Earning Her Stripes (Worm AU fanfic)

[Ack]

Earning Her Stripes

Part Forty-Seven: The Worst Laid Plans

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



A Day Later

Alexandria

Rebecca stood by the desk, arms folded. Her eye was on Mindfog as he forged his way around the track, eight men yelling at him from all angles. Earlier, she'd taken her turn, telling him that it was just fine to use a pen, that the order to only use pencils was meaningless.

On the desk was a stack of papers, and a tray of pencils, plus one pen. The pencils were red; the pen, bright blue. Reaching down, she took up the pencils, and snapped the leads off all but one. Then she folded her arms again, watching.

Mindfog arrived in a rush, dropping into the chair and taking up the next paper. He reached into the tray, spotted that most of the pencils had broken tips, and grabbed the last unbroken one. With careful haste, he started filling out the sheet of paper.

"You know, it's okay to use a pen," she said, knowing he wouldn't hear all her words, but not caring. "They won't know. Just this once. It really doesn't matter."

He ignored her, scribbling the answers as he worked his way down the sheet. When he was finished, he turned the sheet over and continued to answer the questions. She had to admit, his level of focus was comparable to what she was capable of.

Finished, he leaped to his feet and continued around the track. As soon as all attention was away from the desk, she leaned down and made one more substitution. The blue pen and red-painted pencil vanished into her pocket, to be replaced with a red-coloured pen and a bright blue pencil, placed in the same order as before. Pretending to lose interest in the desk, she wandered away to watch his progress around the track.

The trainers continued to shout contradictory instructions and the most inventive insults they could come up with; considering that they were all current or ex-US Marine drill sergeants brought in for the occasion, this led to a thoroughly confusing deluge of words. They were good at their jobs, but his concentration never wavered. Hands clasped behind her back, she followed his progress; it would all come to a head when he returned to the desk.

Eventually, he made it back there, and dropped into the chair. She watched as he grabbed up the writing implement, and began filling out the next sheet of paper. Stepping just a little closer, she made sure of what she was seeing: he was writing with the red-coloured pen, not the blue-painted pencil.

Raising her hand, she snapped her fingers once. "Okay, everyone stand down! That's a fail!"

The Marine sergeants were on the ball; they stopped shouting and went to parade rest. Mindfog paused at what he was doing for the first time, and looked down at his work. "No," he said. "No. It can't be."

Rebecca walked over to the desk and picked up the sheet of paper. It was half filled out, unmistakeably in ink. The red-coloured pen was still in his hand, the blue pencil untouched. "I assure you, it is."

Charles was hurrying down the steps from the observation room. Rebecca went to meet him, incriminating sheet in hand. He snatched it from her and stared at it, clearly seeking a way to overturn her judgement. "This proves nothing."

"It proves everything. You ordered him not to use a pen. And yet, here we are." Rebecca wondered what it was about the brain of a politician that made it necessary to explain everything in minute detail.

Charles moved past her, heading over to the desk. Mindfog was still sitting there, staring at the pen. Holding out the page, Charles waved it in the cape volunteer's face. "Explain."

"This was a red pencil, before." Mindfog held up the pen. "That blue pencil was a pen. She tricked me."

"Yes. I did. And you fell for it." Rebecca made her tone matter-of-fact. "This exercise is done."

"It's done when I say it's done." Charles held out his hand. "Show me."

Rebecca brought out the other pencil and pen, and laid them on the table. "It was merely a matter of forcing him to pick the red over the blue several times, then I swapped the red and blue."

"You cheated." Charles scowled at her.

She shrugged. "Yes, I did. But the 'how' doesn't matter. The results do. He failed. The Chief Director will not be endorsing this operation."

Now he was shaking his head. "It invalidates the test."

"Really? Where does it say I couldn't do that? We made no such provision." Rebecca took the sheet of paper back from him and tore it in half. "If I can make him use a pen when he's ordered not to after just one day, the Butcher collective will have him performing atrocities on the regular within a month, and thinking he's still a hero. This won't work. Send him back to wherever you got him from."

From the way Charles stood his ground, she figured he must have a lot of political capital invested in this idiotic scheme. And here I thought he was smarter than that.

"No. A simple bait-and-switch does not meet the terms of our agreement. I will be registering a formal complaint with Hero and the Chief Director about your conduct here today."

Yeah, good luck with that. "They'll back me up on this, I guarantee it. This has the potential to be catastrophic." She began to wonder if Mindfog needed to be removed entirely in order to make her point of view stick. Or maybe Senator Williamson, the putative brains behind the whole idea.

He stuck out what chin he had. "A simple visual misinterpretation is insufficient grounds for cancelling the operation. Operation Inheritance goes ahead."

It was beginning to look like Charles would need to be permanently removed as well, which could be a problem; he was a key supporter of several of her other initiatives. Goddamn it. Why can't things be simple enough to punch into submission?

<><>​

Accord

As per his instructions, the building had been cleaned thoroughly before his arrival. That much, at least, was going to plan. New furniture would need to be sourced, along with appropriate computer equipment for his employees—personally, he preferred to use computers as little as possible, as he felt they interfered with the planning process—and of course, adequate security would need to be installed.

All of this would need to take place under the nose of the local PRT, which would have been easier when they had other gangs to draw their attention. He could manage it; of that, he had no doubt. But it would take time.

"Othello, make discreet inquiries of the local criminal underground. Find those who are willing to work for supervillains, and vet them for my requirements." These would be later separated into the few who were eligible to be trained up to Ambassador status, and those who would remain in the rank and file.

Othello nodded respectfully. "Yes, sir. Will you be meeting with the remaining gangs in the city to determine territory rights?"

"Not yet." Seeking out a meeting would give the impression of weakness. Negotiating from a position of strength was always a superior tactic. "Let them come to me." He turned to his other Ambassador. "Citrine, bring this building up to my requirements for local operations."

"Yes, sir." She knew his standards, and would know where to source the appropriate furniture and equipment. Her loyalty was such that she would die before betraying him, which he also approved of.

Moving over to the closest window, he gazed out at the busy street below, hands clasped behind his back. The debacle in Boston posed a setback to himself and his organisation, but he would overcome it and rise to ever greater heights. His plans would be enacted, no matter how hard the petty bureaucrats pushed back at them.

He watched as a dilapidated minivan rolled down the street, then passed out of view. In a properly maintained city, with adequately serviced vehicles, such an eyesore would never be permitted on the roads. However that came about would have to depend on how the city bylaws were phrased.

Personally, he didn't care, so long as it happened.

<><>​

Perdition

"Okay, so we're here, and we've spent the last day just driving around the downtown area in the hopes of seeing Accord on the sidewalk." Jess' voice sounded whiny to Cody's ears. Everyone who disagreed with him sounded whiny to him. Even Oliver sounded whiny from time to time, but that was probably because he couldn't help it. "Let's face it, he's not going to just step out in front of us to get run down. What do we do now?"

"We find a place to hole up, then we figure out where Accord has gotten to and teach him why he shouldn't have fucked with us." It was clear as day to Cody. "We're going to kill the bastard."

"I get the 'hole up' part, but I was asking how you intend to fucking locate Accord, exactly?" She sounded whiny, as usual.

Cody wasn't quite sure himself, but he wasn't about to admit it to her. "Do I have to spell out every last detail to you?"

"I actually had an idea about how we could do it." Oliver's interjection was so unexpected that Cody and Jess turned and stared at him for a moment. He flushed at the sudden attention. "Well, I did."

"I'm listening," Jess urged before Cody could figure out a way to say it that didn't sound like he was encouraging the guy.

Where did Oliver get off having an opinion, anyway? He'd never done that when Krouse was screwing up his leadership of the Travellers, though maybe he should have. Couldn't have done worse than Krouse.

"Accord's got to be recruiting, right? He's lost a lot of people. So, we keep our ear to the ground and put our hands up for it. He's never seen my face." Oliver spread his hands. "Even if I don't get picked—and yeah, I know I probably won't—we'll definitely get a line on him that way."

Cody's first instinct was to try to poke a hole in the idea. The trouble was, he really couldn't. At the very least, they'd get an idea where to find Accord. And if Oliver managed to luck out, he might actually be able to fluke some real intel on the bastard.

"It'll be dangerous." That was Jess. "We all know Accord doesn't mess around."

"We're not messing around either." Cody found himself liking the concept more and more. "And if Oliver can get close enough to him—"

"No!" That came from Jess. She wasn't sounding whiny anymore. In fact, she was sitting forward in her seat, glaring at Cody. "Oliver isn't an assassin! We're not risking his life any more than we absolutely have to!"

"Okay, okay, fine, geez." Cody rolled his eyes. "You don't have to jump down my throat. It was a passing thought, that's all."

"Well, let it keep going and wave it goodbye." Jess set her chin. "Yes, I know we have to get Accord, but I'm not going to sacrifice Oliver to do it."

"I, uh, I don't know if I could kill anyone anyway." Oliver sounded his usual half-assed self. "Even Accord."

Cody felt a surge of disgust. "Then what fucking use are you?"

"Oliver is one of us." Jess spoke coldly. "He can drive, he can patch us up when we're hurt, and he can do a dozen other things. His usefulness to the team is not, I repeat not, measured by his ability or willingness to kill. That's not who we are. At least, it's not who we're supposed to be."

"Supposed to be." He spat the words out. "We're supposed to be a team. We're supposed to support each other. We're supposed to do whatever we need to, to get the win. And that includes reaching down and finding a pair on occasion!"

Neither of them had an answer for that. Cody grinned. That's how to take ch—

"You got Marissa killed, and started this whole thing." Oliver spoke quietly, but his voice was audible through the whole vehicle.

Rage surging through Cody, his foot jammed onto the brake pedal. Fortunately, there was nobody following close behind as the minivan wove four black trails of smoking rubber onto the side of the road. The passenger-side front wheel bumped up onto the curb as the engine stalled, and the vehicle came to a shuddering halt. The minivan creaked as it rocked back onto its suspension. Silence fell again, broken only by the ticking of the engine.

"The. Fuck. Did. You. Just. Say?"

Oliver began to crumble in on himself, as he normally did when faced with any kind of aggression, but Jess' eyes were wide open and staring. "Oliver! What? What do you mean? What did he do?"

Don't say a fucking word. But Cody knew if he tried any harder to shut Oliver down, it would have the wrong effect. "Nothing. I did nothing."

Oliver's shoulders were hunched as though expecting a blow and his chin was tucked into his chest, but he answered her anyway. "He generated clones from Noelle. Marissa went to warn Krouse. She wouldn't have interrupted the meeting, otherwise."

Jess' head fell back, and she addressed the roof of the minivan. "Of fucking course. I wondered what happened. You cocksucking asshole, Cody."

This could still be salvaged. "Does it even fucking matter now? Accord's the one who murdered her, not me. He murdered Krouse. He blew up his own fucking building and murdered Noelle and Luke. He's the enemy, not me."

Jess' head snapped forward again, and the look in her eyes skewered Cody with pure hate. "He deserves to die, sure. But the instant that happens, we are fucking done. I'm gone." She turned to Oliver. "And if you've got any sense, you'll be coming with me. Leave this motherfucker as far in our dust as possible, before he gets us killed too."

"You can't do that!" The words burst out of Cody's throat before he could stop them. "We're the fucking Travellers! Krouse's legacy!"

Jess narrowed her eyes, focusing her glare into a laser point. "Funny how you're only willing to even acknowledge Krouse's existence when you're trying to manipulate us."

Oliver took a deep breath. "Being the Travellers, upholding Francis' legacy, is what got Noelle and Luke killed. You were leader. You made that decision." His tone wasn't exactly shit-hot, and the side-glance to Jess as if asking did I do good? kind of undermined the whole thing, but Cody still wasn't happy to see him growing even a semblance of a spine.

He stared at Oliver disbelievingly. "You both accepted me as leader!" He couldn't figure out why it was all going wrong, but maybe if he kept pushing the facts, they'd figure out that they should do what he told them. "I didn't see either of you stepping up!"

Jess' glare only intensified. "Was that a crack about my wheelchair? Because if it was …"

"No!" He might have had a fleeting thought about it afterward, but he hadn't meant it at the time. "Nobody else wanted to lead the team, so I ste— I mean, I put my hand up! Someone had to!"

"And thanks to you, two more of our people got killed, more than Krouse managed in all the time we've been on Earth Bet." Jess wasn't letting up on him for a second. Cody had enjoyed the times she'd called Krouse out on his bullshit back before this started, but it wasn't nearly as pleasant when he was on the receiving end. "We could've walked away but no, you had to jump into the driver's seat and prove you were better at it than him!"

"No, we couldn't have walked away!" He knew this, even if she was trying to ignore it for the moment. "Noelle never would've let it go! She would've charged in there alone if we hadn't gone in there with her! And if she'd gotten to Accord, do you really think it'd be a good idea to let her start making a bunch of evil versions of him?"

Jess shook her head scornfully. "Like she would've left him alive long enough to matter. Anyway, what the hell were you doing, getting close enough to Noelle that she generated clones? Multiple clones?"

It was his turn to set his jaw. There was no good answer to that question, and he knew it. A long silence rolled by in the minivan.

"Yeah, I didn't think you'd answer that one." She gestured at the road ahead. "Let's get going before someone looks too closely at us."

There was nothing more to be said. He took the van out of gear and turned the key to start the engine again. It took several seconds before it fired to life again, and he drove off sedately.

Fuuuuck.

<><>​

On a Nearby Rooftop

Grue

"And that's them, is it?" asked Alec, gesturing at the minivan, which was just now starting to move off again. "Or have you had us following a random van for the last fifteen minutes?"

"Oh, it's totally the Travellers, or what's left of them." Lisa tucked the small binoculars into a pouch and ticked off points on her fingers. "Massachusetts plates. The guy in the front seat fits the basic description of Perdition. The other two aren't in any of the files, but they were definitely pissed at him. I'm betting he's the one who mishandled the fight with Accord in Boston, and the Travellers aren't going to be a thing much longer."

Brian had a bad feeling about the last part. "Before or after they kill Accord?"

Lisa shrugged. "Possibly before, most definitely after. But they haven't found him yet."

The bad feeling hadn't gone away. He watched the van as it turned the corner and disappeared. "Shouldn't we be, you know, chasing them down and catching them?"

"What's the point?" asked Alec indolently. "Tats says they don't know where Accord is yet."

Lisa smirked. "Exactly. We let 'em run until they locate Accord, then we drop a dime on them all to the PRT. They do the dirty work, we get the kudos."

Now he knew where the feeling of unease was coming from. "As I recall, the Director gave us a specific directive to not do that exact thing."

Lisa waved a hand negligently. "Eh, that would've been more of a suggestion. I mean, we're villains. If she really wanted to keep us on a short leash, she would've sent someone along with us."

Brian gritted his teeth. "Director Piggot's not the type to hand out optional directives." He looked around for support, but Alec merely shrugged, and Rachel didn't even do that.

Yeah, there's no way this is gonna turn out badly at all.

<><>​

Damsel of Distress

Ashley was feeling good about the move to Brockton Bay. She'd made it all the way into the city and found a place to crash that was a step up from her usual choice in Stafford. All she had to do was scare off some low-lives, and she did that with her usual kick-ass style.

The next step was to start recruiting some of the local talent. She needed a crew; not just warm bodies, but villains who could give her weight.

The last time she'd had a chance to make something of herself, she'd screwed up by being too short-sighted and just grabbing any old asshole who was hungry for a buck. Accord and the others had offered them more cash, and the next thing she knew, she was out in the cold.

This time around, it was going to be different. This time around, she was going to build deeper foundations for her organisation. This time around …

… she was going to own the whole damn city, or at least a good chunk of it.

And she was for damn sure not going to take her eye off the ball for some hot guy, like she had with Jay that one time. If she hadn't figured it out in time, she would've ended up dead … or worse, permanently under his power. But he was long dead, so that problem was a non-issue.

The question was, which villains was she going to recruit to her cause? No Blasters, for one thing; she could already handle that side of things, and she didn't want anyone who could come at her from a longer range than she could hit them. She was ambitious, not stupid.

Faultline's Crew was a possibility; not the whole Crew, of course. Faultline herself had all the tells of someone who would never bend the knee. But if she kicked the shit out of them, maybe one or two would come to her side. All things considered, though, she'd leave that as a last resort.

And then, as though some higher power was presenting her with the answer to her question, she saw three giant creatures loping along on the rooftops, carrying four riders. She'd heard about the Undersiders.

Small-time smash-and-grab crew. No long-range Blasters.

Fuck. They're perfect.

Putting the car in gear, she started following. In her head, she was already composing the recruitment spiel.

And if they know what's good for them, they won't argue.



End of Part Forty-Seven

 

[Pheonix_Fired]

Thanks for the chapter!

Damn. Everyone wans to recruit the Undersiders, don't they. Sucks to be them.

 

[Barbaric_Bob]

Is Brockton Bay like one of those ceiling string sticky fly traps but for insane parahumans?

 

[Therandomestpersons]

Its starting to seem that way, lol

 

[Ack]

Earning Her Stripes

Part Forty-Eight: The 'Finding Out' Phase Begins

[A/N: This chapter commissioned by @Fizzfaldt and beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
[A/N 2: This will be my last commissioned chapter from @Fizzfaldt. Sorry.]

Grue

"We're being followed."

Brian braced himself for the leap to the next building. Then, once he was sure his seating was secure, he turned to look at Lisa. "What was that?"

She pointed down at the street beside them. "That car's following us. I'd put money on it."

Looking in that direction, Brian spotted a non-descript sedan that did indeed seem to be paralleling their path. He knew Lisa well enough not to be willing to bet against her in matters like this, but it was always good to be sure. "Take the next right. See if they do the same."

The next right, he was pretty sure, was a one-way road. If the people in the car really were following them, they'd have to break the law in a very blatant way to maintain the tail. It all depended on just how badly they wanted to stay in pursuit.

<><>​

Damsel of Distress

Ashley saw the 'One Way' and 'No Entry' signs posted on the entrance to the side-street, but the Undersiders were right there. No way was she giving up this easily. If she lost them now, she might lose the trail altogether, and it would take forever before she got another opportunity like this one.

Fuck that shit.

Sticking her hand out the window, she blasted both signs into nothingness—no sign meant it was clear to drive down, yeah?—then kept on going. They had to come down to street level sooner or later, and she'd be waiting.

When it came to rebuilding her power base, Ashley was going with the very best, this time around. Whether they liked it or not.

<><>​

Grue

"Fuck!"

Lisa's expletive almost drowned out the nails-on-blackboard screech, but the flare of indigo light from the side-street definitely got his attention. It was easy to make the connection.

"Let me guess," he called out. "We're being followed by a cape?"

"Not just any cape." Lisa looked both pissed off and frightened at the same time, something few people could manage. "Remember how Piggot got the alert about Damsel of Distress? That's her."

"How dangerous are we talking, exactly?" asked Alec. "Can we take her?" Taking his sceptre off his belt, he began twirling it in his hand.

"I wouldn't advise trying." Lisa's tone was deadly serious. "She's got more issues than you and Rachel put together, combined with a ranged annihilation power. Whatever she hits, she removes from existence. The only way to take her out reliably is to hit her from total surprise, and even then her power might go off by itself, because it sometimes does that."

God damn it. Brian grimaced inside his helmet. "So, zero chance of recruiting her for Piggot's merry band of reformed villains, then."

"Less than zero," Lisa agreed, then paused. "Huh."

Oh, for fuck's sake. "What now?" Brian braced himself for the next dose of bad news, of which Lisa seemed to be an endless font at the moment.

"She's not following us to attack us. In fact, I'm pretty sure that she wants to recruit us." She actually seemed heartened by this revelation.

"And that makes this better how, exactly?" Brian couldn't see why she was so pleased.

"Well, what if we let her?" Lisa spread her hands. "It's just a thought. We're ultimately looking for Accord, right?"

"And the Travellers," Brian reminded her. "Who we let just drive away, because you've got a plan. All of which I'm going to have to report to Piggot, and hope like hell she approves it after the fact, instead of just punting you into juvey." He still wasn't sure why he'd allowed her to overrule him at the time. Habit, he supposed.

"Bigger picture, bigger picture," she hastened to say. "If we're in with Damsel of Distress, we're a lot more likely to be able to listen in on underworld chatter, and find out where Accord's making his home base, yeah? And once he's taken down, the Travellers are just a bunch of disgruntled B-grade villains with a grudge against someone who's not even there to pick a fight with. So, we drop Damsel from behind, then go after the Travellers. Win-win-win."

"No. Nope. No way." Brian tugged his phone out of its pouch. "This just jumped from 'report when we get back' to 'report right now'." He turned his helmet to face Alec and flipped the visor up, giving his teammate a scowl as he did so. "And don't even think about making me toss my phone away."

"Hey. No hassle from me." Alec held up his hands disarmingly, the effect spoiled slightly by the sceptre he was still holding. "She sounds like a bundle of laughs to work for anyway. Probably murder one of us on principle, just to make the rest work harder or something."

"Well, you're not actually wrong there," admitted Lisa reluctantly. "But I figured we could talk her around. I'm pretty good at talking people into stuff."

"No, you are not." Brian was calling up the number as he spoke. "You try to spook them into going along with what you're saying by referencing things they'd rather keep secret. It's me and Rachel's dogs looming at them that generally gets cooperation. It probably won't work on her and I'd rather not die, go to prison, or lose Aisha because you talked me into another one of your stupid plans."

"Well spoken, Mr Laborn," Piggot said unexpectedly into his ear. He started, surprised by how fast she'd answered the call. "I presume you have a development you'd like to fill me in on?"

"A couple of developments, actually." He took a deep breath. "We haven't located Accord yet, but we saw a minivan with what Tattletale strongly suspects has the remnants of the Travellers in it—three people—trawling through Downtown. I'll text you the photo. But more importantly—" There was the double squeal of two sets of brakes from down on the side-street. The car horn blared, only to be overridden by a deeper and more authoritative honking, as from some kind of truck. "—ah, crap. Damsel of Distress just followed us the wrong way down a one-way street. It sounds like she's come head-to-head with someone who isn't backing down. What do we do?"

<><>​

Director Emily Piggot, PRT ENE

While Emily wasn't a mother herself, her view of the teenage mindset was basically 'will do the stupidest possible thing at any given time'. Interacting with the Wards during her tenure as Director had not served to significantly alter this viewpoint. Grue, she knew, was nearly an adult which was probably where he'd gotten the common sense to call her. Tattletale, less so.

Emily was also reasonably good at interpreting the villainous mindset, with literally a decade of practice under her belt. He'd said Damsel was following, not chasing. This meant the interloper villain didn't mean to attack or kill them; at least, not immediately. The first thing a villain did when they set up in a new location was begin building a power base, which usually involved recruiting minions. This was almost certainly Damsel's intention vis-à-vis the Undersiders.

That wouldn't have been so problematic if she hadn't gotten the distinct impression that Tattletale was advocating that they accept the offer when it was made. Such a course of action would be an extremely risky proposition, considering how the Undersiders were neither trained nor cleared for that level of undercover ops. The little twit probably thought she could pull it off on sheer chutzpah and charisma, the latter of which she had far less than she actually thought.

"Hmm." Damsel was reportedly unstable at the best of times. Whoever was blocking her way was in grave danger. "Show yourselves. Lead her back the other way. Get imagery of her vehicle, then disengage. Once she's lost sight of you, follow her to wherever she's using as a base. I'll be vectoring backup to your twenty. Do you copy?"

Perhaps it was her imagination, but she could've sworn she heard a sigh of relief. "Yes, ma'am. I understand." Then the call ended.

Letting out a gust of breath, Emily sagged back in her chair. The situation could still go sideways; she knew this because every situation could go sideways at a moment's notice. At least he had the brains to call me. Not everyone did, in the heat of the moment.

<><>​

Cauldron Base, Some Other Earth

Alexandria

"So, this is him?" Rebecca looked critically at the Case 53 in the polycarbonate enclosure. It had once been a man but changes had been made, and not for the better.

From each shoulder, replacing his arms, three tentacles waved in all directions, forever feeling the air. This was probably because the top half of his head was a smooth purplish dome, with no eye-sockets or nostrils. His mouth was a gaping maw with jagged saw-like protrusions pushing outward then dragging back in, like multiple tongues as seen through the lens of nightmare. As far as she could tell under the jeans that he wore, he was normal from the waist down, though she wasn't making any bets in that regard.

"This is the most promising subject so far." Doctor Mother tapped the clipboard she was carrying with one fingernail. "He's nonverbal, and his brain functions are so stunted that he'll never learn any but the most basic of languages. Blind, but his tentacles feel out the area around him, and drag anything that seems remotely edible to his mouth. However, they also kill anything they touch." She paused. "Anything."

Rebecca nodded, absorbing the implications. "Understood. How durable is he? What's his projected lifespan?"

Doctor Mother waggled her hand from side to side. "At best guess, he's got a rating of Brute two, maybe three. As for his lifespan, he's not going to die of old age in the next day, which is all we really need."

"Mmm, true. What are you calling him?"

Doctor Mother didn't even react as one of the tentacles slapped the polycarbonate right in front of her face. "Devourer, for the moment. But he's not going to be around here for long, is he?"

"That's the plan." Rebecca rubbed her chin for a moment. "And the safeguard?" It was SOP for creating Nemesis capes, and she'd made it a requirement this time as well.

"Yes." The woman in the white lab coat sighed. "You can always read my tells. It's mint. If he ingests any at all, he shuts down for five to ten minutes."

"Perfect." That would come in handy. "You're ready for the other thing?"

A firm nod. "Of course."

"Good. Doorway."

The portal obediently formed, and she stepped through into her office. Opening the hidden closet, she changed into her civilian clothing. One desk drawer held a container of breath mints—with all her power, there were still some things she had to deal with—which she slipped into her pocket.

"Contessa," she said out loud.

A Doorway opened, and the immaculately dressed enforcer stepped through. "Yes?"

"At the appropriate moment, give the building a power surge. Fifteen seconds should be long enough." If it wasn't, no amount of time would be.

Contessa smiled briefly. "I've already arranged for it." Another Doorway formed, and she exited as enigmatically as she'd entered the office.

"Of course you have." Rebecca shook her head. Sometimes, Contessa was just too damn cocky for her own good. Then she pressed the button that unlocked her office door.

"Chief Director." Her assistant was on his feet as soon as she went through into the reception area. "I have several messages for you."

"Thank you, Timothy." She accepted them and scanned them briefly. None were truly urgent, though she would need to call back about two of them. One stated that Operation Inheritance would be going forward as of the next morning; a brief smile quirked the corner of her mouth. Not if I can damn well help it.

"Is there anything you need, ma'am?" asked Timothy; a youngish man of twenty-three, he was polite, respectful, and dedicated to his duties. Rebecca knew for a fact that he had refused three separate bribes to allow outside access to her private files. She had personally arranged for one of the offers.

"Not at the moment. I'm going down to speak to Butcher, and let her know that time is running out. It shouldn't take long."

He nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

It was more than a simple walk. She had to be driven halfway across DC, ride a high-security elevator down to a sub-basement level, and then pass through a stringent security check before she could enter the high-security area that had been set aside for Butcher. Similar accommodations had been arranged for Jack Slash, right up until the man's head had been blown off.

The room holding the latest incarnation of the leader of the Teeth was far more than a simple jail cell. One-way reflective polycarbonate divided the room in two, so that Rebecca could see in but Butcher was unable to see out. Within the room, confoam-sprayer nozzles tracked Butcher's every move.

The mass murderer's hands were still manacled behind her back. It wasn't something they could do anything about, mainly because good steel was apparently impervious to all normal damage, and Rebecca had yet to look at it herself. Still, Butcher was on her feet and pacing across the cell and back again. As Rebecca entered the room, she was in mid-rant. "—riously, when I get out of here, I am going to bring down the whole goddamn building, and wreck the fucking lot of you!"

The guards had come to attention when Rebecca entered; she gave them a nod of acknowledgement. "How's she been behaving?"

"She paces, ma'am." The guard on the left, whose nametape read CRAWFORD, spoke up. "And she makes threats. Sometimes she bashes her face on the glass. Hasn't even chipped it yet, but she's surely trying."

"I expected no less. Still, I have to make the effort to get through to her." She indicated the door with a jerk of her head. "Give me the room. Five minutes."

"Ma'am." Crawford stiffened to attention again, then marched from the room. His fellow guard followed him out. Neither one attempted to protest their orders or warn her not to open the cell while they were gone; she took that as a sign of the respect in which they held her.

The cameras were still recording her every move as well as Butcher's, but that didn't matter in the slightest. She went over to the intercom panel and pressed the button allowing her to communicate with the interior of the cell. "Butcher, can you hear me? This is Chief Director Rebecca Costa-Brown."

Butcher's head came around. "Yeah, I hear you. The fuck you want?"

"To appeal to you. Tomorrow, they will be attempting an experimental procedure designed to kill you permanently. I believe you could be of better use alive and acting as a hero. Do you understand me?"

There: her plea was in the system, for later reference.

"Oh, fuck off. If they kill me, whoever does it gets to be the next—"

Butcher's scornful tone cut out when the lights flickered and died, leaving Rebecca in the dim light cast by the exit sign over the door. "Doorway," she murmured, under her breath.

Within the cell was almost too dark to see anything, but her eyes adapted enough to see via the light from the Exit sign. It was more shadows than light, but she was able to see when the Doorway opened near the ceiling and the Case 53 she'd seen before fell out of it, landing hard on the floor of the cell. Butcher turned at the sound, but Rebecca heard nothing of what she said. While Rebecca didn't know if the thing could hear—Doctor Mother hadn't mentioned either way—a tentacle lashed out in Butcher's direction.

Initially, it encountered only good steel, but then it slithered off the metal onto Butcher's arm. Butcher's attempt to jerk away came too late, as another tentacle whipped around and slapped onto her arm. Rebecca's expression tightened as she watched; apparently, 'kills anything it touches' did not include 'instantly' as part of its descriptor.

More tentacles crowded onto Butcher, holding her tightly. It seemed she was weakening. She stumbled, then fell to her knees.

Rebecca watched as closely as she could; the building power would be recovering soon, and she needed Butcher to be dead and the new Butcher to be gone by that time. Reaching into her pocket, she retrieved the container of breath mints. Inside her mind, a counter was ticking down.

Butcher's struggles slowed and then stopped. There were no movements, no twitches. At that moment, Rebecca heard movement on the other side of the door; the guards were finally getting their act together. Within the cell, Devourer clasped Butcher's leg in his tentacles and raised it to his mouth—

"Doorway," she said, and flicked a breath mint into the small portal that had opened before her. The other side of the portal appeared in front of Devourer's maw, and the breath mint scored a direct hit. Half a second later, the Case 53 went limp, slumping over the body of its victim. "Doorway," she whispered again, just as the doors began to open.

The final portal appeared beneath Devourer's lower body and he slid into it, vanishing—along with the portal—just before the doors opened far enough for guards to storm in, weapons raised and seeking a target. Crawford, she noted, was at their forefront. "Ma'am!" he shouted as the lights began to come back on. "Are you alright, ma'am?"

"I am now," she replied with total honesty. "That was more than a little unsettling. Something happened to Butcher while the lights were out. You need to check on her."

"She's down and not moving!" One of the other guards moved up close to the polycarbonate barrier. "Think she's playing possum?"

"It's a possibility. Let me check." Crawford went to the intercom panel and hit a few buttons, bringing up a screen that showed several coloured horizontal lines. "Jesus, okay, the remote monitor says she's flatlining. If this thing's telling the truth, she suffered some kind of massive seizure when the lights went out. No life signs at all."

The other guard who'd been on duty when she entered—his nametape read SILVERSTONE—turned to her. "Ma'am, you were the only one in the room. What happened?"

She took a deep breath, and deliberately put a slight quaver into her tone. "When the lights went out, I came straight over here and didn't move from the doors. It was too dark to see into the cell, and I couldn't hear anything. I'm just glad the cell didn't open up due to the outage. What caused it, anyway? Are we under attack?"

"There's no information on that yet, ma'am." Silverstone seemed to be regarding her intently, and she knew why.

She released a slow breath. "Very well. Let's get on with it then, shall we?" Every cape in the building would need to enter Master/Stranger testing, just in case. But because she was the closest person to Butcher at the time of death, she needed to be checked for brand-new powers, even if Butcher was thought to only be able to affect capes. She'd penned that mandate herself.

Crawford looked around at her. "Ma'am. Silverstone will escort you, plus two others."

Rebecca nodded. "Copy that." She was fully aware that the MRI scan would be fast-tracked as much as possible; Rank, as the saying went, Hath Its Privileges.

Also, they'd want to know far sooner than later whether the Chief Director of the PRT was the next Butcher or not. It was very much a career-ending situation.

Escorted by the guards—regulations were also quite firm regarding that sort of thing—she proceeded toward the medical annex, and the waiting MRI machine.

<><>​

Damsel of Distress

"No, you back up!" screamed Ashley out the window at the driver of the truck blocking her way. "I was here first!"

"It's a goddamn one-way street!" the driver bellowed. "You're going the wrong way, you fucking idiot!" He leaned on his horn again, drowning out whatever Ashley was going to say with the harsh blare.

Right, that's fucking it. Ashley had been trying to keep things on the down-low—her obliteration of the street signs didn't really count—but this fucker was absolutely asking for it. Energy began to build up in her left hand—

Then suddenly, the Undersiders came barrelling over the fucking truck, their lizard-rhino-dog-things leaping past Ashley's car and landing behind her. One thick tail smashed down on the trunk of her car and her rear window shattered, and then they were galloping away down the street behind her.

The energy dissipated, and she threw the car into reverse. There was no fucking way she was going to turn around in a hurry, so she was just going to have to back up. She gave the asshole in the truck one last glare. You get to live. This time. Cocksucker.

Then she was concentrating as she'd never concentrated before, steering the car as it rolled backward down the side-street. Motorbikes. I need a motorbike from now on.

It seemed to take forever, but she finally got out onto the street. Cars were stopped, having pulled to a sudden halt here and there, and there was much blowing of horns. Across the road, the Undersiders' riding creatures were climbing the buildings with dismaying speed.

By the time she got the car turned around—ignoring everyone else on the road, because they needed to stay out of her way—they were out of sight. Biting off a few more choice swear-words, she accelerated in that general direction anyway. Maybe she could pick them up again.

If not, she'd have to try again tomorrow.

Fuuuuck.

<><>​

Alexandria

"Are you ready for your MRI, Chief Director?"

Rebecca nodded. "I am, Doctor. Shall we proceed?"

Clad in a PRT coverall, with a badge displaying her faked ID, Doctor Mother nodded. Under her assumed credentials, she was the only one allowed in the room apart from the guards, for the very good reason that it was the Chief Director getting the scan. Rebecca knew that the fix was already in; between Doctor Mother and Contessa, the scans they got back would show a perfectly normal brain.

It was tedious, but Butcher had been dealt with, once and for all. Everything else was a matter of tying up loose ends.

Charles would not be pleased, but that was in no way her problem.



End of Part Forty-Eight

 

[woodzrox]

Rebecca knew that the fix was already in; between Doctor Mother and Contessa, the scans they got back would show a perfectly normal brain.

Click to shrink...

I certainly hope something screws up and she's detected because I loathe Cauldron, also her eye replacement better not have any metal in it or it's coming outta the socket. Thanks Ack!

 

[Pheonix_Fired]

Thanks for the chapter! It was very nice!

 

[Ack]

I certainly hope something screws up and she's detected because I loathe Cauldron, also her eye replacement better not have any metal in it or it's coming outta the socket. Thanks Ack!

Click to shrink...

Actually, that was my bad. She's not missing an eye in this one.

 

[twilightwanderer]

I will be registering a formal complaint with Legend and the Chief Director about your conduct here today

Click to shrink...

I just noticed this, but shouldn't he be complaining to Hero, not Legend?

 

[TitaniumQuartz971]

Actually, that was my bad. She's not missing an eye in this one.

Click to shrink...

Makes sense, considering how the Shard responsible is in more heroic hands.

 

[Ack]

I just noticed this, but shouldn't he be complaining to Hero, not Legend?

Click to shrink...

You are indeed correct. Will fix.