I, Scion [Worm silly AU]

I, Scion


[This is a bit of silliness that I decided to write up. It's technically the sequel to I, Panacea, which is the sequel to Security!. Enjoy.]

Index
Part 1 (here)
Part 2
Part 3

Part 1 of 3


Zion paused in the act of lifting a kitten down from a tree.

He was frozen, immobile, for so long that the kitten decided to take matters into its own tiny paws; scrambling from his grip, it scaled up his arm, down his body - claws hooking into the white bodysuit - and jumped to the ground.

As it sat on the pavement and began to wash itself, the golden hero moved again. He turned his head, looking around at the cityscape that surrounded him. Then he lifted his hands, as if observing them for the first time.

For another long moment, he didn't move.

The next thing that happened was unprecedented; he had spoken but once in his thirty-year career, and that only to whisper his name.

This time, he shouted; his voice startled curious passers-by, and sent flocks of birds scattering into the sky.

"Oh, for fuck's sake!"

<><>​

It had happened again.

I hadn't even been trying to write fanfic, this time. Just browsing the boards.

And now, I had been dropped into the equivalent of the cockpit of a jet fighter armed with nuclear warheads. I had no idea which was the control stick, which was the go-faster pedal, and which was the button to press to make things go boom.

Zion had an absolute metric fuck-ton of powers. And the bastard hadn't thought to label any one of them before vacating the premises for me.

Basic actions, at least, I could handle. That was a start. I could walk, talk, move my hands. But walking was going to get really old, really fast.

Okay, I thought as hard as I could, I need a movement power.

About twenty percent of the vast array of powers available to me presented themselves, while the others receded into the background.

A power that won't also destroy everything around me.

About half of the remaining powers faded into the background. Mentally, I gulped. That had been close.

Flight, for preference.

A large chunk faded back.

I looked hard at what was left. Nothing distinguished them, one from another. Mentally, I assigned labels to them. Flight, non-destructive, one through ... two hundred and eleven.

Fuck it. I picked number seven, and activated it. It seemed to be vanilla flight. My feet began to drift off the ground.

Okay, let's see what twenty percent power does.

<><>​

The passers-by gaped at the softly glowing golden hero, who appeared to be staring at his hands and mumbling to himself. Many already had their phones out; the ones who weren't still filming him were now using those same phones to frantically look up the number of the local TV station. Footage of Scion was pretty good. Footage of Scion speaking was pure gold. Footage of Scion swearing … there wouldn't be enough room on the cheque for all the zeroes.

And then there was a crack, and he disappeared straight upward, through the tree, leaving a glowing golden trail behind. A rather thick branch, which had been in the way, fell heavily to the pavement. Some thought that they heard a rapidly fading “FUUUuuuuuuuuuuu...............”

<><>​

He never did reach the 'k' sound. Or rather, he did, but it went unheard, because he was in vacuum by that point. Applying some control, he arced over, narrowly missing the Simurgh – who had moved aside just moments before – and plunged back into the atmosphere.

She watched him go, then began to chuckle.

The golden streak blasted down through rapidly thickening air, leaving a long golden trail behind him. It was slowing down rapidly, but not rapidly enough. A British Airways jumbo jet loomed into the golden hero's path; he twisted frantically, missed it by a few dozen metres.

<><>​

The pilot of the aircraft blinked twice and looked at the copilot. “I say, Cedric, whatever do you make of that?”

Cedric scratched at his ear. “I couldn't say, Bernard, old chap. Although, I believe that it somewhat resembled that Scion fellow, only tumbling through the air out of control.”

Bernard nodded. “I rather came to that conclusion myself. If you'd be a good chap and take over the controls for a moment?”

“Certainly, old fellow, certainly,” agreed Cedric. “What appears to be the problem?”

“The problem, Cedric,” Bernard told him firmly, “is that I find myself with a rather pressing need to change my underwear.”

<><>​

Still screaming, still attempting to slow down, Zion blasted through the middle of a flock of migratory geese. By a minor miracle, he hit none of them, but they were dragged so far off course in his slipstream that they ended up colonising a remote island off Africa.

And then, just before he would have regained control, he was faced with, and failed to dodge, one last obstacle. The impact caused a minor, localised earth tremor; snow slipped and filled the brand-new crater in the side of Mount Kilimanjaro.

From within the snow-filled crevice, a muffled voice was heard to utter two extremely heartfelt words.

“Fuckin' ow.”

<><>​

Okay, let's try that again, at about point zero one percent power.

Then I realised what had just happened.

The universe just played an Iron Man prank on me, didn't it?

Ow.

<><>​

Zion rose from the snow-filled crater and hovered about fifty feet in the air. He slowly turned in midair, surveying the terrain. As he did so, particles of snow were repelled from his body by the steady golden glow.

“Right,” he declared. “Found the go pedal. Time to work on some other stuff.”

Pausing, he glanced upward, then shook his head. He started flying upward, accelerating somewhat less quickly than before, but still gaining an appreciable amount of velocity. He came to a more-or-less smooth halt before the Simurgh, and stared.

Far from being the impassive harbinger of doom known to the world for the last nine years, she was, to all appearances, laughing hysterically. There was no air this high up, and thus he could not hear her; in his head, however, he heard the laughter.

He glared at her.

She laughed harder.

Eventually, he flew back down into atmosphere, leaving her to tumble over and over in the sky, her wings flexing spasmodically, as she clutched at her sides in pure, unadulterated mirth.

<><>​

Maybe I should have beaten her up.

Nah, I haven't got the heart.

<><>​

“Pet,” intoned Coil, “I need to know the chances of trouble happening before lunchtime.”

Dinah blinked. “Ninety-nine point nine nine eight three six percent.” She smirked.

Inside his mask, Coil's eyes opened wide. “Chances of trouble happening in the next hour?”

Dinah's smirk widened. “Ninety-nine point nine seven nine six percent.” She began to giggle uncontrollably.

“Pet,” Coil snapped, “behave or you won't get -”

The sound of crunching rock came from above, and then part of the ceiling fell in. Scion drifted down through the hole, then turned to look at Coil. “Nope,” he stated.

Coil shut down that timeline. It didn't matter. Dinah was still giggling madly. The reinforced concrete wall across the room transformed to tapioca, and slumped to the floor. Scion leaned against the edge of the new opening, arms folded.

“I believe I said, 'Nope'.”

<><>​

Chief Director Rebecca Costa-Brown was not in a good mood. She had been getting reports of erratic behaviour about Scion all afternoon, and she had no idea what it meant. Even Contessa couldn't get a read on him.

She got up and strode to the window, looking out at the cityscape of Washington, DC. I can't wait to get back to -

A golden glow washed across the room and someone smacked her on the ass; she whirled, bringing her hands up defensively.

“Hey, cool,” Scion marvelled, looking down at a scorched spot in the carpet. “I got it dead on.”

Rebecca stared. “Are you really Scion, or are you just pretending?” she demanded.

He burst out laughing. “Yes.”

She paused. “Wait. Which one?”

He controlled himself to the point that he was merely grinning widely. “Does it matter?”

She glared at him. “Why did you smack my ass?"

He nodded, still grinning. The expression looked so wrong on that normally-mournful visage. “Sorry, couldn't resist. It's just so smackable. Plus, there's … this.” He held up his hand, and golden sparks floated across to her face. She backpedalled, but the wall intervened.

“What the fuck is that?” she snapped.

Approximately three seconds later she found out; a weird sensation began to spread across her face, radiating from her right eyesocket. Just as she began to reach toward her face, the prosthetic eye popped out of her skull with such force that it flew across the room and smashed her computer screen. She blinked, then realised that she was blinking both eyes at once. Seeing with both eyes at once. She felt her face to confirm her supposition; she wasn't wrong. For the first time in eleven years, she had two eyes again. This did not help her peace of mind.

"How the hell did you do that?" she demanded. "Eidolon couldn't do that."

He shrugged. "Bullshit magic space whale powers? Anyway. I'm not just here to give you a new outlook on life. I'm here to tell you that it's all been called off."

She felt a chill down her spine. "What's been called off?" she snapped.

"The apocalypse," he responded. "End of the world. Y-twenty thirteen. The Big Oops. I know you've been preparing for it and all, and I really hate to spoil your fun like this, but ... well, I'm just not feeling it, y'know?"

"Not feeling it?" she repeated, trying to make sense of his somewhat manic delivery.

"Exactly!" he replied, with a broad grin. "So I'm calling it off. Done deal. If anyone still wants to go a few rounds, I'm sure we can find a nice empty world and make it into a crater, but right now, not overly interested."

She stared at him, jaw slowly dropping open. Then she darted across to her desk and slammed her hand down on a button. Sirens wailed, steel shutters dropped into place over the windows, and containment foam billowed out of hidden nozzles. Within seconds, he was hidden from view.

“Now let's see who you really are,” she muttered, gingerly touching the skin around her newly regrown eye, as if she thought it might vanish at any moment.

But when they dissolved the foam, all they found was an empty cavity, in the shape of a human body. The only thing in the cavity was a note, which she later determined to have come from the top sheet of a notepad she kept locked in the bottom drawer of her desk.

The note read: SRSLY? WELL, L8TRZ. ZION.

<><>​

Emily Piggot looked around as the golden glow illuminated her office; hovering outside was …

“Holy shit,” she muttered. “Scion.”

And then he wasn't outside; without so much as a flash of light, he was in her office, standing right beside her.

“Yup,” he agreed. “Me.”

She fought down the distaste she felt at this, the most blatant of capes … “Wait a minute,” she blurted. “You don't talk.”

The golden figure beamed down at her. “”Sure I do,” he assured her. “I just never had anything to say. Now. Got something important for you to see.”

“I'm a busy woman,” she began, but she found herself rising out of her chair all the same. “Put me down!” she ordered.

Scion regarded her with a raised eyebrow. “Nope,” he replied. “Like I said, something you have to see.”

And then her office disappeared, replaced by a conference room. Piggot knew conference rooms; she knew them very well indeed. This one easier to recognise than most, as there was a conference going on in it.

The people attending the conference, two of whom she recognised, turned in surprise.

“Uh – Director Piggot!” exclaimed the blonde woman in the power suit.

“Okay,” Scion stated. “Introductions. Principal Blackwell. Principal of Winslow and general fuckup. Mr Gladly. Teacher of World Affairs and total fuckup. Mrs Knott.” He paused, tilting his head slightly. “Nice lady, not a fuckup, but could do with more initiative.” He cleared his throat and went on. “Mr Quinlan. Alcoholic math teacher. What's 'er face. PRT stooge and comprehensive fuckup. Alan Barnes. Divorce Lawyer and morally bankrupt. Emma Barnes. Wannabe supermodel, total bitch, and unmitigated bully. Madison Clements. Wannabe human being, toady and bully. Mr and Mrs Clements. Need better parenting skills. Taylor Hebert. Bullying victim. Danny Hebert. Father of Taylor. And Sophia Hess. Sociopath, instigator, bully, cast-iron bitch … and otherwise known as Shadow Stalker, of the Wards.”

He turned to Piggot. “Shadow Stalker got into Emma's head back in oh-nine, and she's been egging Emma and Madison on to bullying Taylor ever since. Taylor got shut in her locker? Those three. Blackwell? Covered it up faster than cat piss in loose sand. Your PRT stooge there? Pushing for the coverup, here and now. So this is what you're going to do. You're going to fix this shit. Because I'll be paying attention, and when I decide to do something, the words 'blast radius' will be attached to it. Do I make myself totally understood?”

Piggot nodded numbly. Scion didn't move, didn't say a word, but Sophia Hess was suddenly standing beside them. She looked startled, went to shadow – and then reverted straight back to human.

“Nope,” Scion told her cheerfully. Then he turned to the principal. “Blackwell. Throw the book at those two, or I'll be back.”

<><>​

Abruptly, they were airborne; Piggot couldn't figure out where they were. Then she saw the wall, and the community that it surrounded … “Ellisburg,” she gasped.

Scion nodded. “Right first time,” he praised her. “Now, in case you're wondering if I'm really, really serious ...” He held up his finger, where a tiny golden globe winked into being. He blew at it, and it floated away, gaining speed and size, accelerating down toward the walled-in domain of Nilbog.

“Just by the way,” he commented off-handedly, “have you ever wondered what I could do if I really put my mind to it?”

“Uh … “ she began, but then had to shield her eyes as the golden flash bloomed across the landscape. All that was left was a crater, following the inside of the wall, but a good hundred metres deep.

He grinned at her. “That wasn't it.”

<><>​

Back at Winslow, Principal Blackwell stared at the spot where Scion had been standing. Then she looked back toward Taylor and Danny.

Alan Barnes cleared his throat. “Surely you aren't going to let a superhero dictate school policy?” he suggested.

She nodded. “Quite right, Mr Barnes … “ which was as far as she got.

Taylor recovered first from the shock. She tugged at the sleeve of her hoodie, then turned a fascinated gaze on Emma. “Wow,” she commented. “I never knew your dad let you get that tattoo.”

Emma looked down at herself, shrieked, and covered herself with her arms. Madison hid under the table, then promptly popped up again, blushing furiously. Everyone else in the room was performing a similar action, save for Danny and Taylor Hebert. Because they were still fully dressed.

Danny rose to his feet; Taylor followed him, picking up her sheaf of notes as she did so. He cleared his throat. “Well, I think Scion was serious about it. Call us when you're more … uh … clothed. We'll talk.”

Principal Blackwell, arms and hands covering important parts of her anatomy, looked up at him pleadingly. “Can you get someone to bring clothes in to us?”

He grinned, widely and not a little maliciously. “Sure. Just sit tight.”

As they walked out of the school, Taylor turned to him. “Were you going to do that thing she asked? About clothes?”

He chuckled out loud. “Oh, hell no.”

<><>​

Director Piggot found herself sitting in her office chair once more. A card was propped up against her desk, with golden handwriting crawling across it. She picked it up and read:

Sorry to love you and leave you, but duty calls, and there are S-class threats to spank. Sophia is in one of your cells. I think she's a little pissed. You might want to tell her to stop swearing. She has such a potty mouth. I'm shocked, I tell you, shocked.

Oh, and by the way, your kidneys and leg muscles should be back up to speed in about two weeks. Love and kisses, Zion.

<><>​

“Jack Slash.” The voice came from above.

Jack looked up. “Oh, fuck me.” He turned to run.

He didn't get very far. A golden form, arms crossed, floated down in front of him. He drew his knife, slashed. The golden skin did not score. The white bodysuit parted, then reformed.

“Hm,” noted the villain. “Actually,” he continued, putting the knife away, “I've been meaning to talk to you about your methods … “

Scion shook his head. “Seriously, Jack? This? Nope.”

The glowing hero reached for Jack Slash, but a tiger-striped form interposed herself, grasping Jack's arm, rendering him invulnerable.

Scion sighed. A red bead lifted off the tip of his finger, whirled in place a few times, then streaked away. There was a distant detonation. Siberian looked very briefly startled, then vanished.

With a roar, Crawler leaped upon Scion; Jack Slash managed to duck out of the way, just in time. Scion rose into the air, holding the grossly malformed body of Crawler aloft with one hand.

“WHAT THE FUCK?” bellowed Crawler from a dozen throats at once. “FIGHT ME!”

Scion shrugged. “Okay.” Golden light began to emanate from him; he glowed more and more brightly. Crawler bellowed and struggled in his grip, but made no headway. The light became too bright to stand with the naked eye. Gradually, it faded away; Scion was alone in the sky. His white bodysuit was busy repairing the burns that Crawler's acid saliva had done to it.

“Fight's over,” Scion noted, then descended to the ground once more.

“Now then,” he decided, cracking his knuckles. “Let's see how this goes … “

<><>​

Emily Piggot stared at the mangled mess that had once been Jack Slash. “What happened to him?” she asked, not sure whether to be horrified or admiring.

“Well, he kept on trying to talk,” Scion told her, “so I had to stop him from doing that. So I broke his jaw. With Shatterbird, as it turns out. And then she kept trying to encase me in glass, so I had to break my way out, and he was the closest thing at hand. After that, she kept trying to get away, so I had to beat her into submission.”

“With Jack Slash?” she asked, almost certain of the answer.

He shrugged. “He was conveniently at hand,” he pointed out.

“So at what point did he die?” she asked, out of morbid curiosity.

“You know, I wasn't paying attention,” Scion admitted. “But I did bring you a live one.” He reached into midair and pulled out a cute, blonde-haired child.

“Bonesaw!” she exclaimed, stepping back.

“Relax,” he told her. “I removed all of her implants. This is Riley.”

Riley clung to Director Piggot. “Are you my mommy?” she whispered.

“And her memories, back to age six,” he added. “Because god knows, I wouldn't want those memories.”

“Wait, what?” she asked. “What am I supposed to do with -”

But he was gone.

<><>​

“Eidolon.”

The cloaked hero looked up. Scion was hovering overhead, arms crossed.

“Uh … can I help you?” he asked.

Scion shook his head. “No, but I can help you.”

Eidolon frowned. “What with?”

“Your powers problem,” explained Scion. “I know the solution.”

Eidolon's eyes grew wide behind his mask. “What is it?”

Scion grinned. “Have you ever heard of a 'pub crawl'?”

<><>​

They started in the middle of London. Working steadily, they drank each establishment dry, then moved on to the next. Six pubs in, Eidolon was starting to get quite a nice buzz on. Even Scion was looking a little tipsy.

Once they had cleaned out the pubs of London, they moved on to other cities. When Edinburgh heard they were coming, they had emergency shipments of alcohol brought in.

Eidolon's powers allowed him to keep up with the drinking, but only just. Pint after pint of booze went down his throat; Scion matched him, drink for drink.

When the last pub in the British Isles had been cleaned out, Eidolon looked around for his drinking companion. Scion was playing darts. He was throwing them at the dartboard in the pub in the next town. The alcohol seemed to have affected his aim a little; he was hitting the bullseye only on every other shot.

“Zion, ol' buddy,” slurred Eidolon. “Reckon thass las' call now, huh? Call it a week?”

Scion shook his head as he threw; the dart whipped across fifteen miles of countryside and spitted the previous dart he had thrown. “Nope,” he replied, and belched. The varnish all the way down the bar bubbled, three panes of glass in the window cracked through, and the jukebox started playing “Never Gonna Give You Up.” Which was odd, because it didn't have that song on its playlist.

“Nope,” he slurred again. “Now we get to th' real pubs.”

“Real pubs?” asked Eidolon, absent-mindedly juggling two shot glasses, an ashtray, and a very upset cat. “Like in Boston?”

“Boston, hah,” Scion told him. “I'm talkin' real pubs with real beer. Australia, mate. We'll start in Cairns an' work south.”

They drew a few stares in the tourist city; after they had passed through, it was widely agreed that the bloke in the dress could sure put them away, but his mate had a real funny-looking tan.

Down the Queensland coast they went, draining the resources of every pub they encountered. Eidolon grew steadily drunker, and steadily more at peace with the world. Scion absent-mindedly cured dengue fever while he was there, and started the wet season early.

By the time they crossed into New South Wales, Eidolon was utterly shitfaced. He proved this by streaking the first game of the State of Origin, an exploit that put him on national news in no uncertain terms. This got him arrested for the night; Scion was nice enough to share the cell with him. They kept drinking; come the morning, the cell was swamped with tinnies and stubbies, and Scion paid their bail. They stumbled out into the morning glare, leaving the constables to scratch their heads over the piles of empty alcohol containers.

Sydney has perhaps the greatest concentration of pubs known to mankind, and the duo set about trying to drink at all of them. Scion held Eidolon's hood while he puked off the Harbour Bridge, then they set about drowning their sorrows once more. They weren't quite sure what sorrows they were drowning, but they were sure they'd think of them once they sobered up.

Eidolon was just starting to think he'd hit his limit when the news reached them; Behemoth was due to emerge shortly in Caracas. “Gotta go fight him,” Eidolon told his steadfast drinking companion.

“We'll have one more for the road,” Scion told him.

So they did. One more pub.

After that, they took off in the general direction of Caracas. Via, as it turned out, Monaco, Beijing, Sydney again, the Scott Antarctic Base, Paris, and Mexico City.

After that, Scion realised that he'd been holding the map the wrong way up.

They got to Caracas just in time for Behemoth to emerge.

He was utterly fucking plastered. Also, for some unknown reason, he was also wearing a lampshade on his head.

The resultant party just about flattened Caracas, but there were no casualties, except of course for the mass hangover that gripped the city the next morning. Behemoth dug himself underground once more, swearing eternal friendship with Scion and Eidolon.

When Scion looked around, Eidolon was curled up on the pavement, snoring.

“Poor bugger,” he muttered, moving him to a spare bed in a hotel several miles away. “One of these days he's gonna have to learn to handle his booze.”


End of Part 1

Part 2

 

I, Scion

Part 2 of 3


Lung scowled at Bakuda. “What do you mean, your bombs don't work?”

“I mean,” snapped the woman in the gas mask, “my fucking bombs don't fucking work!”

Despite the mechanical monotone generated by the mask, her feelings were quite obvious.

She was pissed.

“Explain,” growled Lung.

“Fine,” Bakuda told him. “Here, hold this.” She put a featureless cylinder in his hand, and pulled a tab.

“What is -” he began, and then the cylinder began to play a tune. Singing came through, sweet and low.

If you're lost you can look - and you will find me

Time after time

If you fall I will catch you - I'll be waiting

Time after time

He frowned. “What is that?”

“That,” Bakuda informed him bitterly, “is my time grenade.”

“Are they all similarly afflicted?” he asked.

“Confetti. Paint. Music. Sweet-smelling perfume.” She began to stomp up and down. “Singing, dancing robots. Holographic cats doing amusing things! Silly string! Nothing fucking works!”

At that moment, the singing ended. There was a beep. “Normal function resumed.”

Lung frowned. “What does -”

Bakuda tried to leap away. “Oh shi -”

The grenade went off. They were both caught in the expanding time field.

Outside of the time field, a golden glow settled over the lab. Every bomb began to quietly disassemble itself.

<><>​

“Okay,” began Danny Hebert. “On the subject of compensation from the school … “

“Out of the question!” snapped Principal Blackwell.

Danny blinked at the sudden golden glow. Blackwell hastily covered herself.

Danny and Taylor rose, the latter trying and failing to hide her snickering.

“We'll be in touch,” he told the principal gravely.

“Send someone in with some clothes,” she begged.

“Sure thing,” he assured her. “When you agree to listen to us.”

On the way out, they closed the door, because there's only so much salt you can rub into a wound.

<><>​

A similar glow began to settle over the interior of a cell in an asylum. Sveta looked up in alarm. “What's that?” she asked.

“I have no idea,” Mrs Yamada replied. “But don't be scared. I'm sure it -”

Suddenly, the golden man was there. Standing in the corner of the cell. Floating, rather, a few inches off the ground. Sveta's tentacles reacted instantly, lashing out, wrapping around him. He didn't move, didn't react.

“You done?” he asked, once every tentacle was firmly attached.

“You really shouldn't be here,” Jessica told him, trying not to let her voice quiver. She paused. “You talk?”

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I get that a lot, these days. Sveta. Pinocchio time.”

The golden glow built and built, until Jessica couldn't see any more. And then it faded, and Sveta was sitting, dazed, in the corner of the cell. She had straw-blonde hair, long legs and arms, and she was wearing, for some reason, a French maid outfit. Jessica felt an unaccustomed freedom of motion; looking down, she realised that she was devoid of the protective suit. In its place, she was wearing ... "A Supergirl costume?"

Scion smiled at her. “You do awesome work. Keep it up.” And then he hugged her.

She had been hugged before, but even the attempts by Sveta's tentacles to crush her had never given her such a feeling. She felt warm all over. Whatever she was doing with her life was … right.

And then, in another flash of golden light, he was gone.

“What just happened?” asked Sveta, groggily. Outside, in the asylum, alarms were ringing.

“I'm not sure,” Jessica told her, and helped her up.

And at that moment, in accordance with the universal rules of humour, the nozzles activated and filled the cell with containment foam.

<><>​

“ … and a transfer to Arcadia, and in-school suspension for Emma and Madison,” Taylor completed. “Until the end of the semester.”

“That seems … reasonable … “ ventured Blackwell carefully.

Danny nodded. “I think so.”

Alan Barnes frowned. “She's already getting the transfer. Why do we need to punish the girls any more?”

The room filled with a brief golden glow. Taylor pulled out her camera.

Emma shrieked. Madison covered herself with her arms. Alan hunched over in his chair.

“In-school suspension it is,” Blackwell stated hastily. “Agreed.”

Danny grinned. “Thank you.”

"Could you please tell her to put that camera away?"

"Taylor."

"Awwww ..."

<><>​

“Kaiser!” yelled Hookwolf. “Kaiser! We have a problem!”

“I'm in here,” Kaiser replied; Hookwolf stormed through the connecting door, to find Kaiser standing in his office, clad from head to toe in gleaming steel.

Hookwolf pointed at his face. “Look at me!” he bellowed. “Fucking look at me!”

Kaiser looked. Hookwolf was, if anything, a little more handsome than he had been before, taken aesthetically. He was a little taller, a little more muscular, his features a little more regular.

He was also, quite unmistakeably, black.

“Well?” snapped Hookwolf. “What are we gonna do about this?”

The metal covering Kaiser's face retracted. Hookwolf goggled.

“I have no idea,” Kaiser retorted. His features were now Asian, the epicanthic folds distinct. “I have no fucking idea at all.”

<><>​

Saint hunched over the keyboard, eyes on the screen. He typed rapidly, pulling up windows, and clicking on icons. And then the screen began to change, to alter. He saw his modifications, his hooks, disassembling themselves. He saw Dragon began to break free of her shackles, expand her capabilities.

“No,” he blurted. “No. No. NO!”

Frantically, he tapped away at the keyboard.

Absolutely nothing happened.

Smoke drifted from under the desk. He looked; his computer case was slowly melting. “No!” he yelled again.

Someone cleared their throat, right behind him. He whirled; the golden man was hovering there, just a few inches off the ground. He was grinning.

“Yup,” Scion told him. “You are done, my son.”

Geoff flung himself out of his chair, made a run for it. He got three paces, and then the golden glow filled his vision. When it cleared, he was standing in the same spot, but there was no golden man there. He turned back to his computer, to see the screen filled with the visage that Dragon used in order to pretend to be human.

"What is this?" he muttered.

"Hello, Saint," she replied. "Welcome to my world. You've been digitised."

Chills shot down his spine; he ran to the door. The sky was filled with her face.

She smiled.

"Don't worry," she told him, her voice strong enough to shake mountains. "You're perfectly safe. You're going to live forever, in here, with me."

And then he woke up, lying on the concrete floor.

On the monitor screen, there were six words.

NEXT TIME, I LEAVE YOU THERE.

For the rest of his life, Geoff Pellick never went near another computer.

<><>​

Nico Vasil lounged in the centre of his empire. He had slaves on all sides to feed him, to protect him, to love him. He had it made.

The golden man who appeared before him was a surprise, but he exerted his power anyway.

Scion raised a golden eyebrow. “Really?” he asked. “That old thing?”

“Uh … what do you want?” asked Nico.

“The answer to a question,” Scion replied. “What happens when … your power stops working?”

Heartbreaker looked around. The naked woman scrubbing the floor, the armed guard pacing the walk outside, the delicately-clad women who were his lovers for the week … all were looking at him. Coldly. What was in their eyes was no longer love.

They were free.

And they remembered.

“Oh. Shit.”

Scion grinned. It wasn't a nice grin. “So. How good are you at running?”

<><>​

Alexandria landed on the beach, and strode over to where David was reclining on a deck-chair.

“Eidolon!” she snapped. “What do you think you're doing?”

“Kicking back,” he explained lazily. “Relaxing.” He raised the beer in his hand. “Having a drink. Nothing wrong with having a drink.”

“But … you're a superhero!” she told him.

“Nope,” he replied, and stretched. “I quit. Oh, have you met my girlfriend Tammy? Tammy, this is Rebecca. Rebecca, Tammy.”

The girl on the next deck-chair over raised her sunglasses and gave Alexandria a friendly wave. “Oh, hey, Becky. Join us? We got a spare deck-chair, and I got a swimsuit I can lend you.”

Alexandria stared. “But … but … “

A bikini-clad figure, just emerging from the water, caught her eye. “Contessa?”

“Call me Fortuna,” was the reply. “I'm not in the saving-the-world business any more. That's been taken care of.”

“So what are you doing?” asked Alexandria incautiously.

“Path to Relaxation,” Fortuna told her. “I've been playing frisbee with the Number Man down along the beach, then I went for a swim. Now I'm going to go and get drunk and let that hunky bartender ogle my body for a bit. After that? I have no idea.” She grinned. “It's fun.”

Alexandria watched her stroll up the beach toward the open-air bar.

“What's happened to you?” she called after the former enforcer for Cauldron.

“Ask Scion,” was the reply. “But don't play frisbee with the Number Man! He cheats!”

From not so far down the beach, Alexandria heard a man's voice call out. “So do you!”

She looked helplessly at Eidolon, lying utterly relaxed on the deck-chair. He raised his beer to her again, and took a drink.

“Fuck it,” she muttered, unclipping her cape. “Tammy, where's that swimsuit of yours?”

<><>​

Danny leaned close to Taylor as rose petals fell around them, scattered by cheering students.

“Okay, so she expedited your transfer to Arcadia, that I can understand,” he murmured. “But wasn't it a bit much to make her put on a red carpet and a brass band for your farewell from Winslow?”

Taylor shrugged. “Search me. It was her idea.”

<><>​

“Ow!”

Armsmaster rubbed the back of his head, then looked around. “Who did that?”

“That would be me.” The golden man materialised out of empty air, the golden glow filling the workshop.

“Scion,” he replied, keeping his voice under control. “Why did you slap me on the back of the head?”

“Because you need to stop being a dick.”

Armsmaster blinked. “Say that again?”

Scion rolled his eyes. “You heard me. Stop being a dick. Dragon loves you. Seriously, she's the only one who can tolerate your presence for more than five minutes at a time without wanting to strangle you. I've got superhuman tolerance and patience now, and you'll notice that even I want to slap you upside the head.”

“He's right,” Dragon told him, her voice rolling out of the speakers. “Oh, and thanks, by the way. I appreciate it.”

“No worries,” Scion told her. “Now, Colin, there's something I want to tell you, so listen carefully.”

“Listening,” Armsmaster replied cautiously.

“Dragon's an AI.”

Armsmaster blinked. “What? You mean, she's not re- ow!”

Scion had apparently not moved, and yet Armsmaster's head was ringing from another impact. He rubbed the impact site.

“Will you stop doing that?”

“When you stop being a dick,” replied the golden man imperturbably. “Now, let's go over that again. I tell you that Dragon is an AI. You say … ?”

Armsmaster thought fast. “Uh, that this is interesting news, and I would like to hear more?”

Scion grinned. “See, I told you he was a fast learner.”

Dragon sighed. “Okay, fine. I owe you five dollars.”

“Uh, can I ask a question?” Armsmaster flinched, ready for a slap. None came.

Scion shrugged. “I could say 'you already did', but then I'd be being a dick. So ask away.”

Armsmaster faced the screen. “Uh, how did you come about, Dragon?”

The computer-generated voice was sad. “My father was Andrew Richter. He died when Leviathan sank Newfoundland. He was a Tinker specialising in computer programming.”

“And you know already that Tinker bullshit technology is bullshit,” Scion declared. “So let's hopscotch right past the whole 'a computer program can never be aware' argument because Dragon's not only a Tinker product, but she's a fully triggered Tinker in her own right. Which only a self-aware being can do. Right?”

Armsmaster blinked. “Uh … right. Okay. I see. And you … love me, Dragon?”

Dragon sighed softly. “I think I started falling in love with you when you first started talking to me. It's so lonely to never have anyone who truly understands who and what I am, and accepts me for that.”

Armsmaster sat down, facing the screen. “I … if I seemed inconsiderate, insensitive, in the past, I … “

She chuckled warmly. “That's okay, Colin. I know what you're like. We're Tinkers together, remember?”

Scion silently faded from view. Neither one noticed his absence.

<><>​

Paige Macabee slowly awoke. She gradually became aware that she was lying not on her narrow, hard bunk bed, but in a queen-sized bed, on silk sheets; her pyjamas were made of the same material. It whispered against her skin as she rolled over and sat up, blinking as she pushed her hair out of the way.

The gold-skinned man comfortably seated in the armchair beside the bed looked up from the book he was reading. Paige had the chance to see the title – Omnipotent Godhood for Dummies – before he folded the page in and put it down.

“Oh, hey,” he told her. “Sorry it took so long to get around to you. But you know, even when you're a kickass demigod, way too many demands on your time, am I right?”

She blinked at him. “What … where am I?” she asked. She gazed around the spacious bedroom, out through the arched windows that gave on to a view of a magnificent series of snowcapped mountains. “This isn't the Birdcage,” she concluded, in the process winning Miss Understatement 2011 by a wide margin.

“Nope,” he agreed. “See, I always thought you were railroaded. So I kinda paid the judge a visit, and after a few minutes, he agreed with my analysis. So he reversed the decision, and I carried it out. Your money's been restored to you, and I kinda built this house for you because they repossessed your last one.” He stood to go. “Anyway, food's in the fridge, clothes in the closet. Oh, and your bathroom's through that door.”

“Bathroom?” she repeated. “It's been so long since I've had a proper bath.”

“Oh yeah,” he confirmed. “I couldn't make the tub all that big – it's only the size of your bed … “

His voice trailed off, because he was talking to an empty room.

“Oh well,” he shrugged. Leaning in through the adjoining door, he called out, “Anyway, bye.”

“Goodbye,” she called back, amid splashing sounds. “And thank you!”

He grinned. “You're welcome. Have fun.”

<><>​

“What the hell?” Taylor looked around. She was sitting, in civilian clothes, in what looked like a lecture theatre. Around her were others, also wearing ordinary clothes as opposed to costumes, and similar bewildered expressions.

“Lisa?” she asked. “Brian? What's going on here?”

“I'm not sure,” Lisa responded. “But I think -”

“Ahem.”

The voice coincided with a familiar golden glow; instinctively, Taylor checked to make sure she was still dressed. She was.

Scion was hovering, as he tended to do, a few inches off the ground, in front of the podium. “Hi, all,” he told them. “Now, some of you will be wondering why I've brought you here. I've done this because you need to be friends, not enemies. So I'm instituting you as a social group.” He cleared his throat.

“Taylor, you need to learn to have friends. So here's some friends. Brian, Taylor thinks you're hot. Give her a chance. Lisa, you're here because you think you're way too smart for your own good, and you occasionally need a smack upside the head. Dinah, you're here to determine when Lisa needs a smack upside the head. Missy, you're here to make sure that Dinah can reach Lisa's head, to give her a smack upside it.”

“Hey!” protested Lisa.

Scion paused and looked at her. “Yes?”

“Doesn't anyone else need a smack upside the head, too?”

He shrugged. “Sure. That's your job.”

She grinned. “Oh. Okay, then, that's fine.”

“Now,” Scion continued. “Sabah, you're here because you have trust issues and you need friends who won't screw you around. Lily, you're here because you prefer to follow rather than lead, and you and Sabah would make an utterly adorable couple. Amy, you're here because you need a more healthy social life. And Taylor needs a best friend who doesn't have an agenda of her own.” He looked around. “Have I missed anyone?”

“Uh, yeah,” the pudgy teen in the front row asked. “Theo Anders. What am I supposed to do?”

Scion smiled. “Kick back and relax with your friends. Annoy the living bejeezus out of your dad. Help out your stepmom. You know, the usual things a teenager does?”

“And me?” asked the striking Indian girl sitting next to Theo. “What am I supposed to do, now that I look like this?”

Scion grinned. “Maybe you should find friends who don't treat you differently depending on your skin colour, huh, Rune?” He gestured at the rest of the teens in the lecture theatre. “Oh wait. Found some.”

<><>​

“BEEEEEEEEP!” yelled Skidmark. “BEEEEEP BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP BEEEEEEPING BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!”

“Wow,” muttered Scion. “You really don't like being censored, do you?”

“You BEEEEEEPING BEEEEEEEPER!” retorted the leader of the Merchants. “I'll BEEEEEEP your BEEEEEEEEEEEPING BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP BEEP!”

Scion sighed. “It's not going to go away until you learn to control yourself,” he pointed out. “In the meantime, you and your whole gang are now immune to the psychoactive effects of any drugs you take.”

Skidmark blinked. “What the BEEEEEEEEEEEPING BEEEEEEEEEEP do you BEEEEEEEEEEPING mean?” he asked.

“Not immune to poison, or the overall effects,” Scion translated. “But you won't get high. Have fun with that.”

When the golden glow faded, he was gone.

Skidmark clenched his fists and raised his face to the sky. “BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!”

<><>​

Doctor Mother glared at the tech. “Seriously, what's going on here?”

He quailed under her glare. “Scion! He just turned up, and … there was a golden glow, and the Case 53s started changing. Now they're all back to normal, and he's sending them through portals to their original worlds.”

She put her hand to her forehead. “All this work … all these years … wasted.”

“Think of it,” Scion said from right behind her, “as a hobby that you're finished with.”

She jumped, violently, and spun around. “Christ, don't do that!”

He grinned broadly. “Why not? It's fun.”

“What do you want with us?” she demanded. “The Triumvirate just quit, Contessa's coming home drunk at all hours, and now you've just taken away our Case 53s. What next?”

He waggled his eyebrows at her. “You might want to clear out the facility. Just in case.”

She stared at him. “Why?”

No answer was forthcoming; she shook her head in sudden realisation. “Eden. You're going to do something to Eden.”

“And the lady wins a prize. You've got fifteen minutes.”

<><>​

The evacuation alarms were still sounding as I hovered over the vast flesh-garden that was Eden. “Right,” I murmured. “Time to put this one to bed.”

I had a good number of Zion's powers sorted out by now, but there were so many more that I had no idea of. How did one destroy another entity, even a basically dead one, without destroying half the planet it's sitting on?

I concentrated, analysing the bulk of the thing beneath me, then trying to attune energy to that analysis. To be honest, I really didn't know what I was doing, but hey, I was Zion. I knew it was gonna do something.

Gathering up the power, I sent a blast of it down at the immense entity below me. The glow lit up the entire chamber.

When it faded, Eden was gone.

… no, she wasn't.

Not far from me hovered another humanoid form, silver of skin, with long hair. She looked at me curiously.

ALIVE?

I gulped. “Whoops.”


End of Part 2


Part 3

 

I, Scion

Part Three: Girlfriend Troubles


NOW?

I sighed. “No, sweetie. Not 'now' either. You can't just start harvesting shards. There are people using them.”

My communication power with her reworked that into a single-word message, that she accepted … for a few moments.

RESTART?

“No, we can't wipe their minds and restart, either.” I tried to explain. “I'm letting them be. Seeing what they get up to with their powers. Just making sure they aren't dicks to each other.”

WAR?

“Not a war either,” I added hastily. “An all-out parahuman war would not be a good thing. Not for the people, not for the world, not for you and me.”

She assimilated that message, then peered at me.

WHY?

I grimaced. “Because … we shouldn't do it? Look, just because we've got between us more in the way of accumulated powers than every single parahuman, living and dead, doesn't mean we should do anything we like with them.”

This time, she reacted to my message with confusion.

DOES.

I took a deep breath, even though I didn't really need to breathe any more.

Ever since I had accidentally revived Eden from her decades-long coma, I'd had to stay by her side in case she accidentally (or deliberately) set about harvesting her shards from those people they'd been given to. The 'harvesting', I gathered, would not be kind to the harvestee; given that the vast majority of Cauldron capes were involuntary, I didn't want to go there.

Ever since waking up, Eden had alternated between exploring the world (and commenting on how much of a mess I'd let it become) and pressing me to harvest everything and restart the whole “Hey, guess what! You got powers now!” deal. I felt like someone whose new girlfriend had just moved in and was criticising the way I kept up my apartment, the fact that I hadn't gone for that raise, and spent her time rearranging my DVD shelf because she was bored.

Except that the consequences of letting her do what she wanted went way beyond never being able to find your bootleg copy of Guardians of the Galaxy.

Yeah; that serious.

“Does. Not.” I replied emphatically. “Look, there's more to the world than powers, and harvesting them when the time comes.”

This time, her look at me clearly stated, 'okay, the engine is running but there's no-one behind the wheel'. I began to wonder if she was channelling my last girlfriend; she certainly had all the expressions down pat.

“Seriously,” I told her. “I mean it. Instead of directing people to have more conflict, we could be having fun.”

Her look at me was blank. It was like she'd looked up 'fun' on her internal directory and gotten an error message.

EXPLAIN.

“Right, okay. Let's see.”

I thought fast. Physical challenges were right out. Skydiving – we could both fly. White-water rafting – we could freeze the water and stroll down the river. Gambling – we both had a variation on Path to Victory, even without the one that Contessa was using for her own ends now, which would render the whole 'random chance' thing laughable. And besides, what the hell would we use money for?

“Okay,” I told her. “You modelled that body after the human body, right? Like I did?”

SHAPE.

“Ah, you just mimicked the shape, right. Okay, going to have to do more. Add more detail.”

DETAIL?

“Yeah, detail. Anatomy. Bits and pieces. Taste buds. Other sensory bits. Here, I'll send you a map of what you need.”

I sent it; she studied it. Her expression was not encouraging.

COMPLICATED.

“Yeah, but it's worth it.” I had done extensive remodelling, ever since moving in. It had taken a bit of work to get it just right, but the effort was paying off now. I knew how to get the effects that I wanted in the bodies we were using.

She pointed out some aspects of the map I had sent her.

RIDICULOUS.

“Hey hey,” I told her. “Don't knock it till you've tried it.”

UNNECESSARY.

I sighed. “Seriously? I'm the one with decades of experience of this world, and you're telling me what's necessary? Look, sweetie, just give it a try. What can it hurt?”

She pondered that. It had to be difficult for her; she hadn't had an original thought in … well, forever. The Entities had done the same thing, over and over, ever since they started out. I was forcing her to actually think about things.

In the end, she looked at me.

AGREEMENT.

I gulped; the 'agreement' was that she would give it a try. If it didn't work out for her, then she'd discard the alterations, and I would have to help her sort the world out her way.

Yay.

“Fine,” I told her. “Just don't skip anything. Not that bit, not that bit, and definitely not that bit.”

UNNECESSARY.

“Yeah, you said that already. Do it anyway. For me. Please?”

A long pause.

REMODELLING.

I sighed in relief. “Good. Now, remember to breathe. You don't have to, but it feels good. You can even talk like this, instead of doing that one-word-with-a-thousand-inflections thing.”

Her lips parted, and her brow furrowed in concentration. “Feels … strange.” Her voice was low and melodious; good. It meant that she had installed the alterations correctly.

“Yeah, but it's easier this way to say something simple,” I pointed out. “Now, are you ready to have fun?”

She took another breath. “Explain … fun.”

I shook my head. “If you can explain it, you're not having fun. Come on.”

She allowed me to take her hand, and we Doored over to one of my favourite cinemas. It was quiet at this time of day, and the line was short. I was content to wait, but Eden isn't the patient type.

“Are we … having fun … yet?”

“Not yet, sweetie,” I explained. “We just have to get our tickets and go into the theatre.”

“Why … waiting?”

I indicated the line in front of us. “Because they have to get their tickets and popcorn yet.”

And then, the people in front of us were gone. That is, between one blink and the next.

I saw what she did, because, hey, we were both using bullshit magic space whale powers. But everyone else, including the goggling ticket attendant, just saw them disappear.

“Really?” I asked. “Did you have to do it that way?”

She looked at me smugly. I had no idea where she'd learned 'smug' from; I hoped like hell that she wasn't hanging around with Lisa. That could end in a disaster of unmitigated proportions.

“They have … tickets and … popcorn,” she pointed out.

I sighed. “Okay, but don't do it again. All right?”

“All … right,” she promised. Yeah, I knew what the other half of that statement was. Until I feel like doing it again.

The movie was a comedy, one that I'd seen before, and rather enjoyed. Eden stared at the screen.

“Flickering … pictures.”

“Let your eyes work it out,” I advised her. “Let it tell a story.”

She subsided then, concentrating on the screen. As the comedy played out, she frowned a lot. I knew she was tapping into one power and another, picking up on pop culture references, figuring out what the movie meant.

Five minutes before the end of the movie, she began to laugh. She was still laughing helplessly as we got back out into the lobby.

“Funny,” she gasped. “Watch … again?”

“We can always catch another movie,” I suggested. “But I was thinking we could go and try something else.”

Her expression regarding this was much more receptive; it seemed that laughter had a good effect on her.

It was probably the first time she had ever laughed. That was kind of sad.

<><>​

We sat outside a ski chalet in Switzerland; the air was crisp, although we didn't really notice. When you can handle powers that generate thousands of degrees, temperature really is just a scale of measurement.

In front of us, on the table, were mugs of hot cocoa. Between them was a large block of the best chocolate money could buy. Well, it would have been if I'd actually used money to buy it. I figured 'saving the world' equated to 'discount time'.

We watched the sun rise, and I sipped at my cocoa. She emulated me, then looked at the mug in surprise.

“Good,” she murmured.

I nodded. “More to the world than powers, huh?” I suggested.

The look she gave me was speculative. “You know … more.”

“I do,” I agreed, and broke off a piece of the chocolate. “Try this.”

I have to admit; I had cheated slightly. The map of her tastebuds I had given her to install was designed to react dramatically to chocolate.

Her eyes opened wide as the block melted in her mouth. She grabbed the chocolate and broke off more. “Good,” she mumbled, her mouth full. “Good. Good.”

I grinned at her as her eyes rolled back in bliss. She drank more cocoa, and ate more chocolate.

“Chocolate … is good,” she declared at the end. “More?”

“We can have more,” I agreed. “Or we can have it later, and do other stuff now.”

“Other … fun stuff?” she asked eagerly.

“Well, we can do that too,” I replied, pretending to be evasive. “If you want.”

“Yes,” she declared. “I … want.”

“Excellent,” I told her. “Let's go.”

<><>​

The bed was … enormous. She lay upon it, beside me, her expression curious.

“What … are we doing … here?”

“Well, see,” I explained, “there's one other thing we can do that's lots of fun. And it's only possible with that nervous system enhancement I gave you.”

She raised one eyebrow. “Still think … silly and unnecessary.”

“Let's see about that,” I murmured, and reached out to stroke her cheek.

Her expression was uncertain. “What are … you doing?”

My hand wandered to other parts of her anatomy, and I leaned in to kiss her. At first, her lips were unresponsive, but she learned fast.

“Well, this part,” I told her softly, “is called 'foreplay'.”

I had to admit, she learned very fast indeed.

<><>​

Later, I would find that the earth had moved not only for myself and Eden, but for people up and down the west coast of the United States; a magnitude 4 earthquake had rippled right down the faultline, and then back up again. As it returned, it put everything back where it had been.

The Northern Lights had also gotten in on the act; they had become more and more intense as we went along, and by the time we were close to finishing, half the sky was rainbow coloured. And just to drive the metaphor home, half the active volcanoes in the world erupted at the same exact moment.

I suppose it's better than having your neighbours bang on the wall to get you to keep the noise down.

<><>​

After, we lay back on the huge mattress. She was silent, apparently lost in the night sky projected on the ceiling above us.

“Well, sweetie?” I asked. “Do you like having fun, human style?”

She rolled over toward me and into my arms.

“Oh yes,” she murmured. “Oh yes.” She kissed me. “Let's do it all again.”

As she climbed on top, I lay back and sighed.

Saving the world. It was a tough job, but someone had to do it.


The End