Part Forty-Seven: The Worst Laid Plans
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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 Legend 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
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 Legend 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
