approaches his lips, he lunges forward and tries to bite you. Yes, he can still fly. The important parahuman bits are all in the brain, after all. He can't muster enough force to break your grip on his hair, though, and you manage to pull your finger away in time.

"Rude. I was going to let you go reattach yourself, but if you're going to be like that maybe I should just take you prisoner instead."

His lips move some more.

"Yes," you muse to yourself. "An exchange of hostages. How many others did you capture so far?"

Aegis doesn't blink at all.

"C'mon, you can level with me here. You must have gotten someone, right? Once for yes, twice for no."

He blinks twice, scowling. Huh. Your escape was predicated on the idea that the Empire was in severe crisis and your Get Broken Out Of Jail Free insurance might therefore have lapsed. Should you have been more optimistic?

"Wow, you guys really suck. Shitting all over the unwritten rules like that, and all you caught was little old me?"

One blink. Poor guy doesn't recognize a rhetorical question. Or the evidence right in front of his eyes.

"Bzzt, wrong. You clearly did not catch me. I just came by for a brief visit."

He silently mouths off again. Probably something about how crime does not pay and they'll get you eventually.

"May as well let you go, then." You're almost to the shore anyway. No way will he be able to get to his body and come back in time to catch you now. You twist around to look behind you. Huh. No sign of his body. "I guess you sank. Don't worry, I bet your ears will turn into gills when you dive down and search." You give him a shove/throw in the right direction.

Ah, if your eyes don't deceive you, that's Armsmaster coming over in a boat to help fish him up. He'll be fine.

---

On the one hand, you got away clean. On the other, your civilian identity suffered one hell of a one-two punch, and is out for the count. Now, there are silver linings - more free time for one, because no one will think it strange if you stop attending the school full of Wards - but before you can enjoy that free time you have so many things you need to deal with urgently. How to prioritize?

First off, that was your one free brush with government. Low Key is irreversibly tied to Taylor now. Yes, you were already outed before you were arrested. And you'll certainly mete out appropriate payback for that... later. But crucially, none of your other identities are tied together yet. That will not be the case anymore if you ever get careless about what forensic evidence you leave behind, now that they have your prints and DNA.

You can't really do anything about your DNA (Panacea's soul price?), except resolve to not bleed on things unnecessarily - fortunately you're pretty good at not bleeding. A few seconds of concentration is enough to get you a brand new set of fingerprints, though. An irreversible operation, most likely, which is why you've always held off before. But it's not as if the Taylor identity serves a purpose any more.

In fact... A smile tugs at your face as a thought occurs to you. If you ever get caught as Low Key again, you'll have to blame the new fingerprints on a rogue biokinetic. And since you'll be making a new costume anyway, why not skip the padding, wear the body you've always wanted full time, and blame everything on Vegas Fleshcrafters? Yes.

What next? Well, if Kaiser isn't already aware of your escape he'll be soon enough, and he's likely to get miffed if you don't report in right away.

As you approach Empire territory, you can hear gunfire. Drawing closer reveals a gang of thugs in Merchant colors having a shootout with a couple of skinheads. Surprise wolf airdrop, motherfuckers!

"It's Low Key!" "Thats a lot of blood, are you okay?" "Holy shit, it can fly?"

"He," you say sternly. "And don't worry, it's hero blood. Can I borrow a phone? I need to call Ops and report for duty."

"Sure, here you go." He also offers you his jacket, because chivalry isn't dead.

"Which hero?" "Never try to arrest Psycho Bitch, huh." "They weren't kidding about the padded costume."

You glare at the last commenter. Chivalry may not quite be dead, but the doctors sure are looking longingly at that organ donor card and eyeing the life support machinery.

---

"Low Key." Kaiser looks you over, but makes no comment about your state of dress, or the blood. Metal spears spring up from the ground all around the two of you, widening to form solid walls and bending into an arched ceiling above, with thin gaps to let a modicum of light in. Instant privacy.

"There are a lot of things we could talk about," he says, his voice grave. You don't say anything, keeping your expression neutral as you wait for him to continue. You very much agree that there are a lot of things you could gravely talk about... but you don't know which ones he's found out about, so it's better not to give anything away.

"Like the way you appear to have taken a longer vacation than was warranted."

He seriously checked Taylor Hebert's school attendance records and compared it to Low Key's vacation? While his Empire was under attack? What a jew. "I was trying to avoid synching my cape and civilian lives too much, to avoid precisely this situation." That was one of your considerations at the time - though admittedly far from the main one.

"Or the way the rank and file have started to refer to me as 'the Iron Jew?'"

There goes your neutral expression. His gauntleted fist clenches slightly as you don't quite manage to hold in an amused snort. "I have never uttered that phrase," you say. It's true! You may have made occasional reference to his penny-pinching ways, and perhaps speculated on the size of the nose behind that visor from time to time - but someone else came up with that specific moniker!

"Or the way your wolf can apparently fly, and be manifested on consecutive days without any problem."

"Always Be Sandbagging," you say without an ounce of shame, looking him straight in the eye as you admit to lying to his face. "The resummoning delay is real, by the way. Just exaggerated."

"Hm. As I said, there are a lot of things we could talk about. But we won't, because whatever else you might have done, you also saved my son and daughter."

You shrug. "'s my job, innit?" You're pretty happy that's everything he wanted to forgive you for, all things considered.

"Is it?"

"Says right there on the tin: 'A future for white children.'"

"Ha." He doesn't chuckle at your witticism, merely pronounces the word 'ha'. "Nevertheless, few would claim that letting yourself get captured in order to distract their Mover long enough for Kayden to escape was not going above and beyond the call of duty. Ask of me any boon, and you will find that the 'Iron Jew' is not ungenerous."

You stroke your chin as you consider his offer. It's a bit redundant, because now that you know who he is you'll have his soul price squared away soon enough. But that doesn't mean you'll pass up this little preview of your future relationship.

"I guess no details about my escape have come out as of yet..." you begin.

"You'd be surprised at how quickly certain things come out," Kaiser says.

"...but if anyone asks I'd appreciate it if you told them that the Stranger who helped me was a mercenary you hired from out of town, rather than a personal friend of mine who would prefer not to make their debut quite yet."

Kaiser doesn't answer immediately. You get the impression that wasn't what he expected you to say.

"...did your friend kill Grue?"

"Grue's dead!?"

"As far as I can make out the timing, he was found dead in his cell before you reached the shore."

"I didn't even know he was at the Rig. Though I suppose that makes sense in retrospect, I did hear he was arrested at the Forsberg thing." You shake your head. "No, my friend wouldn't do that."

Kaiser studies your face. Perhaps you should keep wearing a mask despite your identity being public now, to prevent that from happening in the future. Right now you have to rely on being an excellent liar, who also happens to be telling the truth. More or less.

"I believe you," Kaiser says finally. "No one will believe me when I say the same of my 'mercenary', but I will honor your request."

"Thank you."

"But perhaps I can expect a Stranger to join the Empire sometime in the future?"

"Ineligible, I'm afraid."

"A pity," Kaiser says, but doesn't otherwise make an issue out of you having non-white cape friends. Note to self: If you ever end up creating a camera-proof Stranger identity, remember to make her non-white.

"I should get cleaned up before joining the defenders," you say, since the main part of the conversation seems to be over. "And pants. Pants would be nice." It's not the hottest of days, and the ride across open water had your goosebumps just about ready to form their own Brute rating.

"Your home is likely under surveillance. You may-"

"I got this," you interrupt. Kaiser nods, and the metal room around you retreats back into the ground.

You ride Fenrir back to your lair. Now that he can officially fly, parking him inconspicuously is much easier - just pick a roof. You are the problem right now, bloodstained and pantsless as you are. But with some mild cheating via turning into shadow and slipping through cracks, you make it to the safehouse unseen. Theo answers the door when you knock.

"Anyone else in here?" you ask as you shove past him. A quick glance shows the secret door securely closed. Good, they haven't found Shadow Stalker. Not a huge surprise, Kaiser would probably have had some more questions for you otherwise.

"Aster is asleep in the other room," Theo says as he trails after you. "Kayden- Purity is out fighting."

"Good." You spin around to face him. "Give me your wallet."

"What?"

"Wallet," you repeat, holding out your hand. He hesitates for a moment, but complies, and just stands there fidgeting while you rifle through its contents.

Is there a- there is! Hope does spring eternal. His eyes open wide when you hold up your prize and drop the wallet on the floor, but he doesn't resist when you push him down on the couch. His brain clearly can't believe what's happening right now, but fortunately other parts of him are quicker on the uptake. By the time you've stepped out of your government-issued underwear and yanked his pants down, he's ready.

It's over fairly quickly, which is nice.

You remain just long enough to watch the Loyalty bloom before getting off him and heading for the bathroom. Maybe you're just a pampered little Brute 0 princess, but after running around underdressed for so long the hot water feels divine. Finally getting rid of all that hero blood is nice too.

"Tell Purity I want you out of here by the time I get back," you tell him when you return from your shower. "And forget about this address." With both of them loyal, maybe you don't have to get BITN a new lair after all... no, that's stupid. You have way too much money to take that kind of risk. Tomorrow is lair-moving day. You'll have to get in touch with... Lisa. Almost forgot about her for a moment there. You need to talk.

---

You spend the rest of the night patrolling, and see more action in one night than in your entire career up till now. For the second time ever you're assigned to inner patrol, but it's not the sedate beat cop experience it was the last time. Truly, people are slaves to fashion. It's not just Merchants and heroes, it seems like every lunkhead with an unregistered firearm and melanin to spare wants a piece of the Empire right now. And when they detour past the big flashy cape fights on the border to go after the civilians inside, they become your problem.

But Fenrir can fly, and no one ever looks up. You'd think they'd figure that one out when they're going after a cape gang, but apparently not. Like shooting fish in a barrel, except if you're not careful the fish shoot back.

The pressure lets up as late night turns into early morning. Purity flies by to give you back your keys, and thank you for everything. You wave her off with a smile. Yes, yes, you'll be sure to tell her if there's anything she can do for you in return. You really will, because that was the whole point of fulfilling her soul price in the first place. You're just a bit busy right now.

When early morning turns into Lisa-hasn't-gotten-out-of-bed-yet morning, you call Lisa.

"We need to talk," you tell her.

"I know," she groans. "Could we do it without a knife at my throat, though? We both know you don't need the knife."

"The knife makes me feel better, friend."

---

Of course the first thing that happens when you meet Lisa face to face is that she finds out everything that you don't want people finding out about you. Her eyebrows shoot up as she looks at the invisible wolf next to you.

Your eyebrows furrow.

"Not judging!" Lisa says says quickly, holding up her hands. "Human-level intelligence, right? Whatever makes you happy."

"We're here to talk about you," you remind her. "And how you totally didn't betray me."

"Yeah." She sighs and sits down next to you. "Let me tell you about Pancakes."

===

In case anyone forgot, 'Pancakes' is their code word for 'Coil', from all the way back in T.03

Taylor doesn't say anything for a long time after I've finished my explanation.

"Are you okay?" I ask. I could use my power to find out what she's thinking... but I already know what it would say, and I'd like to stay in this nice warm Egyptian river for a while longer, heedless of the crocodiles. "I tried to make sure you wouldn't be captured, but-"

"I'll live," Taylor interrupts me. "Pancakes, on the other hand..."

Daniel Snuts · Jul 28, 2022

How should you explain Coil? Perhaps like this: You are at war with Coil. It's a shadow war, fought behind the scenes. You are a shapeshifting, power-copying Trump - he does not know this. His chief lieutenant, a high-powered Thinker, is on your side in this war - he does not know this either. In fact, he doesn't even know he's at war. And you're still not winning.

You know where his base is. You have a giant wolf who can walk through walls. You're still not winning. Because Coil's power is to exist in two separate timelines simultaneously, and he's almost never in the same place in both of them. Also, the identity of the wolf's owner is public knowledge, and Coil has snipers on his payroll. If Coil gets his head bitten off in timeline A, timeline A will stop existing and you'll get your brains blown out in timeline B. Because all he has to do to avoid wolf-based assassination once forewarned is hide in the closet - or any other space too small for a giant wolf to materialize inside.

But it's worse than that, because Coil has a second Thinker on his side, who can see the future. If you plan to have your wolf bite his head off in timeline A, timeline A will stop existing and you'll get your brains blown out in timeline B. Lisa once again makes you promise not to make any moves against Coil. Because if you were going to attack him, he would have already found out.

Just because you're not winning doesn't mean you're helpless, though. "Go to his base," you tell Fenrir. "Get his scent. Follow him home. I want his civilian identity."

"I can't do anything that has visible results in the future," you tell a horrified Lisa. You tap the side of your head. "Gathering knowledge is fair game. He has a precog, not a mind reader."

"Unless he tortures me for information in a throwaway timeline," Lisa says. "Don't tell me your plans!"

You nod. Speaking of civilian identities, you have to concede that faced with the task of compiling information on the Empire, and with alternate timeline interrogations on the table, Lisa's choice to out you as Low Key - but not as a shapeshifting, power-copying Trump - was in fact the minimum possible betrayal.

"You can make it up to me by getting me more lairs," you tell her.

---

While she does that, you turn into Quicksilver and call Ballistic. He's quite eager to see you again. It's fine with you too. Didn't you say once that you liked having a simple, repetitive physical task to attend to while studying a power? That's all it is.

---

When you arrive at the soon-to-be-former lair to start moving things, you find Aisha already there. She's pointing a crossbow at you.

"Did you kill my brother?" she demands.

Judging by her face she's been crying her eyes out all day, but on hearing you arrive she must have dried her tears and womanned up enough to confront her number one suspect. Unsurprisingly, she also had to overcome - and thus damage - her Loyalty to accomplish this feat. It's all so tiresome.

"Put the crossbow down," you say wearily, invoking her karmic debt to you. She drops it as if stung - and it goes off when it hits the ground. You turn into shadow as the bolt passes through your ankle. "And don't do anything clever with stealth," you add.

"Fucking hell," Aisha says shakily. "I could feel the terrible fate hanging over me if I didn't obey. That was for the smarts?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. Uh..." She laughs nervously, looking at your uninjured leg. "Still worth it?" It's meant to be a statement, but it comes out more like a question. "I mean, we've sort of established that I'm your bitch, here. But I don't suppose you could at least deny it to my face?"

"If you could provide a remotely plausible motive for why I'd-" You stop yourself, and start over in a milder tone. Employee morale is important. It keeps people from picking at their Loyalty. "I did not kill him."

You place a hand on her shoulder as you say it - something that quickly turns into a hug as she throws herself against you and starts crying again.

"I'll kill whoever did it," she manages to get out between sobs.

"I'll help," you say, sort of truthfully. 'Coil had Grue killed to keep him from talking' was a footnote in Lisa's info dump about Coil, and you're going to kill Coil. Somehow. Eventually. But you're not about to trust Aisha to pull off a multi-timeline, precognitive shadow war of her own. Maybe you'll set her loose on the man who did the deed, if not the one who gave the order. Yes. You nod to yourself. You'll lean on Lisa until she gives up the mole in question.

By the time Alec drops by the lair Aisha has calmed down a bit, for 'simmering murderous intent' values of calm.

"'Sup," Alec greets you as he saunters in. "Did you kill my boss?"

"No."

"'Kay."

"See?" you tell Aisha. "That's how civilized people do it. Without pointing weapons at each other."

Aisha shoots you a half-hearted glare, before turning to address Alec. "That's it?" she demands. "That's how much you care?"

"She said she didn't do it, what else do you want from me? She's clearly the slave-owning kind of white supremacist, not the lynching kind."

Aisha giggles, while you roll your eyes. At least he's cheering up your property.

"She is, isn't she? When I saw her with Brian, she-" Her voice catches, but she's not going to let grief get in the way of a good zinger that easily. "-she was definitely looking to force him into heavy physical labour beneath her. Eh? Eh?"

You don't give her the satisfaction of seeing you blush, which may or may not have required dipping into your shapeshifting abilities. "Shut up and take a new dose of smarts," you tell her. You don't add 'because I may need to make you drop another crossbow,' because Alec doesn't know you're a Master. If he found out you were Mastering him, he'd... well, he'd probably laugh his ass off, and then stab you in the back just to see if he still could.

From there your Sunday proceeds... almost exactly like your last Sunday. It feels really dumb to tear out all the furniture and move it (and rebuild the secret room back into a regular room, and scrub everything down with bleach) after just one week, but that's what you get for not planning ahead better. Low Key absolutely must not share a safehouse with BITN.

---

Unfortunately your escape from the Rig involved letting everyone know that Fenrir can be summoned on consecutive days without trouble, so now Ops wants to assign you daily patrol shifts. But on the positive side, your revealed flight capabilities means you're no longer paired up with Rune. You don't know who is taking her place, though, they only tell you to wait for 'your new partner' at the usual spot. Someone ground-bound, presumably. Fenja/Menja, perhaps, if Kaiser can spare a bodyguard. But would they really need a ride, when they can take such big steps?

When you arrive at the bar, you find Theo waiting for you. You blink in confusion, and turn your sorcerer's sight off and back on again to be sure, but no, he hasn't triggered. So why is he here? It's not until he awkwardly grabs your hand that you realize your mistake: You granted his soul price so he'd be nice and tractable for your campaign of turning him into a worthy heir. But there's a word for people who trade sex for loyalty, isn't there? It's 'girlfriend'.

"What the hell?" you demand, ripping your hand away.

"I just-"

"What the hell made you think I wanted to be seen with you in public?"

"You slept with me!" A murmur of astonishment passes through the rank and file at this outburst.

"Just announce it for the world to hear, why don't you!" You turn slightly to address to room at large. "I had just gotten out of prison. You know how it is." There are a few scattered chuckles, but mostly disapproving faces.

"You were in there for two days!" Theo complains.

"I'm sorry, are you trying to argue your way into my pants?"

"I-" Theo swallows his words as a hand lands on his shoulder. It belongs to a skinhead twice his size, with none of his body fat.

"You're bothering the lady," your knight of shining pate rumbles.

"Outside," you hiss, pointing at the door. Theo slinks away, and you stalk after him.

"Do you know why I don't want to be seen with you in public?" you demand. "Can you guess?"

"Uh-"

"Do you want to know the secret to getting a girlfriend?"

"I guess?"

"The secret is to be someone a girl would want to be friends with. Look at yourself. Are you handsome?"

You can tell that he knows the answer, though it hurts him to say it. "Not very," he understates.

"Are you charming?"

"Well-"

"Does your mom tell you you're charming?"

"She does!"

"Is she lying to make you feel better? Are you actually a loser with no friends?"

"...I am!"

"Crying is also very unattractive," you tell him. "Are you smart? Are you funny? Are you?"

He silently shakes his head. Good. Now that he's admitted as much in your presence, you use emptiness endowment pump him full of charm and wit. 'Handsome' will have to wait until you start tackling his other physical shortcomings, and much like 'being emotional', your power doesn't recognize 'having a spine' as an enhanceable attribute at all. What else would a worthy heir need? Well for starters, Kaiser is an excellent public speaker.

"Are you a stuttering mess?" you ask. He is momentarily thrown by the tack your questioning is taking, but nods just to be safe, tears still streaming down his cheeks. You make him an excellent public speaker.

"If your father died, could you run his empire?"

"I wouldn't want to-"

"Could you?"

"No." You make him an excellent statesman. It works, which confirms that he's lying about not wanting to be emperor. Everyone wants to be emperor.

You hear someone clearing his throat behind you, and turn around to see who it is. "Am I interrupting?" Alabaster asks.

"No, I'm about done here," you say. You look back at Theo "If you want to be with me, you're going to have to shape up. But you can do that, right?" You turn back without waiting for an answer. "Come forth!"

Fenrir appears on command. You and Alabaster mount up and fly away.

"Relationship trouble?" Alabaster asks after a while.

"Offer advice and I'll push you off."

---

That was an empty threat, as it turns out. Whatever else you might say about Alabaster - like for example 'why would they give me the one partner whose power I can't afford to internalize!?' - his work ethic is excellent. He doesn't fear being pushed off a flying wolf because he frequently leaps off on his own, landing on top of unwelcome visitors and breaking multiple bones in both their bodies. Four seconds later he's fine, and they're not. Then the squashed guy's friends shoot him, which he also recovers from, and you pounce on them while they're distracted.

The heroes have given up on their siege/invasion, so things are a lot less frantic than last night. But there's still plenty of diversity that hasn't gotten the message, so having a (sorta) bulletproof distraction on hand is quite welcome. Or in other words, Alabaster excellent at the intended role of a patrol partner. You can't even fault Ops for assigning him to you, more's the pity.

Alabaster agrees. "A pleasure working with you," he says at the end of your shift, despite having taken enough wounds to kill a dozen people. You studied his power a little bit - not enough to turn alabaster yourself! - and you can conclusively say that he's not immune to pain. He's just badass. Or possibly the world's kinkiest masochist, you're not going to ask.

"The pleasure was all mine," you reply, because the pleasure of not being shot was all yours. You tried being shot once, and didn't care for it. You're happy to delegate that part.

Speaking of sorta bulletproof things, you should make a replacement costume. Yes, you said you would pay someone else to make it for you, but it's not like you have anything better to do at this hour of the morning. Hm, do you have enough leather on hand, or do you have to wait until the stores open?

It's at this point you realize that it's been 40-some hours since the last time you slept. You don't feel tired, but you should probably take a nap anyway, for health reasons.

Daniel Snuts · Jul 29, 2022

The Simurgh is hovering in front of you. You can't move, but with the strange numbness suffusing your body you can't even tell if this is because of telekinetic restraints or brain-hacking paralysis. She leans in close and rests her head - easily twice the size of yours - on your shoulder. Her skin is smooth and cold, like marble.

"What have you done to yourself, little owl?" she asks in your mother's voice. A small wing on her shoulder blurs as it vibrates to produce the sound. Of course the Simurgh doesn't speak using her mouth. Does she even have a mouth, beneath those impassive lips?

She runs her fingers through your hair - and then grabs hold, and rips your entire scalp off. It doesn't hurt. Quicksilver's platinum blonde hair sprouts from your head to replace your dark curls. She repeats the motion, and Smith's balding pate appears. Again.

Again and again she tears your scalp off, cycling through every guise you've ever worn until your true form appears once more. This time, she pulls away not just your scalp, but your face as well.

"I have such high hopes for you," she wing-speaks, while pressing her cold lips to the bare cheekbone of your skull.

You jerk awake, startling Fenrir in the process. Oh. No, what the hell was that. You never have nightmares! You hope this isn't the start of a new trend.

You can see bright sunlight peeking out from beneath the curtains, and despite the unpleasant dream you feel... not refreshed, really, but just as non-tired as before you went to bed.

Hang on a minute.

You completely forgot about that, didn't you? In your defense, you've been pretty busy. A quick glance inwards with sorcerer's sight shows that yes, it's permanent. And that... well, shit. You have some calls to make.

---

"You don't sleep," the voice on the phone says.

"Who are you? How did you get this number?"

"Can you sleep, if you want to?"

"...yes."

"When you do, do you ever not have nightmares?"

"No. Usually they-" There's a click. "No, wait! Are you like me? Do you remember?"

Guess you're never sleeping again, huh?

You can't even complain, because you got exactly what you wished for. Didn't you want Miss Militia's power, but not the 'gun' part? Didn't you want more free time? Between dropping out of school (as of today, because you're a known villain now and school is full of Wards) and never sleeping ever again, you suddenly have so much free time you doubt even you could fill it all up with cape bullshit.

You might even start reading books again. Yes, perhaps this isn't so bad- aaand as soon as you thought that, you remembered the really unpleasant thing that you really need to do as soon as possible. That you should have done yesterday, frankly.

---

You're waiting in the living room when he comes home, in costume. Well, wearing a mask. Your replacement costume isn't finished yet. The mask is symbolic: The villain has entered his home.

"Dad." You take a step forward and remove the mask, letting it drop to the floor. The villain was his daughter all along.

Your house was indeed under surveillance just like Kaiser thought, but it was a half-hearted thing: Just one bored plainclothes cop sitting in a car outside. It's like they couldn't decide whether they wanted to go back to pretending that the unwritten rules apply to them or not. You understand how the sunk cost fallacy of their failed schemes strain against shrieking PR shills to produce this result, but in the end it only makes their situation worse. It was obviously not enough to stop a parahuman of your caliber from sneaking into her own home.

What, did they not expect you to send an intangible Fenrir to scout ahead and find potential watchers? Oh right, they don't know Fenrir isn't a Master projection. Did they not expect you to shapeshift and surreptitiously photograph the watcher, to later make public their continued hypocrisy? Oh right, they don't know you can shapeshift. Did they not expect you to walk around behind the house and jiggle that one window just so, to create enough of a gap to slip through in shadow form? Oh right...

"Taylor!" After a moment of shock Danny practically leaps towards you, arms stretched out for an embrace. You hold up a hand, palm out, and he skids to a stop. "Are you all right? I was so..." He trails off when you hold a finger to his lips.

"I'm really sorry you had to see that, dad," you tell him softly, not meeting his eyes. You are, too. It was awful, having to do that to him. "I'm perfectly fine-" You are not fine. "-but I had to lull them into a false sense of security so I could escape."

"You..." You can tell that he still desperately wants to hug you. So you let him. He keeps whispering your name over and over again as he holds you. You repeat your assurances (lies) that you are fine, and do your best to hug him back. As long as it's making one of you feel better, it's worth putting effort into.

"You didn't have to escape, Taylor. They were just going to put you in the Wards, they told me-"

"Dad. There are things you don't know about. Things I'm not going to tell you - for your own protection. Just, please, trust me. This was the least awful way things could have played out."

He breaks off the hug and takes a step back without letting go of your shoulders, studying you at arms length. He... he trusts you, despite you being obviously not happy. Don't cry.

"I... I can't do it, Taylor. I believe you, but I can't be... I can't become an outlaw for you. I have to call them, tell them you came here..."

"I know," you say with a small, rueful smile. "Don't worry, I left enough money to buy a new phone."

He practically sags in relief at having this conflict of conscience rendered moot. "Always one step ahead of your old man, huh? I suppose if I tried to run for help I'd find a giant wolf blocking the doorway?"

"I'd really prefer if it didn't come to that," you say coolly. No, don't. Don't use your 'friend' persona against dad. Despite the fact that he didn't mention the surveillance the house is under. It's possible that he doesn't know about it. You're going to keep believing that for as long as possible.

"Me too." He hesitates for a bit, unsure as to what to do next. "...tea?"

"Tea would be nice."

---

"Look," dad says once you've both got tea in front of you, "if there's some terrible secret, some reason you can't join the heroes, I can accept that. But... Empire 88? I- I want to say I raised you better than that."

"Oh, dad. Don't you realize we're on the same side?"

"I want to be on-"

"No, I mean literally. Did you think the Empire has no citizenry? You work all day to get them jobs. I work to give them a place to live. Together we carve out a place for them in this broken city."

"That's not what- Taylor, there's-"

"A black guy in the union?" you suggest, interrupting him.

"Yes."

"A good man. A hard worker, a trustworthy friend."

"Yes! You've met him, he's-"

"He's on his own as far as housing is concerned," you admit, pausing to sip your tea. "Though I wonder if he might be some kind of outlier. I wonder why there's not two people like that in the union. How big is the union, again?"

"Taylor, no. I recognize their poison. That isn't you. You're... you're angry, angry about things you won't tell me about. But deep down you know that isn't true."

"I do?" You put down your teacup and give him a look of innocent confusion. "Are you saying that racial differences are only skin deep? What a novel idea, I had never heard or considered that before."

"Taylor..." His tone is equal parts stern and exasperated.

"Well." You lean back in your chair. "That's alright then."

"What?"

"If we're all the same, it doesn't matter whether you live in a white community or a black one, or one with a 50-50 mix. There's no difference at all, because we're all just people." You speak that final word with a sneer. "Which means that the Empire's quaint insistence on the former is just a harmless foible. They're not depriving anyone of anything, or getting any unfair advantages. There's no reason not to indulge them and let them form their own little community in peace, exactly as good as every other community.

"But that's not how the world works at all, is it?" You stand up and walk over to where you dropped your mask. "Can you tell me which part is wrong?"

"How do you think the world works, Taylor?" he asks wearily as bend down to pick it up.

"White people are like oil."

"And black people are like water?"

Well, yes actually - without agitation, the two will naturally separate. But that's not where you were going with this. You shake your head.

"Oil is a precious natural resource, without which society as we know it couldn't exist. If you look around, it becomes clear that someone being deprived of access to oil is considered a violation of their human rights."

You put the mask back on. His daughter was the villain all along.

"A paradox, until you realize that natural resources aren't people, and don't deserve human rights."

You walk out of what is no longer your home, and summon Fenrir (the agent assigned to watch the house startles and fumbles for his phone - he's going to get chewed out for falling asleep on duty later). You do your best to be angry about it, rather than sad. Dad if anyone ought to be on your side here! Does he not realize he'll get his stupid precious ferry back when Empire territory extends to encompass one of its terminals, and not a moment sooner?

Everyone knows the ferry, if started back up tomorrow, would instantly turn into a dolphin delivery service pointed straight at the good parts of town. And no one wants dolphins in the good parts of town. It's just that the Empire are the only people with the balls to say so out loud (though how they arrived at 'dolphins' as yet another euphemism for 'youths', you will never understand).

---

I curse under my breath as I run my fingers inside the back of my collar. I swear the shirt didn't chafe like this last time I wore it. Have I truly become the kind of prissy bitch that needs the tags removed from my clothing? Wait, there's something stuck in there.

Whatever it is comes away easily enough, and I bring it around to look at it. A plain white sticker, folded with a sharp crease to ensure that it digs into the skin, with 'MILD DISCOMFORT' written on it. I can't help but chuckle. That is funny. Whoever it was got me good.

---

When I enter the apartment, all lights are off. That's odd, Jim should be home by now. Did something happen? I flick the lights on, only to reveal 'MOMENTARY DISQUIET' written on the wall in several colors of crayon. Okay, I guess I know who messed with my shirt now, not that I didn't already suspect. But that had better come off with some scrubbing, or he gets to pay me back for the deposit.

"Jim?" I call out. "I already figured out that you're lurking behind a doorway waiting to jump out at me. Yes, I'm still going to twitch when it happens, but that's just an autonomic reaction. I hope that ruins the fun for you."

I make my way into the living room, doing my best to suppress any autonomous reactions, but no one jumps out at me. I don't slump in relief. I relax very slowly and subtly, in case I'm being observed by a smug prankster. I wasn't tense. I knew all along it wouldn't be that doorway. My hand does not tremble as I reach for the light switch.

'MOUNTING APPREHENSION' is written on the far wall. In blood. Fresh blood, still dripping. I admit it, I freeze up for several seconds, my mind reeling. That's- he- what's that on the floor, underneath? I make my way over, no longer trying to appear calm. If someone jumps out from behind the couch waving a machete, I'm screaming like a little girl and running away, no question about it.

...It's a blood bag, from the hospital. Left in plain sight as if to say 'don't worry bro, no murder involved.' But still. I mean, I know he pilfers the odd opiate to sell on the side, but stealing human blood? For a prank? That's just... too far, man.

I bend down to pick it up, then immediately curse myself. I don't want my prints on- The blood bag is full, the seal still intact. I glance up at the wall again. MOUNTING APPREHENSION.

---

I find Jim lying face down on our bed, fully clothed. I can't make out any injuries from where I'm standing, but the bed is positively soaked in blood. I, I don't think he's breathing? I know I should call the police, or at least run away, but I can't seem to move. I'm staring at the final message, bloody letters three feet high covering the entire wall. It reads 'NUMB TERROR'. I don't argue with it.

The door clicks shut behind me. I spin around to see a short figure dressed all in black, its face obscured by a grinning devil mask. Aiming a crossbow at me.

"I know what you did," it says. A female voice, young. I have time to read 'REGRET' written across her chest in white before she pulls the trigger.

===

Charms:
Taylor: All-Encompassing Sorcerer's Sight, ???
Tattletale: Know the Soul's Price
Bitch: Spirit-Tied Pet
Aegis: Ox-Body Technique
Browbeat: Shaping the Ideal Form
Dragon: Implicit Construction Methodology
Kid Win: Industry and Forge Wisdom
Lung: By Rage Recast
Vista: Mind-Hand Manipulation
Cricket: Mantis Form
Faultline: Charm of Lesser Unmaking
Labyrinth: Hell-Walker Technique
Othala: Verdant Emptiness Endowment
Rune: Sometimes Horses Fly Approach
Shadow Stalker: Bloodless Murk Evasion
Miss Militia: Nightmare Fugue Vigilance

Daniel Snuts · Aug 1, 2022

You never thought going to back to Hookwolf's dojo would feel nostalgic. It's only been what, three weeks? Three weeks and a previous life. Back then, Poltergeist didn't exist, and Taylor Hebert did.

Theo looks quite apprehensive at the venue you've chosen for your 'date'. "I don't-"

"Are you saying you don't need to get in shape?" you interrupt him before he can even start whining.

"...no."

You hustle him over to Hookwolf, who gives you a respectful nod before looking Theo up and down.

"This is Kaiser's kid?" he asks, sounding entirely unimpressed.

"Yeah. He needs to become less of a useless lump."

"Hm. He can't possibly be a worse student that you were," Hookwolf says philosophically. He has no idea how right he is. You didn't expect him to handle the training personally though - that treatment is usually reserved for capes. But you suppose it would be a strange empire that had no hereditary privileges.

Your purpose here is twofold. One: Skills can be blamed on prodigy, and charisma on growing the fuck up. But if the fat little boy suddenly becomes swole for no good reason, eyebrows would go up. Which is not to say that you're not going to be cheating like crazy on his behalf. His physical fitness and martial prowess is going to go up at an entirely unrealistic rate, but it's not as if he's going to be submitting to regular medical examinations. His gains will be superficially plausible.

Two: It's not enough that he becomes a worthy heir. He must be seen to become a worthy heir. He must be seen making an effort in that direction. And you must be seen browbeating him into doing so, or the soul price won't trigger.

It's a shame that you can't take advantage of the same power-based training regimen yourself. If you gave yourself this kind of boost you'd overdraw your potential for growth to the point that you'd never be able to learn anything useful for the rest of your life. So in Theo's case, there are no side effects.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaah!" A girly scream splits the air of the dojo. Turns out you were wrong on one point: Just because your cheats guarantee that Theo will learn, doesn't mean he's not a terrible student until they take effect. And Hookwolf just treated him the way he treats all terrible students.

You walk over to where Theo is lying on the ground, clutching his arm and crying. You poke him with a foot. "Get up, you pussy. You're making me look bad."

"P-pussy? He broke my arm!"

You sigh, roll your eyes, and hold out your right arm to Hookwolf. He breaks it. "Ngh. See? You're a pussy. Now get up." You poke him again. "Get up or I'll make it to Othala first."

You and Hookwolf watch as he scrambles to his feet and cringes off healer-wards.

"He could be just as bad as me?" you suggest.

"Heard you were an item," Hookwolf says.

"I guess."

"What do you even see in that guy?"

You shrug your left shoulder. "Guess you were right about me."

"How's that?"

"Turns out I love pussy after all."

Hookwolf laughs, and slaps you on the back - jarring your broken arm.

"Gah!"

"Sorry."

"Can I leave him with you? I've got a patrol to get to."

---

You don't like the atmosphere at the bar. Not the tension from the recent pressure everyone's been under. The other thing. Last week, Low Key was a bro. Thanks to Theo's little outburst, she's now also a slut. It's not like anyone quite says that to your face, but... But you don't like the atmosphere. Just because you recognize that you deserve the undercurrent of disapproval doesn't mean you like it.

At least it's not unanimous. There are those who reserve judgement pending your future actions ("Shotgun marriages are very traditional," Big Brain comments apropos nothing), and there's a strong correlation between pretending nothing happened and having been present when you charged out ahead of the mortals and got shot for your trouble.

Alex even deliberately steers the conversation towards 'known pedophiles in positions of power' shortly after you show up, directing all available outrage in the room towards degenerates far worse than you. All outrage, including yours! If they're known pedophiles, why - oh right, positions of power. A normally headline-hungry media suddenly becomes strangely reticent, and those who speak up have a tendency to get sued into the ground and/or die in completely unrelated accidents.

Hanging out with the rank and file has been shockingly good for your civics education in that way. Not always useful things - it's not like you bothered to memorize the name of MLK's speechwriter, even if you'd now ace a multiple-choice quiz on his ethnicity. But they regularly bring up government and (nominally) non-government organizations that you had no idea even existed - always in the context of the evils done by members of a certain tribe, but knowledge is knowledge. Good thing those people like three-letter acronyms, because they might have run out combinations by now if they'd stuck with two.

It's enough to make you hope that they're right, that jews are obscenely powerful and uniquely evil. Because if they're able to obtain these results by cherry-picking, the corruption is unimaginably worse. Regardless, you clearly need a government-to-prison pipeline! ("They had a special luxury prison built for the ones that get caught," Sven mentions) Or if that's how the game is played, you understand that Madagascar is lovely this time of year, and far too sparsely populated.

When you first heard such things, you were shocked and outraged. Corruption, in your government? America is supposed to be better than that! Oh, how naive you were. Thinking that the heroes were an exception among government agencies, rather than par for the course.

After a month you started rolling your eyes and mouthing 'of course' along with everyone else.

These days you have a growing conviction that the system is broken, reform is impossible, and the only way forward is to burn Washington to the ground and start over.

Well, of course reform is impossible, when you think about it. Every single corrupt official - and every unofficial power broker - has a strong incentive to ensure that he cannot be reformed out of a job. Even were they not conspiring together, the sheer magnitude of their separate efforts would still ensure that no democratic process could ever displace them.

Now that you've proven your mettle against the local heroes - now that your growing power is an undeniable fact - that thought is a lot more uncomfortable than it once was. Unlike anyone else in the room, it's possible that you could burn Washington to the ground, given another year or two. Which means that the question becomes whether you should.

---

Your patrol keeps being all trash, no heroes. At one point you spot Aegis - now back in one piece - but he makes no moves to test the border. Instead, he turns around and flies away the moment he spots you in turn. You give his retreating back a cheery wave, and Alabaster chuckles behind you. That part of your escape is more or less common knowledge.

Towards the end of the shift you spot something else. Vista is shadowing you again? How nostalgic. She's keeping her distance, so while her warping of space to cross between the rooftops stands out to sorcerer's sight like a beacon, you're too far away to see whether she's in costume or not.

The two of you have had peaceful interactions in the past, and it clearly didn't end her career. But given recent events you doubt that the heroes will be quite so forgiving going forward. On the other hand, also given recent events, it is extremely unlikely that they would send a Ward alone against you. Maybe she is here to talk. And Aegis was attempting to shadow her again? Nostalgic indeed.

A whispered consultation with Fenrir reveals that he doesn't sense any other capes nearby either. You finish your patrol as if nothing was happening. But after dropping off Alabaster, you guide Fenrir towards a nearby rooftop, one with an AC unit large enough for him to hide behind.

When Vista walks past it a little later, his jaws close around her torso. She flinches back (in vain), but does not cry out. Her movement does cause her to drop the cardboard box that she was carrying. You can make out a faint glow of tinker-tech coming from inside. It's... not a bomb, you're pretty sure, but you back up a bit regardless.

Fenrir doesn't bite down, but he exerts enough pressure to make sure she isn't going anywhere.

"I'm here to talk," Vista says. Her voice is calm and she does not struggle. That she willingly walked into your painfully obvious ambush lends credence to her words. She is also wearing civvies and a domino rather than her costume, like back in the old days.

You can't help but admire her poise, stuck in the wolf's jaws like that. Who knew that the biggest brass balls in the city belonged to a twelve year old girl? Given that the last time you interacted with a Ward... well, Aegis is fine. You very deliberately did no permanent damage. But the optics were bad, as they say.

"Then talk, hero," you say, using something slightly sharper than your usual 'friend' voice. "How was your day? Kidnapped any babies lately?"

"I had nothing to do with that!"

"It's funny, isn't?" you continue as if she hadn't spoken. "A hero gets outed, and villains join in the effort to track down the culprit. A villain gets outed, and the heroes kidnap her children. It's almost as if-"

"-as if there is no such thing as honor or justice, only power and fear," Vista echoes the thesis you put forth during one of your past conversations, her voice bitter.

"And you lot have the government monopoly on violence - well, not so much on a tactical level, which is why Aster is back with her family. But the strategic-level threat ensures that there will be no comeuppance, no matter how well deserved." You gesture to Fenrir to let her go. He remains standing next to her, though, too close for her to use her power to gain distance.

Vista does not respond to your words immediately, her mouth set in a thin line. To her credit, her soul price has changed since last you saw her. She no longer considers the respect of her peers desirable.

Vista wants Gallant-sempai to notice her.

You can't resist rolling your eyes at that. Because that fucked-up love triangle really needed another leg. Panacea wants to turn Glory Girl into an incestuous lesbian. Glory Girl wants to turn Gallant into a good boyfriend. And now Vista wants to turn Gallant into a pedophile. You let out a long, tired sigh.

"Are, are you alright?" Vista asks.

Oh, it's pity that brought her here? Did she catch your performance at the Rig? "How could I not be alright, with such wonderful heroes protecting us?" Not being sure how much she knows, you leave your answer open to interpretation.

Vista licks her lips. "They told me, um, they told me you were..."

So they know. Not surprising really, you no doubt left DNA evidence at the scene. "I'm fine," you say. "It was dealt with." You avoid phrasing it as 'I dealt with it', since 'it' involves three murders and you are technically conversing with an officer of the law.

"But-"

"We are not having this conversation, hero."

Vista hesitates briefly, but agrees to change the subject: "I brought your school books," she says. She indicates the cardboard box. "I went around to all your classes and wrote down your assignments for the week, too. I knew you wouldn't come to school-"

"Because you guys were breaking the unwritten rules within minutes of the news dropping and trying to arrest me in class?" you interrupt. Vista doesn't try to deny it. "Imagine that."

"Yeah... Look, I'm trying to help-"

You pull off your mask, and gesture to your face. Everyone already knows what you look like anyway.

"Do I look retarded?" you demand.

"What? No? Wh-"

"Because why else would you expect me to accept a box full of tracking devices?"

"There's no tracking devices in there!"

"Would you bet a thousand dollars on that?"

"Yes!"

"You're on." You walk up to her and carefully flip open the lid of the box, revealing what's inside. You have to fight to keep your face under control at what you see (should have put your mask back on). That's a lot of effort to go to to catch one little villain. Armsmaster must have taken your escape personally.

"See?" Vista demands, lacking sorcerer's sight. "Just books. I packed them myself."

"Riiight..." You draw your (regular, non-orichalcum) knife and gingerly grab the topmost book. (Vista takes a step backwards when you go for the knife, then steps forward again when Fenrir's nose nudges her in the back)

You carefully slit the spine of the book open, then make a show of examining it carefully. There's nothing there, you knew that already. You put it back and pick up another, repeat the process.

Vista has her arms crossed and is tapping her foot impatiently by the time you finally eviscerate the bugged book.

"Packed it yourself, did you?" you ask, holding it up to her. There's a slim antenna running the length of the spine, terminating in a small chip. "And you never left your luggage unattended where some nefarious Tinker could get at it, right?"

Vista's face falls with what you judge is genuine surprise. She seems to be debating what to say for a few moments, before something distressing occurs to her.

"I don't have a thousand dollars."

"I guess you'll have to owe me." You put the book back in the box. Rather than sheathe your knife again, you drop it on the ground. "If it makes you feel any better, he probably went behind your back out of concern over your acting ability."

"How is that supposed to make me feel better?"

You shrug, careful to keep your hands away from your body. "It's not a 'Santa Claus is real' situation. They know you're not an innocent kid to be kept in the dark now. You didn't resign when you found out about the kidnapping, after all."

Vista shifts uncomfortably. "I thought about it. But I still want to make a difference."

"Fight the good fight?" you scoff. "I would want to fight against people who act like that. And what do you know, I do."

"Are you trying to recruit me?"

You shrug again. "There are worse career moves. I mean, the Protectorate knows who you are, but that doesn't make you any worse off than the rest of us, now."

"The Empire is collapsing!"

"Is that what they're telling you? Oh, I admit things have been a bit hectic lately. Blood in the water, a lot of stupid opportunists gunning for us even after you guys gave up." You nod towards her. "But what's really happening? Outing us made it so that the only career we can ever pursue is that of full-time Empire cape, and you think that makes the Empire weaker?

"Hell, by going after Aster you geniuses not only brought Purity's faction firmly back into the fold, you even managed to give up the moral high ground to the only ethnicity people are allowed to hate. Our public support has never been higher. Once we weather the current storm, we'll be stronger than ever. Better sign up quickly, while you can still negotiate favorable terms."

"I'm not becoming a nazi," Vista says firmly.

"Suit yourself." In the end, you don't really care where she ends up - you already have her power. It's just that Vista seems to be a genuinely good person. She doesn't belong in the Wards. You don't know where she does, though.

Vista seems to be having similar thoughts. "I was thinking about New Wave," she says.

You suck your breath in between your teeth, shaking your head ruefully. "You probably shouldn't ask Brandish about New Wave's policy on kidnapping children. Bad for your health."

"No." You're not sure whether she's accusing you of lying, or lamenting the state of the world. Judging by her expression, she isn't sure either.

"You didn't hear that from me," you tell her. "I know zero dangerous secrets."

Vista doesn't say anything else. She mechanically bends down and picks up the box of books, then walks away. Fenrir moves aside and lets her go.

"See you around, hero."

Once she's gone, you carefully peel off your right glove and get out your BITN phone.

"What's up, boss?" Aisha answers.

"I need some cotton."

"You fucking with me, cracker?"

"What? Oh. No, I genuinely need some cotton. Or something similar. Enough to stuff a teddy bear, give or take. Oh, and some string, and a pair of rubber gloves. Leave it outside the old lair."

"...yeah, I got nuffin'. Can I stick around and watch what the hell is going on?"

"No, it's too dangerous." The last thing you need is something tying Imp to Low Key. "Don't buy the stuff from anywhere near either of the new lairs," you add.

"Heh. Buy, she says."

"Don't shoplift it from anywhere near there, either. And tell G that the old lair is definitely compromised, and never go back there."

Vista drops a cardboard box in front of me. Emphasis on drops. She holds it out in front of her and lets it fall to the floor.

"Reporting mission failure," she says. Her voice is tight with anger, but controlled.

"You had a mission?" As soon as the words leave my mouth, I wonder why I bothered. The cat is clearly out of the bag.

"It was news to me as well, sir," Vista bites out. "But Low Key is a lot smarter than me. She figured it out right away."

I go down on one knee and open the box. The books have had their spines cut open. Low Key really is canny. But I'm not going to lose a second time.

"She did this?" I ask, holding up a damaged book. Vista nods, still scowling. "As long as she handled the books, that's fine. There'll be enough tracking nanites on her hands to find her easily."

"Tracking what?"

"Nanites. Machines too small to see with the naked eye. Close your eyes. You'll have gotten some on you from handling the box." I spray us both - and the box itself - down with nanite disabler. "There. Now the highest concentration in the city should be on Low Key's hands."

"She was wearing gloves," Vista says. I frown at her defiant tone. Is she taking the villain's side in this?

"I accounted for her costume, of course. They will stick to leather just as readily as flesh. If nothing else, we will find out where she keeps her costume. However it is highly likely that, in the process of removing it, she will have transferred a sufficient amount of nanites to her skin."

♦Topic: Why I left the Wards, in pictures
In: Boards ► Places ► America ► Brockton Bay

Vista (Original Poster) (Verified Cape) (Wards ENE)
Posted on May 11, 2011:

(Showing Page 1 of 17)

► rrqn
Replied on May 11, 2011:
wut?

► long_distance_chef
Replied on May 11, 2011:
Even without context, I can appreciate the swagger.

► PrinnyDood
Replied on May 11, 2011:
Easily one of the top 5 resignation letters I've ever seen.

► Reave (Verified PRT Agent)
Replied on May 11, 2011:
That's technically a classified document, you should probably take it down.

► Vista (Verified Cape) (Wards ENE)
Replied on May 11, 2011:
@Reave

Daniel Snuts · Aug 2, 2022

Fenrir returns from his scouting mission, and gives you a nod. It's not a trap.

"Let's go," you say. You don't tell Ghost or Imp that's it's safe, because it's not like BITN has any Thinkers that could know that, and a certain wariness adds verisimilitude. Who wouldn't be wary, when an unidentified person contacts them on PHO and requests a meeting in the bad part of town?

Poltergeist can't be seen playing twenty questions with someone invisible, so details beyond trap/not trap are left for you to discover on your own. That too is verisimilitude, you suppose. Waiting for you at the agreed meeting spot is one parahuman, female, dressed like a sad clown. No, really. A clown costume all in black and white, clown makeup likewise, except for a bright red teardrop under one eye.

"Circus," you say, tipping your head in greeting. "What business have you with BITN?" This is where knowing the entire local cape population by heart comes in handy. Astonishingly, her power doesn't register as active to sorcerer's sight. If you had enhanced reflexes and balance (that didn't force you to drop into a highly conspicuous and recognizable martial arts form) you'd be keeping them running at all times.

"Was wondering if you were recruiting, by any chance." Ah, that's why she's unusually monochromatic today: She's trying to fit your theme.

"Solo career not working out?" you ask.

She shrugs. "I've been doing well enough, but it's always better if you have someone to watch your back. There just weren't any local teams I'd fit into."

"Until we came along, huh?" Imp says.

Circus flashes a smile at her. "A bunch of sassy girls, robbing a bank on their first outing, and getting away clean? That's my jam, alright."

"Hm," you hum. You pull out your BITN phone and select the only contact not already present. You hold out one hand to Circus to forestall further discussion as you wait for said contact to pick up. Meanwhile, soul price!

Circus wants that one last big score, enough to retire on.

"Tattletale! How's my favorite information broker?" You can't see her power working over the phone, but you trust her to figure out what it means that you used her cape name. Risk of non-friendly people overhearing.

"What do you want, Poltergeist?" Yep, she's figured everything out.

"Tell me about Circus."

"Anything in particular about her?"

"Is she any good, for starters? I seem to recall that you hired her for the Forsberg job, and that didn't work out so well." Aisha growls a bit at the reminder and adopts a less friendly stance towards Circus, pointlessly giving clues about her identity like the rank amateur she is. Circus does not noticeably react to it, nor to you questioning her abilities.

"Ah, you're looking for references." Lisa says. "Did she give you a CV? 'Circus is a highly skilled and dependable contractor. She loves pancakes and long walks on the beach?' Well, she is. The Forsberg thing wasn't really her fault."

"Thank you," you say, your mind racing. So, it was a trap after all. Okay, so what are your objectives in light of this information? One, steal her power. Two, keep her out of BITN without making Pancakes suspicious.

"Tattletale speaks well of you," you say. "You'd need a new name, though. A circus doesn't exactly go bump in the night."

"Killer Clown," Aisha suggests. "That way she can keep the costume."

"Very well," Circus says, and your eyebrows shoot up behind your mask. She is very loyal to her employer.

"I would not be adverse to letting you join-"

"Great! I-"

"-provided you pass the tests."

"Tests?"

"Of course. Can't let you join unless you pass a test devised by each member. Think of it like joining the Slaughterhouse 9, except with more fun and games, less death and mutilation. The Laughterhouse 9, if you will. ...hm, that works better in writing, doesn't it?"

Circus does indeed appear to be quite the professional, because she takes this too in stride. "Very well."

"For your first test... The floor is lava."

That finally manages to break her composure. "Seriously?"

"Oh my god, how can you just stand there!?" Imp cries, instantly getting into the correct spirit without any prompting from you. "Can't you feel your shoes melting? The floor is lava!"

Circus grudgingly jumps up to cling onto a nearby lamppost. "Now what?" she asks.

"I think we're out of milk," you say. "Let's go buy some milk."

---

Watching Circus procure milk is a treat for the eyes - and would be even without sorcerer's sight, you suspect. She puts her enhanced balance to good use as she leaps from shelf to shelf towards the dairy aisle. Landing right on the edge of the cold storage compartment, she snags one foot through the handle of a milk jug before performing a backflip back onto the shelves. The jug goes flying as a result, almost brushing against the ceiling before falling back into her waiting hands.

"The shelves are lava too," you remark, and she quickly leaps off to land in an innocent bystander's shopping cart, surfing it all the way to the checkout.

The clerk seems to have trouble processing what's going on as Circus crouches on the conveyor to pay for her purchase, and stutters a bit on the company-mandated "have a nice day". But who's really going to complain, when four masked villains show up to not rob your store?

Because you've planned ahead, you have a spare lair to lead her back to, amidst much acrobatics and hilarity. You're going through real estate at a ridiculous rate, but it's better than letting your real lair turn into an IHOP. And money not spent is money wasted.

"Oh dear," you say as you deposit the milk in the fridge, "it looks like we're out of bread too."

Circus - who just ran up four flights of stairs along the banisters - slumps in defeat as she realizes how the rest of her day is going to go.

---

Circus lies flat on your kitchen table, panting for breath. For the last flight of stairs you declared banisters lava as well, so she had to ascend by repeatedly kicking off the walls of the stairwell.

"Weren't kidding... about being... Laughterhouse 9," she manages between breaths. "We done?"

"It hasn't been nearly 24 hours," you say. That's roughly how long it'll take you to gain her power, you estimate.

"...Jesus."

"Lava cools pretty slowly, you know" Aisha adds helpfully.

You give Circus a couple of minutes to recover, because you're merciful like that. But mostly because you need to duck out and call Ops to take the evening off.

"Got some business out of town I need to take care of," you tell them, because why not hit two birds with one stone? Clearly, this must have been when Low Key went to Vegas.

---

"What's with the Laughterhouse thing?" Aisha asks quietly, 5 hours in. You guess that's how long it took for your prank to stop being funny. "Didn't do that to us."

"What does your brand new smarts tell you?"

"Well, you're... I mean, you're obviously stealing her acrobatics power, right? Right. Which... means you're not going to let her join? But- ah shit you're a loyalty Thinker."

"Yeah, she's a spy," you confirm. It's funny, she literally saw you call Tattletale and she's still attributing your knowledge to your Thinker powers. Full marks otherwise, though. "Can't let on that we know, so your job will be to make a trial she'll fail."

"You can count on me, boss!"

---

The other members of BITN eventually beg off - unlike you they still need to sleep occasionally - and you keep going alone. You have to hand it to Circus, she's in way better shape than you are. If you had to abide by the same rules, you'd have collapsed long ago, but Circus keeps going all night long. It's a goddamn shame she's already a pancake person, because you certainly wouldn't mind an employee this reliable.

By the time dawn breaks you're well outside the city, with you walking on the side of the road, and her atop the power lines. Your creativity ran dry a while ago, so you just settled for something that would take a long time.

"Let's head back," you say eventually. "The others will be waking up soon." Circus doesn't respond, and keeps walking along the power line. "Hey. Hey? Hey!" Still no response, she just keeps walking.

You sprint after her. "Ragequitting? You realize that you need to get back to town anyway, right?" I'd be a shame to lose out on her power, but getting her to quit on her own is a good consolation prize. But as you overtake her and look up at her face, you realize what's going on. Her head dangles forward, lolling from side to side with each step. Her eyes are closed, her mouth open. A small rivulet of drool is smudging her clown makeup. She's fast asleep.

But clearly her balance power doesn't shut down just because the rest of her does, because she's still upright, still walking along. The flesh may be weak, but the spirit is awfully willing.

"Circus!" Ah, no, you can't shout so good with Poltergeist's voice. You poke her with a mind-hand instead.

"Bwuh!?" She jumps in place, but doesn't fall down.

"I said, let's start heading back."

"Okay."

She falls asleep again in less than a minute, but walking in the correct direction this time. You don't complain. She doesn't need to be awake for you to study her power.

She turns out be a very grouchy morning person once you get back to the city and she wakes up properly. Or maybe that's because of the contortions you have her go through to buy a coffee.

---

"It's been 24 hours," Circus complains.

"Not according to my watch," you counter.

"You're not wearing a watch!"

"Watches are also lava."

---

Aaaand there it is. Supernatural balance get. You turn it on right away - it's not permanent, despite her stunt with the sleepwalking - but don't notice much of a difference. Well, you are sitting down, not much call for balance right now. You'll test out applications more extreme than 'don't fall off the couch' later, with fewer spies around.

"Okay, the floor isn't lava anymore," you say, and Circus - who had been keeping off the ground by wedging herself into the corner between two walls and the ceiling - drops to the floor with a sigh of relief. "Congratulations, you passed the first test. Imp, you're up next."

"Alright!" Aisha jumps to her feet and turns to face Circus. "The Bootleggers are playing tonight, you have to streak across the entire field without getting caught."

"What?" Circus' voice is perhaps a little bit high-pitched and strangled.

"Oh, you can keep your makeup on. Wear a mask, even. I'm not trying to out you or anything. But below the neck? Zilch. Show those bootleggers a real booty legging it across the pitch!"

"I'm not doing that!"

Aisha just shrugs and sits down again. "Okay. Bye."

"...what?"

"You failed my test."

Circus stands there for a few moments before turning towards you, as if to appeal the decision. You just give her a tiny condescending wave. "Bye."

"After all that..." Circus mutters to herself. Her fingers twitch, as if she's contemplating pulling weapons from her personal hammerspace, or possibly throwing fireballs around (she's the most eclectic grab-bag cape you've ever seen outside a mirror). Ghost leans forward from where she was sprawled on the couch, getting her feet under her, ready to spring into action. You manifest a mind-hand to grab a pen from the table - nothing threatening, just a reminder that no one here isn't a living weapon.

After a few tense seconds, Circus holds up her empty palms. "I'll go," she says.

"Good luck finding another team," you say.

She nods stiffly, and leaves.

There's a note in the palm of your hand. It reads 'stay'. There's two notes in your hand. The second one reads 'silence'. Okay. You don't think you had anywhere in particular you needed to go right now, anyway. You are curious about the notes, though. You know you can trust them, but you have no idea where they're from. And there's no way you wouldn't try to figure out a mystery like this - so the fact that you don't remember doing that is very telling. There must be one hell of a shenanigan taking place.

You remain in place, and silent, until Aisha shows up and things make sense again.

"She really left," Aisha says, "didn't try to circle around to spy on us or anything."

Ghost stands up and stretches. "Let's go back to the real lair then," she suggests. "This couch is nowhere near as comfy."

"Yeah, let's." Aisha nods in approval, then turns to look at you. "Super acrobatics powers?" she asks.

"Super balance powers," you correct her. "The jumping around was all muscle-powered."

"Show us?"

You shrug, and place the pen you were still absently holding in your mind-hand upright on the floor. Then you jump on top of it. In mid-air, you realize just how preposterous an action that is. No matter how good your balance, what should happen is that the pen breaks under your weight, or spears straight through your foot, or some combination of both. Instead, neither happens, and you end up balancing atop it with no discomfort whatsoever. Power instincts, huh.

"That makes no sense," Ghost says, having picked up on the same anomalous physics you just did. "Circus couldn't do that."

"You know my powers mutate a bit from the originals," you say with a shrug. Then Aisha tries to push you off your perch, and you somehow manage to bend around it without falling.

"This is so dumb," Aisha says as she tries pushing you again, with no more success than the first time. "I love it."

You don't know who looks dumber, you for balancing with one leg drawn up and twisting around your inexplicably static center of gravity, or Aisha for repeatedly failing to push you over - but you love it too. You'll call it 'graceful crane stance', you decide. But you feel instinctively that you haven't plumbed the true depths of the 'balancing on fragile things' bullshit you're now capable of. You use a mind-hand to pluck single hair from your head, and hold it out to Aisha. "Here, hold this up for me."

"No way!"

===

Exalted learning times are denoted in days, and assume 8 hours of training/studying per day. You can't go faster by working harder than that - your brain needs some free time too! Of course, that's assuming 8 hours wasted on sleep.

I don't think it specifies anywhere, but I take the underlying rule to be 'half your awake time can be spent training', so Taylor can now do 12 hours of training and 12 hours of relaxing - improving her power acquisition speed by 50%, given a captive audience.

In this case, the DM lets her stunt the two 12-hour training passes of two consecutive days as being back to back, for a 24 hour marathon.

Charms:
Taylor: All-Encompassing Sorcerer's Sight, Terrestrial Circle Sorcery
Tattletale: Know the Soul's Price
Bitch: Spirit-Tied Pet
Aegis: Ox-Body Technique
Browbeat: Shaping the Ideal Form
Dragon: Implicit Construction Methodology
Kid Win: Industry and Forge Wisdom
Lung: By Rage Recast
Vista: Mind-Hand Manipulation
Cricket: Mantis Form
Faultline: Charm of Lesser Unmaking
Labyrinth: Hell-Walker Technique
Othala: Verdant Emptiness Endowment
Rune: Sometimes Horses Fly Approach
Shadow Stalker: Bloodless Murk Evasion
Miss Militia: Nightmare Fugue Vigilance
Circus: Graceful Crane Stance

Daniel Snuts · Aug 3, 2022

You were going to spend yet another evening hammering worthiness into the worthless (aka a date with Theo), but you were interrupted by a note mysteriously appearing in your hand, telling you to do something else. Thank you, mysterious note!

...you have this nagging feeling that you know where the notes are coming from. Conclusion: You used a memory-wiping Master power on yourself to forget where they're coming from, and also that you had this power. You try not to think about it too hard, because that would defeat the point of doing that in the first place. You're sure you had good reasons.

Anyway, the note directs you to a nondescript building that's just far enough from the Boardwalk to trade a bit of safety for a bit of affordability. Further directions have you climb up the fire escape to the fourth floor. As promised, someone has left a camera there for you.

It looks brand new, and incredibly expensive. You know the notes would never steer you wrong, of course, but you're amazed that whatever force is behind them can afford to leave something like this just lying around. The telescopic lens is powerful enough that it has the same warning pictograms as a real telescope: 'Do not point directly at the sun.' 'Do not point directly at the Simurgh.'

You remember the study that led to that second one being adopted: 'Trends in all-causes mortality among amateur astronomers before and after 2003.' Mostly because it completely ruined Christmas when mom suddenly went back on her promise to buy you a telescope, and no amount of reasonable explanations or stupid bird ladies in orbit were going to prevent you from throwing a proper tantrum over it.

Or not-quite-orbit, whatever. You hear (as opposed to 'you understand') that orbits are fiddly things, and you can only do them at very specific speeds/height/shapes. And apparently the Simurgh always goes either slightly too fast or slightly too slow for it to count as a proper orbit, and never by the same amount. The 'how' is easy enough - telekinesis, duh - but no one knows 'why'.

Well, there was that one guy who claimed to have figured out why, it made national headlines a year or two back. Judging by the way he felt it necessary to write out the equations using the viscera of his wife and children, he was probably right.

Luckily the cop who responded to the disturbance was a high-school dropout who didn't know the first thing about algebra, and shot the astronomer dead on the spot when he started trying to explain it. Since the corpse was white, it was quickly and uncontroversially ruled to be justifiable self-defense.

Of course there is approximately zero chance that the equations aren't sitting around in a bunker somewhere, waiting for someone to figure out a way to weaponize them. So saying that 'no one knows' isn't entirely accurate - the knowledge is out there, even if it does not currently reside in any human brain.

You're woolgathering, because you have nothing to do right now. The note said to wait until someone appears in the apartment across the street, then start taking pictures. And to keep taking pictures for one minute after they've left? Well, you do not question the notes.

The apartment itself is nothing special. Simple furniture with no particular theme, and some tasteful, understated decorations that look like they where all bought from the same 'tasteful and understated decorations' aisle at the flat-pack furniture store. Someone wanted to give his home a bit of character, and was relieved to discover that the forces of capitalism had his back when he didn't know where to begin.

When someone finally shows up, it is not who you expected.

"I have a nemesis now," Aisha tells you.

"Yeah?"

She nods. "Armsmaster. He's in charge of the Rig - he built the defenses - and he lets people just waltz in and murder his prisoners? I'm going to destroy him."

While you are, for unrelated reasons, happy that the Rig didn't have better defenses, you agree with the fundamental premise. By rendering Grue defenseless, Armsmaster implicitly made himself responsible for his wellbeing. And he handled that about as well as... as well as Aisha handled the first time she was put in charge of your wellbeing?

You're not so tactless as to say that out loud, however. Water under the bridge, minion under your command, etc. "Challenging. Just. I approve," you say instead.

She beams at that. "I have a plan, it's gonna be great! But, uh, I could use your help. You're a Tinker, right?"

You shake your head. "I'm all out of orichalcum. You can afford to have Toybox build you-"

"No, I don't need anything built, I just need the plans. Blueprints. Something that he would want to look at, that could lure him out and distract him. I figure it takes a real Tinker to fake that convincingly."

"Okay, sure. I can whip up some Armsmaster bait no probl-"

"Yes! This shall henceforth be known as Operation Armsmaster Bait!" Aisha jumps up from the couch and does a little celebratory dance, repeating the words 'Armsmaster Bait' over and over while you bury your face in your hands.

It takes you an embarrassingly long time to recognize him. The beard would probably have tipped other people off, but you barely look at parahumans' faces even when they're not masked, instead identifying them by their powers. And every time you've seen this guy before, his power was almost entirely drowned out by a Christmas tree of tinkertech.

Yeah, it's Armsmaster. In civvies. Rumpled shirt contrasting with well-ironed slacks, no tie. You feel no remorse whatsoever about raising the camera and starting to snap pictures.

From your vantage point you can see into the kitchen and the living room. Armsmaster looks around the former first, and nods to himself as he spots a stack of papers on the kitchen table, but he walks over to make sure the latter is empty before sitting down to read. He doesn't look out the windows.

You keep snapping pictures. Is it just you, or is something about those diagrams strangely familiar?

"Here." You present Aisha with the fruits of your labor: A stack of papers full of diagrams and schematics. Unordered and only haphazardly labelled (and with some pages 'missing'), but a decent Tinker who knew what he was looking at would be able to piece together 'Smith's notes on orichalcum lasers' with some effort. You even went to the trouble of tracking down Funny Jim again and having him do the annotations for that extra verisimilitude.

"Armsmaster bait?" she asks

"Armsmaster bait," you agree with a sigh. "The best bait."

"Uh huh. Yep. This looks like the good stuff all right." You're pretty sure she's holding the page upside down on purpose, as a joke. Very funny, ha ha, but you do kind of want her to acknowledge just how good the stuff is.

"It's not even fake," you tell her. "It works. In theory. It's unorthodox, and clever and intricate and so ridiculously far from cost-efficient that no one would ever get the budget approved to build it even if they could somehow source the materials, which they can't. It's completely useless to him, yet I guarantee he won't be able to put it down. It's goddamn Tinker catnip, is what it is."

"You mean it's hardcore Tinker porn," Aisha corrects you. "For the Armsmaster bait." You give her the response that deserves, which is to say you flick her on the nose with a mind-hand.

Armsmaster, well, fidgets like a motherfucker as he reads. You wouldn't have pegged him as the type. But he keeps adjusting his position, and moving his hands about. At one point he even stands up, then shifts uncomfortably for a while before sitting down in a different chair.

Whatever was bothering him about the chairs, he eventually gets fed up with it. Grabbing the papers, he makes his way over to the living room where he sprawls down on the couch in a very undignified manner. It doesn't look very comfortable either, and there's something weird about the way he's holding the papers out in front of him.

After another few minutes he gets up again, and returns to the kitchen. But instead of sitting down again, he just puts the papers back on the table and leaves. In accordance with your instructions you keep taking pictures of the empty apartment. Feels pointless, but whatever.

More or less a minute later, your phone vibrates. It's Aisha. Oh yeah, Aisha is a person who exists. You know where the notes are coming from again.

"Did you get it?" Aisha asks excitedly.

"Pretty sure I did," you say. "Uh, what exactly did I get?" Aisha just giggles in response. Well, you can figure that one out on your own. Unintuitive camera UIs are as nothing before industry and forge wisdom, and you quickly figure out how to go back and view the pictures you've taken.

So, there's Armsmaster in the apartment. There he is sitting down for the first time. And there's Aisha coming up behind him (also in civvies, her typical 'hooker, but underage' look). He takes some kind of device out of his pocket? You don't remember that? Ah, the next photo is Aisha gently taking it out of his hands. One photo of him looking briefly confused, before going back to reading.

"What was that you took from him?" you ask.

"Camera. Couldn't let him do that. HangonIjusthadthebestidea! Get your wolf to track him! I need to know where he lives!"

"Don't get yourself arrested," you say sternly. You would have to take measures if she was taken into custody.

"No no no, I'm just going to give him his camera back," Aisha assures you, barely holding back laughter. "Hang on, I need to set things up. Call you back?"

You are not exactly reassured. But you kinda want to see where this is going, and it's not as if Fenrir has anything better to do right now, and you can always not tell her if she doesn't give you a proper explanation first. You make your way down to street level where Fenrir is waiting for you (invisibly, of course), and give him his instructions. Armsmaster will be long gone, but the papers should have caught enough of his scent.

Aisha calls you back almost as soon as you finish. "Are you looking at the pictures? Keep looking."

Ah. With the camera taken care of, the next series of pictures follow a theme, of Aisha carefully kneeling down and posing the two of them so that it is very apparent that her face is pressed against his crotch, but enough is obscured that it's impossible to say what else is going on down there. Not all angles work out perfectly, but there are enough that do.

"Nice," you tell her.

Then you move on to the next picture, and freeze. Wow. She'd go that far that in the name of revenge? You admire her dedication, but you get the feeling that Brian would not approve. Oh yeah, he very much would not approve, you discover as you keep scrolling.

Then they move on to the couch. Once again Armsmaster's lower body is obscured, but the naked girl on top of him is quite visible. She was making him hold the papers against her chest, you realize. But of course the papers are not visible from this angle, making it look like his hands are being used for a different purpose entirely.

The reason you were made to keep taking pictures after Armsmaster left is finally revealed, as you find several beautiful shots of Aisha crying on the couch before gathering up her clothes and leaving.

"Someone is going to become famous," you remark.

Aisha's giggling evolved into full-blown evil laughter as you scrolled through the images and made various little remarks and exclamations. "I can't wait to see them myself," she says. "Come on. I got a shot of him talking to my 'pimp' beforehand, but I want you to get some of us walking off together too, with me looking all sad 'n shit."

"Alright." Before you put the camera down, you scroll back to your favorite image of the set and just savor it for a moment: Armsmaster smelling his fingers and looking confused as all hell. You won't be releasing that one - his expression would rather give the game away - but it's definitely getting printed out and put on the wall in your lair.

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■

♦Topic: The allegations against Armsmaster
In: Boards ► Places ► America ► Brockton Bay

Thus Spaketh (Original Poster) Posted on May 12, 2011:

Since at least three threads have been deleted so far, let's begin with some ground rules:

DO NOT POST ANY OF THE PICTURES

NO, NOT EVEN THE 'SAFE' ONES

DO NOT TALK ABOUT SECRET IDENTITIES

Got that? Good.

So, how deep a pit do you think they'll bury him in?

(Showing Page 5 of 22)

► ReadyRoom
Replied on May 12, 2011:
I liked the last thread title better.

► Syzygy
Replied on May 12, 2011:
I vote the next thread title should be 'Armsmaster investigates underage prostitution ring'

► will_eat_anything
Replied on May 12, 2011:
Next thread title: armsmaster gets his halberd looked at

► Inappropriate Crochet
Replied on May 12, 2011:
New cape in Brockton Bay, codename Jailbait

► federal_bureau_of_meat
Replied on May 13, 2011:
Bait status: Taken

► a piece of string
Replied on May 13, 2011:
Be honest. Wouldn't you?

► Reave (Verified PRT Agent)
Replied on May 13, 2011:
Armsmaster just checked himself into MS containment.

► long_distance_chef
Replied on May 13, 2011:
the old 'a master made me do it' defense, huh

► Pointy Hat Fancier
Replied on May 13, 2011:
A bold move, cotton. Let's see if it pays off.

► will_eat_anything
Replied on May 13, 2011:
Next thread title: a master made him do it

End of Page. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 ... 20 , 21, 22

Daniel Snuts · Aug 4, 2022

Date: 5/13 2011
Location: M/S Containment Room 1, Protectorate ENE Headquarters "The Rig"
Subject: Colin Wallis a.k.a. Armsmaster, Leader Protectorate ENE (A)
Interviewer: Emily Piggot, Director PRT ENE (P)
P: Tell me what happened yesterday.
A: Only yesterday? There were events leading up to it that-
P: Start at the beginning, then.
A: On the tenth of May, I received an email from an unidentified source-
P: On your Protectorate account?
A: A private account.
P: They contacted your civilian identity?
A: No, an anonymous account.
P: How did they know to contact this account?
A: I'll come back to that.
P: Very well. Continue.
A: They claimed to have come into possession of Tinker schematics by Smith, and offered to sell them to me.
P: And this 'Smith' would be?
A: They didn't specify, but I assumed - and was later proven correct - that they were referring to the latest Tinker. The third to take that name, I think, if you want to look him up.
P: Ah, yes. The gold Tinker. I remember. He contacted you with that ridiculous proposal of his.
A: Yes. I suspect that my contact details were among the documents that were obtained from Smith.
P: Stolen, you mean.
A: In all likelihood, yes.
P: According to your report on the matter, your only communication with Smith was over official channels. Why did you later contact him using an anonymous account?
A: Can I plead the fifth?
P: Not in M/S containment, no. As you well know. Besides, you will be turning this email account over to our investigators regardless. So that they may verify that you were in fact attempting to buy schematics, and not... other services.
A: ...yes.
P: Will they find anything objectionable there, aside from purchasing stolen goods and procurement of unapproved tinkertech?
A: ...no.
P: Very well. So, you agreed to buy the schematics?
A: Not quite. They demanded an outrageous price for the documents, but I was eventually able to negotiate a deal where I would get to examine them before they sold them to someone else. I was given an address, 52 Mercer street, Apartment 402.
P: Where the pictures were taken.
A: Yes. And a time, five o'clock on the twelfth of May. I kept the appointment.
P: You showed up in civilian clothes?
A: That was the deal.
P: You weren't worried about it being a trap?
A: I, ah, I arranged the evening's patrol routes so that there would always be backup within a few blocks while I was there. Anyway, a man on the street outside let me into the building, and led me to the apartment. I can provide his description-
P: Later.
A: Very well. He never spoke, merely gestured towards the kitchen once we were inside the apartment. I followed his direction, and found the documents on the kitchen table.
P: Did he follow you into the kitchen?
A: No, he remained by the door.
P: Was there anyone else present in the apartment?
A: I... I remember doing a sweep of the apartment, and not finding anyone.
P: What did you do next?
A: I sat down at the table and examined the documents.
P: Were they genuine?
A: Yes. I recognized the handwriting. And the design was brilliant! Only someone intimately familiar with the subtler properties of orichalcum could have come up with it.
P: What made you stop reading?
A: As far as I know, I never did.
P: You do not remember any of the... events depicted?
A: No. I remember finding the chair uncomfortable. I got up and tried a different chair. It didn't help, so I moved to the couch in the living room. I didn't find that very comfortable either. But at no point did I leave the documents behind.
P: Or at least, you do not remember doing so.
A: True. As far as I could tell, I finished studying the schematics, paid the agreed-upon fee and left without incident.
P: You merely studied the documents? You didn't attempt to make copies?
A: Ah, I was planning on photographing them, but found that I had forgotten to bring my micro-camera. At the time I chalked it up to simple absent-mindedness - I'm not used to preparing for an operation without the to-do list on my visor HUD. But in light of what happened...
P: Is this the camera in question?
A: Ye- Ah, it appears superficially similar to my camera, but without disassembling it I couldn't-
P: Yes, yes. Consider your ass covered. As far as you are aware, is your camera the only one of its kind?
A: As far as I'm aware, yes.
P: Can you spot anything that would indicate that this is not your camera?
A: ...not from in here, no. Where did you find it?
P: It was on the kitchen counter in your home, when we executed the search warrant earlier today.
A: I see...
P: Kid Win was able to interface with it. Would you care to venture a guess as to what kind of pictures we found on it?
A: As I recall, I last used it to photograph the control board of my prototype nanite factory. It had burnt out unexpectedly, and I wanted a second opinion on-
P: There were some pictures of that nature, yes. There were also a number of salacious pictures of young girls. Very young girls.
A: Damn it! They must have been taken after they stole the camera. The timestamps-
P: The timestamps were from as far back as February.
A: They must have been tampered with!
P: Our forensic analysts were unable to confirm either way, due to the non-standard formats used. Kid Win also said he wasn't sure. Is there any Tinker who could verify your claim?
A: Yes, Dragon! She has full access to my systems, she'd-
P: Let me rephrase the question: Is there any Tinker other than your Canadian girlfriend - someone a judge would consider unbiased?
A: Well... no.
P: Oh, don't look so glum. I'm entirely convinced you're innocent.
A: You are?
P: Yes. The PRT has not been idle while you were sitting in here. The girl in the pictures - the ones that were published, not the ones in the camera - has been identified as one Aisha Laborn. The sister of Brian Laborn, a.k.a. Grue. The apartment where the events took place also belonged to the late Mr Laborn.
A: Oh.
P: Indeed. It appears that miss Laborn has chosen to blame you for the, ah, negligent homicide of her brother, and to enact a peculiar sort of revenge. No doubt she reached out to associates of his for help - the stolen documents, the falsified timestamps. I now also suspect that she triggered with a Master or Stranger power on learning of her brother's death. These things do tend to run in families, and the way you described your experience does not match the power of any local villain.
A: I see.
P: You will still be suspended from duty pending an official investigation.
A: What?
P: We can not be seen to treat this matter with anything but the utmost seriousness. It remains a PR disaster of the highest magnitude, and thanks to the Aster Anders affair the public trust in our institutions is at an all-time low.
A: You signed off on that operation!
P: I did, and it cost two of my men their lives. Think about that, before you bemoan your own fate. The investigation will be thorough and entirely above-board, and a few weeks from now it will clear you of all charges - though you will probably have to eat a disciplinary action for the unapproved procurements.
A: Lovely.
P: Don't pretend that you don't deserve it. Believe me, with things as they are I would much rather have you out in the field. But we cannot afford even the faintest whiff of impropriety right now. If you want a silver lining, consider that you will retain access to your workshop during the suspension. Without patrols or administrative duties, I imagine you will rarely leave.

You arrive at the lair to find a peculiar sight. Sophia is up and about - not Ghost, because she's not in costume. Or, well, she's not in her cape costume. She's walking around the lair in a maid outfit, carefully cleaning everything with an honest-to-god feather duster. Black and white and lace and ruffles, contrasting against the fresh red scars all over her body.

When she sees you she stops, and curtseys. "Welcome back, ma'am," she says, demurely not meeting your gaze. "Can I get you anything?"

"No, that's fine," you answer a bit non-plussed. "Carry on."

"Ma'am."

Normally you'd chalk this up to Alec having a bit of a laugh and move on, but something niggles at you as she turns away and resumes her dusting. It's not a real maid outfit, because real maids (do they even make those anymore?) would have a lot more skirt, and a lot less cleavage. Not to mention that someone expected to do actual housework for a living would pick footwear more sensible than the stripper heels she's currently sporting.

But at the same time it fits her far too well to be some halloween crap straight off the rack. And every layer is real lace and real cloth with no cheap plasticky substitutes. You grab her skirt and feel the material between your fingers. You don't think you own any clothes of this quality. Not even Quicksilver's dress, not even when it was new.

You find Alec lounging on the couch in the living room, nursing a tall goblet of something fizzy and orange and full of sliced fruit.

"Did you have a sexy maid outfit custom tailored?" you ask incredulously.

"My money, isn't it?"

You don't really have a comeback for that, so you just shrug and sit down next to him. Having just finished another date with Ballistic, you have a few hours free to study his power before you need to change into Low Key.

Even between the two of them you haven't quite been able to fill up your entire no-school, no-sleeping schedule with cape bullshit - you're not Ballistic's boss, just his incredibly clingy girlfriend, and no amount of Loyalty can make Alec get out of bed before noon. At least Ops is happy about someone voluntarily taking all the worst late night/early morning patrol shifts.

You do have Purity's Loyalty, but that doesn't automatically translate into her power. Loyalty is not mind control. You could probably convince her to blast the shit out of some stretch of land no one cares about, just because you want to watch things go boom. You could maybe convince her to keep doing that for hours on end without demanding a better explanation. But not enough hours, and it wouldn't exactly be subtle. Heroes would show up, and if not arrest her, at least ask "why?". And that's not a question you ever want heroes to ask.

Things will no doubt pick up once Kaiser's soul price comes in and you're able to bend the bureaucratic machinery of the Empire to your will, but for now Low Key's patrols remain as downtime, power-wise. Not that you're complaining too loudly right now - with a more demanding schedule you wouldn't have been able to clown on Circus so easily.

"Want her to make you one of these?" Alec asks, indicating his drink. "I forget what they're called, but they're good."

You politely refuse. Nothing that fruity could possibly be nonalcoholic, and you've had bad experiences with mind-altering substances. Oh and also you're fifteen and it's illegal for you to drink. Funny how that kind of concern has fallen by the wayside.

Instead you just kick back and relax and watch Alec pilot Sophia around.

"Should I read something into how good you are at walking in stripper heels?" you ask.

"You can read whatever you like, it's a free country."

When Aisha shows up she just stops in the doorway and stares. She looks at the lounging Alec, then at the cleaning Sophia, then back again.

"What," she says flatly.

Alec ignores her. You offer a shrug and a 'what can you do' half-smile.

"No, seriously: What?"

Sophia curtseys again and pays her the same respect she did you: "Welcome back, ma'am. Can I get you anything?"

Aisha waves her away distractedly, before pointing an accusing finger at Alec. "You're making her do that."

"Well, duh?"

"No, I mean... you're making her do that, not ordering her to do it. You still have to, like, move all the muscles and focus on the task, and stuff. It looks like you're being lazy and pampered, but how is this different from you cleaning the lair yourself?"

"Shut up bitch, you're ruining it."

Aisha rolls her eyes and plops down on the couch. "Whatever. You, servant girl. Make me one of those fruity things."

Once Aisha has her drink Sophia starts dusting behind the TV - and in the process bends over in a way that reveals what lies beneath her too-short skirt. It matches the dress, in that it too is heavy on the lace, and too small to be practical.

"Just like in my Japanese cartoons!" Aisha exclaims with extremely sarcastic enthusiasm. "You fucking dork."

You study the view with clinical detachment. "Do you ever... make use of your slave puppets?" you ask Alec.

"It's been known to happen," he says in the diffident tones of someone worried that an authority figure is about to step in and ruin everyone's fun.

"Can I watch?"

---

"It's no good when you make her act like she's into it."

"Sorry, I find screaming and attempted murder to be a turn-off."

"At least leave her face alone. You can do that, can't you?"

Sophia starts crying. Not sobbing - he's keeping too tight a hold on her breathing for that - but tears start streaming down her face.

"Yesssssss," you hiss, leaning in close to get a better view. "This is what you get."

You lean in closer still, and taste her tears for yourself. They are salty, but oh so sweet. Like justice.

You giggle a little. There have been other trespasses against you, that you are willing to leave in the past. Emma? That chapter of your life is done. You beat the shit out of her, physically and mentally. Maybe she killed herself, like Alec said. That would be nice. But it's over with either way. Sophia, though... Sophia is yours forever. For ever and ever and ever.

"Forever," you whisper in her ear, and a small keening noise makes it past Alec's control of her throat. Your giggle turns into full-blown laughter.

You partake in more of her bounty, tenderly kissing the skin just below her eye, running your tongue along her scars (your scars) as you lap up her tears. Who else did you leave behind? Madison? Dear, sweet, guileless bitch cunt Madison. You forgive her. You hope she finds her handsome husband and big house and adorable kids. You have Sophia. As her juddering movements intensify and it becomes difficult to accurately trace the scars with your tongue, you settle for gently suckling at the corner of her eye.

"If you'd told me you were going to make out with her I wouldn't have charged you for this," Alec remarks.

"Shut up bitch, you're ruining it."

Daniel Snuts · Aug 5, 2022

It's the biggest one you've ever had, and it took a lot of work to get it inside you. You close your eyes and shudder in pleasure as it finally slots into place.

...You're talking about powers, of course. Rune and Dragon comes close, but Ballistic's power is ever so slightly larger. You keep your eyes shut and admire its form inside your soul. So thick and veiny - okay, maybe you're reaching a bit now, but the essence channels of this particular golden construct are notably thicker than most.

Sure, it makes sense that supersonic projectiles would be more energy intensive than, say, the passive scanning of sorcerer's sight. But on the other hand, the power draw is also much larger than Labyrinth's power, which transports you into another dimension. Powers only ever make sense in order lull you into a false sense of security.

You could just get up and walk away now - your dates with Luke have served their purpose. It would be hilariously rude to leave him hanging like that, though, and as you've mentioned before, it's not as if your schedule is packed. You can finish this session properly.

But seems as though fate is determined to end the date early, because not long afterwards there's a terrible, ear-splitting noise from outside. A warning klaxon that no one alive could fail to recognize.

You and Luke both freeze up, looking at each other.

"I didn't miss an announcement that they would be testing the Endbringer sirens today, did I?" you ask.

"Not unless I missed it too."

"Well." You smoothly stand up and walk over to the pile of your clothes. "That's my cue to get the hell out of Dodge, then."

"You're not going to help?" Luke asks. His tone is neutral, not accusing.

"What could I do to an Endbringer?" you ask rhetorically. "Aggressively study it?" Your lips quirk slightly. "I must admit the idea is somewhat tempting. Not '25% expected casualty rate' tempting, though."

Luke nods in understanding. You wonder whether you'll see him there, or if he shares Quicksilver's pragmatic outlook.

---

There was never any question about which persona you would bring to the fight: Protecting the Empire is your duty. It's what you get for not reading the fine print of your verbal contract. Doesn't matter whether it's random junkies, hostile capes, or goddamn Endbringers, if Low Key doesn't show up to defend the populace from them she'll be out of a job.

And you're not prepared to abandon the Empire that easily. It's kept you in powers for months and months, and you're still nowhere near finished. You've already got your loyalty-claws into one of the lieutenants, and you're this close to doing the same for the emperor himself. As a faint silver lining, Fenrir brought along Low Key's costume in a dematerialized bag, because you were planning to go straight from the date to your patrol tonight. You just need a brief window of privacy to shapeshift and change clothes and you're ready to go.

And you weren't not going to join in the fight, regardless of Low Key's employment status. This is your home, goddammit! And while Low Key is weak, it's not as if you have any other powers that would have a noticeable effect against an Endbringer.

Sure, you got Ballistic's power less than an hour ago. It's clearly useless here, never mind that it's completely untested. The the US military budget consumes the better part of a trillion dollars a year - if there's one thing your country does not lack for, it's supersonic projectile delivery systems. If mere supersonic projectiles could deter an Endbringer, the world would be a very different place.

You have a knife that can cut through anything. But even if you could somehow get into knife range of an Endbringer without dying - spoilers, you can't - it's a knife. Against a giant monster. What are you going to do, cut its toes off? There's no way it could reach anything vital.

Maybe if Lung's power hadn't mutated so much - not that you remember how you activated it that one time, but judging by the footage of the incident you instantly became a fixed-size dragon, instead of constantly growing without an upper limit like the original.

Maybe if you had dropped everything else to go after Purity's power the moment you escaped the Rig - approach her as Quicksilver, offer her literally all your money, and use her inexplicable trust towards that total stranger to invite her to go camping in the Nevada desert and blow up old nuclear test sites?

Maybe, maybe. Maybe if your entire approach to powers had been different, and you tried to stack maximum Blaster from the start, instead of doing the opposite of that. Maybe then you could have had enough oomph to slightly stagger an Endbringer, buying your allies several fractions of a second...

On the other hand, maybe it's better this way. Because if you had the means to be an effective combatant you'd have to agonize between going as Low Key, the girl who saved her career, versus Eidolonette (you'll think up a better name later), the girl who made a difference. Truly, uselessness is a balm for the conscience.

Aaaand now you're going to feel guilty about feeling good about being too useless to feel guilty. But speaking of uselessness, you'd better call your minions.

"What's the word?" Alec asks.

"Boss said to tell you to 'secure her stuff', and to follow your orders. You know what's up?"

"I do." Alec stands up from the couch, and Ghost shadows right out of her maid uniform and dashes off towards her room. "We're getting the hell out of Dodge."

"What? No, we-" The doom of disobeying an order bears down on me, taking my breath away. "Please don't say that? We gotta help people."

He looks at me appraisingly as I fidget, unable to argue further without dooming myself.

"Please?"

"So she's a Master too," he says after a few seconds.

"Yeah, I gotta do what she says - which is doing what you say right now. But you could get her stuff yourself, and tell me to go help?"

"I'm sorry Dave, I'm afraid I can't do that," Alec says, shaking his head. "Really, what 'stuff' do you think she values so much? The lair she built in an afternoon? The video games she never played?"

Oh. Duh. It's me. I'm the stuff she needs secured. "You suck." I want to tell him to disobey her orders - he didn't accept any improvements - but the doom closes in again, warning me not to open my mouth.

Alec rolls his eyes at me - fondly, or so he'll claim if challenged. "Don't hate the player, hate yourself for thinking you'd even make difference out there. I thought she was making you smarter?"

---

By the time you've found your way to the rallying point, it's raining heavily. You'd call it ominous, except aren't omens meant to be all mystical and divinatory? If there's a direct causal link between the omen and what it portends, does that make it more or less ominous? And you can tell that there is, because every raindrop is suffused with power. A strange inhuman power unlike anything you've seen before, except that one brief glimpse in Ottawa. You'd love to study it, but it's so bright you had to turn off sorcerer's sight just to be able to see five feet in front of you - something that's going to be pretty important in an Endbringer fight.

As you approach the building, and odd feeling rises within you. Ah, you are drawing close to your armor. It's an Endbringer fight, of course Dragon brought the Smaug. Indeed, there it is, standing in the parking lot of an otherwise nondescript brick building (there's also a couple of PRT vans, Rune's favorite rock and five of Rachel's monster dogs - but the humanoid dragon with scales of glowing gold rather hogs the spotlight).

A poor choice of venue you feel, insofar as the doors are too small to admit Fenrir. The Travelers arrive as you dismount, and have to leave Genesis('s projection) outside as well. Wolves and dogs, a dragon and a giant flying jellyfish-thing with shark-toothed whips for stingers, it's becoming a regular menagerie out here.

Even though you made good time, flying above the panicking crowds trying to make it to the shelters, the rest of the Empire is already inside. Well, the place is practically inside their territory. No one remarks on your tardiness as you join them. Kaiser nods at you, while Othala offers you a slightly strained smile. Others may be smiling as well, but she's the only one who stopped wearing a mask when everyone's identity became public.

A quick look around reveals what other local villains were feeling civic-minded today. The Merchants are absent, as are Faultline's Crew (and BITN, obviously). But two thirds of the Undersiders did show up - or maybe three quarters, as you spot Circus standing next to Lisa and Rachel. It would make sense for Coil to use her to shore up their team, after he failed to get her on yours.

Legend is up front, giving a pep talk/strategy overview. You mostly tune him out - that stuff is for people who will meaningfully contribute. The Wards are circulating through the crowd, handing out tinkertech bracelets. Coincidentally, it turns out to be Aegis who gives you yours.

"No hard feelings, right?" you say as you accept it.

"Not today."

You peer suspiciously at the bracelet before putting it on, briefly reactivating sorcerer's sight. But this is not a Simurgh fight, it's not rigged to blow. Dragon sensibly has a separate, bombless version that she hands out as appropriate (you easily recognizes Dragon's handiwork). It might not matter today, but you certainly wouldn't want to go up against dynakinetic Behemoth with an inactive bomb strapped to yourself.

Oh yes, the bracelets they give out for Simurgh fights will automatically blow up and kill you if you spend too long in her presence. It's not exactly a secret - everyone who's ever been to Simurgh fight knows about it, for starters - but it isn't mentioned. Like just about every questionable (or unquestionably awful) thing a hero does, rampant media collusion keeps it out of the public consciousness.

There's clearly someone, somewhere who decides what the public gets to worry about. Politically inconvenient or uncomfortable fact? Into the memory hole it goes. There'll be a new scandal tomorrow, and we'll never mention this one again. What need is there for palatable policy, when every media platform in the country will march in lockstep to enact your will?

Though they aren't perfect. They miscalculated when they went up against the Empire, too used to throwing their weight around with impunity. If Kaiser had only been a gang leader and not also a wealthy CEO, what happened to Aster Anders would have vanished too.

The exploding bracelets are practically benign in comparison. A dead hero is better than a Simurgh bomb with superpowers, most everyone would agree - as long as you never tell them how long it really takes the Simurgh to subvert someone, then a few of them might get cold feet.

"Please state your name and power," a synthesized voice from the bracelet interrupts your thoughts.

"Low Key, Mover." On the mean streets of Brockton Bay you'd identify as a Brute. Against Leviathan, not so much. You hesitate about elaborating further, but if there's one Tinker who can make a device with natural speech recognition... "Flight, moderate speed and carrying capacity."

"Acknowledged. Stand by for assignment. Your assignment is: Medevac. Please refer to the map for instructions."

The little screen on the bracelet shows a map of the city, divided into grid squares. There's a white dot which, judging by it's position, represents either you or the rallying point itself. There's also a flashing red dot labelled 'field hospital'. Since the fight hasn't started yet, the rest of the map is mostly bare. A few yellow dots out in the bay, presumably setting up defenses against tidal waves. And of course a bright purple circle, warning people away from the amethyst field.

"Gonna go get setup," you tell your imperial peers. "Get a look at the field hospital." You shoot a look back at Rune as you shoulder your way back outside, but she makes no move to join you. You suspect her confidence in her ability to throw rocks at things outmatches yours. Or perhaps she was tapped as a gunnery platform instead of medevac.

You pass by a couple of other familiar faces. Vista - Warp, now, since the Protectorate still owns the 'Vista' trademark - gets a reassuring pat on the shoulder. Narwhal gets the not-even-an-errant-glance-in-her-direction of true respect. Soon enough you're outside, mounted, and airborne.

You're almost at the field hospital (which is actually a regular hospital, with several red cross-marked tents set up outside) when the first wave hits. Whoever was out in the bay was doing a shitty job. Luckily you're far enough inland that it's mostly spent by the time it gets to you, and whoever they assigned to guard the hospital is more on the ball. A forcefield dome springs up, and repels the water without apparent strain.

You don't have time to gawk, though, because that's also when your bracelet springs alive with notifications.

Nekomancer deceased, CD-5. Oaf down, CD-5. Triumph deceased, CD-5.

The map is also full of yellow dots now, most of them clustered around a big green dot that you're going to do your level best to stay the hell away from. But even as some yellow dots wink out, others turn red. That's your cue. You get Fenrir turned around and pointed towards the nearest red dot.

Said dot winks out before you can even get there. Perhaps he was saved by a teleporter. Probably not.

Acoustic down, CD-5. Snatch deceased, CD-5. Iron Falcon deceased, CD-5.

When you finally arrive at an intact dot, you find a pair of capes waiting for you. Not people you recognize, but the matching blue spandex and white corporate logos tells you they are a team. One of them is missing most of his right arm, but a utility belt turned tourniquet has stopped most of the bleeding.

"Ambulance's here," you announce. His friend helps him get mounted behind you. Fenrir can carry more, but with the way the bleeding has only mostly stopped you're not sure you can risk a detour. Straight back it is.

Manpower deceased, CD-6

You change your plans slightly when another red dot appears almost directly in your path. You divert one street over, and find an unconscious girl lying face down in the ankle-deep water. There's blood all over her back too, but according to the bracelet she's still got a heartbeat.

"Pick her up up," you tell Fenrir. "Gently."

Fenrir flies down and grabs her in his mouth without breaking stride. You have your misgivings about whether she'll still be alive by the time you get to the hospital, but that's not your problem. It's not as if her modest weight is slowing Fenrir down. Pick them all up, let the medics sort them out.

A few faster flyers overtake you on the way, but they too are loaded down with casualties, unable to take over your burdens. You see them passing straight through the hospital forcefield without issue, so you follow suit and drop off your patients by one of the triage tents. Back at it.

"It's better if I take the less critical injuries, so I have time to pick up several people in one go," you tell the bracelet.

"Acknowledged. Calculating route."

Another wave hits, wiping out most of the red dots, but it creates plenty more to replace them.

Underwhelm down, BW-5. Redact deceased, BW-5. Gallant deceased, BW-4.

"Recalculating route."

By the time you get back towards the fight, things are in full swing and the air is swarming with fliers. You spot Rune in the distance - a trio of Tinkers are working to set up a giant cannon on top of her flying rock. Your next target is uncomfortably close to the fight - according to the map, Leviathan is only two streets away. A distance he could cross in a single second, should he desire.

His speed turns out to be a secondary concern, as a beam of water shoots into the air from his location and cuts a flying cape in half. Leviathan has what they call a 'water shadow' - whenever he moves, he leaves water behind in the space he previously occupied. You knew that much. What you didn't know was that he can apparently also propel the water away from himself, with enough force to- well, you saw what it did.

"Down! Down!" you yell at Fenrir. Forget proximity, you're staying on street level from now on, and avoiding line of sight completely. Fenrir takes your words to heart, and dives down to the point where his feet are skimming the top of the floodwater. In other circumstances you'd be more appreciative of the 'Jesus-wolf walking on water' image.

Hellhound down, BW-3

This time you manage to pick up four people before turning back. They suffered fractures rather than amputations, so none of them are in immediate danger of bleeding out. The last person, who introduces himself as Smackdown, is even cheerful enough to crack a joke as Fenrir's jaws close around him.

"I get to ride in the front seat, huh? Sure beats staying to drown!"

Parian deceased, BW-3

You drop them off without issue, but the downsides of staying at street level become apparent as you approach the fight once more, and the third wave hits. The armband gives what it considers sufficient warning, but Fenrir's method of flight is not so good at elevation changes. The wave washes over you, sending Fenrir tumbling back some distance before he can... regain his footing on the air? Look, you don't ask about these things anymore. The important part is that you managed to hold on. Your mask didn't, though. Neither did your contact lenses.

Laserdream deceased, CA-4. Olmec down, BW-6.

You can deal. The mask doesn't matter, everyone knows who Low key is. As for the contact lenses, you can trust Fenrir to handle the steering on his own. You'll squint at the screen and shout directions.

Things become a blur after that, and you don't just mean optically. Pick people up. Drop people off. Get soaked by another wave, not the that rain isn't soaking enough on its own. Avoid the green dot. Pick people up. One person stands out to you, if only because he's standing in waist-deep water covered in burns. A sobbing pyrokinetic next to him explains that she's really sorry but she had to cauterize his wounds or he would have bled to death, please don't die, please don't leave her alone.

You pick them both up. Even if she's not medically speaking in shock - you're not qualified to judge that - she's not going to be any further use in the battle.

Trainwreck down, FU-2

You don't even register anything strange about that statement.

Then the next blurry person providing first aid is dressed in purple, with blonde hair on top.

"Why are you even here?" you ask Lisa as you get her semiconscious patient draped across Fenrir's neck.

"I don't even know anymore. No, I know: Onions. Endbringers are like onions, that's important. Bitch, she..."

"Is that a broken arm?"

"I'm fine. I can still-"

"Fenrir, grab her."

At some point the rain starts easing up. Does that mean you're winning, or losing? The water level is decreasing too, but there are no announcements beyond the usual downs and deceaseds.

Then you turn a corner, and he's there. Leviathan, right in front of you. Thirty feet of lanky green muscle, four glowing green eyes, claws, whip-tail... You may have stolen the name 'Fenrir' for your own use, but he is Jörmungandr. He's battered and bleeding - you are winning - but he's charging right at you.

He swipes a claw at you without slowing down. Fenrir drops and rolls to get below it, and you turn into shadow to flow around the attack. When you reform standing on the ground he is already past you. He doesn't consider you worth the effort to turn back for, merely flicking his tail in your direction as he keeps running.

For just a moment, your brain malfunctions - you see that the tail-strike will end up well short, and relax. You forget what he can do with the water shadow. Fenrir throws himself in front of you.

Liquid spatters across your face, but it is a warm wetness. Blood temperature.

When you open your eyes, Fenrir is gone. No! Where did he go? He has to be alright! He- he just dematerialized. Of course. You activate sorcerer's sight.

Fenrir is not alright. He is, just barely, in one piece. Parts of him are spilling out across the ground. You rush around and kneel in front of his face. Mind-hands spring forth to stroke blood-matted fur. You see his breaths growing ever shallower.

"You're going to be alright," you tell him. Tears are streaming down your cheeks, but they lie. He's going to be fine. There's nothing to be sad about. "We can fix this. Everything's going to be fine."

Fenrir shifts his head ever so slightly, looking into your eyes. He can't speak, but you know what he's asking.

"You are a good dog," you promise him. "The best dog."

Fenrir grows still.

You stare at his ~~mangled~~ ~~corpse~~ ~~remains~~ body. Get up. He has to get up. Good dogs don't leave you all alone.

No. He can't be- you have to- you should report in? Your mind latches on to that idea, in the whirlwind of half-formed thoughts. There's a way to do these things. You remember. You raise the bracelet in front of your face.

"I... I can't..."

It's not Dragon's first rodeo, and the speech recognition algorithms correctly interpret what you're saying.

Low Key down, CT-10.

===

The rest of the fight went more or less as it did in canon - that is to say, Armsmaster still showed up to do his thing, and somehow managed to not die while fucking it up.

Since Taylor was actually able to be useful this time around the overall cape death toll was ever so slightly lower. On the other hand a whole bunch of civilians died when she wasn't around to wedge her plot armor in the door of that breached shelter. But it's not as if civilians are plot relevant, right?

Chance of seeing my parents again: 0%

Daniel Snuts · Aug 8, 2022

People arrive to talk to you. Fenrir is dead. They probably want you to answer a question, or something. You don't care. You don't pay attention to their words. Fenrir is dead. Eventually one of them takes you by the hand and leads you away.

That's good. You didn't want to keep looking at him. You just couldn't look away. You look around, trying to understand where you are. You need to come back later, you need to... make a memorial, or something. You need to never go back there, because he will always remain there. There are no immaterial scavengers to... remove things, no immaterial rain to wash anything away, and you don't want to look at him again.

You need to go back there and bury him with your bare mind-hands. But not now. Not yet.

You are led across the city. There are people in the streets, civilians. The battle must be over. You won, if one could ever be said to win an Endbringer fight.

They lead you back to the hospital. That's wrong, you can't- you can't fly anymore. You can't help. The man who led you here talks to a nurse. Just a few words. She nods, and leads you into the building. Into a private room. She coaxes you into a bed, and handcuffs you in place. You don't explain that you don't sleep anymore.

Time passes.

You recognize the girl trying to talk to you. It's Panacea. She's as beautiful as ever. You could use something beautiful to look at. You wonder what she's saying.

"-unresponsive," she's saying. Then she reaches out towards you. Panacea is about to touch you! You jerk back instinctively, but are held fast by the handcuffs. You frantically shut down sorcerer's sight, and graceful crane stance, and did you have anything else running? Only the stuff you can't shut off.

Panacea draws her hand back. "So, you are responsive after all? Do I have your permission to heal you?" She looks angry about having to say that. She may be holding a bit of a grudge over how you defended yourself against her sister.

"Why?"

"You are covered in blood," Panacea notes sourly. "And you were unresponsive. Not that I could fix your brain as such, but if you have intracranial swelling..."

True, but... it's not your blood. You're not injured. You think. Details are a bit fuzzy.

"Believe me, nothing would make me happier than if you refused treatment and died," Panacea says when you don't respond. "Go on, make the world a better place."

Maybe you should. Without Fenrir...

"Patient is unresponsive again," Panacea says with a sigh, and touches you.

She snatches her hand back instantly, as if burned. Instead of scowling, she's staring at you wide-eyed.

"Did you know you were pregnant when you signed up for the Endbringer fight?"

What? You aren't- You can't be- No. You took the pill afterwards. You took the pill!

Oh no. No no no no. You... you have Brute powers. You are poison resistant. You might have...

This isn't real. This isn't happening.

It... might not be real? You've... done other things. You used protection, but... that's not a 100% guarantee, right? Right?

"What-" You pause to lick your lips. "What race?"

Like a switch flipping, Panacea is scowling again. "Really, Ilsa? You didn't think that the time to worry about miscegenation was before spreading your legs?"

"It wasn't voluntary," you whisper.

"Oh."

She reaches out to touch you again - and once again snatches her hand back. This time she just looks utterly confused.

"It's... not human?" she says. She works her entire hand in under your armor, to lay her palm against your stomach. "What in the world..."

You can't help it, you start crying when you realize what must have happened. Tears of joy. You don't understand how, or why, but you understand that powers are bullshit. Bullshit that worked out in your favor, in this case. It wasn't poison resistance.

Fenrir is protecting you even in death. You know that's not really true and you got the causality all backwards, but you don't care. You're just so happy.

"You know what happened," Panacea says. "You're happy about-" She stops speaking as something occurs to her. She extricates her hand from underneath your armor, and instead swabs some of the blood off the outside with a fingertip.

"It matches," she breathes. "The wolf..?" She laughs, and there's a faint tinge of hysteria to it. You can sympathize a bit, you weren't always this inured to power bullshit. But then she goes and fucks it all up.

"Wait until all your nazi friends hear about what you've been getting up to!"

Instantly, an icy calm overtakes you. There's no space for happiness right now, or grief. There's an enemy in the room.

"Are you sure you want throw stones in that particular glass house, Amy?" you ask. "You, of all people?"

Her face goes white. "You're bluffing!"

"Should I tell your sister first, or your mom? Which would hurt you worse, I wonder?"

Almost unconsciously, she reaches out towards you again.

"The Thinker who figured it out will know what happened if I die in here," you say. It's true, but you're also prepared to shadow-form out of the cuffs and slit her throat with mind-hands if it doesn't deter.

She startles, and looks down in shock at her own hand. Her whole body shudders as she contemplates what she almost did. When she looks back up at you, she's biting her lip in contemplation.

"Truce?" she offers after a few seconds' thought. "We clearly both have... leverage."

"Truce," you agree.

"Then... let me give you a proper checkup."

She's touching again before you have a chance to refuse. Given her earlier reaction you're satisfied she's not going to murder you in cold blood... but you don't really want her poking around for incriminating biology either, not when she's not being distracted by your uterus anymore. But turning into shadow to escape would be worse.

"Hm. Some light mineral deficiencies - your diet has been poor lately. I'll get someone to prescribe the proper supplements. And what's this? Your Brute rating improves over time? It wasn't this good when you had your little car accident."

See, that's exactly what you didn't want her to discover. "If you tell anyone..."

"Yes, yes. It's too weak to make much of a difference anyway. Crawler, you are not. Your little abomination is a bit of a Brute as well - the genetics are fascinating. It's a girl, by the way. I hope you didn't want that to be a surprise."

You just nod in response, your face blank. Chained to the bed as you are, you're a bit of a captive audience to her passive-aggressive ramblings.

"Nice tits," is her next comment. "Vegas Fleshcrafters?"

You maintain a poker face, but some other part of your biology clearly registers surprise, because Panacea giggles. "Oh, they're very well sculpted, but the cell growth pattern is obviously artificial if you know what you're looking for." She shakes her head in mock sadness. "Those hips, though. Your surgeon was clearly a better biokineticist than an anatomist. You're going to have trouble walking by the time you're thirty."

"Is that really something I need to worry about, when I signed up for my first Endbringer fight at fifteen?" you ask. You'd appreciate it if she stopped looked for forensic evidence of shapeshifting, thank you very much.

"No, no, that won't do at all. Let me give you proper child-bearing hips for the little abomination. She's innocent in all this, after all. And I'd better restore the chest area as well, never know what might have gone wrong there. Wouldn't want the baby to starve." She stares you dead in the eyes as your breasts shrink down to their natural size.

"Nothing?" she asks, disappointed in your lack of reaction. "Nazism must pay well, if you can afford another set so easily."

Mutually assured destruction doesn't mean an end to hostilities, after all. It just means that all attacks must carefully stop just short of the unforgivable.

"If you're fixing things I'd rather you do my eyes," you say - letting her know that certain things would be a lot more forgivable with some reparations attached. "Contact lenses didn't play so well with tidal waves."

"If I do that, do you promise to go to the next Leviathan fight?"

"Yes." Being useless is no longer acceptable. Next time Leviathan shows up, you're going to have enough powers to kill him.

"You're not lying," Panacea declares. "As long as it promotes good deeds that will likely get you killed, I don't mind helping out." There's a faint pressure on your eyeballs, and the room shifts into focus. Panacea withdraws her hand. "I should get going. You're healthy, and lots of less awful people need my help."

The enemy retreats from the room, leaving you to... do whatever your emotions decide to do next. Your emotions decide to start crying again. Fenrir... You try to rest one hand on your stomach, only for the handcuffs to stop you.

---

A PRT officer shows up to let you out of the cuffs. You carefully clench your fists and keep your hands at your side to stop yourself from touching your belly. A shapeshifter like you can't allow herself that kind of tell. As you leave the room, you see Othala waiting for you, alongside either Fenja or Menja - she appears to have lost her weapon, and not even sorcerer's sight can tell the twins apart, since they have the same power. You don't comment on the way the valkyrie's eyes are red and puffy from crying, because you don't imagine you look any better.

Othala, and the other hand, sees your teary eyes and clenched fists, and arrives at a somewhat correct conclusion by way of faulty reasoning.

"I'm sorry you had to put up with her," she says - it would appear that Panacea's bedside manner is famous in healer circles. "They wouldn't let me treat our own people. What, did they think I'd grant you super strength and send you on a rampage?"

She reaches out to grab your hand, and grants you super strength. You snort at her invisible act of spite, and don't go on a rampage. Obviously. What purpose could that possibly serve? Heroes. Idiots, the lot of them.

But objectively speaking, your encounter with Panacea was extremely beneficial. You gained valuable intel, and neutralized a dangerous enemy. And got 20/20 vision without having to risk using emptiness endowment on yourself again.

"Kaiser is dead," F/Menja says. "As is my sister."

Oh. RIP your plans. And... possibly the whole empire? "What happens now?" you ask.

"I don't know."

You pull out your empire phone to check for messages... but it clearly didn't like being submerged in seawater, and refuses to turn on.

"Don't bother," Othala says. "Cell towers are down."

As soon as you are outside, M/Fenja grows to giant size and picks you up. Othala grants her flight, and off you go. No one suggests you fly on your own. They must think your wolf summoning is on cooldown. Just as well, because you suddenly realize you have no idea how to handle Low Key's identity going forward. You may have to simply cut your losses and vanish.

"We need to set up a meeting," Othala says. "Get everyone together and decide what to do."

"I need to find Theodore and tell him about his father," F/Menja says.

"I'll come along for that," you say. "If he's still alive."

---

M/Fenja is on one knee before the waste of space, shrunk down to human size.

"I failed in my duty as a bodyguard," she says. "Your father died at Leviathan's hands."

"Oh," Theo says. He doesn't sound all that sad, or shocked. Or happy, for that matter. He turns to look at you.

"It's over between us," you say. With Kaiser dead, you have no use for him. With any luck you'll never-

-why are you on the ground?

Without warning, both Taylor and Fenja (or possibly Menja - she didn't introduce herself and I was too embarrassed to ask) collapse to the ground. Are we under attack? Why was I spared? Are they just exhausted from the battle?

I shake off my confusion and rush over to check on Taylor. Her eyes are already fluttering open - and when they focus on me, her expression twists into one of such revulsion that I stagger back and fall on my ass.

"Second-gen," she snarls like it was a curse. "No, third gen, if Allfather was your grandpa."

I... what?

"Go on," she says scathingly, "what power did you get handed on a silver platter?"

I... have powers? "Metal?" I say hesitantly. It feels like something about metal has changed.

Taylor draws her knife and points it at me. I instinctively cringe away, before understanding her intention. I gingerly reach out and touch the blade.

"Nothing?" she asks.

"It feels... off, somehow."

She sighs and sheathes the knife before grabbing my hand and touching my finger to one of the decorations on her costume. "Copper?" She moves my hand. "Brass?"

I mutely shake my head. She lets go of my hand and takes out a cellphone, which she promptly spikes into the floor. It shatters into a half-dozen pieces. She bends down to pick up the largest piece, and slaps the exposed circuit board into my palm.

I watch in awe as a tiny rivulet of gold flows out of the components and makes its way up my wrist. Responding to my will, it stops and splits into multiple smaller beads. I make them move around over my skin, merging and splitting. The gold acts like a liquid despite being room temperature.

When I 'let go' of a piece it falls to the floor. It's so small I can't see where it landed, but when I sweep my hand across the floor I can instantly tell when it comes into contact with my skin, and back under my control.

"Tactile telekinesis of gold," Taylor observes. "Good thing you just inherited a fortune you didn't earn, huh?" Her lips quirk into a wry smile. "Though I imagine Medhall stock isn't doing so hot at the moment."

I wet my lips and gather my courage for the big question. "I... I have powers now. Doesn't that make me-" I falter under her poisonous glare. "-worthy... of... you?"

"The empire lies in ruins, and its people cry out for salvation. Take up your father's mantle, Crown Prince. Prove yourself a worthy heir, and lead them back to prosperity."

"If... if I do that, you'll take me back?"

"There is not a single thing about you that does not fill me with disgust, Crown Prince. You will do that, because it's your duty."

===

Calling a parahuman 'Something Prince' is a serious burn - it means you're comparing them to prepubescent supervillain August Prince, whose power is weaponized cuteness.

Fun fact, spirits of Essence 2+ can interbreed with humans. These offspring are known as 'god-blooded', and are mostly human but with some benefits (and sometimes flaws) from their supernatural parentage. Exactly what these are vary from case to case, but it seems that this particular crossbreed has inherited the 'God Body' (Brute 0 package), if Panacea is to be believed.

Daniel Snuts · Aug 9, 2022

You told Theo nothing but the truth. The city is in ruins, and its people are crying out for salvation. The Empire absolutely cannot afford a succession crisis right now. And because you have the ability to prevent that, you have a duty to do so.

That the end result is also going to be extremely beneficial for you personally is beside the point.

---

"Remember when I saved your life?" you ask Hookwolf.

"I remember when you came up with a plan that almost killed me."

You sigh and roll your eyes. "Remember when that plan also got rid of the only Brute in town who could beat you in a fight?"

"Assault," Hookwolf says simply. No false bravado in this one.

"You know what I mean."

Hookwolf chuckles and pats your head patronizingly. "Name your favor."

"Kaiser's dead."

"I heard."

"His son got powers. I want you to support his bid for the throne."

"Fancy yourself an empress, do you?"

"His trigger event was me breaking up with him," you admit, and Hookwolf doubles over laughing.

"Bet you regret that!" he says once he has recovered.

"I regret many things. That is not one of them."

Hookwolf gives a non-committal grunt. "Fine, I'll give the kid a chance. No promises on what happens if he fucks up. Which I bet he will."

"A bet, you say?" You give him a smile that's all teeth. "In that case I have ten grand saying he'll prove a worthy heir."

---

Purity has been crying. She must have had all sorts of complicated feelings about Kaiser, none of which are important right now.

"Theo got powers," you tell her.

"Oh no!" She looks even more distraught than before. "Poor boy."

"He's going to need a lot of help running the empire, things being as they are. He can count on you, right?"

It takes her a second to catch on - to remember that 'empire' typically implies hereditary rule. But once she does, her face sets in determination. "Of course!"

---

"That won't do at all," you say after examining the shallow dent.

"I shot it as hard as I could," Theo protests. He's standing in the classic 'Blaster pose', arm outstretched, palm facing forward. He just launched a bullet of gold from his palm - a bullet that didn't even penetrate the drywall.

"A failure of imagination. Here." You grab his hand and straighten it out to be in line with the rest of his arm, then pull up the sleeve of his T-shirt and drop the bullet on his bare shoulder. "Accelerate it all the way down your arm, and fire it from the tip of your fingers."

There's a sound like a gong being struck as the bullet tears straight through the wall and into the metal plate you set up as a backstop. At the same time, Theo yelps and sticks his hand in his mouth. The smell of burnt hair pervades the room.

"A failure of concentration," you say. "There is nothing preventing you from making the process entirely frictionless. Again."

"Yes, miss Quicksilver," Theo says submissively.

---

Alabaster shrugs. Yes, you broke him out of prison that one time, the shrug says. Who didn't? It's not as if he has much weight to throw around in a cape showdown. He'll happily sit around being immortal until the ruckus is over and the issue, decided.

Alabaster is very good at shrugging.

---

You're busy, but not too busy to stop by the boat graveyard to finally test out Ballistic's power. Perhaps that makes you a a slave to tradition, coming all the way out here - the entire city is a bit of a boat graveyard right now, there's no shortage of ruins to test powers on anywhere you go. You like to think that it makes you conscientious: People will want to rebuild those parts.

Pointless introspection aside, you grab a brick off the ground and gesture it vaguely towards a the half-collapsed wall it came from. Pew?

It does not go pew. Another recalcitrant power? Disgusted, you throw it at the wall using conventional muscles. Or not, because the throwing motion causes the power to activate, and sends the brick flying far faster than you could have thrown it yourself.

You have to take a step backwards and raise a hand to shield your face from the brick dust as it bursts apart, and the wall collapses a bit more. That's more like it. Distinctly sub-sonic, though. Another power that lost something in translation.

Further experimentation reveals the limitations you're working with. Throwing works. Pushing or kicking stationary objects doesn't. You manage to launch another brick by holding it in one hand and punching it with the other (ow), but the important bit turns out to be the 'holding' part. It has to be something you can lift and carry. Which, for a 15 year old Brute 0, does not a very impressive projectile make.

But then, your real strength has always been your mind. Mind-hands heft a chunk of concrete twice your size, and hurl it out across the bay.

*spits coffee*

Even with your new and improved eyes, you lose sight of it before it splashes down. You have no idea how far that went. Pretty far, though.

"Heading 77 degrees, ground speed approximately 250 miles per hour. Ballistic trajectory. Estimated impact 20 miles off the coast. No apparent target. Origin... oh. The boat graveyard."

"New cape, huh."

"Should we call it in?"

"Nah. They'll be gone before anyone can get there. Just include it in the report."

"Pretty impressive power. Hopefully they'll join the good guys for once."

"Yeah, and maybe fairies will fly out of my ass and refill the coffee pot whenever someone leaves it empty."

"I said I was sorry!"

Hm. Hmmm! The morally uncontroversial part of the experiment is over, the results are in. But you have another idea that needs testing. Animal testing, to be precise. Luckily there is no shortage of rats scurrying about the place, and your mind-hands are easily dextrous enough to nab one as it tries to skitter away from you.

"Sorry about this," you tell the panicking rodent, and send it on a one-way trip out to sea.

It works. No Manton limitation. Godspeed brave rattonaut, your sacrifice was not in vain. Forget throwing things at people, if you want to remove someone from a fight you can just do so directly - if you don't mind almost certainly killing any non-Brute you toss. Won't work on everyone, either. People who can fly would just brake in midair and turn back, and certain others - Fenja and Mush, locally - could just make themselves too big to be hefted, even with mind-hands.

It's still really, really good. A power like this needs a suitably impressive name. Horizon-hurling throw? Bit of a mouthful. Crack the sky.

But if you don't aim at the sky... You find a flattish piece of debris, then throw it across the waves at an almost flat trajectory, making sure to impart a bit of spin.

"Another one. Trajectory- what the hell?"

It skips 37 times.

---

The succession is strictly cape business, but capes can't rebuild a city on their own. It's going to need a whole lot of grunt work, so you can't have the grunts mutiny. Thus, you're sounding out the rank and file.

"Is he someone worth supporting?" Alex asks.

You grimace. "He's someone who's going to need a lot of support." You can only grant him skills, not fix his character flaws. "But name one other candidate who would not trigger a civil war."

"A civil war is the opposite of what we need," Sven agrees. "A lot of people are going to be unhappy, though."

"No one is happy right now," you say. "Are they going to do more than complain?"

"If your boy can get them food and shelter? Probably not."

---

"No, fuck that guy," Rune says, proving herself an excellent judge of character. Can't win them all. She'll probably go along with the consensus in the end.

---

With all the running around you're doing, you could really use a flying wolf. Fuck. You could really use Fenrir being alive right now! You angrily swipe at your eyes as you walk. You need to not be a crying mess right now, you have an empire to ~~subvert~~ save.

There's a note in your hand. You stare at it in confusion, because it's not instructing you to do anything. It just reads 'bitch whore'.

Well, it's certainly a valid characterization, given your recent actions. Notes remain reliable.

---

"Theodore Anders will take the throne," you tell Krieg.

"Hookwolf will never stand for that," Krieg says. Yes, pronouncing the 'w's and 'th's correctly. Since you've all been unmasked, there is no longer any reason for him to pretend to be German.

"Hookwolf has already pledged his support."

"Oh?" He manages to put an entire essay's worth of questions into one syllable, none of which you answer. "Purity will as well, of course. In that case, I shall not be the one to rock the boat." He nods to himself. "I shall seek him out right now. There are matters that cannot wait until the coronation."

---

When you return to bury Fenrir, he's already gone. You stop and stare, relief warring with confusion. Did you go to the wrong place? Do ghost wolves just fade away after death? Is some other cape messing around with immaterial things?

Wait, there's something glowing in the debris. It's... well, it looks like an uneven lump of iron, maybe three inches across. But sorcerer's sight tells you it's magical.

It's not shaped like a heart, or a wolf or anything. You feel no presence from it. It's just a lump of iron. But somehow you know that you're looking at Fenrir's mortal remains. Ghost wolves don't quite fade away after death, apparently. They just condense into this... spirit iron?

You can also tell that it's not unlike orichalcum in its properties. You could forge it into a weapon. In the sense that you could also dig up your mother's grave and sharpen her bones. At the same time, if you put aside your instinctive revulsion towards the idea, is that not what he would have wanted? Would he not have been happy, to know that even in death he still serves?

You don't know. You just don't know. It's- you're going to kill an Endbringer. Don't you need every edge you can possibly eke out? To avenge- it still feels wrong. Maybe... maybe a protective amulet for your daughter?

Still undecided, you kneel down and reverently pick it up. With your regular hands. It's somehow solid and real, despite Fenrir being immaterial there at the end. You're just happy you manned up and came here before some sorcerer's sight-less scavenger picked it up and sold it as scrap metal.

---

"There you go," you say as you buckle on the last piece of Theo's armor. It's one of Kaiser's old suits, resized to fit someone considerably shorter. Theo doesn't know enough about blacksmithing to be impressed, but most smiths would have thrown up their hands and remade most pieces from scratch. You are not most smiths.

"If you do like so-" You grab his arm and stretch it out in the position you taught him. How appropriate, that he has to essentially throw a roman salute every time he wants to shoot someone. "-you'll notice the clear firing channel all the way down your arm. Can you feel the gold reserves in the pauldrons as well?"

"Yes miss."

You're once more being Quicksilver - the story is that you're acting as a go-between for reclusive Tinker Smith, from whom the remodeled armor was commissioned. You'd have preferred to minimize ties between your identities and have Quicksilver merely recommend Smith, who would then handle the rest himself. But Smith can't meet anyone in person, because his costume currently sits dematerialized inside the floor of his workshop. Where it will remain forever, because Fenrir- no, focus.

"There's just enough gold in there to let you get a feel for it right now. If you fill them up completely there'll be enough for fifty shots or so, with the projectile sizes we've been practicing." You pause, and purse your lips. "In an emergency I suppose you could scavenge the gold inlay from the rest of the armor for one last shot. But perhaps you should keep in mind that each bullet you can't recover costs a thousand dollars, and not let it come to that."

"Yes miss."

Your smile as he pays you and profusely thanks you for your service reveals nothing of your true feelings.

You told Theo nothing but the truth. There is nothing about him that does not disgust you. Really, gaining superpowers from your borderline abusive girlfriend breaking up with you? Fucking second-gen capes. And now he's going to become emperor, and everyone is going to think he's incredibly gifted, and he deserves none of it. That you personally caused all of this to happen just makes it worse.

At least you won't have to be nice to him, or pretend to like him. His soul price requested an isolated event, not an ongoing relationship. His Loyalty is still there - and even if it wasn't, emptiness endowment has built up years of karmic debt.

===

Crack the Sky lets you throw things (Martial Arts x 4) miles. With appropriate effects on landing, or if they impact something along the way. Taylor managed 20 miles because mind-hands use Occult in place of of Martial Arts, and she got Occult 5 (sorcerer's sight +3) as part of her 'exaltation', for obvious reasons.

Spirits can reform in their sanctum (personal extradimensional living space) some time after dying, unless killed with a 'spirit-slaying' effect. But that requires them to have a sanctum in the first place, which not all spirits do. RIP best dog.

Starmetal is one of the five magical materials just like orichalcum, and is made of dead spirits.

Charms:
Taylor: All-Encompassing Sorcerer's Sight, Terrestrial Circle Sorcery
Tattletale: Know the Soul's Price
Bitch: Spirit-Tied Pet
Aegis: Ox-Body Technique
Browbeat: Shaping the Ideal Form
Dragon: Implicit Construction Methodology
Kid Win: Industry and Forge Wisdom
Lung: By Rage Recast
Vista: Mind-Hand Manipulation
Cricket: Mantis Form
Faultline: Charm of Lesser Unmaking
Labyrinth: Hell-Walker Technique
Othala: Verdant Emptiness Endowment
Rune: Sometimes Horses Fly Approach
Shadow Stalker: Bloodless Murk Evasion
Miss Militia: Nightmare Fugue Vigilance
Circus: Graceful Crane Stance
Ballistic: Crack the Sky

Daniel Snuts · Aug 10, 2022

There's a lot more people present than at the last rally you attended. Not very surprising, because a lot of people found themselves homeless and unemployed in the wake of Leviathan. Which means that they don't really have anything better to do than stand around and listen to some guy talk, and the promise of free food is a lot more enticing than it would have been a week ago.

You do ostensibly live in a first-world country, and food shipments and other humanitarian aid has been streaming into the city over the past couple of days - both from the PRT disaster relief branch as well as private foundations like the FER and the CRF. But in a curious coincidence, such shipments are being routed to every part of the city except Empire territory. Those three-letter groups sure love their little coincidences.

In response, Empire capes have been busy intercepting the shipments headed for Merchant territory. It's not as if they'll even bother to deny the accusations of racism that are no doubt already being thrown around over such a move, but you'd consider it plain meritocracy: Who could possibly be less deserving than the Merchants? It's not as if they are even depriving civilians of food: Any shipments they miss are instantly stolen by Merchant capes instead. This way it at least reaches the man in the street, just a slightly different street than the three-letter people intended.

You've heard reports of rioting in other places where food was being handed out. Not so here. Everyone is queued up in an orderly fashion and waiting their turn, and it only took a bare handful of line jumpers being hauled off and beaten by jackbooted thugs (actually a lot of the thugs are wearing shorts and sandals in the early summer heat) for people to get the message. The white race is a noble race that faces adversity with honor and decorum. Or else.

It seems the message of white solidarity has indeed been taken to heart, because you see a lot of people giving up their spots in line to children, the elderly, or just people who look really hungry but aren't pushy about it. And the next time someone tries to cut ahead without permission, volunteers from the audience converge on him before the official thugs can even react. Is... is this what being proud of your people feels like?

You force your thoughtful frown into a reassuring smile as you serve the crying woman with the newborn baby an extra-large portion. Did you prevent the civil war for the purpose of installing your puppet on the throne, or to do what you're doing now - helping these people? Are you still infiltrating, or have you joined?

"God bless you," an old lady says as you hand her the food. You rather doubt he ~~exists~~ will. Even if Taylor happens to be sincere in her desire to help, it's not as if you're about to give up being other, more goal-focused people.

---

You lose track of the number of people who thank and/or bless you, even though you played no part in acquiring the food you handed out (aside from, you know, ensuring that the Empire is a functional institution rather than a mess of warring factions). You can't deny that it feels good, helping good people (by giving them things taken from bad people). But before you can get too worked up about how great these people are, you are reminded that the royal line somehow produced Theodore Anders.

Theo makes his entrance on a flying stage much like his father did, but Purity has taken the place of the slain valkyrie at his side. Rune is still off in one corner making the whole thing go. She's wearing a mask, but careful study of her body language reveals that she is not at all happy with her new commander in chief. She always did have excellent taste.

Theo is still chubby - you never did finish his exercise regimen - but full plate harness hides a multitude of sins. His lack of height is made up for by a stool behind the speakers podium. Not visible to the audience, but you know by virtue of being part of the planning committee.

A listless gesture from Rune sends three brass gongs flying into the air. Theo raises his arm and fires, striking each gong in turn. A majestic entrance, and a demonstration that yes, he does have superpowers. Three lucky audience members have thousand-dollar party favors fall on their heads. There's a mild commotion as people realize that the bullets are in fact pure gold, but they are cowed/noble enough not to fight over them, and accept the luck of the draw.

"All hail the emperor: Aurelius!" Purity shouts.

"Hail!" the audience responds, a good portion of them accompanying it with the appropriate gesture. You grit your teeth. There is nothing about him that you do not loathe. You understand perfectly well why he settled on Aurelius as his cape name. He is very much a golden emperor. He just isn't fit to lick the dirt from Marcus Aurelius's sandals.

The next part is going to suck too.

"My people!" Aurelius begins. "We gather today in a broken city!"

It's the part where everyone thinks he's an enormously gifted speaker.

"The city is broken, but our spirits are not! The buildings may have fallen, but the empire will not!"

He has a microphone inside his helmet, he does not have to shout to be heard (good thing random mortal Sven survived, because apparently that's the only person in the entire empire with the audio engineering chops to make that sound not awful). Even so, with the energy he's putting into his words he must be half deaf from the echoes already. But an open-faced helmet would reveal his unfortunate chin situation.

"My predecessor, Kaiser, gave his life fighting for you! The great evil was driven off, and now it falls to us to protect and rebuild the legacy he left us!"

It would be better for his legitimacy if he had said 'my father', but Theo is in the curious position of being the only cape in the entire empire whose identity is not public knowledge. His advisors all agreed that this advantage should not be squandered lightly. People will suspect, but suspicion is a far cry from knowledge.

"It may seem a daunting task, but we will persevere! Together we will prevail! Alone we are weak, but united we are strong!"

You wonder who wrote the speech for him, because you know for a fact that you didn't make him a good writer. Probably Krieg. Certainly not Purity, and Hookwolf prefers to let his fists do the talking (where 'fists' is a euphemism for 'chainsaw-limbs').

"Think of your forefather, the yeoman farmer, that builder of nations. When he first arrived in this land, it was empty save for a few bands of stone age savages. With his humble labor, with the blood and sweat of generations, he built this wilderness into the greatest nation on Earth!"

You spot some frowns in the audience, but you admire the way Krieg has balanced them out. There are the people who came solely for the food, who've had it drilled into them their whole lives that the savage is noble and his loss, tragic... but also that America is #1 just because. Contrast this with the party members, who have rid themselves of any romantic superstitions about the stone age, but have strong objections to America's foreign and domestic policy ever since - well, in the most extreme cases, ever since old Town Destroyer first took power.

"Yes, the nation he built has been lost. Swindled away, surrendered to the merchant and the banker and perverted to their whims. But the blood of that man, who yearned for freedom in a new land, still flows in your veins! The nation that fell can be rebuilt, because yours is the blood that builds civilization! So can the city that fell be rebuilt!"

"Dodged a bullet there," Deputy Wilkins opines once the recording finishes.

"Which bullet is that?" I ask.

"The guy got powers. Imagine if he'd been able to run for election."

"That is a terrifying thought," I agree. If that speech wasn't fluke, if he could have run an entire campaign with that energy, I would've had my work cut out for me defending my seat next year.

"He's right, you know," my aide says contemplatively. "Aurelius, I mean."

I shoot him a wry look. "Never would have pegged you for a white supremacist, Johnny."

Johnny Wang Xiaochun smiles politely at my weak jest. "No, look at the crowd. Who are they?"

"Rabble," Wilkins says.

"The working class," I suggest more politely.

"Mm," Johnny says, not giving any indication which characterization he agrees with more. "But to rebuild a city, you don't need lawyers or professors. You need electricians and plumbers, truck drivers and construction workers. The people in that crowd? They are the people who build civilization."

"And they seem happy enough to build it for Aurelius," Wilkins notes. "Guess we're not condemning the city after all."

I nod glumly. I had thought such a move would make me 'the man who ran away'. No. It would make me 'the man who ceded American soil to an enemy state'. Oh, it would get sorted out in the end - such a state of affairs would be entirely unacceptable to Washington - but once the dust settled my political career would be as dead as the would-be emperor.

---

When the standing ovation dies down (everyone was already standing, you're outdoors), the stage floats to the ground. You make your way over, where you are joined by Krieg. The stage takes to the air again.

"We mourn those who are lost," Krieg says, and a hush falls over the crowd. He couldn't have pulled it off if he was still playing 'Krieg the extremely German guy', but his native British accent works well to make him the solemn and slightly sinister elder statesman to Aurelius's young firebrand.

You stand silent as he eulogizes Max Anders and Nessa Biermann. The Empire got off lightly, statistically speaking.

"There is also Taylor Hebert," Krieg says, and you step forward. "The youngest warrior among us, she fought bravely but was injured so gravely that she lost the use of her power. Though she remains with us, her watch is over, and we honor her sacrifice."

The crowd takes in your clenched fists and the tears trickling down your face as you remember what you lost. You were on the planning committee for this event. You agreed that your pain would make for excellent PR.

"I speak now to our enemies," Krieg says suddenly, his tone shifting from solemn to threatening. "To attempt to capitalize on tragedy to settle old grudges would be exceedingly unwise. The Empire protects its own. That is all." The stage sinks down once more.

It's sort of a lie. Rachel's power is sitting right there. There's an empty slot in your soul labelled 'spirit-tied pet' just waiting to be filled once more. All you need is a new dog. Hell, with your money you could afford the proverbial pony, and you'd give even odds that it would have 8 legs by the time you were done. Low Key could be back on duty tomorrow, riding Sleipnr.

All you'd have to do is replace Fenrir. To acknowledge that Fenrir could be replaced. No, let Low Key retire, another casualty of Leviathan. It's sort of the truth. Fenrir is gone, and you cannot call forth a wolf ever again.

Assuming the heroes are willing to play ball, you suddenly have a civilian identity again - if one strongly tied to a criminal gang. Whoopee. It's the least of what you would give up, to have Fenrir back again.

Krieg rests a comforting hand on your shoulder. You appreciate the gesture, even if he thinks you only lost your powers. He is, at least, bright enough not to try to say anything to cheer you up.

Rune has removed her mask and is staring at you in horror. You explained your condition to the inner circle - the emperor and the three lieutenants - but apparently the news hadn't made it down the ranks to her until now. She takes half a step forward, then stops. Her hands rise uncertainly, and fall again. You hold up a hand of your own to ward her off, to save her from her agony of indecision.

"I don't need a hug if you don't," you say, wiping at your cheeks with your other hand.

"Yes you fucking do," Rune says, and hugs you.

Daniel Snuts · Aug 11, 2022

Director Piggot turns off the recording. "Simple question," she says. "Is this bullshit?"

When neither of us speak up, she continues. "Certain experiments have been conducted. None by the US government-" Lie. "-but the data exists. A coronal lobotomy will leave a cape alive, but either powerless or unable to control their powers. It's not impossible that something similar could happen naturally as a result of injury. Her reported condition after the fight could indicate brain damage."

We both turn to face the other person in the room.

"I don't do brains," Panacea says reflexively.

"Is there anything you can tell us about her condition?" The director asks.

There was no brain damage. She still had her Brute powers at the very least. I have no idea what she's playing at, trying to... retire(?) like this. But if I rat her out here, she'll definitely...

"Doctor-patient confidentiality," Panacea says firmly, squaring her shoulders and doing her best to look defiant.

"There are ways around that," I note.

"We're not asking you to violate confidentiality," the director disagrees, playing the good cop. "But if there was anything you could tell us... it would be in your patient's best interest if we could confirm that this isn't some sort of trick." She pronounces the word 'patient' with distaste.

When Panacea remains silent, she turns to me. "You indicated that you had personal experience of a cape losing their powers?"

"Yes, but at the time I didn't know why you were asking. Hexagon's case was nothing like Low Key's."

"Who?" Panacea asks.

"Before your time. Minor villain in Boston, a Case 53 whose arms and legs had turned into pairs of superhumanly strong tentacles. Called herself 'Octagon'. She was never very successful, though, and was down to 'Hexagon' by the time of her death."

"I see," the Director says. "That is technically a loss of power, yet completely useless for our purposes."

"Perhaps there's a better comparison," I suggest. "Moord Nag, the African warlord. Her power takes the shape of a 'familiar spirit'. It grows larger and stronger by consuming human flesh, while injuries make it smaller and weaker. Both changes appear to be permanent. Were it to sustain enough damage, it could possibly 'die'. Her familiar cannot be summoned and dismissed the way Low Key's can, but..."

"Clockblocker did write a report insisting that the wolf gained powers over time," the director says. "He claims that there's no way it could fly at the time of their first encounter, because no cape would voluntarily choose engage him in hand-to-hand combat."

"She won," I note.

"Indeed. But if she truly is like Moord Nag - if her pet has been eating people - we need to know about it."

"Well, I was able to obtain a urine sample from the wolf-"

Both women are startled by my pronouncement. "How?" "When?"

"The details are not important," I say quickly. "Late March. I sent it for analysis, of course. As I'm sure you're aware, canines communicate a lot of information to each other through scent markers in their urine. It turns out that many of those things can also be communicated to molecular biologists."

I call up the report on my visor HUD, and start reading out loud. "'Composition is similar to that of a wolf or dog, though it does not perfectly match any known subspecies. But if the similarities hold, the sample comes from a young but sexually mature-" Panacea giggles at that, before clapping her hands over her mouth. What is she, five? "-sexually mature male, in a subordinate position in the pack. Its diet consists almost entirely of mutton and pork, including bone marrow but not including offal. However, there are also faint traces consistent with the consumption of human flesh.'"

The director stiffens at that last part, as does Panacea. "It should be noted," I say, "that the sample was obtained soon after the encounter Clockblocker mentions in his report - where the wolf also bit off Shadow Stalker's hand. Moord Nag's familiar consumes corpses by the dozen, it would certainly show more than 'faint traces' if Low Key followed that example."

"I will still have people go through the missing person reports," the director says firmly. "Though I don't know how credible the report is. Treating a master projection like a real animal..."

"Real enough," Panacea mutters under her breath, low enough that I might not have heard it without the audio pickups in my helmet.

"Elaborate."

"Oh, I, uh... After the fight she was covered in blood. It wasn't hers. I've never healed a wolf, but it was pretty similar to dog blood. Besides, the protein markers indicating diet should be reliable regardless of species-" She pauses, frowning. "No, if you create an entire animal from scratch you could have it display whatever markers you wanted? But there's no reason..."

"The power likely stores a template to reconstruct the beast from," I say. "Like a Breaker returning to their original form."

"An animal that eats, excretes and bleeds," the director muses. "If it bleeds, it can be killed? But could she not then simply recall the most recent template?"

"Perhaps..." Panacea says. "No, never mind, it's stupid."

"If you have a theory, please do share it," director Piggot says.

"Well, I was just thinking... What if the wolf was a Case 53? It would... explain some things."

The room is silent as we ponder this idea.

"There are records of similarly severe transformations," the director allows.

"A power along the lines of Pretender's?" I muse. "Allowing him to inhabit the body of another, and thus masquerade as a Master projection when he leaves?"

"Lacking hands and incapable of speech, he recruited miss Hebert as his... service animal?" the director says.

Panacea snorts at the description. "Something like that. I mean, it's just a theory."

"Nevertheless, it represents another scenario where she is telling the truth, and really has 'lost her powers,'" I say.

"Though it does beg the question," the director says "Why would anyone join the E88, when they're not even a member of the human race? As a Case 53 he would have no memory of his original ethnicity."

"Money?" Panacea suggests.

I shrug. "How does this affect our policy?"

"For now, we do nothing. Quite aside from the protection she's receiving from the E88, it's too public. If her loss of power is real - no, as long as it's perceived to be real - going after her could have catastrophic effects on the Endbringer participation rate among villains.

"But we observe, and investigate. If we find evidence that they did prey on humans, she goes to jail. And if she ever summons so much as a puppy, she dies."

"She what!?" Panacea exclaims.

"I will put a kill order through the system and keep it on my desk, ready to be signed at a moment's notice. If she truly was crippled I will let her retire in peace, her crimes pardoned and forgotten under he auspices of the Endbringer Truce. But the Truce is a sword that cuts both ways, miss Dallon. To undermine it for your own gain is to declare yourself the enemy of all humanity as surely as any S-class threat."

---

There aren't exactly any cafes open in Brockton Bay right now, so you arranged your meeting with Lisa at 'a place that isn't underwater'. You did, however, bring an extra coffee ration from the imperial stores.

Lisa looks you over when you arrive, and you watch her power supplying her with everything worth knowing about you. Fenrir isn't with you. Fenrir is gone. She's bright enough not to try to say anything to cheer you up, despite knowing exactly what's going on.

"Aren't you going to ask me how I'm doing?" you demand.

"Taylor, no."

"Because I'd tell you that I'll live."

"Taylor, don't."

"Leviathan, on the other hand..."

She sighs. "Shouldn't you finish your blood feud against Pancakes before taking on an Endbringer?"

"I'm doing you a courtesy - asking for your help now, while refusing is easy. Once I kill Pancakes..."

She grimaces at the reminder of her soul price. "That thing doesn't come with an expiration date, huh?"

"You could always become someone whose fondest wish is not the death of another human being," you say with a shrug. "Purity managed to change hers."

"You already- what was- no, not important." You're not sure whether she's talking to you or her power. "It's not as if I have kids to endanger. What do you want from me?"

"You saw him. It. Whatever. And we stole the PRT database, they must have hours of Endbringer footage in there. What's their weakness?"

"You think they haven't already put every Thinker in Watchdog on that? It's not that easy."

"What, are you saying you're not better than those scrubs?" You've looked at the profiles of the Watchdog Thinkers. It's almost sad, how shitty they are - or maybe you're just incredibly spoiled by the company you keep. For all that she's slumming it as two-bit thug, Lisa is easily one of the top ten Thinkers in the world. Maybe top five.

Lisa snorts at your blatant manipulation, but doesn't resist it. "Fine, fine, I'll look at the footage. But not the Simurgh stuff! Not exposing my brain to that, thank you very much."

---

You retire to one of your less flooded backup lairs, each bringing a laptop full of stolen PRT data. You amuse yourself by looking at the Endbringer evaluations from the aforementioned Watchdog Thinkers while Lisa's brain does the heavy lifting.

Hunch: "Very not good."

Appraiser: "Puce shading into sable."

Eleventh Hour: "Eleven."

Eye Spy: "Cloudy with a chance of premeditation."

As you said, sad.

"They're indestructible," Lisa says, looking up from her own computer. "Like, shrug off a hundred nukes indestructible. The wounds, the bleeding we manage to inflict on them, that's all superficial. Doesn't impair them at all. Each layer you peel off just reveals another layer beneath, twice as tough as the last one."

"...what about a thousand nukes?" you ask.

"Nope."

"A million nukes?"

She has to stop and consult her power for that one. "...maybe. Probably not. Please don't try to set off a million nukes."

"Bad for the environment," you agree. "Physical durability is their strength, we knew that already. What's their weakness?"

She makes a disgusted sound in response, but goes back to her homework. Lacking anything better to do, you start paging through the Simurgh stuff. It's not as if it's going to contain any infohazards she couldn't already have installed in your brain, if she wanted to. Nothing leaps out at you as relevant, until you come across a photo titled 'graffiti on interior wall of Madison containment zone':

DRUNK WITH FIRE WE ENTER YOUR SANCTUARY
YOUR SPELL BINDS THAT WHICH WAS DIVIDED
ALL MEN BECOME BROTHERS BENEATH THE SHADOW OF YOUR WINGS

It's your turn to make a disgusted noise, something like "Blergh."

"Hm?" Lisa asks.

"Simurgh just told me her True Name," you say sourly.

"I don't want to know!"

---

"Someone made them."

"What?"

"They aren't people. They aren't aliens. They look mostly humanoid but twisted and monstrous because someone made them that way. Psychological warfare. I mean, look at those eyes." She brings up a closeup of Leviathan's face. Four eyes, three small ones on the left and one slightly bigger on the right. "Nothing has eyes like that. They're just there to look creepy. They don't even work.

"Hell, his entire head is a decoy. The only important stuff is right... there." She zooms out the image and points at a spot somewhat below where the heart would be on a human. "Heart-brain-eyes-everything organ, located right in the indestructible-est part. No one has even come close to damaging that."

"Who?" You ask the important question. "Why?" You ask the other important question.

"Based on their attack patterns? Either a mastermind bent on global domination who lives in what used to be the Republic of Chad, or my power is giving me garbage due to insufficient information. My money is on the latter."

"...if we can't really hurt them, why do they ever retreat?" you ask, circling back to another fairly important question. "Why not just keep rampaging forever?"

"A plot by the Chad mastermind? Don't know. Need more data."

---

"I found a weakness," Lisa announces. "Here." She turns the screen towards you, and you scoot over to watch. It's a video clip of Leviathan attacking a city. It looks... familiar?

"Is that Brockton Bay?" you ask.

"Yeah. Check this out." She starts the video playing, stopping it a few seconds later. As far as you could tell, nothing happened. "Look closer. There." She points at the screen and advances the video frame by frame. There's a narrow projectile of some kind, pitch black and almost invisible in the rain, flying towards Leviathan. An arrow? It hits Leviathan and vanishes. The Endbringer doesn't react, and a few frames later it reappears behind him.

"Phased through?" you ask.

"No. Look there." Lisa zooms in to show you three pixels on Leviathan's shoulder, that are a slightly darker shade of green than the surrounding pixels. "It left a hole. Completely ignored his physical durability."

You squint at the pixels. "If you say so. Who did that?"

"Flechette, a Ward. Currently stationed in New York. If you want to fight Endbringers, you need to get her power."

Huh, you recognize that name. She was the one who could destroy orichalcum, wasn't she? As well as other 'indestructible' materials - including, apparently, Endbringer flesh. You call up her profile on your own computer. Road trip time?

"Hang on," Lisa says. "Says here she's being transferred." Did she just casually hack the PRT again? "To... Brockton Bay!? What are odds?"

"Roughly Simurgh percent?" you suggest.

"I really wish you hadn't said that."

Daniel Snuts · Aug 12, 2022

"Was there anything else?" I ask.

Dragon hesitates for several seconds before answering. "...I've gone over the prediction logs from the Leviathan fight," she finally says. There's another pause. "I know what you did."

"I failed," I say bitterly.

"Oh?" Dragon asks, perhaps a bit archly. "So the casualty report was wrong, and Kaiser still lives?"

"Checksuit4," I mutter under my breath. chksuit4 is my prototype diagnostic program, a full 20% faster than chksuit3 by forgoing all memory safety. But as I will be startled to discover when I go over the logs later tonight, it also has a bug that spews corrupt memory all over the system, miraculously missing any critical processes but completely trashing the recording buffer. As a result, not only did suitlog7 crash and fail its automatic restart, I also lost the last 28.44 seconds of recorded audio.

Or, that's what I thought would happen. Instead there's a small ping, and a line of text shows up on my visor HUD: 'chksuit4 has been shut down due to memory access violation.'

Dragon helpfully brings up another line of text beneath it: A particular line from the changelog of her latest contribution to my codebase. 'Minor improvements to chksuit4'.

Ah. I suppose that's what happens when you trust someone to the point that you don't even review their code anymore. Given the circumstances, it's surprising how much it hurts that she used that trust to sabotage me. A strange, illogical part of me wants to shout at her for that.

"I suppose there is no use denying anything," I say instead, with forced calm. Since she knows what chksuit4 was meant to do, I may as well have handed her a signed confession when I invoked it.

"Colin... why?"

"Why?" I exclaim incredulously. "Why not!? He was a villain! A vile, irredeemable villain! Better that he-"

"Was Dauntless a villain too?" Her voice is soft, but her question shuts down my tirade like a bucket of cold water to the face.

"Dauntless wasn't part of the plan." Is that what she think of me now? That I would...

"Was he not? Quicksilver said-"

"Quicksilver was full of shit! She was just guessing! She isn't even that kind Thinker!"

"So your ambition is not fame?" she asks mildly. When I don't answer, she continues. "Quicksilver sees powers. Is it so inconceivable that your power might affect your ambition? Influence theory states-"

"Influence theory has never been proven!"

"Sankaramanchi and Hyytiäinen proved quite conclusively that influence is happening."

"The effect they measured was significantly smaller in males," I say, but it's a weak retort and I know it. A terrible seed of doubt is taking root. Did I really..?

"No conscious part of me wanted Dauntless dead," I say firmly. "His death was not part of the plan."

"I believe you, Colin. But I still have to report the matter with Kaiser."

"Do you really?"

"Yes! If I don't, I become an accessory after the fact!"

Oh. No, I suppose I have no right to ask that of her. But I can tell - I hope - that that having to chose between friendship and the law distresses her. Which is something I can solve.

"Don't bother. I'll turn myself in." I open a call to the PRT switchboard. "This is Armsmaster, requesting a secure meeting with Director Piggot."

---

"Dragon?"

"Yes?"

"Do you hate me for what I did?"

"I'm... disappointed."

---

Just looking at Director Piggot, it's easy to forget that the corpulent woman used to be a field agent. But she can certainly swear like a trooper when the situation warrants. I remain stiffly at attention as she screams at me.

"You stupid mother fucker, do you have the faintest fucking idea what would happen if it got out that a member of Protectorate - a god damn Branch Leader - used an Endbringer fight to settle personal grudges?"

It's clearly a rhetorical question, yet she seems to take my continued silence as a provocation.

"Did you think that because it must never leak out, I'd help you get away with it? That I would not destroy you for what you did?" She pauses for breath, then looks me straight in the eye as she says her next sentence. "You're going down for the Laborn dossier."

My eyes go wide. "No! You can't-"

"Silence! There is nothing I cannot do to you! If you had half the wits God gave a fencepost, you'd get down on your knees and thank me that history will remember you as a mere pedophile, and not a traitor to all mankind! By fucking with the Endbringer Truce, you put the world at risk! And for what, a petty grudge?"

"Our failure to take down the Empire 88 has been a blemish on-"

"A blemish? For vanity you threw away all honor and reason, and both our careers?" She evidently sees the confusion on my face, because she explains: "My job is to ride herd on you psychopaths, to stop you from pulling the dumb shit you always do. A task I clearly failed at in an unprecedentedly spectacular fashion. I've seen other directors have capes blow up in their faces, but this is something else. When I bring this to the Chief Director, I will hope and pray that I only end up fired without a pension.

"I honestly expected better from you," she continues softly, now speaking more to herself than me, "which only goes to show that I should trust my instincts more. This is what I get for letting you and your Guantanamo girlfriend work unsupervised."

It takes me a moment to understand the reference. "The Birdcage isn't-"

She fixes me with another glare. "I would not mention the Birdcage too loudly right now if I were you."

You know how they say Rome wasn't built in a day? Neither was Brockton Bay. Leviathan broke innumerable man-years worth of infrastructure, and everyone will have to chip in if that's going to be rectified anytime soon. Including you.

You're officially powerless now, after all, just another member of the rank and file. Consequently you join an imperial work crew like any other, and spend eight to twelve hours each day performing manual labor.

And if your work crew happens to always be guarded by the specific parahuman you want to study? Just a coincidence, goy. It's not as if you're secretly the power behind the throne or anything, having subverted both the boy emperor and the queen regent. Of course not.

The cape in question? Crusader. He makes ghosts. Not in the 'he's really good at killing people' sense, though he is that too. He's a Master who creates multiple translucent, insubstantial clones of himself. A duplication power would of course be excellent for Not Dying, but that's not what you're focused on these days.

No, what you need right now is more ways to Prevent Others From Not Dying. A lot more. You have a List, see. It's short, but nevertheless quite daunting - the top entry says 'Leviathan', which makes any subsequent entries fairly irrelevant in comparison. What makes you interested in Crusader is that his Manton limitation is the opposite of Faultline's: His ghosts can only affect organic matter. Or in other words, they can stab things to death through arbitrary amounts of armor. You want that.

Oh and his ghosts can fly, which also makes him a Mover on par with Rune by way of uncomfortably erotic piggyback rides. Rune is way more popular though, because her method of transportation does not involve pressing your functionally naked body against a strange man. That's not want you want from him either.

Actually even ignoring the whole 'secretly in charge' thing you're not really just another grunt: You're also a living martyr. If you sometimes drift off lost in thought, the other workers are hesitant to reprimand you. They think you're contemplating what you've lost, not what you're in the process of gaining (for the purpose of avenging what you've lost). They're... not always wrong.

You also tend to take your lunches with the foreman rather than the other workers. It's not elitism as such - or maybe it is? People like the two of you can simply afford a better quality of rations, and neither of you want to rub that in their faces. You're not egalitarian enough to share, though.

He probably quite enjoys hanging out with someone famous, too. He strikes you as the type. He is also the most cheerful Endbringer survivor you've ever met. A combination of his job, and his lack of dead relatives.

"I know it's unseemly," he says, refilling his mug with what Lisa called 'fucking awful coffee', "but the construction business is just so nice right now."

"High demand, huh?" you say. Given your heavy hand on the work and patrol schedules, you'll not begrudge him a bit of profiteering.

He waves it away. "Not even that. None of the fat government contracts are going to end up in Empire territory, I can tell you that much. No, it's the lack of government. You have no idea what it took to build something before. Permits. Impact studies. Reviews. Offsets, grants. Lawyers, horse-trading. Bribes and flattery. So many layers of parasites who had to ensure they got their slice of the pie, or who obstructed you just because petty power games made their peepee hard. Years of effort just to get started. All washed away by the big green! It's ama- uh." He's so enthusiastic that he momentarily forgets what the big green washed away from his conversation partner. "I mean..."

"No, do go on," you say, poker faced.

He coughs self-consciously. "Right. Now I can just go to an architect I trust - like my cousin - and tell him 'I want a building that won't fall down.' As long as it's nothing fancy, he can whip it up in no time at all, or just grab something off the rack. You've seen the retarded buttplugs they call skyscrapers these days - with modern steel and computer assistance, architecture isn't hard. Then I go to Aurelius, he says 'yep, that looks like a building all right, here's your budget' and that's it. From planning to construction in like, a week."

"Silver linings, huh."

---

So, manual labor is what you do during the day. At night? You've been staking out a certain patrol route.

"Good evening, Flechette." At your words she spins around, raising her crossbow. For all that you were expecting it, you still get a jolt of adrenaline. Black-clad heroes pointing crossbows at you...

When she sees who it is, she lowers the weapon sheepishly. "Oh. Um, I recognize you. Quicksilver, right?"

"At your service." You perform Quicksilver's usual curtsey.

"So, uh, I guess you want to look at my power?" Well, what have we here? A dutiful girl who paid attention when they briefed her on the local cape scene, that's what.

"Indeed. I saw you in action against Leviathan, it was certainly something else." She draws herself up with pride at your words. You'll have none of that. "I have never in my life seen a bigger waste of potential, and I pray to God I never will."

"Excuse me?"

"You, alone in all the world, have a power that will cut through Endbringer flesh like a hot knife through smoke. And you attack Leviathan with crossbow bolts?" Scorn drips from your every word. "They're what, a quarter inch in cross section? Are you retarded?"

"I- uh-" Apparently yes, because it has clearly never even occurred to her that she might do differently.

"Lucky for you - and perhaps the entire rest of the world - I'm here to fix your shit. I'm going to make an Endbringer killer out of you if it's the last thing I do."

"Okay."

---

Flechette's power works by imbuing (a part of) an object with cut-through-anything-ness. The only thing her power can't cut through is another imbued object. Thus, over the next week the boat graveyard gets a lot more holes in it.

Most of them, unfortunately, are in the ground, because she still cannot consistently extend her power through an entire chain at once. If she doesn't do it just right, an empowered link ends up cutting through its unempowered neighbor somewhere along the way - sending the empowered links plummeting through concrete, soil and bedrock until the charge wears off. When she does get it, though? Endbringer-decapitating bolas. Though of course you warn her, do not actually decapitate Endbringers. Their heads are decoys.

A cutting-edged discus is trivial to make, but nowhere near as good. She isn't actually immune to her own power, she just has a secondary Thinker ability that makes extra sure she doesn't touch anything she shouldn't. Which makes throwing anything but the smallest discus quite awkward. Still a lot better than a crossbow bolt. Mind-hands could do it, if you team up. She also promises to talk to the Protectorate Tinkers about making a giant disc-thrower. No one else ever suggested it, because apparently all heroes are functionally retarded.

The most destructive thing you've found so far is something you call 'the surface of this shield is a weapon'. Just press it against anything you want deleted. With the downside of course being that it puts your single most critical combat asset in melee range of an Endbringer. Vetoed.

Unfortunately 'project landmine' isn't going so well. You can see her power, there's nothing really preventing her from making an arbitrary patch of ground into a death zone just waiting to be stepped on. But something is holding her back. You're determined to keep riding her ass until she gets it.

No, you're not just doing the 'bootcamp as excuse for power study' thing again. This is serious. You would like to kill Leviathan yourself, but you're acutely aware that you do not always get what you want. If you fail/die, your vengeance shall live on through her.

It takes a toll on her, though. Unlike you she does need to sleep, and the schedule of a Ward in the ruins of Brockton Bay is quite punishing. The people in charge are clearly accepting a giant legal mess with the Youth Guard later, in exchange for parahuman manpower now. You can understand their reasoning: It's not as if they don't own the judges.

You had worried about her burning out and giving up initially, when you discovered that her soul price wasn't any good.

Flechette wants somewhere to belong.

It's not that you don't have a gang she could join. But if arbitrary group membership was enough for her, the Wards would already fulfill her desires. She has no reason to switch to a lesser gang. A bit of a Catch 22: She would need to feel at home first, join later.

Still she perseveres, half-assing patrols and losing sleep in order to keep up with your training schedule. It's not really a desire to help that keeps her going, either, or a desire for glory. If she had either of those she might have figured out some way to suck less on her own. No, the secret of her persistence, the motivation that makes her keep showing up? She has a thing for being ordered around by older women.

It was all you could do to hold in an aggrieved 'seriously?' when you realized as much. But, well, any control mechanism is better than none. You will fuck her, if it comes to that. You're both going to come out of this lean, mean, Endbringer-killing machines, no matter what it takes.

Daniel Snuts · Aug 15, 2022

Although you are the power behind the throne, your control isn't perfect. Purity doesn't know that she's a minion. As far as she knows, she just feels gratitude and respect towards you for the obvious reasons. She's happy to juggle schedules to have you be guarded by Crusader, because Crusader is her most trusted sub-minion. But she also sees nothing wrong with guarding you herself, when that would involve less juggling.

You're not about to explain to her why this isn't ideal for you, so you just have to accept it. Oh woe is you, to have to occasionally study Purity instead.

She's is a bit of an experiment on your part, actually. See, you already have quite the number of hours sunk into studying Glory Girl. Hours that you're never getting back, because you'll have another non-violent encounter with Glory Girl shortly after hell freezes over. But what if you could combine your insights into two similar capes, to construct one complete power?

Some would argue that Purity and Glory Girl are not very similar at all, but consider: They are both all about flying and projecting light. Glory Girl's projection was admittedly twisted emotion-wards because she hooked up with Gallant before she triggered, but she shares a family with Brandish and Laserdream and Photon Mom and Flashbang. Wait no, Flashbang married into the family. Before or after triggering? You don't remember. But the theory is sound! The New Wave family power is very much like Purity's at its base.

Yes, your power expression is affected by what capes you hook up with before triggering. Scientifically proven. No idea why or how, but who's even trying to make sense of powers at this point? Certainly not you. Though you sometimes wonder if there's an alternative universe where Aurelius's power isn't gold-related at all, because he never hooked up with Smith the orichalcum Tinker.

---

Yes, you're still going after Crusader, even with Flechette offering herself up for your use. You're not going to put all your eggs in one basket like that, not when you know how far from the original your copy of a power can land. But, sometimes you get interrupted.

Usually it's some concerned member of the rank and file, worried that you're overexerting yourself. You don't even know how much of that is them being overprotective, and how much is them correctly judging how much a mortal girl your size can safely do. But your power was already making you unreasonably strong, and all the exercise you've been getting lately certainly isn't making you any weaker. It's gotten to the point that you have to stop and think before picking things up, to make sure you're not outing yourself as a Brute.

Sometimes it's Rune, trying to get you to go flying with her like in the old days. You have to remind her that you both have work to do.

"When did you become such a stick in the mud?" she demands. "Sulking isn't going to get your powers back!" Then she winces. "No, I didn't mean that. I'm sorry."

Today, the interruption is of a more exciting variety. "Capes!" comes the cry from ground level. Without thinking you grab one of the exterior I-beams and swing yourself around to the outside of the building frame. With your feet planted against the beam and your fingers gripping the edges, you start sliding down.

It's not something you'd want to try without superpowers - your Brute strength to maintain your grip, your Brute durability to deal with the friction heating your work gloves to an uncomfortable degree, and graceful crane stance to handle the exciting part where you have to let go every time you pass a cross-beam, and resume your grip below it before you fall. But it's not something a mortal couldn't do, if they were a professional climber and/or a bit nuts.

About halfway down it occurs to you that you have very limited options for dealing with hostile capes while remaining mortal-compliant, but, um, you don't think you can actually stop at this point. Well, when you can't abort a poorly chosen course of action, all that is left is to double down on it.

You're moving at a fair clip when you reach the ground, and you make sure to absorb the impact with bent knees despite graceful crane stance making that unnecessary. Mortal-compliant, see? The way you peel off your gloves and shake your fingers through the air to cool them is entirely sincere, though. But you very deliberately do not make any humorous 'ouch ouch ouch' noises, and when you turn around to face the intruders, your face shows no trace of hesitation or concern.

"Clockblocker. Iscariot," you greet them calmly.

"It's 'Chariot'," the newest Tinker in the Wards complains.

"Isn't that what I said?" you ask, frowning slightly.

You actually beat Crusader's ghosts to the ground, but as if to punctuate your words half a dozen of them arrive to hover threateningly in a loose circle around the heroes, brandishing a variety of insubstantial stabbing implements. Crusader himself doesn't show up though, seemingly content to let you do the talking.

"You'll have to excuse him," you tell the suddenly tense heroes. "Having members of a rival gang show up unannounced has a way of making people jumpy."

"We ain't no rival gang!" Chariot protests.

"We're not rivals any more?" you exclaim happily and with no trace of sarcasm whatsoever. "That's great news!"

Clockblocker shakes his head at your question, or possibly at his colleague for handing you a setup like that. "Off the record? Yeah, pretty much. As long as you keep order and rebuild, and keep your race war boner in your pants, we're too busy to deal with you right now. On the record: Die nazi scum." He delivers that last message in a thoroughly unenthusiastic monotone.

You consider the capes before you. While their official unofficial stance may be one of noninterference, having Wards patrol the very edge of Empire territory like this clearly demonstrates that their unofficial unofficial policy is to provoke an incident that lets them attack you in self defense. Because not poking the bear would be dangerously close to saying that it's OK to be white.

Or perhaps 'waving a red flag in front of a bull' is a better metaphor. Because while Clockblocker's costume doesn't leave a single inch of skin exposed (and you happen to know that beneath it he sports that most caucasian of phenotypes, the redhead), Chariot's heavier but less comprehensive Tinker-armor reveals him to be black. The point being that the color of the flag doesn't actually matter. Sure it might be the single best heuristic for determining the content of your character, but heroes are already assumed to be hostile and belligerent by default. In this instance the metaphorical bull is colorblind, and the red flag just looks good to the audience.

"Well, I appreciate you coming by to visit, then," you tell Clockblocker politely, waving for the ghosts to provide them an exit route. The bull is also not going to charge into the matador's sword today. "But I'm afraid wolf freezing is no longer on the menu. You understand, I'm sure."

"-and she called him 'Iscariot'. She pretended she misspoke, but I'm sure it was deliberate."

"Yes?" Miss Militia is polite, but clearly confused.

"You know, as in Judas Iscariot?"

"Oh!" She frowns in thought. "But how did she know? And why did she tell us? Are they making a move against Coil?"

She's clearly talking to herself, but I'm not ready for this conversation to be over!

"Wait, Trevor is a traitor? And you knew? When were you going to tell us?"

I remember what Vista said to me just before she left: 'If you ever want to know something people don't want you to know, talk to Low Key.' I just nodded at the time, but now I understand.

---

Your copy of Crusader's power works the way you hoped it would, but not as well as you hoped it would. Yes, your otherwise mundane steel knife passed right through the breastplate you made Sophia wear, and the tip came back out bloody. But you still felt significant resistance pushing it through, and as a result the wound is nowhere near as deep as you would like.

You wipe the knife clean and try again. And again. Different angles, overhand vs underhand grip... no matter how you stab her it's a bitch and a half to punch through the plate. Sometimes you don't even draw blood.

Still, it's a start. Unlike what you see in the movies, without the power your thrusts barely even leave a scratch on the breastplate as they slide off. It does inarguably pass through steel to damage the fleshy bits beneath in a manner decidedly supernatural. If you pick up more Brute strength to put behind the blow, and/or more Striker powers to layer on top of it... like maybe Flechette's power, if that one fizzles too. All in all, you're not going to complain.

"Did you really need me for this?" Alec complains in your stead.

"It's literally impossible to make her wear something she doesn't want to wear without you. She just kept phasing through the breastplate when I tried."

---

Oh. You can fly now. That's certainly something Purity and Glory Girl have in common. Maybe you should have remembered what usually happens when you come up with clever plans. Maybe if you hadn't been so clever, you'd have building-collapsing force-lasers a few days from now. Instead you can fly, and you're having a hell of a time getting used to the controls.

Yes, you said 'controls'. It's really weird. Flight is like the second most common superpower (after, ironically, force-lasers), so how come your version is so bad? Purity and Glory Girl just have to think 'up' and gravity can go suck a fat one, but you get to manifest a... a sort of magic hovercraft? An invisible force that controls your position relative to the ground? That attaches to your right hand, and you control by minute twitches of your fingers.

It's really finicky, and no matter what you do you can't seem to rise more than ten-ish yards off the ground. Top speed is about, well, about car-fast, you think. Which beats walking, but is a far cry from airplane-fast. And despite you calling it a hovercraft just now, it can't actually hover. If you don't keep moving the whole thing destabilizes and you fall down. Luckily you were trying to imitate Crusader's ghost's 'swoop down and hover threateningly' maneuver when you found that out, and only fell a couple of feet.

Your powers have certainly been underwhelming lately. With 'flight' like this you won't even be able to clear most rooftops. Unless... oh. Turns out your position doesn't have to be relative to the ground. Any solid surface will do, horizontal or no. Less hovercraft, more antigravity-tether-thing? At least you can 'climb' any building in your way as long as you stay within ten yards of it.

Wait. You said 'a solid surface' just now, didn't you? But you don't actually know that. You're going to have to test it out on the convenient liquid surface right next to your chosen testing spot (you are, of course, back at the boat graveyard), and probably end up taking a bath in the ocean.

---

You don't end up taking a bath. Turns out pessimism is not always warranted, and your not-hovercraft can negotiate liquid surfaces just fine. Still, you're not exactly looking forward to aerial combat with this thing. If something were to jostle your steering hand... You return to shore and turn the power off and on again, trying to attach it to your left hand instead. It works. The steering is even wobblier this time, but at least this way you'll have your dominant hand fr-

Oh. You were so upset at being clever earlier that you didn't realize you were being dumb. Since when have you only had two hands? You toggle the power again, this time attaching it to a mind-hand.

Suddenly your flight is an extension of your mind, like a normal cape! You do couple of celebratory loops and rolls, flowing smoothly from one maneuver to the next with the absurd dexterity typical of your mind-hands. Okay, whoa, slow down. Your brain is having fun, but your stomach didn't like that last maneuver so much.

You switch to a more sedate, upright mode of flight as you ponder another idea: Mind-hands come from the heart. Physically, you mean. The glowing tendrils emerge from the center of your chest. If you were to make it really short - really short, so short it doesn't emerge from your chest?

You watch as the tendril withdraws and the last hint of glow vanishes beneath your clothes. But the mind-hand is still active, still controlling your movements. The tiny spatial distortions tickle a bit, but it means non-Poltergeist identities will be able to use this mode of flight. As long as you keep moving (and/or constantly bob up and down instead of hovering in place) you'll be able to pass for a normal (if fidgety) flying cape.

Yeah, okay, you can work with this. You give the results of your little cape-combining experiment a solid meh out of five. Not going to try that again with anyone important.

---

Testing a power like Flechette's for the first time demands some caution. Rather than attempting to infuse something you hold, and potentially having it cut through your fingers, you carefully brush your finger against a pebble on the ground. Nothing happens. You blow out your breath in a great sigh. It's one of those powers.

Ok, so pebbles don't work. Maybe it's limited to weapons? You've heard of stranger Manton limitations. You put your knife on the ground and poke it. Nope. Knife held in mind-hand? No. Knife carefully held with only your thumb and pinky finger? No. Knife wielded normally? No.

You hear a faint scrabbling sound, and a terrible suspicion hits you. A mind-hand snaps out and captures the rat that was making the noise. Another murine sacrifice on the altar of power testing, huh? You bring the it in close, reach out a finger and tap it with Flechette's power. The rat stops existing.

Huh. You somehow got things mixed up, and managed to apply Crusader's Manton limitation to Flechette's power? Perhaps sleep is not quite as optional as you thought? On the plus side, you just fucking deleted a rat! Deleted! None of this 'it can penetrate armor, but not very well' or 'it can fly, but not very high' bullshit. It's Flechette's power in all its glory, you're just skipping the 'imbue weapon' step and going straight to 'murder'.

Yeah, you're missing out on the utility of being able to destroy objects, but the charm of unmaking already has you fairly well covered on that front. It's not that big of an issue. No, the big issue that humans invented crossbows for a reason: It's really nice not to have to stand next to the people trying to murder you back.

You find and delete another rat, confirming that it is, in fact, limited to touch range. You can't even channel it through your mind-hands, you have to actually touch the rat with your actual hands. No ranged combat for you.

You spend some time berating your power/brain. No, of course this is fine! So what if your version of the Endbringer-slaying power is useless against Behemoth, whose aura kills anyone who ventures within 30 feet, or the Simurgh, who can fly into space? It's Leviathan you wanted revenge on, right? It's perfectly good against him, for 'closing to melee range with one of the fastest Movers in the world (who is also one of the deadliest Shakers and Blasters)' values of perfectly good.

Weeeell, your power-instincts say, there might be something more to it. You should try it again. Fine, whatever. You track down yet another rat. This time, you call on the power very, very slowly, straining senses you can't describe to feel what is going on. And there is something there, another mode of operation? This time you twist the power sideways(?) as you bop the rat.

The rat turns into a cat.

What? No, seriously, what? What the fuck, power?

===

Charms:
Taylor: All-Encompassing Sorcerer's Sight, Terrestrial Circle Sorcery
Tattletale: Know the Soul's Price
Bitch: Spirit-Tied Pet
Aegis: Ox-Body Technique
Browbeat: Shaping the Ideal Form
Dragon: Implicit Construction Methodology
Kid Win: Industry and Forge Wisdom
Lung: By Rage Recast
Vista: Mind-Hand Manipulation
Cricket: Mantis Form
Faultline: Charm of Lesser Unmaking
Labyrinth: Hell-Walker Technique
Othala: Verdant Emptiness Endowment
Rune: Sometimes Horses Fly Approach
Shadow Stalker: Bloodless Murk Evasion
Miss Militia: Nightmare Fugue Vigilance
Circus: Graceful Crane Stance
Ballistic: Crack the Sky
Crusader: Shell-Cracking Atemi
Purity: Eagle-Wing Style
Flechette: Pattern Spider Touch

Shell-Cracking Atemi lets you ignore Hardness - but there's still Soak to worry about (Soak is 'this much damage is subtracted from your attack', while Hardness is 'you must be this tall to even roll for damage').

Eagle-Wing Style is a relatively shitty flight power simply for balance reasons - a sufficiently cinematic 'guy with big sword' type character might be able to leap up and bisect an eagle-wing stylist, but would be completely helpless against an archer hovering 100 yards above him. Thus, it carefully prevents you from rising too high, using two-handed weapons, or hovering.

Pattern Spider Touch lets you reach straight into the matrix code (in Exalted it's called 'the Loom of Fate') of someone you hit with an unarmed strike, and more or less arbitrarily rewrite or delete them. Usually delete.

Daniel Snuts · Aug 16, 2022

It's not that Lisa doesn't want Coil dead. It's not that she thinks the two of you shouldn't team up against him. She just wanted you to hold off a bit - at first because she didn't think you could win as you were, but lately because Coil was spending millions of dollars on setting up the remaining Undersiders as warlords in the ruins of Brockton Bay (that's also why Alec hasn't been around the lair very much lately).

You couldn't in good faith deny that request, what with your own pocket empire (once again you accidentally one-upped Lisa in the villain game). And you agree, the best time to kill your enemy is when they aren't busy showering you in money. But once her warlordship is secure, and she has preparations in place to let her 'inherit' his assets and continue paying her minions...

"Mark," Lisa says. "1:57 pm."

"Roger that," you say, and hang up.

It's the answer to the question: 'How do you coordinate with yourself across multiple timelines?' That timestamp was when Lisa personally witnessed the collapse of the timelines. In that instant, there was only one of her. Even if Coil split again immediately afterwards, both versions of her are guaranteed to be aware of the same timestamp, the same plan.

The die is cast, and now you need to hustle across the Rubicon in time. Your next actions are all planned out already, but the problem is that you're not just dealing with timelines: Every so often Coil also asks his precognitive Thinker minion whether he is likely to be attacked in the near future. Now that the low-probability event of getting a confirmed timeline split has occurred, you are on a very tight schedule that your own Thinker claims is the best tradeoff between risking not getting everything ready in time, and risking the enemy finding out what you're doing.

You call your minions and request an immediate meeting.

---

"I have a source inside Coil's organization," you tell Purity and Aurelius.

"Can you confirm that he was the one who leaked our identities?" Purity asks.

"Yes. But the important part is this list: His sources in our organization." You slide a piece of paper across the table, with 24 names written on it.

Purity picks it up. Her eyes widen in shock at some of the names. Her lips are set in a thin line and she slams a fist into the table, but she does not voice any doubts. She trusts you implicitly. You could have put Krieg on the list and she would have killed him without hesitation.

She starts glowing and rises into the air. "I'll-"

You hold up a hand to stop her. "If you start cleaning house, he'll know something is up."

"But-"

"I also know the location of his lair," you say. That gets her to sit down again. "The two of you will stay put and act like nothing out of the ordinary is happening, because there are people reporting on your movements. But no one pays attention to the cripple. I'll go around and talk to everyone privately, get them ready for a surprise attack."

"It's a shame we can't arrange a public award ceremony for a spymaster," Purity notes dryly, "because you'll certainly deserve a medal for this." She is already writing out orders giving you the authority to command all parahuman assets however you please. No doubt about it, acquiring this pair of minions was worth every bit effort.

The other minion just sits there gazing at you longingly. "You're amazing," he breathes.

You glare at him, and he shrinks back. "We all serve the empire, no matter how minuscule our abilities."

Worth every bit of effort, you tell yourself firmly. At least he isn't crying and begging you to take him back today.

---

"The boss is betraying you," I tell Trickster. "He was never going to help Noelle." Sundancer and Genesis visibly slump at the news. Ballistic, on the other hand, doesn't react at all. Already suspected as much. Trickster proves more belligerent.

"What would you know about it?" he demands.

"What, you haven't figured out that I'm the grand vizier, his personal Thinker? I know everything."

"And you're warning us because..?" Ballistic asks.

"I'm betraying him in turn, duh. The grand vizier is always plotting, don'tcha know?" I grin at him, and he snorts in response. He's the easy one, he doesn't really care. But painting myself as a traitor is not exactly winning anyone's trust, so I turn to address the female capes with a more somber expression. "I wasn't exactly given a choice about working for him. A gun to the head rarely leaves a favorable impression."

Three down, one to go. Trickster simply does not want to cooperate, however. "Let's say that's all true," he says. "Perhaps he'll change his mind if we perform well enough. Like by unmasking a traitor."

I sigh, shaking my head. "That's never going to happen," I tell him. "It's not how he thinks. The more useful you are, the less likely he is to help. See, if he solves the problem all he has is your gratitude. But jam tomorrow..."

"It's not as if we have any better prospects!"

"Ah, but that's where you're wrong. I'm the one helping him plot all this, remember? He knows full well where to find someone who could help, but he hasn't even tried to contact her. I, on the other hand, can guarantee you a meeting."

"Who?"

"Why, Quicksilver, of course. The expert on powers."

"She's alive?" Ballistic exclaims in surprise. Jesus, Taylor, what the fuck? You let him think you were dead?

Trickster is also upset, but for a different reason. He advances on Ballistic with clenched fists. "All this time, you-"

"She said she couldn't do it!" Ballistic protests, raising his hands and backing away. "Of course I asked her! She said she couldn't do monster capes."

"And what you think you are, vial boy?" I ask. But he isn't listening, because Trickster is language policing the M-word by punching him in the face. There's a brief scuffle before Genesis manifests a giant ape-monster to pull them apart.

"As I was saying," I repeat, "everyone who got their power from a bottle is technically a monster cape. The mutated amnesiacs were test subjects, you got the refined end product - though clearly not quite refined enough. I didn't know any of this," I add, shrugging, "until Quicksilver told me." Taylor really is the expert on powers, as I discovered when she sat down to give me the dirt on the Travelers. She just hadn't bothered to draw any conclusions from the data she had.

"Noelle only drank half her vial," Sundancer says quietly.

Oliver took other half. Vials contain two active ingredients. One grants powers, causes mutations. Other substance added to suppress mutations. No, doesn't suppress. Grants minor secondary power: Human semblance. Oliver got only secondary power.

Semblance component will separate out over time. Noelle's condition could have been prevented by shaking well before serving.

I shake my head sadly. From such minor errors...

"She liked your power well enough, didn't she?" Trickster snarls at Ballistic. "And when she got what she wanted, she dumped you without a word? You stupid piece of shit, I bet she was cheating on you too."

"She was," I say. It happens to be the truth (Taylor is a bit of an awful bitch) but the important thing here is to be on Trickster's side. Sorry Ballistic, but since you're already on my side I need to step on your feelings in order to manipulate your boss.

Trickster struggles against the grip of the ape-monster until it - reluctantly - lets him go. "How do we know you'll deliver on your end?" he asks. Which means that he's already talked himself into going along with it. "Quicksilver doesn't sound very trustworthy," he adds with a glare at Ballistic, who is currently being comforted rather than restrained by the ape.

"Thinker, remember?" I tap my temple demonstratively. "Far too smart to get the Travelers after me for revenge. Far too smart to upset Noelle." The shudder as I say that is almost entirely unfeigned.

"So, you want us attack Coil?" he asks.

"Not really. I already sold the location of his base to the Empire." There are some indrawn breaths at this. "But I made them promise to let you leave if you don't fight back." I hold up a finger to forestall any objections. "Believe me, they will keep that promise. No one wants to fight Sundancer if they don't absolutely have to. I just want you to have a truck ready, and get Noelle out of there as soon as the fighting starts."

"Noelle hasn't been very... stable, lately," Genesis says hesitantly. "Taking her out of the vault, in a combat situation..."

"Well, if you think she'll be more stable once Coil triggers the self-destruct and you all die in the explosion and she has to dig her way out through the rubble..."

"Of course he has a self-destruct mechanism," Ballistic groans.

That's the wonderful thing about Coil. No one can interact with him for any length of time and believe that he isn't the kind of person who would put a self-destruct mechanism in his base, and trigger it with subordinates still inside.

"I'm pretty sure he has it set up specifically to leave Noelle alive but hurt, because nothing says 'fuck you' like a rampaging monster eating anyone who pokes at the ruins."

---

"He sent for me," Lisa says, less than an hour before the attack is set to begin. "He suspects something, I can tell. The precog must have tipped him off." Shit. There's not really anything you can do against an enemy who can see the future, except move quickly and hope they don't ask the right questions in time. And it didn't work.

"We can't change anything," you observe grimly. There's no way to signal your other selves. If you attack early, he'll just close this timeline and deal with you in the other, prepared. If you call it off, he'll close the other timeline when the attack happens there, and come after you here.

"I know. I-" Her voice breaks. "I usually last around half an hour, I think. When he tortures me for information, I mean. I don't know. Before I learned how his power worked, I though he just had a really vivid imagination. Afterwards I just tried not to think about it."

"I trust you," you lie. You have no choice but to rely on her. "Keep telling yourself, this will be the last time."

"And the first time. It's always the first time..."

"None of that," you say sharply. "You're not going to crack. You'll hold out just a little longer than average, and he'll die today. If he cuts off anything important I'll become Panacea and put it back, and there's a 50-50 chance none of this is real anyway." They're not exactly the most comforting statements, but they're what you've got.

"Yeah." You hear her taking a deep breath. "See you on the other side." She hangs up.

You spend the next 40 minutes fretting over things you can't change.

---

"Let us past, or she dies," Coil says. He's clearly unhappy to find an unfamiliar cape blocking his secret escape tunnel. Lisa shakes her head fractionally. You flinch away from looking at her too closely. People are meant to have ten of certain things, and two of most others. But judging by the way Coil was still in his base when the attack went off, she didn't crack.

"Let her go, or I kill you," you counter, staring at Coil so you don't have to look at Lisa and trying to let anger drown out the other, less productive emotions.

Coil remains silent, but grinds the muzzle of the gun harder against Lisa's temple. Behind him, a flunky is frog-marching a prepubescent girl in a hospital gown. The other Thinker? You haven't been introduced.

"Look," you say, "we both know that if I let you past you'd shoot her as soon as you got away. On the other hand, if you kill her now you'll die before you can bring the gun to bear on me. There's no way this ends well for either of us. Shall we call it a draw, and reconvene in the other timeline?"

Coil considers your words for a moment. "Perhaps we shall," he says, sounding thoughtful. Lisa closes her eye. She knows what's coming. There's no way Coil would drop this timeline without shooting her first, just to spite you.

Then Coil jerks, his entire body shuddering. "What?" he gasps. "How?" Lisa's eye flies open, and she opens her mouth to say something. Then he pulls the trigger.

Two mind-hands stab into his brain through his eye sockets, and the third cuts his throat. He's dead before the echoes of the gunshot return from down the tunnel, but the timeline doesn't end.

Almost as an afterthought, you kill his flunky too before he can bother you. You sit down next to Lisa. There's... there's brains all over the wall. Not even Panacea could fix this one. You gently close her eye. It doesn't really make her look peaceful, not when the other half of her face is gone.

"I'm sorry," you say. It's not what you want to say. You want to ask- no, demand why. Why does everything turn into ashes? But that's fundamentally about you, and she deserves better than your self-pity.

"You were right all along," you say instead. It's what she would have wanted to hear, if souls were real and she wasn't gone forever. "Remember what you said back when I first found out about Coil? When you found me and saved me, and gave me my first power? I should have waited until I could make you bulletproof." A small sob escapes your throat. "You always knew best."

---

The little girl pokes you. She doesn't say anything, or even look at your face. You follow her pointing finger, to where she's written a message on the wall in flunky blood.

BOOM SOON

Right. The self-destruct. You get to your feet, and scoop the girl up. You take one last look at the three bodies. Maybe you're a bad person, but you're not going to try to smuggle a dead body across downtown Brockton Bay, not without an invisibility power. Let her be interred here, with the bodies of her slain enemies. There must be at least one pagan religion claiming that they will become her servants in the afterlife. You start running.

You've barely cleared the tunnel when it happens. A loud rumble, accompanied by a gust of air and dust. Luckily the tunnel emerges quite far from the base itself, because you have no doubt that heroes will be swarming over the ruins like flies in no time at all.

Daniel Snuts · Aug 17, 2022

Now that Operation: Coil Dies has been successful (the word tastes bitter), you have administrative tasks you must attend to. You set the girl down. She still does not speak or meet your gaze, but she shows no desire to wander off either, so you ignore her and pull out your phone.

You call Victor, who had been peering at the empty desk of PRT Director Thomas Calvert through a sniper scope, and tell him to stand down ("turnabout is fair play," Victor had noted when you tasked him with this outrageous breach of the unwritten rules).

You call Aisha, who had been lurking in Thomas Calvert's private residence, and tell her to stand down.

"I got him, boss!" she says excitedly.

"You got his body double," you explain, raining on her parade (unlike Victor, Aisha didn't even notice that you were asking her to violate a taboo).

You call Purity, confirm that she reduced Coil's backup base/primary fallback point to rubble, and tell her to stand down.

You call Alec, who staffed Coil's secondary fallback point entirely with body-jacked mercenaries, and tell him to stand down.

You call Hookwolf, confirm that he gained entry to the secret tertiary fallback point that Coil was completely sure no one else knew about and sliced everyone inside to ribbons, and tell him to stand down.

You call Krieg, who was in charge of the main base assault, and verify that everyone got out before it blew. And that the Travelers were allowed to leave unmolested.

"You were not kidding about the giant monster," he says. You confirm that no, you were not. That's why a peaceful resolution was engineered.

You end up really appreciating everything Ops normally do for you. Or you would, if they hadn't been so heavily infiltrated that you had to take over their job completely.

(None of it helped, and you'll never know which of your precautions got him in the other timeline)

It wouldn't do to say it out loud, but Low Key has really blossomed since her injury. All too often capes focus too much on their powers, and neglect mundane skills.

Easy for me to say, of course. But this girl has the makings of a truly great manipulator. I'm tempted to ask her if I can skim some off the top.

"Oh," Scalper says. "Looks like it's over. I'll be taking my leave, then. No hard feelings, right?" Then his face goes blank for a second, before twisting in rage. "You little shit!" he screams. "When I find you, I'm going to pluck out your eyes and make you eat them! I'll-"

His words cut off abruptly when he brings his gun to his head and pulls the trigger.

"No hard feelings, right?" my mouth says.

"None whatsoever, sir!" I reply instantly.

Fuck! Of course I only got the body double, and the Boss got the real guy. I know I'm nowhere near her level, but I really thought I managed to avenge my brother just now.

I kick the wall in frustration. Great, now I've been upstaged, and my foot hurts.

You turn to look at the girl you saved. "Now what am I supposed to do with you?" you say, half asking her and half musing to yourself. The fate of Coil's pet precog hadn't featured into your plans at all.

The girl points to where she's scratched another message into the wall with a rock while you were busy.

HAVE INFO
WILL SAVE YOUR LIFE
TRADE

Don't talk and the Monster won't get my soul. Don't talk, and 87.54918% chance the Monster won't get my soul. 86.97363% chance. Don't talk. 86.13474% chance. No body language. 88.44529% chance the Monster won't get my soul.

"No freebies for the rescue, huh." She's scratching another message before you finish speaking. But it's not as if you're going to turn down the deal or anything. She reportedly can't lie about the future without damaging her own power, so if she says it will save your life you're hardly in a position to haggle.

FREE INFO
HOW TO BECOME DRAGON
GET DRAGON CLOTHES
RETURN AT 9

Damn. Wearing a new face and costume for this operation clearly did not help at all. Is there anything she doesn't know about you? Depends on what you do in the future, you guess.

You call Aisha again. "Do you still have your paints?" you ask. She's confused for a moment, then delighted.

---

You really wish you had an invisibility power right about now. Or at least that you could throw on a jacket without smudging the dragons.

But you manage to make it back to the meeting point without causing a public outcry, where the precog is waiting for you.

She's wearing jeans, and a blue denim jacket over a white t-shirt. Her mask is what you can only call a blue denim balaclava. It's clearly made from the seat of her pants (a different pair than the one she's wearing), with the leg holes sewn up. The zipper goes up the back of her head, and it's belted around her neck.

It looks odd, to say the least, but as a veteran costume maker you approve of the approach. She has a clear theme going, but only had to do a single piece of tailoring. Shame about the sneakers. As with business suits, so with cape suits: A snob can tell a poseur by the footwear (or so you hear, you don't know shit about expensive shoes).

"Couldn't find blue denim shoes, huh?"

Unsurprisingly, she doesn't respond. Instead she hands you a sheet of paper, detailing her plan for tonight in neat pencil handwriting. So that's how your dragon power works? You literally never would have guessed. And she's certainly ambitious, isn't she? Well, she's a Thinker powerful enough to give you the odds of each individual step of the plan down to seven significant digits, she deserves to be.

You stop reading when she steps into your personal space, her hand reaching up as if she was about to grab you by the neck. What- oh, there's a small pile of white powder on the web of her thumb. The missing part of your Double D costume. You take step back and hold up your hand.

"Certain levels of verisimilitude are not for sale at any price," you say firmly. Aisha's mom is not a role model.

She shrugs and brushes the powder to the ground, before handing you another sheet of paper. It's identical, except two of the odds have gone down by 5% or so.

"You Thinkers are all the same," you say. Even the creepy mute ones can't resist showing off.

---

Gaining entry to a Merchant party is as easy as making it there without being mugged. Which would normally be quite the obstacle, but no one is feeling brave enough to bother two obvious capes, one of whom famously beat up Lung. A fair number of people start following you at a distance, though, just to see what you'll do this time.

The party itself is just an open space that's mostly clear of rubble, with fires and loudspeakers (each one playing a different song) scattered randomly about the place. Most partygoers give way for you as you walk towards the center of the field, but some are too strung out to notice anything going on around them and must be navigated around, while others have, through a variety of chemical means, become braver and/or friendlier than the muggers outside.

They are, on the whole, happy to see you. And why wouldn't they be? Double D is a local celebrity, for all that she has never appeared in public since that first time. You endure people slapping you on the back and smudging your dragons - you'd reprimand them, but the volume of the music means that there are functionally no options between silent stoicism and screaming at the top of your lungs. But when a hand strays towards your front you summon your knife and charge it with power.

You don't even have to cut anyone - the sudden burst of golden light sends everyone staggering back in alarm, crying out and covering their eyes. You dismiss it again before anyone can identify the source of it as something that really ought to belong to Low Key, and continue onwards.

In the middle of the party you find Skidmark lounging on a throne of sorts - a ratty couch that has been half-heartedly spray-painted gold. In his left hand he holds a pipe that you're fairly sure does not contain tobacco, while his right hand is stuffed down the front of Squealer's pants. Charming.

He says something when he notices you, but you can't hear a word of it. A look of irritation crosses his face. "Turn it down!" he screams. "Turn it the fuck down, you gibbering assmonkeys!" He jumps up from the couch and waves his hands about and keeps screaming until people get the message, and the nearest loudspeakers go silent. Squealer groggily gets up from the couch and tries to get him to put his hand back in her pants, but he pushes her away and turns to you.

"Well!" he says in the relative silence. "What brings you fine frails to my little swarray?"

"Hi!" you say cheerfully. "I'm a dragon!" You point at denim-girl. "She's your new boss."

Squealer takes a step back, alarmed. Skidmark, on the other hand, takes a step forward and starts describing what he's going to do to both of you for your presumption. Things that are not at all appropriate when applied to a prepubescent girl. Well, she did note that there was a 78.65441% chance that this would end in violence.

You turn to Dinah.

Just this once. Then never speak again, or the Monster At The End Of The World gets my soul.

"Deal with them, and I'll tell you," she says, and holds out her hand.

You clasp it, and seal your pact. There is golden light, followed by violence.

---

♦Topic: Double D is back!
In: Boards ► Places ► America ► Brockton Bay
Posted by: AstralDeth (Veteran member)
Posted on Jun 2, 2011

(Showing Page 3 of 9)

► Legalize Brownies
Replied on June 2, 2011:
an then mush rolls up an hes like slurpin up shiz all over an he gets 1 of teh bonfires an 1 of teh spreakers an hes like surprise muthafocka an punches her rite in teh snoofle wif a fist thats on fire while blastin sick beets from his hed! was ill af fam

► will_eat_anything
Replied on June 2, 2011:
I think I got most of that. So she lost the fight?

► Unfortunate Sobriety
Replied on June 2, 2011:
Nah mang that shit just pissed her off lol. Riperino in piecerinos Mush.

► will_eat_anything
Replied on June 2, 2011:
Wait, she *killed* him?

► Legalize Brownies
Replied on June 2, 2011:
hes jus joshin ya fam mush is fine

► Unfortunate Sobriety
Replied on June 2, 2011:
I dunno mang that was alot of blood tho

► long_distance_chef
Replied on June 2, 2011:
So less than 2 months after Lung is arrested, we get *another* gang led by a giant rage dragon? Just Brockton Bay things.

► Legalize Brownies
Replied on June 2, 2011:
teh new boss is trousers

► Veteran Member (Not a veteran member)
Replied on June 2, 2011:
Does that mean good or bad?

► Unfortunate Sobriety
Replied on June 2, 2011:
Nah mang u dun geddit trousers is the new boss lol

End of Page. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 , 8, 9

===

Lacking parents, Dinah instead moves to secure a lifetime supply of candy.

Daniel Snuts · Aug 18, 2022

You look at the piece of paper Trousers gave you in exchange for her new gang. There's a single word written on.

CUFF

You have no idea what that means. But apparently the information will save your life at some point in the future, because fucking Thinkers.

An internet search does not turn up anything beyond the obvious. You guess you'll just... carry around a pair of handcuffs wherever you go now? And a set of the appropriate lockpicks. And a pair of tasteful cufflinks, because why the hell not? Maybe they'll save your life when... you're disguised as a man and somehow end up at a formal dinner with Accord present, or something. Who the fuck even knows?

---

The Travelers are holed up in Lisa's warlord lair - that much, at least, went according to plan. One of Coil's mercenaries lets you in.

"We were told to expect you," he says. "Though, we haven't heard from the boss at all since then. Do you know if-"

You don't know which boss he's referring to, but the answer is the same either way. "Tattletale and Coil are both dead," you say.

To your surprise, he reacts to this piece of news by inclining his head and tracing the sign of the cross. "May they rest in peace," he says softly. Then he looks up, and is all business again. "Will you be taking over the base? I would be willing to stay on under the same terms..."

You shake your head. "You'd have to take that up with the Travelers. Speaking of..."

"Of course, ma'am."

You look around as he guides you to the Travelers' quarters. The lair looks to be of recent construction, with a lot more exposed concrete than you'd normally look for in a home. But it's dry and intact and it has electricity, which is more than you can say for a lot of the city even now.

Your reception from the Travelers themselves consists of Sundancer walking up to you and slapping you in the face.

"That's for what you did to Luke," she announces (Luke himself is nowhere to be seen).

"I'd do the same, if I could reach that high," a girl in a wheelchair says. Genesis, clearly, because she then manifests a gangly monster with seven hands, all of which slap you in the face.

You stand there and take it, because the alternative is getting in a fight with Sundancer. Also you kind of deserve it, you guess.

"If you're quite finished," Trickster drawls. "Quicksilver has a job to do."

The slapping-monster dissipates, and Genesis turns around and rolls off with a huff.

"Thanks," you say.

"They all hate you," Trickster says simply. "I'm willing to give you a chance, but if you can't help her you might not be walking out of here. Just saying."

You make some token protests at his blatant threats - not because you mind, but to have enough of a conversation for soul's price to trigger.

Trickster wants Noelle to be cured.

Ka-ching.

You arrive at a door which he opens a crack. You can hear heavy breathing from within. Trickster's tone is completely different when he speaks again. "Noelle?" he asks softly. "Quicksilver is here." There's no response. "Remember how she was coming to help you?" No response. "Are you ready to meet her?"

After a long silence, during which trickster grows increasingly uneasy, he speaks again. "Noelle-"

"She can enter," a female voice comes from within.

"Go on," Trickster says, motioning you ahead. "Whatever you do, don't touch her. Don't make any sudden movements or loud noises. Do whatever she says - unless she asks you to touch her. Then you run away." You're reminded of Faultline taking you to see Labyrinth, though you take note of how he doesn't bother to threaten you anymore, just warn you.

Inside is a garage area, which has been repurposed as a cozy windowless Noelle-holding facility. Not because they don't want to be around her, but because they're the only doors she can fit through. Although they also don't want to be around her, because they're afraid she might go crazy and attack them (and also, as you discover as soon as you enter, because of the smell).

You've had Noelle described to you, which only somewhat prepares you for encountering her in person. She is the upper half of a reasonably attractive teenage girl, connected to... something less attractive. The words 'nightmarish amalgam' spring to mind. A hill of flesh with three giant mouths (responsible for the heavy breathing) and dozens of eyes both human and non-. It paces back and forth on a combination of hoofed feet and human fingers the size of legs, though it grows still when you enter.

"I disgust you, don't I?" Noelle asks.

You take a deep breath before answering. "Don't worry, that's what we're here to fix," you say, trying not to sound too insincerely cheerful. "Now, tell me about yourself."

"I don't really want to talk about... this." She gestures towards her lower half.

"Tell me about your life before, then."

"I... don't want to talk about that either."

"You're going to have to, if you want to get better."

Noelle swallows heavily. "Okay. Krouse, will you hold my hand?"

Trickster takes a step back. "Noelle, you know you can't-"

"Maybe it won't be so bad this time?"

"I'm sorry," Trickster says. Then he runs away, because Noelle asked him to touch her.

You retreat into a corner as Noelle starts to chase after him, before regaining control of herself. Her human half slumps in defeat.

"Will you tell him I'm sorry?" she asks. "I, I know the monster is lying when it says it would be fine if I touched him, but..."

"You can tell him yourself," you say.

Noelle shakes her head. "He won't come back for a long time now."

"You can tell him yourself once you're better. Which will be very soon."

"Okay." Noelle takes a deep breath, and start talking about herself.

---

Her name is Noelle Meinhardt, and her life sucks. She spends hours going into detail how and why, as you prod her for every detail she can remember. At one point a mercenary shows up to feed her. You watch with mildly disgusted fascination (and your sorcerer's sight safely off) as her lower half gobbles down an entire pig carcass, and another hoof grows out beneath her. So, the human parts are from people she's eaten? That's unreassuring to know.

Noelle wants to be cured. Obviously.

"Can you fix me?" Noelle asks once her narration is finally done.

"Yes. But I'm going to have to touch you."

"No!"

"Yes. Just one touch, and it'll all be over." Paradoxically, it's the giant monster that retreats into the corner, as you advance on it.

"You don't understand! They always come out wrong, and I can't-" Her words cut off as you touch her, and activate Flechette's power. Not to destroy, but to change.

The giant monster vanishes, and two girls appear in its place - one of them wearing clothes, the other naked. The first is Noelle, but with both halves made of human girl. The other is you.

She is already lunging for you as she appears, her lips peeled back in a smile that all hunger and malevolent glee (are her canines longer than they should be?).

"No, stop!" Noelle shouts, but it's too late. Before you can properly process what is happening, the other Taylor has touched you back.

Nothing happens. Her face falls.

"No!" she screams. "No no no no!" She slumps to her knees, whimpering. "Why does everything have to turn into ashes?"

You study your evil clone - for that is obviously what she is. That's what happens when you touch Noelle. Her skin is almost inhumanly pale, but otherwise she looks just like you. Or rather she looks like you would, if you didn't look like Quicksilver right now. She looks like Taylor Hebert. When you turn sorcerer's sight on, you can see that she has done the same. But she isn't using graceful crane stance.

"Let me guess," you say. "You're a clone of me, the girl whose only power is sorcerer's sight."

"Yes," Evil Taylor says. She looks up at you, glaring defiantly, but at the same time baring her throat. "Go on, then. End it."

"End it? We've not even started yet, newest minion."

Evil Taylor seems taken aback by your words, which only goes to show that the cloning process isn't perfect. "You... realize that my only purpose in life is to destroy everything you hold dear and watch you die screaming, right?"

Evil Taylor wants to destroy everything you hold dear and watch you die screaming.

Huh. That's almost word for word Sophia's new soul price.

"So it says on the tin," you agree. "But I won't kill you as long as you don't betray me." You hold out your hand to shake. "Servitude or death?"

She actually hesitates in front of that choice. "Servitude," she says finally, and takes your hand.

Golden light explodes out from you as you seal the pact, though you don't elect to become a dragon. Good thing Trousers explained how that works. What you didn't expect was the black anti-light exploding out from her in an equal but opposite reaction. Light and darkness clash against each other and boil around your clasped hands, and you feel the bargain being twice sealed.

Wait, you could seal pacts all along? And because of that, your dumb brain created a dragon power that only works for pact-sealing people? Trousers didn't mention that. Which, you suppose, means that you're not going to explain it to her in the future.

In the wake of your deal, the walls in your half of the room have been bleached as if they had been exposed to the sun for years on end, while those in her half are stained and corroded.

"What is even going on?" Noelle demands, looking back and forth between you.

"You don't need to know that. In fact, you shouldn't tell anyone about the clone at all."

"Okay."

"Oh, and give her your pants." Noelle is wearing pants, because of course a Noelle who didn't have her power would wear pants around the house. But you don't need the others asking just how Quicksilver fixing a malfunctioning power caused clothing to appear out of the aether.

Luckily the rest of her wardrobe (a couple of t-shirts in a laundry hamper) was on your side of the room, so the clothes are only faded, not destroyed. You won't have to exfiltrate a half-naked clone. For once your true form is good for something, as its complete lack of womanly curves or muscle definition lets your clone fit into a former anorectic's clothing without issue. Hmph.

"Stay here while I finish things up," you tell Evil Taylor. Then open the door a crack and stick your head outside. "Hey!"

"What?" Trickster startles awake from where he'd been dozing off against the wall. "What's wrong?"

"Noelle needs to borrow some pants. You know, unless you're into having your girlfriend display her charms to the world."

"You mean-" Trickster lunges forward and tries to barge through the door. You draw back and shut it in his face.

"Pants first!" You shout through the door.

"Right." you hear from the other side. "Mars! Noelle needs to borrow your clothes!"

---

You trail behind a (re-)clothed Noelle as she rushes out to hug her teammates. As Aisha would put it: It's all heartwarming and shit. A good 5/6ths of the Travelers are crying tears of joy. Ballistic may or may not be a bit misty-eyed as well, but he's steadfastly refusing to even turn in your direction, so you can't tell. As if your awkward outsider status needed any reinforcement right now.

Then Noelle pushes Trickster away, breaking the hug. "It's happening again," she says, her face pale.

"What?" Trickster asks. "Wh-"

"Don't touch me!" Noelle cries, backing away from him. "I can feel it happening again!"

Trickster whirls around to face you. "I though you were going to fix her!"

"I thought I did!" you protest. "She looked fixed to me."

"The monster is still there," Noelle mutters to herself, curled up in a corner while the others stand uncertainly around her - wanting to comfort her, but getting yelled at whenever they approach.

Trickster is the odd man out, too busy hurling threats and imprecations at you to hover ineffectively around his girlfriend, but her next words cause him to forget all about you.

"Kill me," Noelle says.

"Wha-" "Noelle!" "You can't-"

"Please! I can't go through that again!" She fixes Sundancer with a stare. "Before the monster gets too strong, while I'm still in control. Burn me to ashes so it can't regenerate."

"I- I can't." Sundancer chokes out.

"Noelle, no," Trickster says. "It, it didn't work completely, but you're better now. We can keep looking for a solution, and Quicksilver can do her thing again if it gets too bad-"

"If it gets bad?" Noelle demands. "If it gets bad!? I killed and ate forty people the last time it got bad!"

Sundancer, Genesis and the nameless Changer all recoil at this, then turn to look at Trickster.

"You said-" Genesis begins.

"He lied!" Noelle shouts. "He lied to protect me! Please, Mars. If you have any love for me at all. Help me. Keep me from hurting anyone else."

Sundancer is shaking her head, tears streaming down her face. But she holds up her hands, and flashes of solar plasma start appearing between them. The others back away from her.

"No," Trickster says. "Don't you dare, Mars." He tries to approach her, but the sheer heat of the miniature sun forming in front of her sends him staggering back.

"I'm sorry," Sundancer whispers. Once the sun has grown to be the size of a person, she sends it flying towards Noelle.

Just before it hits her, she vanishes and Ballistic appears in her place. He dies before he can even cry out.

"Krouse!" Noelle shouts from where Ballistic just stood.

Sundancer screams, a wordless noise of rage and pain, and sends the sun careening towards Trickster. Genesis starts to manifest another monster.

You, on the other hand, run the fuck away. As much as you'd like to know how it's all going to turn out, this is an excellent time to not be in Trickster's line of sight.

"We're leaving!" you shout at your clone as you burst into the garage. You keep running right across it and slap the 'door open' button. When that has no effect, you channel the charm of unmaking into the door itself. There's a time for subtlety and scrupulously remaining within the powerset of your current persona, and that time is not now. The fold-up door collapses into a neat pile of metal slats, which you leap over.

Evil Taylor keeps pace with you as you sprint away - which is weird, now that you think about it. She gets the benefit of the exercise you've been getting over the last couple of weeks, but not the powers?

Behind you the entire building vanishes, consumed from within by a growing sun.

===

Of course the twisted clone of Taylor's eclipse caste solar is a moonshadow caste abyssal.

If you're not familiar with Exalted and the above statement means nothing to you, don't worry about it. The pale skin and elongated canines mean exactly what a naive observer would take them to mean: She's basically a vampire. But because she draws power from a parahuman shard just like regular Taylor and doesn't have to worry about essence pools, she's not an obligate haemovore.

Pattern Spider Touch can't really be used to modify a single aspect of a person as such. On application, it rewrites them into some other person. Changing 'a random rat' into 'a random cat' doesn't require any particular thought, but Taylor needed to know Noelle's entire life story so that the new person she created would be a properly accurate Noelle-but-without-powers. Unfortunately the new Noelle was such a realistic imitation that the shard was able to find her again and reattach itself S9000 style.

Well, either that or she replaced Noelle with a slave puppet programmed to reassure the Travelers that Quicksilver had done her job as well could be expected, and then self-terminate before they could examine her in detail. How would anyone tell the difference?

Daniel Snuts · Aug 19, 2022

"Why do this?" Evil Taylor asks as you walk along. "I could just betray our pact and accept the consequences, you know. Even if I can't kill you, I can reveal all your secrets."

"Mm-hm," you agree. "And what would happen if you did? After I killed you, I mean."

"You'd... leave town, and start over with a bunch of new identities elsewhere." She sighs. "It wouldn't be satisfying at all."

She sulks for a while before speaking up again.

"But what possible use could you have for me as a minion?"

It's sobering to see a powerless you from the outside, and realize just how suicidal you were. She's practically begging you to kill her.

"What would you do with yourself, if you were me? Which you are."

She shuts her mouth firmly, clearly not wanting to give you any good ideas if you haven't already thought of them yourself. Which you have, of course, because you're the same person.

"You're already helping," you say cheerfully. "Just us walking along like this proves that Low Key and Quicksilver couldn't possibly be the same person. But just to make sure we're seen together, you'll make a big show of hiring me to see if there's any way to get your power back."

Evil Taylor nods glumly. That was what she had been thinking too.

"We need to get you some spray tan, though. Unless you think Low Key should have a goth phase?"

"You could always let me learn shapeshifting from you."

"Hah. You're not nearly Mastered enough for that. Yet."

---

You're back in your true form, except five shades paler - which means you're basically impossible to tell apart from your clone.

Aisha looks from one of you to the other. "Not gonna give you the satisfaction," she says, crossing her arms.

"Aren't going to greet your junior minion-sister?" Evil Taylor asks, gesturing towards you. "This is my clone. She has her own hopes and dreams independent of mine, but I've enslaved her on pain of death because I'm a terrible person."

"No, she's the clone," you say. "And what she's failing to mention is that she's an evil clone, and her hopes and dreams mostly consist of torturing me to death."

"Mostly?" Aisha asks.

"She'd quite like to torture you to death first, while I'm forced to watch," Evil Taylor says. "Because we're friends." Then she frowns. "Didn't you say we were meeting someone here?" she asks.

You answer her frown with one of your own. "I did? Can't think of why."

"There's a note in your hand," she points out. "Where are those even coming from?"

You shrug. "Maybe they're from the Simurgh?"

"You think so?"

"Not really, no. Which is exactly what I would think if the Simurgh did it."

"Huh. Well, what's it say?"

"'Reveal who is clone,'" you recite. "I'm the real one. The evil clone can't shapeshift." You turn your hair blonde in demonstration.

"Yet," Evil Taylor says, but she doesn't otherwise try to confuse the issue. She must have inherited your inexplicable trust in the notes along with the rest of your thoughts and memories.

"Valid use of a note!" Aisha says emphatically. "When people start talking about torturing me to death, I bow out!"

"That's fair," Evil Taylor says.

Aisha shoots her a glare before turning to you. "Have you ever had a really great idea for a prank and then thought that no, I shouldn't, it's too much? Because you really should have."

"Says the mastermind behind Double D?"

"Fine, I'm a big fat hypocritamous! What do you even want with a crazy murderous clone-slave?"

You explain the benefits of being able to deploy two identities at the same time. Aisha seems unconvinced that it's worth the risk.

"We'll keep her chained up at night," you say placatingly. "And feel free to kill her if you suspect anything amiss. It's not as if evil clones are people."

"Fucking Duplicette," Evil Taylor mutters. Yeah, a younger, less cynical you had been pretty shocked at the Human Rights Tribunal's decision in the Duplicette case, but it's been codified into international law now: Evil clones aren't people. Geneva conventions need not apply.

---

Emptiness endowment lets you Master people in exchange for making them better. But it only works on things they've expressed discontent about.

"I wish I was better at navigating by the stars," Evil Taylor says, and you grant her wish.

"Don't learn any new powers without explicit permission," you order her in return.

The thing is, if you have someone at your mercy you can just order them to express useless discontent.

"I wish I was better at filling out tax forms," Evil Taylor says.

---

"Am I Mastered enough to learn shapeshifting now, boss?"

"Maybe once I've gotten Regent's power and used it on you."

---

You suppose it's your job to inform Lisa's next of kin, such as they are. Well, Warlord Circus can figure out what happened on her own, as her support dries up. No really, she can. You have faith in her deductive abilities. It's not like you hold a grudge against her or anything. She tried to spy on you, you secretly copied her power. As far as you're concerned, you're even. But that doesn't mean you like her either, not enough to go out of your way to help.

Warlord Rachel, on the other hand... From what you've heard she's latched on to the venerable Brockton Bay tradition of ethnic gangs, and created an ethnostate for dogs. Thing is, dogs don't pay much in the way of taxes. You should inform her that the food shipments are going to stop now that Coil is dead, so that she may adjust her foreign policy appropriately.

Which only leaves the question of how to get to her. People have been giving her territory a wide berth, because the supremacist nation of Doggonia does not tolerate unterhunden on their turf. And while your shapeshifting sufficed for infiltrating the ABB, it's limited to human forms.

She must have had some arrangement for getting supplies in, you suppose, but anyone who would know what it was is dead now. Nor can you fight your way in - you're confident that you could win against an arbitrary number of monster dogs, but you want to have a conversation with Rachel, not a fight to the death. Which is what you'd get if you hurt her dogs.

Hell, you don't even know exactly where her lair is, beyond 'roughly in the center of her territory'. You had expected Alec to be able to help you out there, but he just shrugs when you ask.

"The boss had a map. Saw it once, but why would I memorize her address? It's not like I was going to visit."

"So everyone who knew where she is is probably dead."

"Why'd you have to go and ruin a good thing anyway?" he complains. "I liked sitting around and being paid for doing nothing."

"How'd you feel about having your identity revealed to the world?" you counter.

"That would be bad," he concedes. "Yeah, that'd probably be murder-bad."

The smart thing to do would be to fly in and search from the air, because dogs can't fly (you can probably fly high enough that not even a fully-grown monster dog could reach you with a leap). But neither can Taylor Hebert, which is the only one of your identities Rachel knows. More sandbagging? More sandbagging. You'd call it the third inevitability of cape life, except as a villain you don't pay taxes.

---

You'd say you're about about halfway to your destination when you see the first dog. It's smaller than you expected, only about lion-sized. It's nearing the end of its patrol shift, you suppose, almost shrunk down to non-fearsome proportions. Or, well, you actually have no idea how organized Rachel is in here. Has she trained the dogs to guard specific areas, or does she just empower them as they show up and let nature take its course?

Of course as you're having these idle thoughts you are also scrambling up the the side of a building, because there's a lion-sized monster bearing down on you.

Well, this is why you packed a grappling hook. After a couple of practice tries you manage to get it to attach to the next roof over. After securing it on your side, all that remains is a tightrope walk above a pack of slavering mutants - because of course the first monster immediately howled for reinforcements when it looked like you were getting away.

No problem at all, in other words. No, really. Absolutely no problem whatsoever. With graceful crane stance you could tap-dance across backwards if you wanted to. You don't, though. You walk across at a sedate pace with your arms held out for balance, remaining mortal-compliant. It's not as if you're going to outrun the dogs when you have to stop and retrieve the rope after each crossing.

In this manner you penetrate deeper into dog territory, but it's only a matter of time before it stops working. Closer to her lair the dogs will be bigger, and soon enough they'll have the strength and claws to climb up after you. You'll... think of something when that happens.

Whups, better think quickly, because that's a monster dog scrambling onto the roof ahead of you. Compromising a smidgeon on the mortal-compliance, you turn on your heel and run back across your tightrope, but the dog just leaps across after you.

"Brutus?" you try. "Judas?" No reaction. You rack your brain for the names of other dogs who might remember you from your minion days as you back away across the roof. "Lucy? Inky? Socks?"

At that last name, it stops advancing on you and perks up. Just in time, because you had reached the edge of the roof.

"Socks! Remember me? I used to feed you and play with you." You remove a glove and hold your hand out for him to sniff. Hopefully-Socks accepts your offer, and carefully sniffs your hand - and then your face, and the rest of your body. You remain tensed throughout, ready to shadow-dodge away in an instant if it looks like he's going for a bite instead.

Not being completely stupid, you elected to wear a balaclava for your infiltration attempt. In a worst-case scenario you can abort the mission and use powers to get away without worrying about being recognized. That doesn't really make being nose-fondled by a giant monster not nerve-wracking, though. But in the end, the monster takes a step back and makes a huffing sound of... acceptance? He doesn't attack, at least.

"Can you take me to Rachel?" you ask. He just stares at you. Oh, right. You had gotten used to Fenrir as the standard for communicating with giant canines. Socks isn't sapient, though. Does he even know Rachel's name?

"Home?" you try instead. "Let's go home!" At that, he lets out the monster equivalent of a happy bark, and jumps off the roof. Then he turns around and looks up expectantly, waiting for you to follow.

---

"Who's this?" Rachel asks. She's talking to Socks, but you step forward and remove your balaclava, and answer in his stead.

"It's me. Taylor."

"Oh. Whaddaya want?" It's not the warmest of greetings, but it's a far sight better than what you'd have gotten if you'd come in another guise.

"Bearer of bad news, I'm afraid" you say, before stopping to wonder if you're exceeding her English levels too. "Lisa's dead," you finish simply.

"Who did it?" Rachel demands.

"Coil." You hold up your hand when she looks like she's about to call for her dogs and go on a crusade right here and now. "I killed him already."

"Good." With that, she seems to put the entire matter behind her.

"With both of them gone, you won't be getting any more support," you point out.

"I can manage on my own. Always have."

"Never thought otherwise," you say, hands held out placatingly. "Just wanted to let you know, you know."

Rachel just grunts in response. "How's Bubbles?" she asks after a moment.

Of course she'd ask that. You're stupid for not expecting it. "Dead," you say thickly, looking away. "Leviathan." Rachel doesn't say anything. You keep looking away as the silence lingers. You fully expect her to attack you for your negligence, and you're willing to give her a free shot. You deserve it.

Instead she shoves a puppy into your arms.

"Wha-"

"Therapy puppy," Rachel explains.

Oh. Okay. As long as she isn't trying to give you a replacement, you can deal. You pet the puppy.

"I lost some of mine too," she says.

---

Your mind-hands pause in their carving almost as soon as you started. "What even was her last name?" you ask.

"Wilbourn, I think," Ghost says.

"How do you spell that?"

"No idea."

You resume carving. Briefly. "I suppose a D.O.B. would be too much to ask for?"

"No shit."

You sigh, and go with your best guess. Once you're done, you let your mind-hands fade and study your work.

LISA WILBORNE
1994-2011
Smarter than you

"It's what she would have wanted," Ghost says.

The paving slab you've carved the words into should be more or less directly above where she was buried in the explosion.

"Not quite smart enough, though," Aisha says.

"Not the time, Imp."

"Oh, you think I'm being inappropriate?"

You turn around at her words, only to find that Evil Taylor (in her temporary guise as the mysterious fourth member of BITN) has pulled down her pants and is squatting to relieve herself on the street. Oh for fuck's sake, she's pissing on Lisa's grave. Because you were friends.

"That's petty, even for an evil clone."

Daniel Snuts · Aug 22, 2022

As more Master effects have suddenly become a priority, you shift your focus towards finally acquiring Alec's power. Warlord Regent has pretty much outgrown his role as the secret third-and-a-halfth member of BITN - his lair is bigger and nicer than yours, and he has more minions. But despite his grumbling he sticks to his promises, and letting you study his power was part of the deal. It's not as if it costs him anything.

Thus you task Evil Taylor with maintaining your Empire identity, leaving her to do heavy physical labor all day while you lounge in Alec's lair, posing as his slave puppet concubine as you watch him pilot his Mastered mercenaries around.

"This is Orc and Lissom," Alec introduces them.

"Mercenaries have secret identities too?" you ask.

"Callsigns, actually," Orc says.

"Though the effect is much the same, with these," Lissom says, gesturing at the face-concealing helmet of their SWAT-like uniform.

You wonder briefly if Alec got them mixed up, because the person he introduced as 'Orc' has a female voice, and 'Lissom', male. Then they take off their helmets, and your confusion clears up. No, he did not get them mixed up. Poor Orc.

Aisha is there too, because as you mentioned, Alec's lair is nicer than yours. She insisted on being the 'senior slave puppet concubine', and you agreed. It amuses her to have nominal authority over you, and you don't particularly care who waves the fan and who peels the grapes. There is one major difference between how you play your roles, though.

"I can't believe you let him actually slave puppet you," you say.

"Don't kinkshame," Aisha says, making you raise an eyebrow. Are they bumping uglies for real, too? You disapprove, but objecting would make you quite the hypocritamous yourself.

"Don't make me draw up guidelines for minion maternity leave," is all you say. Which, uh, could still be considered a wee bit hypocritical, considering your own condition. She's even younger and more irresponsible than you, though!

---

"Alright, hit me," Evil Taylor says resignedly.

You wave you finger at her like a Jedi mind-trick and hit her with Alec's power. She twitches. You don't feel any sort of connection form, though. Frowning, you do it again. Another twitch.

Her eyes go wide with realization, and she bursts out laughing. You keep hitting her with the power, causing her to twitch and hiccup and eventually fall over, but she doesn't stop laughing.

"Let me guess," she finally wheezes out from the floor, "you copied Regent's power? The guy-" she has to pause for breath again "-the guy whose only power is to make people twitch inconveniently, honest!"

You twitch her again as she collapses back into laughter, out of petty spite. You did, didn't you? What is even wrong with your brain? Alec explained it all ages ago, how every nervous system was somehow different, and so all he could do against (lower-case s) strangers was to send bursts of random nerve impulses towards the generally right area, making them drop things or stumble.

But with hours of study and calibration he could gain complete control of a person, down to reading their sensory inputs straight off the relevant nerves. Quite similar to how you use sorcerer's sight, really. But that's not what you copied. You aren't getting any insight into Evil Taylor's nervous system no matter how much you wave your finger at her. You just have the power to make people twitch.

"No shapeshifting for you, then," you grumpily tell the helplessly mirthful clone.

---

With his original power-study debt paid off, Alec requested another heist as a condition of him remaining in BITN. His lair is, to reiterate, a lot nicer than yours and contains more minions, so of course the upkeep would be more expensive. You don't particularly care for villainy, but it's a small enough price to pay for keeping 1.5 excellent minions around. So you Poltergeist it up and roll out with your homies, or however the hoodlums say it.

"You're rolling out with your crew," Aisha says. "Homies are more like acquaintances."

You roll out with your crew, then. However, less than halfway to your destination a pair of thugs with shotguns show up to block your path.

"Huh," Ghost says. "Did we piss someone off?"

"I wonder what they want?" Aisha says, not slowing her roll or even bothering to vanish. You imagine that would change if they actually pointed their guns in your direction, but you still get this tiny little barely perceptible warm feeling at how much she trusts you to handle the situation.

The guns remain averted as you approach. One of them even lets go of the barrel to raise a hand to his forehead, a gesture halfway between a salute and the tipping of a non-existent hat.

"Trousers wants t'see ya, ma'am," he says respectfully. "Urgent-like."

Huh. You had rather gotten the impression that she hated and/or feared you, what with her general refusal to speak to or look at you. And here she comes with an invitation polite as can be, given that shotguns are involved.

"Sorry, crew," you rasp out with Poltergeist's damaged voice. "Looks like today's little outing is cancelled. Dismissed."

Ghost mutters some probably-impolite things under her breath, while Aisha just shrugs.

"Lead on," you tell the thugs.

---

Merchant territory hasn't become a better place for a casual stroll since the last time you tried. From the tension of your escorts it quickly becomes apparent that the heavily armed invitation wasn't for your benefit - it's just that a single shotgun-armed thug didn't feel safe on his own. These very much aren't the people that build civilization.

Unlike Skidmark, who was happy to lounge in filth with the rest of the rejects, Trousers is prototyping the borderless society. Or in other words, she has a luxurious first-world penthouse suite in the middle of her privately-owned third-world slum. You pass several more people with shotguns in and around the ground floor of the building, tasked with keeping the two worlds apart.

Fair play to the open borders advocates: The system clearly works, provided that you can secure yourself a slum to economically exploit, and never ever want to go outside. But why would you want to go outside, when you can just have your hunky personal trainer of indeterminate ethnicity inject you with carefully measured doses of medical-grade heroin whenever you start feeling antsy?

That last part wasn't something you'd heard anyone in the Empire mention (they'd have referred to the trainer's ethnicity as 'mystery meat'), just what you observed going on as you emerged from the elevator. She's not just prototyping the future utopia, she's adding brand new innovations as well.

Trousers regards you levelly throughout the process, unmasked and unashamed. Her eyelids droop and her body relaxes as the stuff hits her bloodstream, but still she does not greet you.

"Are you going to talk this time around?" you ask, bemused.

She doesn't even shake her head, she just slowly tilts to the side until she lies sprawled on the couch. One hand flops out in a gesture vaguely directed at the coffee table in front of her, which holds a single piece of paper. You'll take that as a no. You have no idea what she has against you - which presumably means it hasn't happened yet, whatever it is.

You roll your eyes behind your mask as you bend down to see what message she's left you. "Why'd you even bother to invite me over if you..." You trail off, because the answer becomes obvious as you read the note, all five characters of it. The personal touch was to impress upon you the seriousness of the communication, to convey that there could be no question of it being a joke or a trick.

S9 INC

You look at where the windows have been taped over with cardboard. You'd assumed it was because her drug habit left her sensitive to bright light, but clearly that was making an ass of u and meds. S9 coming means Shatterbird singing, which means-

"'preciate the heads up," you call out over your shoulder as you hit the elevator running.

---

I answer the phone on the first ring. It's not that I'm worried - badass villains like myself don't get worried, duh - I'm just... interested. Yeah.

"Hey Boss," I say casually, so she doesn't get any weird ideas about me not being badass. "What'd she want?"

"The S9 is coming. Are here already."

"Uh." Okay, worried definitely isn't what I am right now. "You... you'll handle it, right?"

"I'm handling the most important part."

Focus, Aisha. You're Imp. Badass villain with a heart of gold. And also loyal minion. "Can I help?"

There's a pause. "...no, you wouldn't make it in time." She hangs up. I slowly lower the phone, my mind racing. They're attacking right now?

"So what'd Trousers want?" Alec asks.

"Slaughterhouse 9," I say dully.

"Here? Now?" he asks, and I nod. "Well, shit." He looks sadly at his game console - which admittedly won't survive Shatterbird announcing herself, but you know, priorities? "...she'll handle it, though?" he says hopefully.

"She's handling, and I quote, 'the most important part.'"

"I hope that means 'keeping us alive.' As opposed to, you know, 'keeping herself alive.'"

I consider that for a moment. "I'm not sure her life even needs saving. I mean, what are the odds that they won't want to recruit her?"

"True. Only... don't they have this thing about making recruits kill their old teammates?"

"Um." I consider some more. "Not to be a faggot, but do you think we should maybe warn the heroes?"

Shatterbird is not difficult to find. You can see her power starting to suffuse the city, propagating a vibration through every piece of glass and silicon that as of yet is too subtle to see with the naked eye. It means you don't have much time, but with sorcerer's sight every window you pass by is a signpost pointing in her rough direction.

Rough directions are all you need, because her costume isn't exactly subtle: An angel of stained glass, each fragment held in place by her power. The ten-foot wingspan is hard to miss.

"Stop!" you shout as you haul yourself onto the rooftop she's chosen for her performance. Or you try to, Poltergeist's voice isn't so good at shouting. But she must have heard you, because she fires a shard of glass from her wing at you even though she's looking in the other direction. You catch it with a mind-hand.

"No seriously, stop," you say.

Shatterbird turns around, and does a double-take upon seeing you. She's the only member of the S9 to wear a mask, a bird's skull made of multicolored glass. But the eye sockets are large enough that you can see the surprise on her face. "Poltergeist?" she says. She tries to pull the shard back into her wing, but can't muster enough force to overcome the grip of your mind-hand until you politely let go. "Did you encounter one of the others already?"

"No?" You're just as confused as she appears to be, but relax fractionally. As long as she's talking, she's not singing.

"Then who told you you were my candidate?"

Oh. You weren't entirely sure what to do next, once you had Alec's power. But just like that your next several weeks are all planned out for you.

"Didn't know I was," you say. "I suppose you have a test for me, then?"

She nods. "I would pit your telekinesis against mine. Prepare yourself!" At her words, her wings explode out into a billowing cloud, which quickly moves to surround you in a whirlwind of glass. This is going to suck, isn't it? You drop into mantis form.

Thanks to the improved awareness it grants, you easily catch the first shard to swerve inwards to strike at you. And the second, and the third. But then you're out of mind-hands, and Shatterbird still has, oh, around three thousand shards left.

When the fourth shard comes you strike out with a regular hand to deflect it. But when it makes contact it explodes into fragments - fragments that curve around your hand and fly into your sleeve, where they score their way up your forearm in a spiraling pattern.

"No cheating," Shatterbird says. "Telekinesis only."

You throw away the shards you caught to free up your mind-hands. They immediately curve around in the air and come back for another pass, but as long as you just bat them away each time instead of trying to hold on to them, a single mind-hand will suffice to keep them at bay. Leaving the other two free to cut open your sleeve and snatch up the fragments slicing your arm into ribbons before they can reach more vital areas. You toss them away, and stop the bleeding.

Of course Shatterbird isn't going to leave it at that. More and more shards join the attack. A dozen. Two. You rip off your mask and throw at away, needing every scrap of peripheral vision you can muster. It's not as if you're wearing a real face beneath it.

The number of shards attacking you double, and double again. A hundred shards fly at you simultaneously. Mind-hands twist through the air at the speed of though, deflecting each and every one with a ripple of twisted space. Then there are two hundred. Three hundred. Shards fly at you from every direction, and you're no longer turning to spot them so much as spinning on your heel. Five hundred. You are not hit.

You're granted a moment's reprieve as Shatterbird growls in frustration, her concentration slipping. Then she clenches her fists, and the entire cloud converges on you.

This. This is what your power was made for. Due to your preparation, you've rendered your opponent entirely impotent. Your body feels as if it's trapped in resin, struggling to move a fraction of an inch in the time it takes your mantis mind to pick out and deflect a hundred incoming threats. You can't possibly hope to turn fast enough to see what's approaching from behind you anymore, but it does not matter. You are one with the glass. You can feel the trajectories, intuit where every one of the 3173 shards will strike.

You have no idea how long it goes on. Seconds, minutes? Subjectively, hours and days. You do not falter. The same power that lets you operate at such speeds keeps you from tiring. To a mortal observer you must not be visible at all, your mind-hands blurring together into a solid white sphere around you.

With a scream of rage Shatterbird sends the rest of her costume to reinforce the attack, leaving her standing naked on the roof. It matters not. What do you care if there are 4892 threats instead of 3173? Let her bring ten thousand shards or ten million, she will not draw blood again.

Eventually she realizes this, and stops attacking. With nothing left to defend against, your mind slows back down to mortal speeds with the grace of a bird hitting a jet engine. You stumble and fall on your ass as your body stops being stuck in time, the world spinning and wobbling around you. Note to self, mantis form will prevent you from being overwhelmed by a flurry of attacks. No more and no less.

Wait, it's not just you, the world really is wobbling. Space itself bucks and heaves from the compounded spatial distortions caused by your hyperactive mind-hands. Speaking of heaving, your inner ear would much prefer if space kept still. You manage to roll over onto your hands and knees just in time for your breakfast to evacuate the premises.

Once the continuum settles down a bit, you get to your feet. Spitting out bile and wiping your mouth, you turn to face your sponsor. Shatterbird is dressed once more, and she's staring at you like she doesn't know whether to compliment you or curse you.

Do I know how to pick them, or what?

No but seriously, what? How?

"One down, seven to go?" you prompt her when she doesn't speak.

She nods. "I'll tell Siberian you're ready for her trial as soon as I've sung for the city."

"Don't," you say. "It's a trap."

"What?"

"Your power works on sand as well as glass, right?"

"Yes?"

"You know about the Silver Desert?"

"I've heard about it."

"It might wake up if you try to claim its sand. I really don't want to find out what happens if it wakes up."

"It's alive?" She fixes you with a suspicious look. "I haven't heard anything about that."

"Not many people know." Literally only you, to be precise. And now her. You hold up your hands in a 'not touching anything' gesture. "Hey, I'm not trying to stop you from wrecking the city." It would be nice if she didn't, but getting her to not poke the Desert is a higher priority. "Just, don't touch that part? You know, for the same reason you don't walk up to Scion and slap him in the face?"

"I don't have that sort of control at long range. But I can't just not sing. I always sing to announce our presence..." She's frowns in worry and chews on her lower lip as she considers the matter. You don't think she realizes how much of her face is visible through her mask. It's entirely possible that no one has told her, because everyone she meets is too busy either running away or begging for their life.

"I might have a suggestion..."

===

Charms:
Taylor: All-Encompassing Sorcerer's Sight, Terrestrial Circle Sorcery
Tattletale: Know the Soul's Price
Bitch: Spirit-Tied Pet
Aegis: Ox-Body Technique
Browbeat: Shaping the Ideal Form
Dragon: Implicit Construction Methodology
Kid Win: Industry and Forge Wisdom
Lung: By Rage Recast
Vista: Mind-Hand Manipulation
Cricket: Mantis Form
Faultline: Charm of Lesser Unmaking
Labyrinth: Hell-Walker Technique
Othala: Verdant Emptiness Endowment
Rune: Sometimes Horses Fly Approach
Shadow Stalker: Bloodless Murk Evasion
Miss Militia: Nightmare Fugue Vigilance
Circus: Graceful Crane Stance
Ballistic: Crack the Sky
Crusader: Shell-Cracking Atemi
Purity: Eagle-Wing Style
Flechette: Pattern Spider Touch
Regent: Distracting Finger-Gesture Attack

Daniel Snuts · Aug 23, 2022

Behind you, every window explodes into shards of glass. But your persuasion succeeded: The effect does not overtake you to engulf the entire city.

Rather than fall to the ground, the countless shards rise into the air and fly back towards Shatterbird, where they form a giant tornado of glass around her. Then she starts to move. The tornado grows as fresh glass enters her range and is absorbed. In this way she will scour the city (except detouring around the Silver Desert).

You probably saved countless lives just now, and not just because you kept her from angering the Desert. The poor bastards in the middle of that tornado are a lost cause, but everyone else is much better off: Instead of everything exploding all at once with no warning, people get to see it coming. This way they can hide, or run, or circle around to hide in its wake.

But, that's no longer your problem. You think back to what Shatterbird told you before you left.

"Most recruits fail a test or two," she'd said. "But you should give it your all regardless. The penalty isn't always death, but it's always worse.

"Siberian will be coming for you next, her test is always the same: She'll hunt you across the city until she gets bored - usually a couple of days. Her penalty is always death, but she'll probably just mutilate you and let you go the first couple of times she catches you."

"How many are 'a couple?'" you'd asked.

"Depends on how bored she is."

So, that's something you have to look forward to now. You can probably manage. You imagine it would be worse for people who sleep. You also consider what Shatterbird didn't tell, you, but you found out anyway:

Shatterbird wants Jack-sempai to notice her.

You'd been taken aback at first, but it does make sense when you think about it. Jack is fairly handsome, in an 'old enough to be your dad' way. And while the whole 'psychotic mass murdering serial killer' thing would ordinarily be a turnoff, well, Shatterbird is one too. Hell, when you think about it like that Jack must be the millionaire CEO of the mass murdering serial killer dating pool. You can totally see where she's coming from.

---

"That was different from your usual performance," Jack says.

I look away, my cheeks heating up. "It- I just wanted to try something different." It's not that I want to keep secrets from him, but... I'm not sure I can explain why I believed Poltergeist about the Desert.

She was genuinely concerned, or I'm no judge of character at all. But if he doesn't believe me, he'll think I'm gullible. Or maybe worse, if he thinks there really is a slumbering Endbringer-thing in the city, he's going to poke at it just to see what happens.

He would probably be fine. He always knows what to do. But the rest of us? Something that scares Poltergeist... I glance up to find him still looking at me. I squirm under his evaluating gaze.

"Sit still!" Bonesaw commands. "You're throwing off my stitches!"

"I didn't expect there to be anyone brave enough to shoot the tornado," I complain. "Much less hit me inside it."

"Hm," Jack says. "It could use some improvement, but I'm looking forward to seeing what you come up with next."

He liked it! Eeeeeeeeeeeeee!

You get quite the shock when you first spot Siberian, and it's not because there's an indestructible tiger-striped nudist cannibal Case 53 bearing down on you. Because there isn't. It's an indestructible tiger-striped nudist cannibal Master projection. Holy shit. How the hell has she managed to keep that under wraps for so long?

You still run the fuck away, of course, even as you marvel at this feat of... reverse sandbagging? Everyone thinks Siberian is an indestructible Brute, but there's actually been a normal squishy human hiding in the wings the whole time?

You get the impression that she's just playing with you for now. She keeps leaping out at you from ambush, but as long as you promptly spot her and run away, she doesn't try very hard to catch up. She probably gets her jollies from seeing her prey gradually tire itself out. Maybe you should pretend to grow sleepy as the chase goes on, to keep her in a good mood.

Spotting her ambushes are not a problem, not with sorcerer's sight. Since she's a Master projection, there's a glowing umbilical cord connecting her to her real body. As long as you keep the cord in sight, you can always tell which way she's going.

It works really well, right up until cord vanishes without warning. Before you can figure out what's going on, Siberian leaps out of the wall next to you (leaving a cartoonishly neat Siberian-shaped hole) and grabs you by the throat. That's not where she was a moment ago!

Oh. The downside of your plan is obvious in retrospect. In order to keep the umbilical cord in sight, you had to remain more or less directly between Siberian and Secret Tiger Mom at all times. And if you are staying between two people and keep running away from one of them, you'll inevitably approach the other. Tiger Mom must have gotten nervous about your proximity, and resummoned her projection in front of you stop stop you from getting any closer.

But you're still alive, so she probably doesn't suspect that you know her secret. Just a precaution. But she has caught you, and you were told what happens next.

You briefly consider turning into shadow to escape. No, better not. She did catch you fair and square (or at least, she doesn't know you know she cheated), she might start playing for keeps if you try to avoid your punishment. Not releasing her grip on your throat, she starts removing your right glove with her free hand.

You could bad touch her with Flechette's power. No, that's an even worse idea. It probably won't work, because the bad touch only works on living beings, which she isn't. That's what got you caught in the first place. But even if it did work, Tiger Mom would just a) create a new projection, and b) murder you to keep secret that 'Siberian' can respawn.

So instead you just squirm in her grip and flail at her with your mind-hands. Not because it could possibly hurt her, but because prey that doesn't struggle is boring. And you very much don't want her to be bored right now.

Having removed your glove, Siberian brings your hand to her mouth, gripping it so that only your index finger is extended. She gently licks your finger before taking it into her mouth. She sucks on it for a while, her eyes half-lidded and an expression of bliss on her face. You'd call it disturbingly sexual, if you didn't know what comes next.

She bites down.

You snatch your hand away with a hissed curse, and stop the bleeding. She grins at you with bloody lips and lets go of your throat. She makes a shooing motion, and you obligingly scurry off. Away from Tiger Mom, this time.

You've had your fair share of injuries, but you've never been amputated before. It feels wrong, nothing but throbbing pain where a finger ought to be. It's going to make it a bitch to maintain multiple identities, too. Ugh, she's just a master projection, she doesn't even need to eat! Fucking psycho cannibal LARPer!

---

"Well?" Jack asks. "Did you find our wayward Cherish?"

"Yes and no," I say. "The tracker pointed towards a pile of fresh rubble in Regent's territory. Looks like her little suicide bomber countdown act finally caught up with her."

Bonesaw stamps her foot in anger. "Ugh! I offered to make her a virus-bomb instead. But nooo, she wanted to stick with her dumb explosives. I can't vaccinate you against blowing up!"

"Disappointing," Jack says. "But she never was all that bright."

"But we were going to do the 'none of us were Mastered all along' surprise party! Now I installed all those redundant ganglia in everyone for no reason!"

"Cheer up, poppet. Look on the bright side. Your own candidate did well enough on her first trial, didn't she? Heartbreaker's kids blowing each other up means there's another spot open, and less competition. Better odds for your 'big sis' to make it in."

"I suppose," Bonesaw says, but she's still pouting.

"Maybe you can take Crawler to dig through the ruins?" I suggest. "See if you can salvage any parts of her brother?"

Bonesaw crosses her arms and does her best to look disdainful. "No! She's dumb and he's dumb too and he'd make dumb art!"

You were so focused on getting to Shatterbird that you completely forgot about the Slaughterhouse 9's other tradition on arriving in a new city: They completely wipe out one of the parahuman gangs. With Lung gone, and Trousers forewarned and taking measures to ensure her own safety, that only leaves one gang. And a pile of bodies in front of you, left in the street as a statement. This is S9's playground now, where none may contest them.

They're all there. Purity, Krieg, Aurelius, Hookwolf... The S9 casually destroyed one of the most powerful gangs in the country. Cricket, Crusader, Night, Fog, all gone. Just to show that they could. Fenja, Stormtiger, Victor, Othala... Rune. Rune's mask is gone, and her empty eyes stare at you accusingly. 'Why did you not warn us?' she seems to be asking you. 'Were you not one of us? Were we not friends?'

You look away from her without answering, your eyes moving to the top of the pile and the source of the screaming that drew you here. Alabaster is immortal. The S9 solved this with crucifixion, though not the traditional kind. He'd heal from having nails driven through his limbs, so instead they bound him to a steel cross. It has some sort of mechanism above his head to keep him doused in burning gasoline. Every four seconds he is healed to perfect health, but this does not remove the gasoline. He screams as he burns.

You turn and run away. No, you're not leaving him like that, but you're not getting any closer either. There's no way that thing isn't booby-trapped to kill rescuers. A hundred feet away, at the utmost edge of your mind-hand range, you stop to slash at his bonds.

It's slow going. He's held in place with steel cables, and your mind-hands are sluggish and clumsy so far from your body (though still more dextrous than your normal hands). But the cables are thin, and perhaps softened by the heat of the fire. One by one they give way as you saw at them.

Distracted as you are by your task, Siberian catches unaware. Middle finger, gone. You stop the bleeding. She waves an admonishing finger of her own in your face afterwards, glancing meaningfully towards Alabaster. No messing with the art installation.

You hang your head submissively in response. As much as you want to circle back around and try again, you can't. She'll be expecting it. You got one of his arms free, he'll have to do the rest himself.

---

The orders from Director Tagg had been very clear: Remain at HQ until an evacuation can be arranged. Do not go outside, do not get involved.

One of the PRT troopers also let slip a quote that did not appear on the official orders: 'A blessing in disguise, frankly. It's all ruins anyway, we'll just let the psychos cull the villains my useless predecessors failed to root out.'

No one was very happy about it. People were dying out there, innocent people, while we did nothing to help! But the alternative was disobeying direct orders... and going up against the Slaughterhouse 9. How many of us would go out there if we could? Perhaps it was better to this way, to have the excuse of orders to salve the guilt of cowardice.

Clockblocker and I also got a second set of orders: Under no circumstances were we to use our powers against Crawler. He must not be allowed to build up a resistance against temporal or durability-ignoring effects.

It made sense. There were few enough things that could hurt him already, and we needed to keep those in reserve until we could set up a sure kill. It continued to make perfect sense, right up until Crawler came crashing into the Ward's common room with a cry of "Fhechekke!"

The troopers downstairs must have tried to stop him, because he's splattered with blood and containment foam. But rather than hinder him, the foam is flowing off his skin like water from a raincoat - it's something he's encountered previously, and adapted to.

Clockblocker promptly decides to completely ignore his orders and throws himself in front of Crawler, freezing him in time.

"Run!" he shouts.

What choice do I have? I run.

He was coming for me, I realize. That had been my name he tried to pronounce. I was one of the recruits. Did the Director not consider that heroes might be targeted for recruitment? Or... with a sinking feeling I recalled the report of what happened to the E88. Would he not sacrifice a pawn or two for such a result, and consider it a bargain?

That was it, then. I could no longer sit back and wait for evacuation. I could no longer hide. I would have to take the fight to the S9, and either win or die.

There's a note in your hand. You'd wonder where it came from, but you have bigger problems right now. You know it's trustworthy.

WHAT DO YOU NEED?

It's not asking the easy questions, is it? What do you need, right now? "Faultline has a golden amulet set with a milky white stone," you say out loud. It wouldn't ask a question if it wasn't safe to answer. "I could use that."

---

Almost two full days after she warned you away from Alabaster, Siberian manages to corner you in an alley. You consider your options as she closes in. She'll mutilate you and let you go the first couple of times. A couple is at least two, as you've already demonstrated. It might not be three.

Gonna have to drop one of the sandbags, huh. As she pounces, you fly straight up the side of the building. You grab random points on the facade with your mind-hands as you rise, as if you were hauling yourself up. You aren't, of course, your mind-hands do not transmit any force back to your body. You're using your regular flight power. But this way it plausibly looks like something Poltergeist could do all along.

Siberian looks up in surprise, but quickly grins and gathers herself for a leap. She launches herself with explosive force, but it's all muscle. Or whatever Master projections use in place of muscle. Point is she can't fly, and has no more aerial maneuverability than any other Brute. You easily dodge out of the way as she shoots past you, and again as she grabs the side of the building and throws herself back down at you.

You meet each other's eyes as you alight on the edge of the roof. What now?

Now she walks calmly walks into the building, apparently. But not in order to take the stairs, as you quickly discover. In order to casually stroll through all the load-bearing walls. You discover this because the building starts to collapse.

No matter. You leap (fly) over to the neighboring building before yours can settle more than a couple of feet. Then you keep going, running across rooftops and flying across streets. It's tempting to stick around and taunt her with your slipperiness, but also dumb. Between her speed and your low flight ceiling, you're not entirely sure you could dodge her leaps if she demolished every building in the vicinity.

Looking behind you, you spot her gliding up above roof level. Wait, gliding? She isn't supposed to - oh. You see what's going on. She is immune to all forces that would act on her body. Including, at her discretion, gravity. Okay, you somewhat underestimated her aerial maneuverability, but it doesn't matter. A mere 32.2 ft/s2 of wiggle room is not enough to make a difference, especially not when it can only be applied in one direction. Which you proceed to prove as you avoid her next several leaps, careful to always dodge to the side, never above or below her.

She still chases you halfway across the city before she gives up, collapsing another half dozen buildings in the process (at least some of them intentionally). From the way the other end of the umbilical moves to keep up, Tiger Mom must be in a vehicle of some sort.

She even starts throwing rubble at you towards the end. ...you feel almost insulted by that, Shatterbird must not have told her how your first test went. Then the next time you see her she doesn't try to chase, she just waves at you and beckons you closer.

"I passed your test?" you ask warily, not approaching.

She nods and offers you smile that would be a lot friendlier if she didn't still have your dried blood around her lips. Seeing as how not a single speck of dust or dirt stuck to her after running straight through multiple walls, she must be doing it on purpose. Hell, it's not just that she's allowing it to stick, she must be extending her invulnerability to the blood itself or it would have rubbed off several buildings ago.

She's still beckoning you closer. You'll just have to trust that she won't eat you when you approach.

She doesn't. She ruffles your hair affectionately, then picks you up and slings you over her shoulder. Then she leaps away with what would have been bone-pulverizing, organ-rupturing force if she hadn't granted you invulnerability first. You guess she knows where your next test is taking place.

Charm Learning Shard (Worm/Exalted) (COMPLETED)

Know what you're doing yet?

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