Earning Her Stripes (Worm AU fanfic)

[Ack]

Earning Her Stripes

Part Thirty-Four: Stealing a March

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

Thursday Morning, September 23, 2010

March

The car could have used a good clean-out but May figured it would defeat the purpose of stealing one if she then turned around and took it to be detailed. She wanted to get to Brockton Bay today, not tomorrow or next week. Anyway, the trash in the footwell and the back seat didn't detract from its handling qualities, which she'd grudgingly accepted as adequate.

There weren't a lot of cars on Interstate 95, which was good because May had a destination in mind, and she wasn't interested in letting minor things like other cars or speed limit laws get in her way. So, as she whipped past the other vehicles at speeds the poor unfortunates that weren't her would call unsafe, she turned the radio to the jauntiest channel she could find and sang along with the songs at the top of her voice. Her mask was on the seat beside her as she drove, of course; she didn't want to damage the ears by creasing them against the roof of the car.

Also, she supposed it might not be the best idea to give Flechette advance warning by having people report seeing a rabbit driving a car down the interstate. The whiny bitch might decide to fuck her over by going back to New York, and then she would've wasted an entire trip. May had a constitutional aversion to letting Flechette win any of their encounters; it would only give her unrealistic ideas about where she came in the grand scheme of things.

Talking about people with unrealistic goals, she mused as she eyed the flashing red and blue lights in her rearview. The cop car had attached itself to her tail about two minutes back, just after she blasted through the I-495 overpass, and was gamely working to catch up to her. He probably didn't have a proper read on her license plate though, which was his good luck. That meant she didn't have to kill him, merely stop him.

Without taking her eyes off the road, she used her rapier to flick a piece of trash—a fast-food drink cup, long bereft of its contents—up toward her from the passenger-side footwell. She dropped the rapier on the seat and caught the cup, then swapped hands on the wheel and buzzed the window down. Flicking her gaze toward the cop car, she let the sequence of actions settle into her mind, then used her fingertip to emblazon a spiral trail of power into the side of the cup.

As the fuse began to burn down, she stuck her hand out the window and tossed the cup up and back. It flew through the air on the calculated trajectory, passed over the car that was between her and the cop car, and was sucked down into its downdraft. Although she lost sight of it then, she knew it would hit the ground and go under the police cruiser's driver's side front wheel at the exact instant that the explosive charge she'd instilled in the cup went off.

Which it did.

The detonation was muted by distance and wind-rush, but she caught a glimpse of the car tumbling end over end off the road into the ditch, rubber flaying off the stricken wheel. The cop might survive and he might not, but she didn't care either way. As far as she was concerned, he should've been smart enough not to chase after her when she had business to attend to. Anyone driving as flawlessly as she was, was clearly a cape; thus, someone to steer clear of.

She used the rapier to flick up another piece of trash, just in case, then settled back to keeping the car on the road and the speedometer in the triple figures. Nobody was going to stop her from messing with Flechette: not the PRT, not the Protectorate, and certainly not some underpaid county-mountie. The sooner people understood that, the better.

<><>​

Director Piggot, PRT ENE

Emily sighed and leaned back in her chair, then clicked the mouse to call up the confidential report that her best analysts had submitted regarding the Winslow destruction. She'd read it through more than a dozen times, looking over the arguments and finding no flaw in them. There were a few minor logical leaps—necessary, because the powers involved had never been tested under laboratory conditions—but the conclusions it reached were hard to refute.

Emily considered Taylor Hebert—Monochrome—to be one of the physically strongest capes she'd ever seen. She'd borne witness to Alexandria opening the entrance to Lord's Port again, and that display of raw power had both awed and disturbed her. Monochrome's double KO of Fenja and Menja, followed by choking out Lung, had to be on or near that level.

When considering the means/motive/opportunity triangle, the history of bullying that the girl had endured made for an ironclad motive. In a way, it was laudable that she'd chosen the site of the bullying rather than the bullies themselves for her retribution; Emily doubted that any of them would've survived if Monochrome had decided they needed to die. Opportunity was also a gimme: while Emily didn't know the full capability of Monochrome's powers, the girl was considered to have at least a minor Mover rating. Getting across the city and back again in less than an hour wouldn't be a problem for her.

The only sticking point in the whole affair was 'means'. Monochrome's powers seemed to involve a full-body force field that protected her utterly and gave her the strength to perform her deeds. Study of the limited footage available also seemed to indicate that she treated physics as an optional extra. If she could, for instance, extend that force field beyond her body, her strength might just be sufficient to pick the whole damn school up and toss it in the air, as Armsmaster had determined.

Emily would be the first to concede that it was a pretty big 'if'; the chain of logic was admittedly thin. However, the only other viable suspects she had in the matter were Leet (who had vehemently denied setting up anything of the sort, even when offered leniency) and Blockade (who'd had minimal motive to do so). While Blockade had been in the area with the rest of the Real Thing when Armsmaster showed up, Emily was disinclined to believe that she'd done it, mainly because Shadow Stalker would absolutely have dropped a dime on her former teammate without even needing to be asked.

The latter hadn't happened, so it was back to Monochrome as the primary suspect, assuming that the speculation about her powers was actually correct. However, not only was the aforementioned speculation unsupported by anything more than vaguely circumstantial evidence (much less the rock-solid proof Alan Barnes would demand if the PRT came at his youthful client again) but Emily wasn't even particularly inclined to go after her for it.

The basic truth of the matter was, the Real Thing were an unmistakeable force for good in the city. If they'd had to, the PRT and Protectorate could have taken down the Empire Eighty-Eight and the ABB capes, she had no doubt. But it would've been long and drawn out, there would've been unavoidable property damage and civilians getting hurt, and far too many of her troopers and capes would have suffered casualties as well, fatal and otherwise.

Likewise, the villains would not have surrendered easily, as proven by Kaiser's last-ditch effort to identify and either murder or co-opt Blockade. There would've been a target a mile wide on Emily's back, as well as on Paul Renick's and Armsmaster's; either to murder them outright or hold them hostage, depending on how well the PRT and Protectorate were doing at the time. Worse, while her sister lived out of state, Gesellschaft had a long reach when it needed to.

But all that hadn't happened. The cape contingent of the Empire Eighty-Eight was officially behind bars, as were Lung and Oni Lee. While both gangs had non-powered members (the Empire more than the ABB) they were fraying at the edges as the heroes and cops alike closed in on their bases of operation. It was a lot easier to dismantle something like that without villains getting in the way, a state of affairs she could definitely attribute to the actions of the Real Thing.

Beyond all that, the main reason that she was making zero moves on Monochrome (and had no immediate plans to do so) wasn't that she thought the girl's actions were reasonable. Yes, Taylor Hebert had been under extreme provocation, but that wasn't what stayed Emily's hand. Her core motive was pure pragmatism: if what she feared came about and outside villains arrived to claim their pound of flesh from the defunct Brockton Bay underworld, the PRT would need all hands on deck to squash any incipient resurgence of the Games.

And whatever else they were, the Real Thing were good at what they did.

With another sigh, she closed the file and clicked on the first unanswered email in her inbox. This had also been sourced in her overworked analytical department, though several grades less sensitive than the file she'd just been looking at. It was the latest of a series of reports covering cape activity within the city limits of Brockton Bay.

The Empire Eighty-Eight and the ABB had not been the only capes in the city by a long shot, merely the most troublesome. Aside from Uber and Leet and Coil (she still found the downfall of the latter to be hugely amusing) and ignoring the rogues, there were the Undersiders, Faultline's Crew and a few independent capes on both sides of the law. The report noted that the Undersiders were happily knocking over stash houses owned by the Empire Eighty-Eight and the ABB alike, stealing the money and leaving the drugs behind, while the Crew were apparently hunkering down and staying very quiet indeed.

In a way, she could admire the entrepreneurial spirit shown by the Undersiders; they'd seen an opportunity and were grabbing it with both hands. On a totally different level, while they were technically committing a crime, they were also locating stash houses that neither the BBPD nor the PRT had even suspected the location of, and removing money that the non-powered members of the gangs could have used to buy drugs or guns with. While legal confiscation would have suited her better, Emily was savvy enough to appreciate that they were wrecking the finances of both gangs, thus accelerating their ongoing disintegration.

This wasn't to say that they wouldn't be on the PRT's radar sooner or later, but they certainly weren't as much of a problem as some of the Empire Eighty-Eight capes had been, or the inevitable influx of new capes was likely to be.

Similarly, the PRT wasn't going to be focusing on Faultline's Crew for the moment. The Crew was extremely careful about not shitting in their own nest; they never committed Federal crimes, and made sure that all their activity happened on the other side of the state line. Inside Brockton Bay, they were the epitome of good neighbours, adhering to all the rules and regulations of running a nightclub, mostly making damn sure their bar attendants didn't serve alcohol to minors and that nobody sold drugs on the premises. Emily knew of at least four attempted stings where the ATF and other governmental bodies had tried infiltrating ringers to catch them out in one violation or another, but they'd all come to naught; Faultline was apparently very much on the ball.

Nothing in the report gave proof positive of any new capes within the city, but Emily knew they were out there, either sliding into the fetid pool that was her city's underworld or getting near to doing so. She hated that there was fuck-all she could do to stop them from just driving into the city or taking the bus, but until she got clearance to put up PRT roadblocks on every incoming highway (and she had considered it, however briefly) it was definitely going to be a case of playing catch-up.

Closing the report, she went onto the next email, which she belatedly realised was from Firebird.

---

Good morning, Director.

We've talked it over, and we think the best thing for all concerned is for us to make up for past misjudgments by cooperating with you as much as possible regarding the incoming villains.

Give us locations and names, and we'll go there and give them their marching orders. If an ass-kicking followed by a sojourn in the PRT's cells seems to be required instead, we can assist you in facilitating that as well.

Cheers,

Firebird (speaking for the Real Thing)

---

Emily read it through twice, noting the careful wording. Nowhere did Firebird actually admit to crimes, or even serious mistakes. 'Misjudgments' was a word that allowed for a lot of leeway.

Overall, it seemed, the Real Thing wanted to make amends in the most effective way: by taking action against a mutual problem. Given their previous track record, she was willing to give them the benefit of the doubt. And having their prodigious throw weight on the side of the PRT was entirely preferable to having them standing off to the side, choosing not to participate.

She spent a moment typing up a brief reply agreeing to the proposal, then went on with her day.

Villains or no villains, the PRT ENE department wouldn't run itself.

<><>​

Lunchtime at Arcadia

Taylor

This time, I'd met up with Madison before Emma came out. We were seated under the shade of a tree, relaxing in companionable conversation, when I spotted her and waved. She waved back and came on over.

"Hey, guys." She grinned, waving her phone. "Guess what? She went for it."

"Well, there's a surprise," Madison drawled, unwrapping her hefty sandwich. "She'd have to be blind, deaf and brain-dead not to take us up on it, and I'm pretty sure she's none of the above."

"I dunno." I took a sip from my juice box before I continued. "If we'd managed to piss her off enough that she was more interested in fucking us over than getting the job done, I figure she'd say no."

Madison rolled her eyes. "In what possible universe would she feel justified in knocking back our assistance? I mean, shit, we handed the Empire and the ABB to her on a silver platter. We get the job done." She bit into the sandwich to emphasise her point.

"Well, not this one, obviously," Emma agreed. "But technically, I guess it's possible. Say, if Taylor was really a villain and we weren't there to make her look good." She gave me a cheeky grin.

I wrinkled my nose at her. "Oh, ha ha. I'm the one who makes you two look good, and you know it."

"Yeah, but we don't just look good." Emma struck a pose. "We look amazing."

<><>​

Flechette

As Lily strolled out casually through the Arcadia courtyard, she heard a burst of laughter from the three girls having their lunch under a nearby tree. They looked like they were a year below her; a pretty redhead and two brunettes, all clearly amused about something. It was nice to know some people didn't have anything more to worry about than grades and possible boy(or girl)friends. She moved on.

"Hey." Carlos met her at the gate as they slipped out. "You know those girls? I thought you hadn't been here before."

So he'd noticed her glancing in their direction. The guy was definitely observant. "No, I just looked that way when I heard them laughing. It's nice to know we can make a difference, you know? Because while we're out there, kids like that can enjoy life to the fullest."

"Wow, look who's the adult all of a sudden," he jibed with a smirk as they headed for the unmarked PRT van. "They aren't that much younger than us, you know. Year, maybe eighteen months, tops."

She snorted at him, then climbed into the back of the van. "Doesn't matter, and you know it. When you've got what we've got" —she meant powers— "the whole 'being a kid' thing doesn't mean much anymore. I've spent my entire cape life shuttling between duty posts, never having a chance to settle down in one place and put down roots. Add having your very own fucking nemesis on top of that, and a normal life's got even less chance of happening than usual." Sitting down in one of the seats, she reached for the seat-belt straps.

"Yeah, I heard something about that." Carlos frowned. "If this … what's her name, again? If she's so fixated on you, have you tried setting a trap for her? Once she's in custody, no more problem." He began fastening himself in as well.

Lily shook her head hastily. "No, bad idea. Her name's March, and she's really fucking switched on. Director Wilkins tried to trap her once. She sent half a dozen PRT guys, plus me and Adamant, to the hospital. I only took her rapier through the calf muscle, but for him she exploded half his armour and put him in a coma for a week."

"I think she'll find I'm a lot harder to put down than that," he said, apparently trying to be reassuring.

"What happens to you if she explodes your head?" she asked bluntly. "Not your helmet, your actual head. Nothing left from the neck up. I know you've got redundant biology, but exactly how redundant is it? Because I can promise you, she'll find a way to blow past those limits. Pun totally intended."

"Murdering Wards?" He frowned, apparently having difficulty with the concept. "She'll go that far?"

"She sees this whole thing as a game, and the name of the game is 'fuck with Flechette'," Lily explained. "No rules, except the ones she makes up on the spot. I'm the only one who can almost tag her in a fight. And everyone else, she dances around like it's been choreographed ahead of time. If anyone actually hits her and draws blood, she's likely to go full murderblender on them, just saying. And armour won't work, not against her."

"That's seriously wrong." He shook his head. "She won't get everything her way. Armsmaster's pretty good, for one. Kid Win says he's working on some kind of combat analysis software for his armour, though it isn't up and running yet. And Assault's nearly untouchable when he gets going. Also, Velocity should be able to literally run circles around her."

"You're still not getting it." She sighed, then tried again. "Combat is one of her powers. My Thinker ability gives me perfect rhythm, but with her it lets her predict and direct the movements of other people. That's what her name's all about. Marching in step. If her sword's charged up, she'll be able to anticipate where people are gonna be and intercept them. And when it's charged up, her sword goes through anything, just like my arbalest bolts do."

"Oh." To his credit, he didn't keep pushing. "So, um, what's she got against you? Or does she have something for you? Some sort of misdirected crush, I mean?"

"You tell me." She rolled her eyes. "We got our powers in the same cluster trigger, and she's been obsessed with me ever since. If she does just want to be my girlfriend, she's been going about it in the exact wrong way. She's toxic as fuck, and she's hurt too many people for me to be even slightly interested in her." Frowning, she cast about for a change of topic. "So, um, this new team, the Real Thing. Reading between the lines, Armsmaster and the Director are really impressed by them. Are they all that?"

She recalled the block of 'good steel', and its apparent impervious nature. If that was all they had going for them, March would surely figure out a way to get to them if they opposed her.

"They're still really new, like you said." Carlos tilted his head thoughtfully. "We don't have a lot of footage of them using their powers. Monochrome's even newer than the other two; she only showed up after Winslow got flattened."

"Actually, about that." Lily had been curious about the incident he'd referenced. "What really happened with Winslow, anyway? Was it a villain fight? Did it just fall down of its own accord? Someone cause an earthquake? Everything I've looked up says there's no official answer, but I was wondering if there was an unofficial answer that nobody was talking about."

Carlos chuckled dryly. "Throw a rock inside the PRT building on any given day and you'll hit someone with a brand-new theory. So far I've heard that it's an insurance scam, that Blockade did it with some kind of bullshit non-exploding bomb tech, that Leet was trying to teleport the building away but his teleporter malfunctioned and only sent it twenty feet up, that Shadow Stalker turned the foundations of the school to shadow, and that's all just skimming the surface. The truth is, nobody really knows. One day it was a technically intact high school, and the next it was a pile of rubble. Not even a ransom demand for any other buildings in the city."

"Huh." Lily went back to her previous line of thought. "Didn't Monochrome beat up on Lung or something, though? She's supposed to be really strong or something."

"Strong and fireproof," Carlos amended. "You're gonna need to see Armsmaster's helmet footage. Lung was on fire like everywhere, and she choked him out like it was a training exercise. I dunno how strong she is, but I know she's stronger than me. Blockade, too. I haven't seen what Firebird can do yet, but I'm not betting against her either, just saying."

"Right." Lily fell silent then, leaning back in her seat as the van rolled through Brockton Bay. Although she suspected she hadn't left all her problems behind in New York, there were more than a few enigmas that could do with unravelling while she was here.

One way or another, it looked like she was going to have her hands full.



End of Part Thirty-Four

 

[woodzrox]

Thanks Ack!

 

[JohnWolfie34]

Oh, a new update! Jolly good!

 

[Avernus]

March to me is like Bakuda and Coil; a villain I thoroughly enjoy see getting stomped just because their attitude is just so smug and obnoxious I want to reach into the monitor and slap them.

 

[Ack]

Earning Her Stripes

Part Thirty-Five: First Contact

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



A No-Tell Motel on the Outskirts of Brockton Bay

March

May waited until darkness had fallen before she headed out to prowl the night. She'd purposely chosen the motel for its lack of security cameras—the people who frequented a venue like that rarely wanted video proof of their indiscretions—and the incuriosity of its staff. This meant she could stroll out to her stolen car in full costume, though again minus the full-head mask, and nobody would pay the slightest bit of attention.

The parking lot was just as discreet, tucked in behind the main building to make it harder for suspicious spouses and nosy private investigators to spot guilty license plates. As she got in the car and started the engine, she wondered how many other supervillains used places like this as ad hoc bases of operation. It was certainly something to think about.

Once she'd cruised out onto the main drag, she applied thought to the next part of her plan. I need to start acquiring minions. While she was very goddamn effective on her own, having a bunch of people marching to her beat was a potent force multiplier. This worked even for non-capes, which was good, because the villains in town she could potentially recruit to her cause were very few and far between at the moment.

Fortunately, the two biggest gangs in town had literally just had their cape leadership stripped away from them, meaning there were two pools of potential recruits waiting for her to show up and claim them. It was true that the larger of these groups had been members of a white-supremacist gang, but she was an equal-opportunity employer; if they were willing to forget about that part of their lives, so was she.

But let's not get ahead of ourselves. Step one: find a cop car.

<><>​

Monochrome

"Okay, so the Empire Eighty-Eight and ABB are falling apart by the day, but there's still a lot to do," Emma noted as Madison strode along the Boardwalk with me riding on one shoulder of the Blockade armour and Emma on the other. "We have ordinary crime, and there's always the chance of new villains coming to town."

"Yeah, Director Piggot seemed pretty sure that was going to happen," agreed Madison. "She's been doing this a lot longer than we have, so I'm not gonna second-guess her on that."

"Absolutely." I hitched myself a little higher and scanned up and down the Boardwalk; despite the fact that only the last fading glow of the sunset was showing over the hills to the west, the overhead street lighting was giving pretty good illumination. The only movement I saw was from people, mostly looking in our direction. "Seems like we've got enough respect around here that nobody's willing to pull any stunts while we're looking."

"That'll be down to you and Firebird." Even with the voice modulator, Madison sounded amused. "When you dragged that one purse-snatcher along the Boardwalk by his ankle, you got everyone's attention."

"Well, it was either that or by the scruff of his neck, and he was taller than me." I shrugged. "Besides, he called me some pretty nasty names when I stopped him. He needed to learn not to do that."

"I think that lesson was well and truly learned." Emma tossed one of her throwing discs in the air, then caught it again and snapped it back onto her arm bracer in one fluid motion. "Are we gonna patrol back along the Boardwalk when we get to the other end, or go somewhere else?"

I considered that for a moment. "The Boardwalk is pretty well covered by the cops and Wards as it is. We don't want them getting complacent elsewhere in town, so we'll move along and check out the Trainyards before we finish up tonight." It was a school night after all, which meant it'd be a good idea to get home before midnight, at least for me and Madison. Emma could get by on just a couple of hours of sleep, the big cheating cheater.

"I'm down with that." Madison's voice was full of satisfaction. They'd told me about the encounters they'd had with the Merchants while they were still building their reputation as heroes. Madison in particular had issues with drug dealers hanging around and harassing people. "If we can clean that area up and keep it that way, it'll make it easier to get the Port back up and running when the time comes."

"Absolutely." Emma waved to a couple of people who'd stopped to take a photo of us. "And if any of these villains do stick their heads up, we'll smack 'em down again. Because that's what we do."

That was my view too. "Damn right."

<><>​

March

Before she set out to acquire a cop car, March decided to modify her own ride to make matters more convenient. First and foremost, she needed to be wearing her mask when she encountered them, and the roof of the car made that problematic. With this in mind, she used her empowered rapier to slice away the roof, door pillars, window frames, and rear window, in chunks small enough for her to handle. After smoothing off the rough edges, she got back into her newly-converted roadster and began the hunt.

As far as she was concerned, a poor hunter went looking for the prey, a mediocre hunter waited for them, and a good hunter drew the prey to them. So she set out breaking the law in the most flashy and egregious way possible: by blatantly exceeding the speed limit, all the way through town. A speeding car combined an obviously illegal act, a chance to drive fast with the siren on, and the opportunity to yell at someone in the name of the law; by her understanding, it was catnip to the average police officer.

She picked up her expected tail just a few minutes later, after her third four-wheel-drift around a random corner. He was still a ways back, though, so she decided to make him work to catch up with her. From what she remembered of the map, the waterfront was just up ahead: a boardwalk along the shore, paralleled by a long boulevard called Lord Street.

She'd let him chase her until she found a nice quiet place to conduct business, then the chase would be over and the next stage in the plan would take place. This would possibly entail the cop dying, depending on how stupid he wanted to be. It would absolutely end with her driving off with her very own cop car, slightly used, one previous owner.

The reason she wanted a cop car was simple: police-band radio, with wheels attached. At some point, the remnants of the Empire Eighty-Eight and the ABB would try to supplement their current savings with some crime, petty or otherwise. Without their super-powered protectors, they would almost certainly fall afoul of the law.

Whichever cops responded would call it in, and she'd hear about it. Whereupon she would turn up and save the mooks from the cops, then make them the strongly worded offer to work for her. They would almost certainly accept; while she'd never worked for another cape in her life, she understood that the minion mindset never really went away.

And then, once she had her ducks in a row, she would start learning Flechette's roster times and patrol routes. Brockton Bay was smaller than New York, which meant it would be harder than ever for Flechette to hide from her.

She couldn't wait.

But in the meantime, she was in the process of actuating the first stages in her plan. It was never a good idea to look too far ahead and lose sight of the here and now. As the cop car closed in from behind, she threw the car into a howling, smoking drift that left four distinct black trails on the asphalt and took her around the corner onto Lord Street.

With a nice long straightaway ahead of her, she gunned the engine. The car began to accelerate again, just as she noticed the three capes off to the side, on the boardwalk itself. She whipped past them, leaving her with the image of a large blocky set of power armour carrying a costumed teenage girl on each shoulder, all three turning to look at her.

Unless one of them is a speedster, they'll never—

<><>​

Taylor

The car came around the corner behind us, rubber shrieking on asphalt, the burning smell borne to us on the wind. Just as we turned to look, it roared past us, already dangerously fast. Behind it, a police car screeched around the corner with siren wailing and lightbar flashing.

"Was that—" Emma began.

"—a rabbit driving?" I finished. It had certainly looked like it, with white fur, long ears, and a cute little round cap.

"Cape," Madison filled in grimly. "Database says March, out of New York. Also says she's dangerous."

"Got it." I gathered my feet under me and leaped.

I might have been inclined to allow the cops to deal with a speeder, but a cape doing the speeding was a whole other thing. For starters, capes were a lot less likely to tamely allow themselves to be pulled over and arrested. Plus, we'd just finished telling Director Piggot that we'd help deal with any new villains in town. March definitely qualified.

And if she thought she was dangerous? She hadn't seen dangerous yet.

She was doing twice the speed limit when I passed over her, but that was no big deal. I was going faster than her, and all I needed to do was get in front of her. She looked up at me as I rotated laterally in the air, going from head-first to feet-first, utterly ignoring minor matters such as wind resistance and aerodynamics.

The next bit was going to be a little tricky. I hadn't even had my powers for a day when Uber and Leet had hit me with a car, utterly wrecking it when I didn't give way in the slightest. This time, I wanted to do better.

Allowing gravity to notice me again, then telling it to notice me, I dropped out of the sky. The idea was to land on the hood of the car, envelop the entire vehicle (and her) in my personal protective field, then put my feet down on the road. Any amount of friction from my feet meant I could stop instantly; nothing within my protective field suffered from inertia or gravity unless I wanted it to. The car would stop on the instant, allowing us to take the unharmed perpetrator into custody, hand her over to the PRT and go on our way.

At least, that was the plan.

As I fell toward the hood of the car, March anticipated my move and swerved to get clear of me before I could drop that far. (She was, I would learn, very good at anticipating moves). What she didn't seem to expect was how fast I was accelerating downward. Increasing the value of g for myself was a somewhat niche trick, but it came in handy occasionally.

As it was, she peeled around me with more than a foot to spare, but not quite out of my reach. I made a hasty grab, and my fingers closed over the top of the front passenger-side door. The instant I made contact, I layered my protective field over the car and all its contents, and it stopped.

Unfortunately, her foot was still on the accelerator, so the engine was roaring and rubber was howling against asphalt. Using just the pressure of my fingers and thumb on the door, I gently lifted the entire vehicle until the back tyres were no longer in contact with the road. That got rid of part of the noise, but not all of it.

"Turn the ignition off and exit the vehicle, March!" I shouted over the bellow of the engine. "You're under arrest!" I didn't actually have the power of arrest, but I could sure as hell hold her until the people who did showed up.

The rabbit head was turned my way. I had to admire the workmanship that had gone into it. The thing could've been cartoonish but it actually looked realistic, if a six-foot rabbit could look realistic.

The rest of her costume was … hyper-militaristic, if that was a thing. Bright colours, fringed epaulettes, polished brass buttons, with the cap on top between the ears. It looked like a crossover between Alice in Wonderland and Gilbert & Sullivan.

"And which one are you supposed to be?" she asked. She eased off on the accelerator, but then I saw her pick up a long skinny sword from the passenger seat.

"I'm Monochrome," I informed her. "You need to put that down right now. It won't hurt me. Nothing can hurt me. And if you try, I'll take it away from you and tie it in a bow."

"Really." Then she stabbed me.

I was kind of expecting it (in a ha ha, what's she going to do with that, stab me? way) but mostly not, because I was holding the car a foot off the ground with one hand, and that sort of thing tends to breed caution in others. What I wasn't expecting was for it to actually fucking work.

Her lunge was faster than my eye could follow; Emma probably could've seen it coming in time to do something about it, but all I knew about it was a flash of silver straight at my chest. I fully expected it to attempt to hit me in the chest, but I did not expect my force field to simply pop like a soap bubble, nor did I expect the skinny blade with a very pointy end to be driven deep into my chest cavity.

I stared down at the embedded weapon, stunned.

This … this was actually happening.

I wasn't prepared for this.

Before I could do anything, she whipped the sword back out of my chest. I took one stumbling step back, then I was tumbling. I fell hard, but I didn't feel the ground. I simply … stopped falling. Staring up at the sky for a second, there wasn't a cloud in the sky, and remembering the weather forecast, I coughed around the wetness that filled my throat.

Rain, my ass.

I heard shots being fired, though they were muffled … like a long way away. My fingers were starting to get sticky, and I lifted my hand, staring for a few seconds at the red liquid that covered it. It took me a second to remember it was blood.

My hand got really heavy and I closed my eyes, but on an up note, my chest didn't hurt any more. In fact … nothing hurt…

I felt the shadow of someone or something falling across me, and then there were people screaming.

I just really wanted them to shut up so I could sleep.

The last thing I remember was the sound of fabric tearing, and thinking that a bandage wasn't quite gonna cut it …

<><>​

Firebird

Emma knelt tensely on the sidewalk, knowing her gloves were covered in blood but not giving a shit, as Panacea laid her hands on Taylor's unconscious body. Glory Girl stood back out of the way, apparently unconcerned regarding the outcome. With the assistance of the first-aid kit from the patrol car, Emma had managed to keep Taylor alive up until this point, but her vital signs had been really bad toward the end.

Madison had overridden Emma's demand for an ambulance, instead directing a call to New Wave, requesting Panacea's assistance. The call-out would cost four hundred dollars—her usual rate, plus double time for short notice and outside working hours—but Emma considered it cheap at twice the price. Glory Girl was apparently used to ferrying her sister around, and had gotten Panacea to them in less than five minutes (though to Emma, it had felt like much longer).

"Done," Panacea announced, settling back on her heels. "I've fixed the damage, and she'll be waking up in about ten seconds. She's going to need to have a full meal and rehydrate, to replace the blood she lost, but otherwise she'll be okay. What was it, some sort of bladed weapon?"

Emma stared as Taylor's eyelids fluttered open, a warmth spreading through her chest. Oh god, thank you. She's going to live. "Uh, yeah," she managed, trying not to ignore Panacea. "March carries a rapier. According to the database, she can cut through anything with it, and make things explode." It would've been good if Taylor had waited for Madison to reach that part of the entry.

"Hmm." Panacea frowned. "Well, from what I can see, whatever cutting power she had wasn't working. The blade scraped off a rib before it went into Monochrome's chest, which saved her from a much worse wound, possibly even a fatal one. Thanks to you, she didn't even suffer from anoxia." She gave Emma a brief smile. "When people do first aid properly, it makes my job so much easier."

"Ugh …" groaned Taylor. "What happened? How did she even do that?" Between one instant and the next, her force field came back, covering her from head to foot.

"Her blade can cut through anything," Emma informed her. "How do you feel?"

"Like I got stabbed with a blade that can cut through anything," was the tart reply. Taylor sat up, then finally registered Panacea. "Oh, hey. I'm guessing you're the reason I'm feeling a lot better right now?"

"Good guess." Panacea stood up, then dusted her knees off. "Looks like Crystal wins the pool."

"Pool?" asked Emma as she helped Taylor up; it wasn't like Taylor actually needed the assistance with her force field on, but there was a psychological element there.

"Yeah." Glory Girl rolled her eyes. "On which of you three was going to need Panacea's assistance first, the way you've been tearing through the local bad guys. I had my money on you."

"Did anyone have anything on me?" asked Madison curiously.

"Just Manpower." Panacea smirked. "He was so sure he was gonna win too, given how easy Tinkers are to hurt once they're out of their armour."

"Who'd you have your money on?" Taylor asked her. "And thanks, by the way. I really appreciate it."

"Oh, I wasn't allowed to be in on the pool." Panacea shook her head and snorted. "Something about a conflict of interest. Anyway, you're welcome. Glory Girl has your billing information?"

"I've already transferred the four hundred to your account," Madison assured her. "I'd apologise for dragging you out on a school night, but you don't seem particularly upset over it."

Panacea grinned. "Hah, no. Thanks to jobs like this, my college fund is really healthy, these days."

"And I get five percent for flying her here," Glory Girl added. "We'll probably get takeout on the way back. Win-win."

"Well, thanks anyway." Emma waved her hands vaguely, aware of the blood on her gloves. "See you around." She watched as Glory Girl expertly gathered Panacea into a bridal carry, then rocketed into the sky. "Okay," she said. "That happened."

"March's sword popped my force field," Taylor said, in an 'I want to speak to the manager' tone. "Nothing's supposed to touch my force field. How did she get a power like that?"

"I'm getting the impression that your power and her power cancelled each other out, but she was still holding a sharp piece of steel and you were soft squishy meat," Madison offered helpfully. Emma couldn't help noting that Madison's good steel would very likely protect her from any sword March wanted to point in her direction.

"Ugh, okay, fine." Taylor huffed in irritation. "How bad was it?"

"Pretty bad," Emma said candidly. "I had to give you CPR, before Panacea got here." She still recalled the taste of Taylor's blood in her mouth. It would likely be with her forever.

Taylor nodded slowly. "Got it. Thanks. Remind me to save your life sometime."

"Anytime." Emma tilted her head. "Go ahead, ask the question you want to ask."

"Okay, fine. Did you get her?" From the tone of Taylor's voice, she already knew the answer.

Madison shook the head of her power armour ponderously. "No. We were all concentrating on you. After you dropped the car, she got away in the confusion. But don't worry. We'll catch up with her again."

"And when we do," Emma stated with conviction, "she's gonna learn why she shouldn't mess with the Real Thing."

<><>​

Some Way Out of Brockton Bay

The party was dying down as Butcher leaned back in her chosen seat, watching her followers stumble about in search of booze, a bed partner, or somewhere to throw up. Hemorrhagia staggered up and flopped down next to her, holding a bottle by the neck. "Spree'ss so drunk, hee'ss havin', havin' a drink'n c'ntest with, with hisself," she announced out of nowhere.

"Wouldn't fuckin' surprise me." Nothing surprised Butcher anymore about the Teeth. So many members had come and gone, among the powered and non-powered members alike, that if she hadn't seen basically everything there was to see, one of her predecessors would have.

Fortunately (or perhaps unfortunately) the layered powers that came with being the Butcher meant that she couldn't get drunk easily and she couldn't stay drunk at all. Which meant she was just drinking for the taste and the mild buzz.

"So where're we goin'nex'?" Hemorrhagia went to take a drink from her bottle, but it was empty. She looked drunkenly disappointed.

Butcher had been thinking about that. "Heard that Brockton Bay's been nearly cleared out of villains. Empire's gone, ABB's gone. Sounds ripe for us to go take a cruise back through our old stomping grounds."

Hemorrhagia blinked owlishly at her. "I nev'r been."

Butcher smiled; it wasn't a pleasant expression. "It's gonna be fun."



End of Part Thirty-Five

 

[Therandomestpersons]

Yeah, i figured something like that would happen. Big Oof for Taylor, but this is information thats significantly better to know 'now' then 'later' after all.

 

[edale]

I made a hasty grab, and my fingers closed over the top of the front passenger-side door. The instant I made contact, I layered my protective field over the car and all its contents, and it stopped.

Unfortunately, her foot was still on the accelerator, so the engine was roaring and rubber was howling against asphalt. Using just the pressure of my fingers and thumb on the door, I gently lifted the entire vehicle until the back tyres tires were no longer in contact with the road. That got rid of part of the noise, but not all of it.

Click to shrink...

If anyone caught that on film, then that shows the final piece to the puzzle to Taylor's power to explain how she destroyed Winslow...

 

[Ack]

If anyone caught that on film, then that shows the final piece to the puzzle to Taylor's power to explain how she destroyed Winslow...

Click to shrink...

It does, yes.

(Also, I spell 'tyres' in the British/Australian manner. The only words I tend to spell in the US manner in these stories are ones where the pronunciation is changed by the spelling, such as aluminium/aluminum, or where something's written down, such as in PHO segments.)

 

[Ack]

Earning Her Stripes

Part Thirty-Six: Breaking Step

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


March

Fully aware that the car she was driving was more than a little conspicuous, and not wanting Monochrome's battlesuited buddy to land on it—and her—with both feet, or turn her into a crater from a thousand feet up, May ditched it at the first opportunity. All the same, she argued to herself as she ducked through the alleyways of Brockton Bay with one eye on her backtrail, Monochrome had totally been asking for it. What kind of idiot just stood there after saying something like 'you can't hurt me with that'?

Especially if it turned out that yes, May could hurt her with that?

The look on her face when her force field popped? That was amazing. Though it was nothing compared to her expression when she actually got stabbed.

May's wrist twinged slightly, and she rubbed at it. There'd been a bit of a jar, a resistance, when she'd been expecting none at all, and her wrist had been set just a little off for the lunge. Must have been the force field, she decided. It held out for a split second before it popped. That's actually pretty impressive.

Still, Monochrome had taken May's blade through the chest despite her stupid force field, so that team was down to the powersuit Tinker and the chick in black with the funky arm-shields. May still wasn't sure of their names, despite the fact that Monochrome had known hers. It didn't really matter; if they came after her to capture her or avenge their fallen teammate (or both) she'd take them down just as easily. As far as she was concerned, battlesuits only provided visual cover.

Still, it was probably a good idea to lay low until the next night. They'd undoubtedly be scouring the city for her tonight, along with everyone who was willing to help. Tomorrow night, it would just be them, and Monochrome would still be dead.

May grinned as an idea came to her. If they give her a public funeral, I'll sneak in after and put 'Whoops' on her tombstone. I mean, how stupid can you get?

<><>​

Hebert Household

Taylor

Danny grimaced as he shook his head. "I'm not going to say that was a stupid thing to do, mainly because nothing else has been able to get through your force field. However, standing there and letting her stab you was remarkably short-sighted; just because nothing you've encountered can affect you inside the field doesn't mean there's nothing that will."

"Hear, hear," Rod Clements agreed. "As my Logic professor used to say, 'absence of evidence is not evidence of absence'. He looked Taylor over carefully. "Are you sure you're okay now?"

"Perfectly." Taylor felt confident enough to reply in the positive. "Panacea fixed me up just fine."

"She does good work, it seems," Alan Barnes agreed. "Well worth the four hundred I wired through to Madison."

"Yeah, she does." Taylor frowned. "Not to change the subject exactly, but with her quality of work, how the hell is she not snowed under, every hour of every day?"

Mr Barnes rubbed his chin with forefinger and thumb. "I don't know the full details, but I've heard any calls to Panacea for healing go through a smart semi-AI filter system, provided by some computer Tinker or other. She prioritises life-threatening situations and charges more for frivolous calls, like getting a splinter removed. Anyone who tries to swamp the system by calling multiple times gets dropped clear out of the queue; it can even tell if the same person is calling from different phones. And capes automatically get jumped to the front of the line."

"Don't you mean heroes, not just capes?" asked Emma curiously.

"No." Mr Barnes shook his head. "If a villain calls up and has the cash, she'll fix him up too. So long as he pays in good faith, he gets healed in good faith."

"But surely there would be a constant number of clients, even taking frivolous calls out of the equation," Taylor insisted. "I mean, there's always people in the hospital."

"That's because most hospital stays are multi-day affairs," Danny explained. "From what I heard, she dealt with a metric ton of chronic conditions, from asthma to allergies to emphysema, early on. Those were one-and-done. Cancer as well. Once you get the conditions that normally get handled rather than cured out of the way, the workload drops way off."

"Yeah," agreed Mr Clements. "The number of people actually going into the hospital on any given day is actually fairly low."

Mr Barnes chuckled. "The pharmaceutical companies hate her. She doesn't prescribe any drugs that they can jack the price on, and she reduces the need for people to take the ongoing maintenance drugs that they make a lot of their profit on. They tried threatening a lawsuit to bar her from healing people on some bullshit technicality, and Carol said, 'Bring it.' Our whole company was gearing up to go balls-to-the-wall for her. That went away pretty fast, especially after we started talking to the news services about it."

"Well, I'm just glad she was ready to come fix me at a moment's notice," Taylor said. "The question is, how do we fight March, if she can just pop my force field like that, and cut through anything?"

"I think we need to talk to the PRT again," Madison decided. "See if they've got anyone with any insights on going up against her. Until then, I'd suggest you stay at range, and either poke her with your staff or throw stuff."

"Well, I can definitely throw stuff at her." Cars, Taylor decided. I can throw cars at her.

Emma nodded. "I'll make that phone call."

<><>​

Flechette

Lily was working up a good sweat on the treadmill—just because her powers gave her perfect timing and good balance didn't mean she could coast on the fitness aspect—when Triumph stepped into view in front of her and waved to get her attention. Hitting the button to let it roll to a stop, she pulled out one of her earpieces. "What's going on?" she asked. "The gangs acting up?"

"No, actually." She was struck once more by the deep resonant quality of his voice. "The Director wants to see you about that cape who keeps giving you a hard time."

"What, March?" Just saying the name gave her a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. "Is she in town? Who's she hurt?"

"Yeah, she is, and it seems she ran into the Real Thing about an hour ago. Nearly killed Monochrome." He tilted his head toward the ceiling. "But you need to be having this conversation with Director Piggot, not me."

"Shit." She took a deep breath. "Okay, yeah, good point." Grabbing her towel, she stepped off the treadmill. "Do me a favour and let her know I'll be five minutes?"

"I can do that."

<><>​

Five Minutes Later

Director Piggot

Emily looked up at the tap on the door. "Enter."

The door opened, to reveal Flechette on the other side. Clad in civvies, the girl wore her tinted visor as a way to indicate who she was and hide her identity at the same time. "You wanted to see me, ma'am?"

"Yes." She waited until the door had closed behind the girl, then gestured to a chair. "Have a seat. Just so you're aware, this conversation will be recorded, as per PRT regulations." It was a warning she gave to every Ward, once. If they forgot thereafter, it was not her problem. "Now, you gave us some stringent warnings about March, as I recall."

"Yes, ma'am. Triumph said she nearly killed someone?" Flechette sat down, her shoulders hunched, as though she was expecting to be blamed for the incident.

"That is correct. Monochrome. Fortunately, her aim was a little off and Panacea is available at short notice, so she survived. As of ten minutes ago, the Real Thing contacted us for pointers on fighting her." She paused as Flechette opened her mouth to say something, then closed it again. "What?"

"Excuse me, ma'am, but March's aim is never 'a little off'. I've never known her to miss what she was aiming at because of random chance. Or even because someone dodged; she's stupidly good at anticipating which way someone's going to try to go to evade her."

"Hmm." Emily didn't doubt Flechette's word. She had more experience against March than anyone in Brockton Bay, as a matter of course, and second-guessing the experts was a sure-fire route to disaster. "I may have mis-heard what Firebird said. In any case, they fully intend to go after her again, so any suggestions for doing this would be well-received."

"Speaking frankly, ma'am, my first suggestion would be 'don't', but I suppose that's not going to fly."

"You are correct." Emily smiled thinly. "The Real Thing have shown themselves to be remarkably persistent, not to mention effective. Up until today, I wouldn't have bet against them when it came to dealing with a single cape. It appears that I—and they—miscalculated."

Just for a second, Flechette's expression clearly said 'no shit', but the girl was evidently too smart to express that sentiment out loud. "Can I talk to them? If I know what happened, I can maybe figure out where to go from there."

"That's something I can arrange, yes." Emily took up her phone, accessed Firebird's number, and pressed the icon to call it. While the call was still going through, she put it on speaker, then placed the phone on the desk between them.

The phone rang twice, then Firebird's voice came through. "Hello, Director Piggot. What's up?"

"I have Flechette here," Emily said. "She wants to talk to you about your encounter with March."

"Yeah, hi," Flechette added. "So, um, what actually happened? Because March doesn't miss. If she's going for the kill, you're dead. If she's really going for the kill, you explode."

"I'll let Monochrome explain it. All Blockade and I saw was the aftermath."

There was a pause, then Monochrome spoke. "She was in a car and I stopped her by picking it up. There was a sword, and I told her to put it down, but she just kind of leaned across the seat and stabbed me with it. It popped my force field and went through my lung. Firebird was able to keep me alive until Panacea showed up. What should I have done differently?"

Flechette frowned. "Well, as I told the Director, the best way to not get stabbed by March is not to get close to her. But that aside, you say it 'popped' your force field, as opposed to punching through it? Also, a lung shot is a bit sloppy for someone like March. If she goes for the chest, it'll be a heart shot."

"Yeah. My force field automatically comes on when something's likely to hurt me, and I've found nothing that can get through it, until now. As soon as her sword hit it, it vanished. Panacea says she might've been aiming for my heart, but her sword scraped off my rib before it went into my chest." Monochrome sounded distinctly aggrieved about this.

"Wait, that's not right." Flechette shook her head. "For her sword to disrupt a high-end force field, she had to have been empowering it, but if she was empowering it, it would've gone straight through your rib like a hot knife through butter. Zero resistance. I know this, because it's how my power works."

"I don't know what to say. That's what happened. One second I was fully protected, and the next there was a sword sticking in me. And if Panacea says it scraped off my rib, then I'm going to take her word for it."

Flechette sat back in her chair, rubbing her thumbnail across her lips. "Okay, that's … the only way I can see that happening is if there was some kind of weird interaction between her power and your force field."

"What do you mean, exactly?" Monochrome sounded interested, at least.

"Okay, look at it like this. My power—our power—goes through anything. From the sounds of it, your force field stops everything. So, what happens when the unstoppable force meets the immovable object?"

"But she stabbed me anyway." Monochrome had clearly been looking ahead to the obvious conclusion. "So the unstoppable force wins?"

"No, they cancel each other out," Flechette said patiently. "Her blade wasn't empowered anymore, but it was still sharp."

"I said that!" exclaimed a voice Emily recognised as belonging to the petite teen inside the Blockade armour. "Didn't I say that?"

"Yes, okay, you called it." Firebird's sigh was audible. "Sorry about that. Blockade dislikes being ignored when she's right about something."

"Wait." Flechette sounded startled. "That's a girl in the Blockade armour? I thought for sure it was a guy inside there."

"That's the general idea of having a voice modulator, yes." Firebird cleared her throat. "So, back to the topic of March. Thanks for verifying Blockade's theory. Now, how can we use that information to wreck March? Also, is her power likely to be able to damage good steel? I'd really rather not go into a fight against her, and find out I'm trying to hide behind the equivalent of a marshmallow."

"Hey, my force field is not a marshmallow!"

"True," agreed Blockade. "From the way it popped, it was more like a soap bubble."

"What?"

"Monochrome, hush. Blockade, stop baiting her. We don't know if your suit will even stand up to March yet. Flechette?"

"I can give you good news on that front at least." Flechette sounded pleased. "We tested the piece Blockade gave to Armsmaster. My power couldn't so much as get a grip on it. I've cut through tungsten carbide like so much fairy floss, and that 'good steel' just flat-out ignored me."

"Hah! Yes! I knew it!"

"Okay," Monochrome said. "So Firebird and Blockade will be protected against her. Got anything for me?"

Emily coughed into her fist to get their attention. "Actually, I just had an idea. Monochrome, have you considered the idea of defence in depth?"

"Um … not really? What does that mean?"

"From the footage I've seen of you in action, your force field doesn't have to be skin-level, correct?"

"Well, no. I can shape it out to an inch or so. Why?"

"Can you generate two separate force fields, one under the other? Because if her power is expended when she pops the first layer, it'll just be an ordinary sword when she hits the second one." Knowing they couldn't see her, Emily still gestured to illustrate the concept.

Flechette's eyes widened and she sat up. "That … could actually work. It takes a second or so to empower a weapon. Even if she keeps her sword in contact with you while she charges it up again—and trust me, she can totally do that—you can move the field outward and form another one under it, right?"

"Well, yeah." Monochrome sounded doubtful. "So it's as simple as that? Two force fields, one inside the other?"

"Oh, it'll be anything but simple." Flechette shook her head. "Once she figures out what you're doing, and she totally will, she'll go for your eyes or anywhere else she thinks you might not have total coverage. And she will keep trying."

"But she won't just be fighting Monochrome next time." There was steel in Firebird's tone.

"Damn right." Blockade sounded just as determined.

Flechette didn't look entirely convinced, but neither did she voice any concerns. "Okay, then. Just … be really careful, okay? She plays by her own rules, and those rules change whenever she feels like it. If she can bully you, she'll absolutely do it."

Firebird's chuckle forebode dire consequences for March. "We're thoroughly acquainted with that mindset, trust me."

"Well, if there was nothing else?" prompted Emily after a few seconds of silence.

"That's all we had, Director," answered Firebird. "Thanks for letting us talk to Flechette."

"And Flechette, thanks for the advice," added Monochrome.

"You're totally welcome. Glad I could help." Flechette nodded to Emily.

"Good luck. Ending call … now." Emily hit the red icon, then laced her fingers together and looked over her desk at Flechette. "Thoughts?"

"Well, they listened, I guess. To a point, anyway." Now that the call was over, Flechette was letting her doubts show in her voice. "I just … nobody's ever gotten the better of March. The best we've ever done is chase her off with overwhelming force, and she still got a few good hits in. Monochrome nearly died the last time because she was overconfident. What if what I told them isn't enough to beat her?"

Emily had seen exactly what the Real Thing could do when they had the upper hand. Now she was about to see how they went against a foe who had already beaten them once.

"I suppose we'll find out when the time comes."

<><>​

The Next Afternoon

Butcher

The convoy of vehicles trailed its way into Brockton Bay. They didn't draw a great deal of attention, being in relatively good condition and bearing legitimate license plates. This was because while the majority of the vehicles were stolen (the Teeth were not the sort of people to walk into a car showroom and actually pay money for their rides, don't be ridiculous) the plates had been swapped over for ones that had been taken off cars on the street. It wouldn't pass muster for an in-depth check on a given plate, but a simple check for license plates of stolen cars wouldn't show up either.

Seated in the passenger seat of the lead van, with most of her paraphernalia concealed in the back, Butcher looked around with interest. She'd never been here before in person, but one or two of her predecessors had, so she had their memories to tap into. In their professional opinion, despite a few new buildings, the place had gone downhill since Butcher and the Teeth had last graced the city with their presence.

Along with the capes, there were about forty mundane followers in the Teeth. She didn't have an exact number; every now and again they recruited new blood, or some idiot got shanked or left of their own accord. Although they could likely commandeer enough motel rooms to accommodate everyone, the Teeth didn't do motels. Like the 'travellers' of Europe and the UK, they tended to find a spot that nobody was looking too closely at, circle the wagons, and set up camp. If they could steal electricity (or anything else) while they were at it, all the better.

Following instructions from one of the past Butchers, she guided the convoy to the northern part of the city, rolling through mostly-abandoned suburbs toward their goal. Covetous eyes took note of boarded-up stores and strip malls; businesses that closed down due to bankruptcy or whatever often had stock left behind if there was no new place to take it to. Among their numerous talents, the Teeth were expert scavengers of things left unattended, whether it be for fifteen years or fifteen seconds.

"There," she said, pointing ahead through the windshield. "We'll set up there."

Spree, who was driving at the time, peered at the building. It was well-kept, though the signs saying 'temporarily out of service' and 'coming soon' were weathered and worn, which was what had gotten Butcher's attention. The important part was that it was roomy enough for the Teeth to all find somewhere to crash, and make the place their own (mainly involving breaking stuff and tagging all available surfaces, because this was the Teeth).

"What about the boat?" he asked, indicating the ferry that was tied up at the dock.

"Oh." Butcher grinned lazily. "We'll take that too."

<><>​

March

Operation: Find A Gang was now on its second day with no appreciable progress, which irked May slightly. By this time she'd usually at least made some connections and was moving into the active recruitment phase, but teaching Monochrome the essential lesson of 'yes I can hurt you, you idiot' and then evading pursuit had cost her the night. She hadn't seen or heard anything about the moron's death on the news, but they were probably just trying to figure out how to spin it in a positive light.

To change things up, she'd boosted a motorbike this time and started cruising the streets, looking for trouble. It wasn't like she was being especially subtle, riding around in full costume and all. Just one cop car was all she wanted; surely they'd pull her over and try to arrest her, and then she'd have a cop car.

Rich end of town or poor end of town? Mentally, she flipped a coin. Causing problems in the affluent areas tended to draw more than one unit, whereas she was likely to only get one cop car at a time in the low to middle class suburbs.

Despite the fact that she could take down any number of cops, they might delay her long enough for the heroes to show up, and they'd probably still be holding a grudge over Monochrome. So while she was fully aware that it might take a bit longer, the coin came down on 'poor end of town'.

It took her less time than she'd thought to leave the nice side of town and hit the shitty region. Half the street-lights were smashed, there were areas where potholes outnumbered normal sections of street, and the general air of decrepitude made her want to gag. But she reminded herself that she'd made this choice, and she never made bad choices.

So she kept going, taking corners almost at random, gradually working her way farther north. Sooner or later, she figured, she would run into either a cop car or someone she could recruit as the first member of her Brockton Bay gang. Either one would be good.

<><>​

Grue

"I gotta ask, are there any that we haven't hit?" As they strolled along the sidewalk toward Lord Street, Alec seemed to be inquiring more out of mild curiosity than from actual greed. "Because we've made bank over the last few days."

"Oh, there's a few," Lisa admitted. "But they're the low-end ones. Not worth our time."

"Need to think about moving on anyway," Rachel threw in.

"What's the rush?" asked Brian, concerned. He was still working on getting full custody of Aisha so that when he left town, she could legally come with. Failure to cross the t's and dot the i's on this could see her dragged back to Celia and him being charged with kidnapping. "I thought the PRT wasn't focusing on us yet."

"They aren't." Lisa looked at Rachel, frowning slightly. "You know something we don't."

"Yeah. I was out walking my dogs earlier, and I saw a bunch of assholes setting up camp in the ferry terminal. They were dressed like the worst type of bikers and had a cape walking around with a stupid big gun, with spikes and skulls and shit hanging off her." Rachel shook her head. "Too close to the loft. They'd find us sooner or later, then they'd harass us because assholes love to do that sort of shit."

Lisa stared at her. "Spikes and skulls and a big gun? Are you sure?"

Rachel glared back. "Of course I'm fucking sure. I'm not fucking blind."

"Motorbike," Alec warned them, stepping away from the edge of the sidewalk. So did Brian; some bikers loved to clip pedestrians, or do even more stupid shit. Then he turned to look, and did a double-take.

The girl in the rabbit mask and the gloriously overdone militaristic costume pulled up alongside them. Brian noted the rapier hanging off her belt, but didn't see any ranged weapons. He also picked up on the fact that the ignition lock of the bike was busted, which meant she had not acquired it in any kind of legal fashion.

"Hi," said the newcomer brightly. "My name's March. How would you like to be part of the newest, most kickass gang in Brockton Bay?"



End of Part Thirty-Six

 

[Finsdale]

Paige, I mean Brian NO, just no!

 

[edale]

...I kinda see this developing into Butcher!March... Which, to be fair, I've never seen nor heard of before.