I'm HALPING! [Worm AU fanfic]

[Ack]

When a stranger comes to Brockton Bay with the intention of HALPING, things are going to get interesting ...

Disclaimers:
1) This story is set in the Wormverse, which is owned by Wildbow. Thanks for letting me use it.
2) I will follow canon as closely as I can. If I find something that canon does not cover, I will make stuff up. If canon then refutes me, I will revise. Do not bother me with fanon; corrections require citations.
3) I welcome criticism of my works, but if you tell me that something is wrong, I also expect an explanation of what is wrong, and a suggestion of how to fix it. Note that I do not promise to follow any given suggestion.

Part One: Introduction (below)
Part Two: Halping!
Part Three: Insanity is Contagious
Part Four: Shortlisted
Part Five: Eclectic Boogaloo
Part Six: A Bumpy Ride
Part Seven: Setting Boundaries
Part Eight: Home Truths
Part Nine: No Sale
Part Ten: And For My Next Trick ...
Part Eleven: Endbringer Shenanigans
Part Twelve: A Coat of Many Colours
Part Thirteen: Luck is for Amateurs
Part Fourteen: Coming to an Agreement
Part Fifteen: Changing Up
Part Sixteen: Mining for Resources
Part Seventeen: Exacerbating the Chaos
Part Eighteen: A Neat Little Bow
Part Nineteen: Heartache by the Numbers
Part Twenty: More Conclusions
Part Twenty-One: Coming to a Head
Part Twenty-Two: Ongoing Consequences
Part Twenty-Three: Accelerating the Agenda
Part Twenty-Four: Dancing With Endbringers
Part Twenty-Five: Do not Go Gentle

 

[Ack]

I'm HALPING!

Part One: Introduction


Thursday Night, December 23, 2010

The bus from Chicago pulled into the Brockton Bay depot and stopped with a hiss of air brakes. With a sigh of relief, the driver set the handbrake, killed the engine, then pulled the lever to open the doors. He was already thinking of the soft sheets that he'd be sleeping on that night as he opened his log book and began to fill out the row of figures.

Beside him, the passengers filed out of the bus, most of them just as pleased as he was that the endless journey was over at last. Long-haul from the Windy City to the 'Bay was no joke at the best of times, though he wasn't entirely sure why anyone would be coming to the city. Busy scribbling down odometer figures in handwriting only degrees more legible than a doctor's scrawl, he entirely failed to notice the slight distortion in space behind the last passenger, a tired woman with three cranky children.

Preoccupied with her own brood, the woman assumed that the teenage boy who appeared behind her had been slouched down in a seat and had just now gotten up. Politely, he waited for her to herd her offspring off the bus, then stepped down to the stained pavement himself. As he looked around, he felt wonder at what he saw and heard and felt, but he did not know how to express it.

Before anyone could query his presence, and the fact that he was unaccompanied by an adult, he walked off into the night.

<><>​

The acne-scarred convenience store attendant rang up the sale. "That'll be forty-two dollars and seventy-three cents, please."

Naomi Hess rummaged through her purse and found two twenties. Further down, she located three dollar coins, which she placed on the counter with the twenties. The attendant took the money and counted out twenty-seven cents change, which she dropped into the purse. Prices go up every year.

"Thank you," she said to him. "Are you working over Christmas?"

"Gotta," he replied with a shrug. "Need the money."

He had a point, she had to admit. Keeping her two younger children fed and clothed was a constant trial, even though Sophia seemed to be able to pay her own way more and more these days. She carefully avoided thinking about how that might be the case; it was just good that Terry had his own job these days.

"Well, be safe," she told him. It wasn't the best of neighbourhoods; this late at night, her regular store had been closed, and she'd had to drive across a couple of neighbourhoods to find a place to pick up spare diapers as well as some other essentials. I swear, Sophia didn't use half as many.

"You too," he mumbled, already going back to whatever magazine he was reading in between sales. Laden down by her purchases, she hooked the door handle with one finger and pulled it open.

It was a good fifty yards down the block to where she'd parked her car. Her feet were already sore; the walk back to the car with the groceries would only serve to add another layer of discomfort to that. She visualised getting home, getting her shoes off, soaking her feet …

"Well, what the fuck do we have here?"

It was the tone behind the words, as opposed to the content, that made her heart sink. A covert glance over her shoulder confirmed her worst fears; three tattooed skinheads, flaunting the colours of the Empire, were rapidly catching up with her from behind. She tried to increase her pace as they swapped comments back and forth, but it was no use. Even if she dropped the bags and ran, she knew that they would catch her with relative ease.

Slowing her pace again, she hunched her shoulders, dropping her gaze to the ground. Maybe they'll just throw a few comments around and get bored and wander off. It was a slim hope, but it was all she had. There was a pepper spray tube in her purse, but to try to use it on three determined opponents would be a bad idea. She would almost certainly miss one, and that would get her stabbed or worse.

In moments, they were surrounding her on three sides.

"Hey, bitch, where you going with that shit?" That was the opening ploy. If she didn't answer, she was ignoring them. That would give them an excuse to escalate.

"Home," she mumbled. It was probably better to say something than nothing.

"What's this shit you're carrying? You steal that shit, bitch?"

"Yeah, nigger bitch probably stole it." She felt a tugging on one of the bags, and hung on to it.

That was when one of them shoved her; she staggered. "Let go, bitch. I wanna see what you stole!"

"I didn't steal it." She knew it was a mistake to speak up, but the words came out anyway. "I bought it."

"Bought it, huh?" Another shove. This time, she barely kept her feet. "Probably stole the money to buy that shit with."

"Just leave me alone," she pleaded. "I'm not hurting you."

A foot hooked between her ankles, tripping her; she fell heavily. One of the bags came free of her hand, spilling groceries across the pavement. She tried to hold on to her handbag, but one of the skinheads plucked it off her shoulder. "Let's see how much money this bitch stole this week."

"Or whored for it," put in another one.

"Hey, that's a good point. You whore for this stuff?" She stayed silent, knowing that there was no answer that would satisfy. A kick caught her in the ribs, and she gasped, curling around herself. "Answer me, bitch! You whore for this?"

"'Course she did," said the one who had suggested it in the first place. "Still, she probably ripped 'em off. Maybe we should try out the goods, see if she's worth it."

No. No no no. Please, no. Naomi had been mugged before – in a city like Brockton Bay, this was in no way an uncommon event – but they'd never gone this far before. She tried to struggle to her feet, but the kick caught her in the stomach this time, sending her on to her side, curled around a ball of pain. All the negative thoughts she'd ever had about her daughter going out and being a violent costumed vigilante were gone; there was nothing that she would have welcomed more than Sophia's costumed form swooping out of the night to deal with these thugs.

That didn't happen, but something did. "What are you doing?"

It wasn't Sophia's voice. It wasn't anyone she knew. The speaker sounded masculine, though young. There was no anger in the question, or even menace. The question sounded more curious than anything.

"The fuck?" That was one of her tormentors, the one who had raised the idea of rape. "Fuck off, cocksucker. None of your fucking business."

There was a pause, then the question was repeated in exactly the same tone. She turned her head, looked upward. The newcomer was white and seemed to be fifteen or sixteen, well-built for his apparent age, with reasonably good looks and artfully tousled black hair. He was wearing a black T-shirt and blue jeans. She was momentarily distracted by the thought that he should be wearing a jacket; while the temperatures in Brockton Bay never fell below freezing, it was a chilly night.

When he failed to get an answer, the boy took a step forward. "Why are you hurting her? She has not harmed you."

"Always gotta be someone," muttered one of the other skinheads. There was a click, which her mind interpreted as a switchblade opening. "Okay, motherfucker, give us all your money. And your phone. Right the fuck now."

"I do not have anything to give you," the boy replied guilelessly. "But even if I did, why would I do that?"

"Because I'm going to cut you if you don't." She saw the skinhead step closer to the boy, who hadn't even raised his hands to protect himself. Run! Get away! They'll kill you! She wanted to shout all that and more, but she could barely breathe right now.

"No, you are not." The boy didn't sound defensive, or even scared. Nor did he sound angry or confrontational. His tone was just … factual. The sky is blue. Water is wet. You are not going to cut me.

"Uh, hey … " This was one of the others. "He might be, you know, a cape or something."

"I am not a cape."

Oh no, groaned Naomi silently. You could've gone with it, made them back off. But you had to say that.

The skinhead said just one thing. "Good."

Naomi saw him lunge forward, the blade in his hand glinting yellow in the glare of the street-light. There was a blur of motion followed by a dry snap, and the skinhead screamed; Naomi couldn't quite see properly from her prone position, but it looked like the boy had the Empire thug's wrist turned back on itself somehow. He let the skinhead go as the other two began to move in.

Naomi had recovered a little from the kicks, and managed to sit up as the skinhead fell to his knees, cradling his wrist and whimpering slightly. She rummaged in her purse for a moment.

"Hey."

The skinhead looked around as she spoke. She let him have it in the eyes with the pepper spray; he screamed all over again, recoiling backward, trying to clutch at his face. For just a moment, she savoured the satisfaction, then painfully climbed to her feet. Maybe I can get away now.

But it seemed that there was no need, not any more. Both of the other skinheads were down, one groaning a little. The boy was looking down at a slash in his T-shirt, though thankfully Naomi saw no blood beneath it.

"My god, are you all right?" she asked anyway. He just beat up those three punks to save me. "Thank you, thank you so much."

He looked up at her, his expression mild. "I am well. They only cut my shirt." His expression fell a little. "It is my only shirt."

"Oh, uh …" A moment later, she registered what he had just said. "What, you have no other shirts at all?"

"No."

"No other clothes?"

"No. This is what I have." He gestured to himself.

She frowned. He didn't look half-starved, and his clothes appeared relatively new. I doubt he's living on the streets. "If you don't mind me asking … why is this?"

"I do not mind. It is all I have."

"Nothing else?" She tried to work this out. "Did your folks kick you out? Have you run away from home? Where are you from, anyway?"

"I have not run away from home. I am not from anywhere."

It was like asking a brick wall for answers. "Um … listen, what's your name? Mine's Naomi."

He looked steadily back at her. "I do not know what my name is."

"Your family? Do you remember your family?"

"Yes," he replied. For a long moment, she thought that he was finished, then he said one more word. "Behemoth."

Naomi Hess had seen the cartoon effect, with a light-bulb going on over the character's head. She had always derided the notion, until right now. It was as if a thousand-watt bulb had been turned on, so brightly did the realisation illuminate everything.

It made so much sense. He didn't have anything, not because he had run away from home, but because he had lost his family. She'd heard of cases of traumatic amnesia before now. Poor kid probably saw them killed in front of him, and he's blanking it all out. Blanking everything out, including his own name. It wasn't the weirdest thing that she'd seen or heard in her life. It explained his simplistic way of speaking as well; he'd retreated to a more childlike mindset, to deal with the horror of what had happened.

"Shit," she muttered. "Uh, do you have any place to stay?"

"I have no place to stay."

For a moment, she couldn't believe that she was really considering this. Then she made up her mind; on the one side was gratitude toward the boy who had risked his life to save her. On the other was her natural caution It really was a no-brainer. He saved me from … well, whatever those guys had planned for me. I owe him this much.

"Listen," she said gently. "You saved me from … well, you saved me. I can't thank you enough for that. Have you eaten today?"

"I have not eaten today."

"And you don't have anywhere to stay, either. Right." I can't leave him to starve on the street. He doesn't have the grab-everything attitude that he'll need to survive. "Okay, then." She took a deep breath. "If you want, you can sleep on my couch tonight. I'll make you dinner. I'm pretty sure my son's got some old clothes that'll fit you. In the morning, we'll try and find out who you really are, see if we can contact any family you have left."

He looked back at her for a long moment, making her wonder if he was going to refuse through stubborn pride, or maybe ignorance of what faced him. Then he nodded. "I would like that."

<><>​

The taillights of the car had faded into the distance before Conrad stirred and sat up. He moved with difficulty, because his right arm was refusing to work correctly, but he managed it.

"Guys?" he asked.

A groan came from one direction, where Joe was trying not to claw his own eyes out with his left hand. The acrid tang of pepper spray still hung in the air; Conrad figured that one out pretty easily. Well, he won't be good for much until he gets them cleared out.

Conrad looked toward Brent, and recoiled. The last of the three skinheads lay on his back, sightless eyes staring at the streetlight above. His chest was caved in like someone had taken a sledgehammer to it; there was a really serious concavity there. If Brent wasn't dead, then he was tougher than anyone Conrad knew.

Painfully, he staggered to his feet, trying to stop his right arm from swinging around too much. Need to talk to someone about this, he decided. That little fucker was a cape, all right. Nobody else coulda done that shit to us so easy.

Unsteadily, he stumbled off into the darkness.

<><>​

As Naomi pulled into the driveway on Stonemast Avenue, the house looked subtly different. Or perhaps it was in her own perceptions. What had happened to her – what had nearly happened to her – had changed her view of the world. She had known that Brockton Bay could be dangerous at night. Hell, it could be dangerous during the day. But this fact had been now driven home to her in no uncertain terms. The realisation had changed her, and would continue to do so. She wasn't so sure that the changes would be positive in nature.

On the drive back to the house, she had attempted to strike up a conversation with the boy, but she hadn't gotten far. He knew some things but not others, and he had no opinions whatsoever about, well, anything. The one positive statement she got from him came when she asked him straight-out why he had come to her aid.

"I am here to help," he had replied.

"I don't understand," she said. "What do you mean by that?"

"I am here to help," he repeated, in exactly the same tone.

"Oh," was all she could come back with. "Well, thank you again."

"You are welcome," he responded brightly.

Neither one spoke after that, until they got back to the house.

<><>​

Terry looked up from the first-person shooter as he heard the car pull into the driveway. Mom'll want help with the groceries. He paused the game and got up off the couch. "Sophia!" he called. "Mom's home!"

"Not deaf!" she yelled back from her room. But there was no sound of her door opening or of her coming down the stairs. She obviously didn't feel like helping with the groceries, either.

Fine. Be that way. I'll do it all myself.

He knew that his mother would have trouble with the front door if her hands were full of groceries, so he strolled over to open it for her. His timing was spot-on; the door swung open just as she stepped up on to the porch. But she wasn't carrying any groceries. More to the point, there was a teenage kid behind her, just now hefting them out of the car.

"Mom?" he asked. "Who's that?" If he's stealing them, I am so gonna chase him down and beat the crap outta him.

"He's going to be our guest for a day or so," she said. "I was attacked when I was coming out of the store. He stopped them." Leaning in closer, she lowered her voice. "He's got amnesia. Endbringer attack."

Terry's eyes widened. "Shit, really? Are you all right? Who was it? Empire?"

"I'm fine, yes," she assured him. "And yes, it was some skinheads. But it's all good now."

He kind of doubted that last bit; she had new scrapes on her hands, and she was holding herself a little oddly, but she was walking and talking, so he let that be.

"Okay, sure, I'll just help him with the stuff. What's his name?"

She shrugged. "He couldn't tell me. He can't remember."

Terry blinked. "You're not kidding about the amnesia." He gave his mother a quick hug. "I'm glad you're all right."

Smiling, she hugged him back, then added a kiss on the cheek for good measure. "Me too, Terry."

<><>​

The boy had the last of the grocery bags out of the car when a tall young man came out of the house and approached him. "Hi. The name's Terry Hess."

Placing one of the bags on the ground, the boy shook his hand. "Hello, Terry Hess."

Terry shook it with a firm grip. "Mom says you helped her out of a bad spot. I want to thank you for that."

The boy picked up the bag again. "I am here to help."

"Well, works for me." Terry Hess did something to the car door and closed it. "C'mon, I'll help you with the bags." The bags were no burden at all, but the boy allowed Terry to take one of them. If Terry wanted to help, then he could help.

Terry led the way into the house and began showing the boy where to put the groceries. Although the boy knew what a kitchen was, this was the first time that he had ever seen one. Naomi Hess came into the kitchen and smiled at both of them. "Oh, good," she said, and picked up the diapers from where Terry had left them on the bench. "I'll just go deal with this, then I'll start dinner."

"No, Mom," Terry told her. "You have a shower and lie down or something. I'll make dinner tonight."

"Are you sure?" she asked, doubt in her voice.

"Sure I'm sure," he said firmly. "I'm not as good a cook as you, but I'm not bad. Go shower."

"But I've got to -" she began, holding up the pack of diapers.

"Get Sophia to do it," he interrupted. "Pretty sure she's only up in her room texting to her high school friends anyway."

"Well, okay. You twisted my arm." But her tone did not indicate anger, and the boy knew that Terry had not touched her, much less twisted her arm. He assumed that she was saying one thing to mean another, and that both of them knew what she meant.

Smiling, she kissed her son on the cheek and left the kitchen.

<><>​

The knock on Sophia's door startled her; it was followed by her mother's voice. "Sophia? Are you in there?"

With a grumpy huff, the teen Ward swung her legs off of her bed. Her text to Emma and Madison was unfinished, so she added an extra line. Hold that thought. Mom here.

The text sent, she shut the phone down, then got up and opened the door. "What's the matter, Mom?"

Almost immediately, a pack of diapers was thrust into her hands. "Anna needs a change. Please deal with it. I need to shower."

Sophia grimaced. "Can't Terry do it?"

"Terry's cooking dinner. I'm making it your job tonight." Her mother's tone became plaintive. "No backchat, not tonight, Sophia. Please."

It took that clue for Sophia to notice things; mainly, the scrapes on her mother's knees and the palms of her hands, but also the way she was holding herself, as if her ribs were painful. Sophia knew that look; she'd been on that side of the equation more often than she really wanted to think about.

"Shit, Mom, are you all right?"

"A lot better than I might have been." A deep breath. "I got mugged. Empire thugs. They … they were going to get pretty violent. But someone stopped them."

Sophia clenched her fists, anger growing within her. "Empire? Those racist fucks. Next time I'm out that way -"

"No, no, I'm fine," Naomi insisted. "I just need to have a hot shower and lie down for a bit."

"Oh, okay." Sophia frowned. "Still gonna send them a message." A thought struck her. "Who was it who stopped them?"

"I don't know his name." Her mother's voice was matter-of-fact. "He's about your age, but I'm pretty sure he lost his family in an Endbringer attack, and the experience has affected him mentally. He certainly doesn't remember anything about where he's from, or his name, or anything like that. But he doesn't have anywhere to stay, so I offered him the couch for the night. Until we can contact Family Services, see if they can figure out who he really is."

Sophia stared. "Mom, are you nuts? Inviting some – some stranger into the house? Who knows what he might do!"

"I know exactly what he might do," Naomi retorted, a steely tone to her voice. "He might step between me and three Empire Eighty-Eight thugs and risk his life to save mine. Because that's what he did do."

"You already said he was affected mentally," Sophia protested. "What if it's the 'I want to wear your lungs as a necklace' type of mental effect?"

Naomi set her jaw. "I've invited him for dinner," she stated flatly. "If you get any sort of bad vibes off of him, anything at all, he's out after that. I'll see if there's a homeless shelter that'll take him in and I'll drive him there myself. But give him that chance, at least, all right?"

Sophia sighed in frustration. "Fine. He gets this one chance."

"Thank you." Her mother hugged her quickly. "I'm going to take that shower. Go take care of your sister?"

"Yeah, okay." Accepting the pack of diapers, Sophia watched her mother move down the corridor toward the bathroom. She turned her attention back to her phone. Powering it up again, she read the return comments. Her lips skinned back from her teeth as she read what they had to say. It was perfectly in line with her thoughts, especially when it came to what was due to happen to Hebert.

Regretfully, she typed back, Cant stay & chat. Put in charge of sister. Guest for dinner. Momentarily, she considered describing why the guest was there, but changed her mind when she realised that she hadn't even met the guy yet. Talk later. Folding the phone, she tucked it away and went to deal with her appointed chore. Once she was done with changing Anna, she'd go down and see about this guy Mom had brought home. I swear, if he's a creeper, he is so gone.

<><>​

Terry chopped the ingredients of the casserole, dumping them into the pot as he finished with each lot. Their dinner guest watched with fascinated interest; it was as if he'd never seen someone preparing a meal before. Or maybe he just had a thing for cooking.

"So, Mom wasn't really forthcoming about what happened," Terry observed as he sliced strips of meat. "How bad was it, really?"

The kid didn't answer for a few seconds. "It would have been bad," he allowed. "There were three of them. They would have done bad things to her. I asked them why. They could not answer. Then they attacked me. One is dead. The other two are injured but alive."

The knife stopped moving, poised in midair, as Terry turned to face him. "You're saying you killed one of these guys?"

"That is what I am saying, Terry Hess," the boy agreed.

"Wait, who killed what now?" asked Sophia, walking into the kitchen.

The boy turned to her before Terry could decide what to say. "I killed one of the three men who was going to do something bad to Naomi Hess," he explained. "I helped her."

Her eyes widened, but not in fear. Terry couldn't quite figure out what her expression meant. "No shit? How badly did you hurt the other two?" Oh, wait. It was excitement.

"I broke the wrist of one, and the arm of the other," the boy told her in a straightforward manner. "The third one had a gun, and may have hurt your mother. So I killed him."

"So how -" she began.

"Whoa, hold on," Terry protested. "Seriously, Sophia. Not a great topic of conversation. Let's just leave it at that, okay? He had to do something pretty bad to protect Mom, and I can understand why he did it, but can we not dwell on it?"

She rolled her eyes. "Terr, he did it to protect Mom. That automatically makes it a righteous kill."

"What?" He stared at her. "Soph, killing is wrong, no matter who does it to whom. He was kind of justified in this case, because Mom, but still, it's never a good thing to do."

She shook her head. "You don't get it, do you? We live in Brockton Bay. We got a guy who can turn into a giant flaming rage dragon and toast you in your house, and we got a guy who can make steel blades shoot out of the floor and make you into a shish kebab – and just incidentally, neither of those people approve of our skin colour, and both of them lead powerful criminal gangs. The wonder isn't that we've got the murder rate we do. It's that it's not higher."

Stubbornly, he shook his head. "That doesn't make killing good, Soph. It's never right to take matters into your own hands. The courts exist for a reason. Becoming judge, jury and executioner is illegal, and for many good reasons."

She stood her ground. "Tell that to every person who got saved from a gruesome death because some out of control cape got a kill order put on his head."

Terry grimaced. "That's a special case. They only do that for S-class threats."

"But they do it," she insisted. "If you know someone's gonna try and kill you anyway, it's better to hit them first before they can do it."

"But that's murder." Terry shook his head. "It wouldn't even count as self-defence unless they were clearly threatening you."

"Seriously, bro," Sophia retorted. "With some of the capes out there, their idea of a warning shot is blowing up half a city block. You don't get 'prior warning'. You get dead. Pre-emptive self-defence. It's a thing."

"But it's not," Terry retorted, his voice heavy with frustration. "Not legally, anyway."

Their guest broke in. "Terry Hess, are you threatening Sophia?"

Terry realised that he was waving the knife around, pointing the blade at his sister. "Uh, sorry, no. Got carried away." He put the knife on the bench. "Sophia, I don't even know where you're getting all this from."

"Real life, bro," Sophia told him, then turned to the boy. "Come on, let's go into the living room and let Terry finish murdering dinner."

The boy looked at the cutting board. "That is already dead. He cannot murder it."

She rolled her eyes. "Figure of speech. Come on."

"All right, Sophia." They walked out of the kitchen side by side.

Terry watched them go, then took a deep breath. That didn't settle his agitation, so he took another one. When he was reasonably certain that he wouldn't be chopping off any fingers, he went back to cutting up ingredients for the casserole.

God, I hope she doesn't twist his head totally around with her thinking.

<><>​

Sophia seated the boy on the couch, then sat beside him where she could keep an eye on Anna in her playpen. "So how'd you kill the one guy? You a cape?"

He looked earnestly at her. "I am not a cape, Sophia. I punched him in the chest and his heart stopped."

"Pretty sure that's a cape thing. Or late night martial-arts movies. Not something an ordinary kid can do, right?"

"I am not an ordinary kid. But I am not a cape either."

For all of her scepticism, she found herself believing him. He was so … open, so transparent. As far as she could tell, he didn't even think that what he did was wrong. Well, neither did she, but then, she knew how the world worked. There's weak and then there's strong. I'm strong. And I'm pretty sure that this guy is too. Which reminds me. I can't just keep calling him 'this guy'.

"So you really can't remember your name?" she asked.

"I have no name."

"Huh. Well, we can't just keep calling you 'the guy with no name' so how would you like a name?"

"I would like a name very much, Sophia." He smiled at her. It really was a very charming smile, causing something to shiver deep inside her.

"Okay then," she said, doing her best not to stare into his vivid green eyes, "do you have a preference? What do you remember about your family anyway?"

He paused for a moment. "Naomi says that they were killed in an Endbringer attack."

"Yeah, she said." Sophia shook her head. "Okay, what kind of name would you like to have? Any ideas?"

For the first time, he seemed uncertain about what to say. "I do not know. Perhaps Ed Ringer?"

"No. Just no." She shook her head. "Way too many people would pick up on it and call you 'Endbringer'. You don't want that kind of reminder, trust me." She rubbed her chin. "How about … Zachary?"

He smiled widely, causing that little shiver again. Hey, stop it. He's cute, but I'm not about to fall for him. I don't fall for guys. I got no time for that sort of thing.

"Zachary is a good name," he said. "I like it. My name is Zachary."

"Excellent." She leaned back on the couch, doing her best to relax. "So, Zach, tell me how you saved Mom. Don't leave anything out."

"All right, Sophia." He leaned back as well, emulating her posture. "She was lying on the ground. There were three of them. One was kicking her. I walked over and asked them what they were doing. They did not want to answer me, and one produced a knife. Another one said that I might be a cape. I said I was not. The one with the knife tried to stab me, and I broke his wrist, but he cut my shirt. The other two attacked me, and one had a pistol. I punched that one in the chest so that he would not hurt your mother with the pistol. The other one tried to hit me with a club, so I broke his arm and knocked him unconscious."

Sophia tried not to stare. Zachary's entire statement had been entirely without any trace of bravado or boastfulness. "Are you sure you're not some sort of cape?"

"I have told you twice now, Sophia. I am not a cape."

"Right, right." She wasn't quite sure why she believed him, but she did. "Not a cape, gotcha." Which meant that he was some kind of badass normal. This was especially impressive, given his apparent age. I'm good, I'm really good, but if I didn't have my powers … She was honest enough to admit to herself that she wouldn't be anywhere near as impressive as he had just described.

This was starting to sound like the plot of a corny martial-arts movie. Kid comes out of nowhere, check. Has no memory of his past, check. Kickass martial-arts moves, check. No super-powers, check. "We are gonna have to spar sometime," she murmured. Unbidden, an image of him on the sparring mat, shirtless, sprang fully-formed into her mind. A very compelling image. Muscles and sweat were involved.

"I am sorry, Sophia," he said. "I did not hear that."

"Never mind." She forced the image away. No. Seriously, no. Stop that, she silently ordered her libido.

Taking a deep breath, she continued in a deliberately normal tone. "So, you've heard my views on necessary killing. You killed that one guy. Why didn't you deal with the rest of them the same way?" I would have, she didn't have to say. Normally, she didn't set out to kill common muggers, but in this case, she would have made an exception.

"I did not have to," he explained. "Only one of them had the potential to harm her, so I ended the threat. The others were no threat at all."

"Oh." It made sense. "But if they had posed more of a threat to her …"

His tone never changed. "I would have acted to end it." She had absolutely no doubt that he meant every word.

Damn. This guy's not just a predator. He's an apex predator. Just like me. "So you've got no problem with killing, when it's needed?"

"It is as you said, Sophia. Sometimes killing is necessary. Sometimes life requires death."

She had never heard it expressed precisely like that, but his words resonated with her. I wonder if …

The thought was not completed, as Terry came through into the living room, wiping his hands with a towel. "Dinner should be ready in half an hour or so," he announced. He looked at Zach. "So what have the two of you been talking about?"

Zach looked over at Sophia's brother. "Sophia has given me my name. I am Zachary."

Terry covered his eyes with his hand. "Soph, really? You know he's already got a name. We've just gotta find out what it is."

"I like the name Zachary," protested the boy. "It is a good name."

"Yes, but you'll have another name, somewhere in the system," Terry tried to explain. "When we find out who you really are, we'll find that out as well."

"So he changes his name." It was obvious to Sophia. "What's the big deal?"

"But he already has a name," Terry reiterated. "Giving him another name will just confuse him when he gets told his real one, or he gets his memory back."

"Well, it's not like we can call him 'hey you', is it?" Sophia snapped.

Terry grimaced. "I guess. But it's not like he's gonna be staying with us for long, right?"

Zach's head dropped at that. Sophia reached out and punched her brother on the shoulder. "Now look what you've done. You've hurt his feelings."

"Since when have you ever worried about anyone's feelings?" scoffed Terry.

"Hey, I can worry about someone's feelings." She couldn't miss the scepticism on his face. "I can! Anyway, look at him. He needs someone to talk to him. To connect to him. Think he'll get that with Family Services?"

"Wait." He looked at her suspiciously. "Are you saying he should stay with us?"

While she hadn't thought quite that far ahead, but he had a point. "Well, why not? He saved Mom's life."

"By killing someone, Soph," he pointed out.

"Well, are you gonna call the cops on him?"

They both looked at Zach then. He looked back at them. Terry shook his head. "Nah. Even if he didn't get charged with murder, it'd still be on his permanent record. He doesn't deserve that, not for saving Mom."

She nodded. "Anyway, it's Christmas. Everyone should have people around them at Christmas."

Again, he gave her an odd look. "Soph, seriously? Who turned on your 'nice' setting?"

"I can be nice." Even in her ears, that fell flatter than the first one. With a half-shrug, she conceded the point. "Okay, fine. He's a good guy, and he saved Mom's life, so I'm just saying we should maybe cut him a break."

"I'm not saying no, but we're gonna have to run it past Mom," Terry noted. "And ixnay on the illing-kay thing, too. Just saying."

"I do not understand those words, Terry Hess," Zach said. "What do they mean?"

"What do what words mean?"

They all looked around; Naomi had just come down the stairs wearing a dressing gown. She looked a little more refreshed, a little less worn. Light plasters covered where she had skinned her hands.

"Mom!" Terry spoke first. "How are you feeling?"

"Better." She smiled at him. "Dinner smells nice, dear. What words were you using that confused him?"

Zach stood up from the sofa. "Hello, Naomi Hess. The words were 'ixnay' and -"

"We were just teaching him pig latin, Mom," Sophia rushed to say. "See, Zach, you take the first letter of the word and put it at the back of the word, then add 'ay' as a sound. So for 'nix', which means 'no', you say 'ixnay'."

"Oh." Zach tilted his head. "I see. And this is a language?"

"Wow." Terry frowned. "You don't even know pig latin. I thought every kid knew it."

"Well, I know it now, Erry-tay Ess-hay," Zach said with a smile. "Is that how it is done?"

"That's how it's done," Mom agreed. "You three seem to be getting along all right."

"Yeah, he's pretty cool," Terry said. "Uh, Sophia and me were thinking that if Family Services can't find his folks straight away, he might be able to stay here for a bit? At least until they can get in touch with whoever's been taking care of him?"

Sophia tried not to stare at Terry. She'd been ready to open the subject herself, but hadn't thought that he was totally on board with the idea. But here he was, broaching it as plain as day. Well, crap. Now I'm gonna have to find another reason to dump on him.

"Sophia?" Mom was looking at her quizzically. "Are you really in agreement with Terry on this?"

"Um, yes?" Sophia glanced at Zach, and her resolve firmed up. Don't be too eager about it. "I mean, yeah, sure. He's tolerable, I guess. And I wouldn't want to kick him out on Christmas."

"Hmm." Mom looked at her then at Terry. Finally, she looked at Zach. "And what do you think about this?"

"I think it is good, Naomi Hess," Zach replied. "If you let me stay, then I will be happy to stay."

"Well, I'll think about it." Mom raised a finger as both her children began to speak at once. "I said, I'd think about it. That's not a yes, but it's not a no, either. It's not so important that I can't have twenty-four hours to decide. All right?"

Terry nodded first, the big suck-up. "No problems, Mom."

"Yeah," added Sophia. "That's fine."

"Sophia gave me my name," Zach announced.

Both of Mom's eyebrows rose. "Really?"

Sophia couldn't think of a way to defuse what was coming. Terry gave her an amused glance as Zach went on. "Yes. My name is Zachary."

"Is it, now?" There was a glint of amusement in Mom's eye as she looked at all three of them. "You do realise, Sophia, that just because you named him doesn't mean you can keep him."

"Mo-om," Sophia gritted out. "He's not a dog."

"That's true," Mom agreed. "And as I recall, there was a Zachary Hebron who you had the biggest crush on when you were in fifth grade. Is there any connection?"

"Buss-tedd," murmured Terry. Sophia wanted to jab him in the ribs, but Mom was still watching. She wondered if it was actually possible to die of embarrassment. It's nobody's business whose name I gave him.

<><>​

Friday, December 24, 2010

Zachary liked his new name. He liked staying with the Hess family. He did not need to sleep, although he concealed this from them, because it would raise too many questions. So, on the first night, he lay down on the couch with the blanket over him and closed his eyes. He did not mind this. It was restful.

He had a primary function. It was something that he needed to do. But the push was not urgent. He still had a few days.

In the morning, he ate breakfast with the family. Eating was another thing that he did not need to do, but to not do so would also raise questions. He somehow knew that if he did not act too far out of the norm, people would not take notice, but if he exhibited strange abilities, then questions would be asked. So he pretended that he needed to eat and sleep. It made things easier.

After breakfast, Zach volunteered to wash the dishes. Terry had shown him how the night before, and he had found that he rather enjoyed it. It was good practice for fine manipulation that was not combat. He was a little surprised that Sophia offered to help him. From what he could see, she did not enjoy it in the same way that he did, and still she chose to do this. She certainly did not need the practice in fine manipulation. He did not understand her motivations, but he still did not understand why people did many things.

"So, Mom," Terry asked as they were doing this. "Have you checked with Family Services yet?"

"I rang their number," Naomi replied. Beside Zach, Sophia tensed a little. Zach heard Naomi raise her voice slightly. "You can relax, Sophia. I got an automated message telling me to call back on the twenty-sixth."

"Oh, okay." Sophia sounded relieved. Zach was not sure why. "Uh, Zach, I was going to get in some last-minute shopping at the mall today. Want to come with?"

"Oh god," groaned Terry. "Run, Zach. Run while you still can. Save your sanity."

"Why must I run, Terry?" asked Zach. "Shopping sounds interesting."

"Shopping can be interesting, when you're shopping for man stuff," Terry said. "But shopping with teenage girls is soul-destroying. Trust me, I've been there."

"But Sophia is just one teenage girl," Zach replied.

"Uh, we might be meeting the guys there," Sophia told him. "If that's okay with you?"

"I do not know who 'the guys' are, Sophia," he reminded her.

"Uh, Emma and Madison," she said. "I've, uh, kinda told them about you."

"Oh. That sounds interesting. I would like to meet your friends." Zach meant it. Meeting new people was always interesting. Even if it did not bring him any closer to his primary goal.

"Excellent. You'll love them."

<><>​

Hillside Mall Food Court

Emma stared at Zach. The teen looked blandly back at her. "You're kidding, right?" she asked. "This guy beat the crap out of three Empire punks?" From force of habit, she glanced around, but the food court was sufficiently noisy that her voice would not carry very far.

"She is not kidding, Emma," Zach replied for Sophia. "They were hurting Naomi Hess. I stopped them."

"Wow, holy crap," chimed in Madison. "A regular white knight, huh, Sophia?"

"Kinda, yeah," admitted Sophia. "It coulda gone badly for Mom if he hadn't been there."

"So Zach, you seeing anyone?" asked Emma. He wasn't the eye candy that some guys were, but he was good-looking enough and if Sophia's story was to be believed, he could handle himself in a brawl. He was also polite and deferential to a fault, which she admired in a man, especially when it came to her.

The moment the words left her mouth, she regretted them, because Sophia turned to look at her. Her friend's eyes slitted ever so slightly, leaving Emma with no illusions as to where she'd gone wrong. "Uh … or not," she amended hastily. "Just curious, is all."

"I am seeing many people, Emma," Zach replied, causing Madison to choke on her slushie. "There are over fifty people in this food court alone. I can see them all."

Emma realised what he was saying, even as she patted Madison on the back. "No, I meant seeing seeing. Like, boyfriend and girlfriend. Not that I'm interested," she added hastily.

"Sophia is a girl and my friend," Zach said. "Is that what you mean?"

She looked at his open, honest expression, and decided not to go there. "Uh, let's just drop the subject."

"Yes," Sophia muttered. "Let's."

"So anyway, I was wondering," Madison put in. "Zach, why do you never use contractions?"

Zach looked at her. "What are contractions, Madison?"

That caused Emma and Madison to both stare at him. "What, you don't know what contractions are?" Emma blurted.

"I do not know what they are in that context, that I should be using them," Zach replied.

"Uh, when you run two words together," Madison told him. "Like they've, we've, I'm and so on."

"Oh." Zach paused for a moment. "I have heard you doing this. I did not know what you were doing." He ate a fry. "These taste very interesting."

"So why don't you?" pressed Madison.

"Why do I not do what, Madison?" he asked politely.

"Use contractions," Emma reminded him. "Why don't you use contractions?"

Zach looked at Sophia. "Should I use contractions, Sophia?"

Sophia seemed to be almost grinning as she shook her head. "You don't have to, Zach. Do whatever makes you feel comfortable."

"Not using contractions makes me feel comfortable," Zach declared. "So I will not use them."

"You realise that it makes you sound like a robot or something," Madison pointed out. "Are you a robot? Or an alien? Or an alien robot?"

"No, Madison," Zach replied politely. "I am neither a robot nor an alien."

"How about a cape?" Emma asked quickly, keeping her voice down.

Zach looked at her. "Naomi Hess asked me that question, as did Sophia. I am not a cape."

Emma was pretty sure that she could tell when someone was lying, or at least shading the truth. Growing up with a lawyer for a father, and then in her position as queen bee of her year at Winslow, she had plenty of practice. There was plenty of circumstantial evidence that undermined Zach's statement, but she found herself taking him at face value. He'd said that he wasn't a cape, so she believed him.

Sophia was glaring at her again. "What?" asked Emma. "It was a reasonable question."

"Swear to god," Sophia muttered. "Next person who asks Zach if he's a cape, I'm gonna punch their lights out."

"So, Zach," piped up Madison, her eyes alight with mischief. "Are you, uh -"

"Don't say it," growled Sophia.

"- going to be attending Winslow?" finished Madison, then poked out her tongue at Sophia.

"I do not know, Madison." Zach turned to Sophia. "Is Winslow a place where I can meet people?"

Sophia shot Madison a dirty look; Emma read it quite clearly as I see what you did there. "Yes, Zach, it's a place where you can meet people."

"That is good," Zach decided. "If I can, I will attend Winslow. I like to meet people."

"Didn't you say that he wasn't in the system?" Emma pointed out. "If that's true, then he's almost certainly not enrolled at Winslow."

"Yeah, well," began Sophia.

<><>​

Later, at Home

"It's not like they'll even notice an extra student," Sophia argued. "Come on, Mom. It'll be good for him. Terry'll be at work, you'll be at work, Anna will be in daycare."

Naomi pursed her lips. She wasn't at all sure about this. "You realise, Family Services may well take him away before then."

"But if they don't?" Sophia urged. "Is it okay?"

Naomi sighed. "Zach, do you want to go to school with Sophia, if you're still staying here?"

"Yes, Naomi." Zach smiled. "It sounds very interesting."

"What sounds interesting?" asked Terry, strolling into the kitchen to raid the fridge.

"I am going to attend Winslow, Terry Hess," Zach told him. "Sophia says there are many people there."

"Hm." Terry quirked a grin. "Well, you seemed to survive the shopping mall of horrors, so I'm not going to try to talk you out of it." He paused, and his tone turned serious. "Just don't go picking fights with any gang members there. I'm pretty sure that some of them go armed."

"I will not pick any fights," Zach assured him.

"And if someone tries to pick a fight with you, just walk away," Terry added.

"Hell, no," protested Sophia. "Someone gets in your face, you get right back in theirs. You back down even once, they'll think you're weak and never stop coming at you."

Terry covered his eyes with his hand. "Sophia, this is Winslow," he reminded her. "You're reasonably popular and you're on the track team. Not many people are gonna mess with you. Zach's an unknown. He's got no cred there. It's best if he just keeps his head down and doesn't get caught up in anything."

"It is all right, Terry Hess," Zach assured him. "I will not start anything that I do not believe that I can finish."

"Plus, I'll be looking out for him." Sophia spread her hands. "He'll be fine. Trust me."

"That's what I'm worried about," muttered Terry.

Sophia stuck her tongue out at him.

<><>​

Monday Morning, January 3, 2011

Winslow High School

"So Family Services is letting him stay with you?" Emma sounded a little surprised.

"Sure," Sophia replied. "They went through their files and they couldn't find him, even in the ones specially set up for Endbringer victims and families. So they're still searching, and in the meantime, Mom's okay with him sleeping on our sofa."

"Yeah, but how's he doing with sleeping on your sofa?" asked Madison.

"I do not mind, Madison," Zach told her. "It is a comfortable sofa, and I do not sleep much."

Madison grinned. "One of these days, we're gonna find something that you do mind, Zach, and I wanna be there when it happens. Just so I can see what you're like when you're not happy."

Sophia had to wonder about that herself. Zach seemed to be the most even-tempered guy she knew. He didn't get sad and he didn't get angry. No matter what happened, he just … was.

Must be the Endbringer thing, she mused to herself. He used up all his emotion reacting to that.

"Oh, hey, there's Taylor now," Emma said, her voice now filled with vicious glee. "She's heading for her locker. Come on."

She hurried forward, leaving the other three to follow in her wake. "Who is Taylor?" asked Zach. His voice held a new note of interest, but Sophia wasn't paying attention. She moved forward faster, leaving Madison behind to explain to Zach.

It happened like clockwork; Hebert opened the locker, letting the stench within out in all its horrific glory. Everyone within five yards gagged and reeled away, save for Sophia herself; she was holding her breath for that very reason. Taylor, at the locker, bent over to throw up.

I'll never get a better opportunity. Sophia hadn't actually planned on this, but she wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Grabbing Taylor's hair, she shoved her viciously into the locker, into the noxious sludge that was only now starting to ooze its way out. Trash, meet trash.

The door was slammed shut; Sophia only just pulled her hands back out of the way in time. She looked up into Emma's eyes, bright and eager for mischief. A single thought passed between them; while Emma held the door shut, Sophia reached down and spun the combination lock, locking Taylor inside.

They stepped back then, as Taylor began to scream and bang on the door. All around them, people were staring, some in horrified delight, others in just plain shock.

"Holy shit," Emma gasped. "I don't believe it. We pulled it off."

<><>​

Three Months Ago

David didn't like to talk about the nightmares. To admit to such a thing would be to lessen himself in the eyes of others, at least as far as he was concerned. One of the most powerful men in the world, he cringed from the idea that such as he could not even control his own dreams.

So he slept alone, from both necessity and choice, where the touch of another could have made his slumber more restful. And so, on this one night, he dreamed a dream.

This dream would change the world.

In the dream, there was a city, a school and a girl. He did not know the city, save that it was gang-ridden, trapped in a slightly faster spiral of economic decay than the rest of the nation. He did not know the school, except that it was a teenage microcosm of the city around it, a hellhole of cliques and gangs, a pressure-cooker enclosed within four graffiti-encrusted brick walls. And he did not know the girl, but he knew her type. Not conventionally attractive, made introverted by circumstances rather than by nature. He knew the type well, because it was what he saw in the mirror on a daily basis.

An inverse of him, she had no power, no control over her daily life, at school or at home. Where others looked up to him, assisted him, even worked alongside him in his self-appointed duties, she was the opposite. Nobody looked up to her; in fact, for the most part, those who saw her at all looked down on her. The invisible girl, trapped in her own spiral of low self-esteem, emotional abuse and lack of anywhere to turn. Her path would inevitably lead, as his once had, toward ending it all in one way or another. Or attempting to. He had failed; she might not.

Within the dream, he felt emotion choking his throat. She's where I used to be. I wish I could help her.

But the dream was coming to an end, the vision of the girl beginning to fade like the morning fog. He watched as she was set upon by those who were nominally her peers, pushed into a stinking locker, locked in. As the dream trailed off, even as his gradually waking mind realised that it was a dream, he raged at the injustice of what was done to the girl.

I wish I'd been able to help her. Stop what was happening to her.

Waking, he blinked his eyes clear, finding tears on his cheeks. Reaching blindly for a handkerchief, he noisily blew his nose. "That was intense," he muttered to himself, even as the memory of the dream slid away from him. All he would recall, later, was that it had disturbed him on a deeply emotional level.

What Eidolon didn't know, and would never learn, was that it had been no dream at all.

<><>​

Sophia, equally jubilant, was about to reply, when Zach reached them. "What did you do that for?" he asked.

"It's Taylor," Emma told him. "She's a wimp. A weed. Someone who needs to be pushed down."

"No."

Sophia almost didn't recognise Zach's voice. The tone was harder, stronger and colder than she had ever heard from him before. He moved forward, toward the locker.

"Hey -" began Madison, grabbing his right arm. He swung back at her; her wrist took the initial shock, snapping like a dry twig. Sophia thought she heard more bones break as the petite brunette was lifted from her feet and sent flying through the air. She bowled over three more students before she hit the ground.

Emma was unlucky enough to be directly in front of him. He swept her out of the way with his left arm; folding almost in half from the force of the blow, she was thrown back into a locker.

Sophia didn't waste any time. Not a cape, my ass. Time for nerve strikes and compliance holds. One punch, two, feeling like she was hitting a brick wall. He didn't react. She grabbed his arm, trying to twist it back. He raised his arm with her still hanging off of it, then slammed her straight down into the floor. She landed hard on her back; something popped. Consciousness fading, she watched him stride up to the locker. Everyone else got hastily out of his way.

Reaching up, he grabbed the top of the locker door and tore it open as easily as Sophia might rip a page out of a book. The shriek of rending metal was still loud in her ears as he tossed the door aside. He caught Taylor as she tumbled out, hefting the skinny girl easily in his arms.

The last thing Sophia heard before she passed out was Zach's voice, as bright and cheerful as ever.

"Hello, Taylor Hebert! I am here to help you!"



End of Part One

Part Two

 

[Ack]

I'm HALPING!


Part Two: Halping!


Julia wasn't in a good position to see when Taylor Hebert was shoved into the locker, which had irritated her. All Madison had told her was that there was an 'awesome prank' going down, with Taylor as the butt of it, which was pretty well par for the course. Show up, Madison had said. Be ready to take pictures. It'll be epic.

She hadn't been wrong. It was epic, all right. Epic in the same way that an Endbringer attack was epic. Julia hadn't been paying too much attention to Sophia's boy-toy, except to express a little surprise, given that the track star rarely spent time smooging up to guys. In fact, if Sophia had been a little more butch, Julia would have seriously begun to wonder if she was playing for the other team.

When the door slammed shut on Hebert, locking her in with all that crap, Julia had been delighted and amazed – along with being a little pissed, of course. If she'd known that was gonna go down, she would've picked a better vantage point.

Of course, if she'd known what else was going to go down, she would've picked a different vantage point altogether, for an entirely different reason.

The first thing that clued her in on something being wrong (for anyone not named Taylor Hebert, of course) was when Madison came flying at her. Not staggering, not even running backward. Flying. Like, airborne. And Julia was in the way.

Point of note: petite girls are still heavy. When one slams into you at waythefucktoofast speed, they can and will bowl you the fuck off of your feet. And the people behind you.

Julia went down, of course. Madison landed on her, then rolled off, groaning horribly. Julia wondered if her ribs were broken, or if Madison's impact had just bruised everything from her kidneys on forward. She still had her phone in her hand. It was a conditioned reflex ingrained into every teen; whatever else happens, don't ever lose your phone. Gang attack, Endbringer event, the Triumvirate showing up for a publicity stunt, it was all the same. If you didn't know where your phone was, you were nothing.

Hebert didn't even own a phone. That was her in a nutshell, really.

Gasping for breath, Julia watched as the boy-toy slammed Emma up against a locker, then bounced Sophia off the floor like a basketball. Sophia didn't bounce too well. Then the boy-toy stepped up to the locker and fucking ripped the door off. Julia's eyes went wide; before, she'd been going to call the cops and paramedics and shit. Now she knew exactly who she was gonna call.

And it wasn't the fucking Ghostbusters.

<><>​

"You've reached nine-one-one. What is your emergency?"

"Parahuman attack," gasped Julia. With wide, terrified eyes, she watched the boy-toy, with Taylor Hebert in his arms, stride down the hallway and out of sight. Nobody tried to stop him, for several really obvious reasons. One was the fact that he'd just torn off a locker door with his bare hands. The second was that the stuff that Emma and the others had put in Taylor's locker stank. And some of it was stuck to Hebert's legs. They could probably smell her in Boston.

The phone clicked and buzzed, then she heard a new voice. "You have reached the PRT emergency call line. Are you experiencing a parahuman attack at this time?"

"My – my friends have been attacked," Julia sobbed. "They're hurt badly, I think. The guy just hit them."

"I understand," the woman on the other end of the line told her soothingly. "Can you tell me your location, please?"

"I – Winslow High School," Julia stammered, trying not to hyperventilate. "Please help us. He might come back any moment."

"I'm alerting the PRT as we speak," the woman said soothingly. "The more information you can give me about this, the better. What sort of powers were used to attack your friends, and how badly are they injured?"

Julia couldn't recall what they called really strong capes. "He just – just hit them, really hard. Just a single punch to put them down," she blurted. "Then he ripped a locker door off with his bare hands. He's strong, really strong."

She could hear the clatter of computer keys. "A Brute classification, then. How badly are your friends injured?"

"Uh -" Julia sat up and looked at Madison. The brunette was moaning weakly and clutching at her arm. It looked twisted in a really weird way, and her wrist just looked all wrong. Sophia was still lying on her back, a few yards away, breath hissing through her teeth. Julia couldn't see if there was anything badly wrong with Emma, but she was folded into a curled-up position, so she decided to go with the safest option. "I think they're all hurt pretty badly. Broken bones at least. He hit them really hard." She was aware that she was repeating the same words over and over – he hit them really hard – but she couldn't help herself.

"Ambulance services have been dispatched to your location. Can you describe the parahuman to me? Was he wearing a costume?"

"No," she said. "He was just wearing a T-shirt and jeans. He's new here. I thought he was a friend of Sophia's. Tall, good-looking, black hair, kind of serious. I didn't get his name."

"That's fine, that's fine," the PRT woman replied gently. "Now, what I want you to do is describe the incident to me as closely as you can. Don't leave out any uses of his powers. Can you do that for me?"

Julia took a deep breath. We locked some girl in her locker and he went nuts and rescued her. Yeah, that'll go down real well. "Uh, someone played some kinda prank and he just went nuts for no good reason," she hedged. "Hit Emma and Sophia and Madison, then ripped off a locker door, then went off with some girl."

The woman's tone sharpened. "There's someone with him now? Do you believe her life to be in danger?"

Why did I mention Taylor? "Uh, probably not. She's probably in on it with him. She's a creepy weird loner."

"I see. Do you know her name?"

"Uh, yeah, Taylor. Taylor Hebert."

"Have you seen them together before this point?"

She thought of lying, but decided it was too dangerous. "Uh, no, this was the first time I met him. But they could've met out of school."

"Thank you. Your friends, the injured girls. Can you tell me their full names?"

"Uh, yes. Emma Barnes, Madison Clements and Sophia Hess. My name's Julia."

<><>​

Parahuman Response Teams ENE

Office of Deputy Director Renick

Paul Renick pushed his glasses back up on his nose and eyed the email with a vaguely quizzical air. Now, why would Kid Win be requisitioning seventeen pounds of popcorn and a rubber duck … well, never mind. I'm sure Armsmaster's ordered in stranger things before. He forwarded the email onward, with his approval attached, then turned to the next one in the queue.

But before he could click it open, an alert flag popped up on his desktop. Reflexively, he clicked on it. A window unfolded, and he started scanning the lines of text.

Parahuman attack at Winslow High. Reported by student. Female, young, agitated.

Perp Brute. Several students injured. Dispatching emerg services.

Perp male, teenage, good looking, black hair, serious appearance. No name given. Friend of student called Sophia. No costume, no mask. T-shirt, jeans.

Perp responded to prank with violence. Struck three girls. Emma, Sophia, Madison. Tore door off of locker (why?) HOSTAGE.

Caller does not think hostage is in danger (why?) Hostage name is Taylor Herbert (sp?). Caller has not seen hostage w/perp, but thinks that they may be in collusion (why?).

Renick kept reading, his brow furrowing. This was a standard call-out; he wasn't sure why the alert had popped up on his computer. Then he scrolled onward a little, and saw the highlighted name.

Full names of victims Emma Barnes (sp?), Madison Clements, Sophia Hess.

He hadn't registered the name 'Sophia' above, but now he recalled it. Wait, she took a Brute friend to school, where he attacked her and some other students? What's going on here?

Picking his phone up, he hit speed-dial. It didn't take long for him to get an answer. "Emily," he said carefully, "I think we may have a situation."

He didn't miss the groan from the other end. Emily hated 'situations'.

<><>​

I sniffed the air as I scrubbed my legs again. I'd been wearing jeans – I would have to burn them now – but even though I was clean, I still felt the touch of that shit on me. But I couldn't smell anything other than soap and water, so I decided to stop scrubbing. My skin was starting to get a bit red, anyway. Of course, the water was pretty hot too …

"I have brought you clean clothes and a towel, Taylor Hebert!"

I spun around, arms flying to cover myself. But he wasn't looking. All I could see was a handful of what looked like clothing being held across the entrance to the shower cubicle.

Well, I was clean enough already. I turned the shower off and reached for the clothing. "Thanks. Uh … sorry, I didn't catch your name earlier. Who are you again, and why are you helping me?" The thought was never far from my mind that this might be some kind of massive multi-layered prank, to set me up and then have the whole school take photos of me naked or something.

"My name is Zachary. Sophia gave me that name. I am here to help you."

I started to dry myself. "Sophia … Hess? You know Sophia?" The ugly possibilities in the back of my mind began to multiply.

"Yes, Taylor Hebert. I know Sophia. She is not a nice person. She hurt you. I liked her until she did that. Then I stopped liking her."

Zachary's delivery was … odd. Almost robotic. Or very naïve. I finished drying myself and scrubbed at my scalp. "But why did you help me? You don't know me." Even the people who know me don't want to help me.

His voice was almost comically bright. "I am here to help you, Taylor Hebert! That is what I am here to do!"

Circular argument. I am here to help you, so I am helping you.

I had to know. Mom had instilled in me a certain level of curiosity. "But why are you here to help me?" With the towel wrapped around my hair, I started getting dressed.

"Because that is the basis of my existence, Taylor Hebert! I am here to help you!"

The clothing wasn't mine. Too short and too wide, but there was also a belt, which I managed to pull in to the last notch. I had to take the towel off of my head to put on the t-shirt, which hung on me like a tent, but at least I was dressed.

Okay. Now I could address the philosophical conundrum that had been presented to me.

I stepped out of the shower cubicle and met his gaze squarely. "So what you're saying is that you're in love with me. Is that it?" Oh, god, please don't let that be it. He's kinda hunky, but I don't need an obsessed boyfriend. Especially one whom I've never met before.

He looked vaguely confused. "I am not in love with you, Taylor Hebert. I am here to help you. Now, come with me and you can eat some food."

" … food?" I blinked, trying to get past the conversational whiplash.

"Yes, Taylor Hebert. You have undergone a most traumatic experience. Trauma induces shock. It is good to eat food in order to reduce the effects of shock."

"I …" I guessed that I was still a little shaky from all of what had happened. Not least being the fact that I'd been rescued by an overly attentive stranger who was determined to wait on me hand and foot. " … okay. Food sounds good."

"Food is good, Taylor Hebert. You are more than a little underweight. Perhaps you need to eat a little more food every day and exercise for muscle mass. That would be a healthy thing to do."

Overly attentive wasn't the half of it, apparently. He was also incredibly rude, without even intending to be so.

Well, kinda rude. In a well-meaning way.

I snuck a sideways glance at him as we walked along the corridor. He really was good looking. Also, if his biceps were any indication, he had serious muscle definition. Also also, he had gotten me out of the locker. Okay, I could forgive the rudeness. This time.

"Okay, uh, Zachary?"

"Yes, Taylor Hebert?"

"For one thing, my name's Taylor, all right. Just Taylor, not 'Taylor Hebert' all the time."

"Yes, Taylor. I will remember that."

"Thank you, Zachary. Uh, do you prefer Zachary or Zach?"

"I have no preference, Taylor. You may refer to me by either name."

"Okay, Zach, one other rule. Please don't make personal comments about my weight or habits unless I invite them, all right? It makes me feel uncomfortable."

"I will try not to make you feel uncomfortable, Taylor. But I will make an observation."

He paused. I nodded cautiously. "Yes?"

"Sometimes it is necessary to make someone uncomfortable in order to help them. Is that not true?"

Dammit. He had me there.

"Uh, okay, yeah, but still? Ask permission before making any personal comments, all right?"

"I will do that, Taylor." He pushed open the cafeteria door. One staff member was present, wiping down the counter. The smell of hot food tickled my nostrils, making my stomach growl. "I will get you some food, Taylor."

Food did sound good, but I was pretty sure that we weren't supposed to be there. We approached the servery counter; it was all there, but locked behind glass. "Um, maybe we could go to a vending machine?"

"Why do we need to do that, Taylor?"

I gestured at the inaccessible food. "Because we can't get to it?"

"Can I help you?" We both looked around at the lady behind the counter. She returned a surly expression. I was pretty sure that her question really meant What the fuck are you doing in my cafeteria?

"Yes, you can help us, please," Zach said brightly. "Taylor needs some food. You would be helping her if you gave her something to eat."

The woman stared at him, then at me. I essayed a little shrug, trying to convey It wasn't my idea, but I am kinda hungry. I wasn't sure if she actually got all of that.

"Cafeteria's closed," grunted the woman, starting to wipe the bench again. "Come back at lunch time."

That was pretty definite as far as dismissals went. I started to turn away, but Zach spoke again. "No. Taylor is here now. She needs food now." There was a harder tone in his voice, one that I hadn't heard before. "Please give her food now, so that she can eat."

I put my hand on his arm. "Zach, it's all right. I can wait."

"No, Taylor," he insisted. "You need food. There is food right here." He shifted his attention to the woman. "Please give Taylor some food."

The woman's lip curled. "Go away before I call the principal. You're not even supposed to be in here."

"All right." For a moment, I thought that Zach was seeing sense. Then he took hold of the end of the glass cover with one hand, braced the other on the counter … and with a sound like a trainwreck, pulled the cover clear off the servery. That was loud enough. When he casually tossed it to one side, where it demolished a table? That was even louder.

I'd been meaning to ask him how he got me out of that locker.

<><>​

Armsmaster turned his head. A glance at his HUD selected 'all units'. "Armsmaster here. What was that noise, over?"

A moment passed, then a voice came over comms. "Squad Three Actual. We're near the cafeteria. The sound came from inside there. It sounds like someone's wrecking the place, over."

"Roger, Squad Three Actual. Hold position. All other units, converge on the cafeteria. Armsmaster out." He cut his mic and looked down at where the paramedics were loading the three injured girls on to gurneys. All the other civilians had since been evacuated, of course. "How long until you can evac them?"

"We'll be done in a minute." The man in charge glanced up at him. "We've got multiple broken bones, possible internal injuries and maybe spinal damage. But they're stable. We'll have them out of your way soon."

"Good." He paced forward, glanced at Miss Militia. She held a heavy machinegun in a casual grip, a bright red laser dot playing on the far end of the corridor. There were not many people who could use a laser sight with a gun that size; it went without saying that she was one of the few. "Rest of the school's been evacuated?"

She nodded. "Almost. Classrooms have been cleared. Squad Four reported finding torn-open lockers in the girls' shower room."

He frowned slightly. "What is it with this Brute and lockers? And what's with that locker and the filth that's in it?" He gestured with his halberd toward the locker in question; the appalling reek was easily discernible ten yards away. "That's going to need a hazmat team to clear up."

"I think it means that there's something going on that we don't know about," Miss Militia said pensively. "Maybe it's got something to do with the hostage."

Armsmaster grimaced. "I hate hostage situations."

"Don't lie," she murmured, elbowing him gently in the ribs. "You love anything that gives you a challenge you can overcome."

He didn't rise to the bait. She was closer to the truth than he was comfortable with. He wanted – needed – to prove himself, to show the higher-ups that he was relevant, able to hold his own at the top of the heap in Brockton Bay. His social skills were atrocious, he knew, but there were things that he had trouble grasping and things that came easily to him. Engineering. Leadership. Fighting. Those were his forte.

"Okay, we're ready to roll." He looked around. The paramedics were lifting the gurneys, holding the IV trees up out of the way, making preparations to evacuate the injured. The victims, he reminded himself. Including a Ward. That makes it personal.

"Good," he said. "Let's go." The blink of an eye brought up a plan of the school; he set the cafeteria as their target, and the navigation system overlaid a path on the map. The path was also projected on his field of view, so that he didn't have to check with the map. A little overkill while walking through a high school, no doubt, but immeasurably useful when riding at full tilt through the back streets of Brockton Bay.

"Assault here," he heard in his earpiece; a quick check showed that it was coming in on the capes-only frequency. "Me and puppy can provide backup if you want. Because, you know, Brute and all."

"We're trying to keep this low-key," Armsmaster replied firmly. "There's a hostage involved. If he sees too many capes coming at him, he might panic and hurt her."

"So Miss Militia's going to do the talking, gotcha."

"Clear the channel," growled Armsmaster. He shot a suspicious glance at Miss Militia; she may have been smiling under the scarf, but he couldn't be certain. After a moment, he cleared his throat and opened the cape channel once more. "Armsmaster to Velocity. Are you in position, over?"

"Roger that," the speedster replied. "Once you go in there, if I can zip in and grab the girl, I will."

"Hold off on that until we get a read on him," Armsmaster advised him. "He may have better reflexes than we know about. Right now, the well-being of this girl ..."

"Taylor Hebert," Miss Militia reminded him.

"Taylor Hebert, is paramount."

"Holding off, roger."

"Good." He cut the channel again, and accessed the notes taken by the PRT emergency call responder. "Says here her name is Herbert."

"I checked the school records," Miss Militia told him. "More than one student by the name of Herbert, but no Taylors. There is one Taylor Hebert, though. Fifteen years old."

"Hm." He nodded, taking the information on board. "Poor kid. She must be about scared to death by now."

<><>​

This was the first time I had ever felt actually comfortable in the school cafeteria. With nobody else to poke fun at me or 'accidentally' knock my tray to the floor, or spill their drink on me, I was able to actually relax and enjoy my meal in peace.

Of course, the fact that Zach had more or less destroyed the servery was a bit of a downer, but I was carefully ignoring that aspect of matters. He was strong. I mean, really, really strong. But he had never hurt me with that strength. In fact, he was using it to help me. I found it weird in the extreme, but that didn't stop me from enjoying the heck out of the meal. The fact that I wasn't really questioning that strength was a faint niggle at the back of my mind, but one that I chose to ignore for the moment. It wasn't really important, anyway.

Finally, I pushed my tray away and essayed a delicate ladylike burp. Well, it started that way, then went way out of control. "Wow," I muttered. "Excuse me and all that."

"You do not need to be excused, Taylor," Zach said. "Belching is a perfectly normal bodily function." He had stayed quiet, at my request, while I was eating, but now it seemed that he felt at liberty to speak once more.

"Ah, yeah, let's not expand on bodily functions," I said hastily. "So, uh, what do we do now? My locker's destroyed, my books are totalled and I think they're gonna be a little pissed at what you did to the servery."

"I can help to repair that," offered Zach. "But I do not have any money to pay for it." He paused. "You did not explain why Sophia put you in your locker. Lockers are not intended for human accommodation. Nor are they intended for toxic waste storage. Why did she do this?"

I sighed and leaned back in the chair. "It's not just Sophia. It's Emma and Madison as well. They've been picking on me since I started high school. Everything they can do to hurt me or make me feel bad, they'll do it."

He looked solemn. "This is not a good thing."

"No shit it's not a good thing," I said, a little more vehemently than I had intended. "I just wish they'd stop, is all."

"Have you asked them to stop?" His voice was matter-of-fact.

I smiled bitterly. "I've done nothing but, since they started. Telling the teachers does nothing. Telling the principal does nothing. They just keep doing it."

"Oh." He stood up from his chair. "I will return, Taylor."

"Wait, wait, where are you going?" I jumped up as well.

"I am going to solve your problem."

I caught up with him as he strode toward the doors. "How are you going to do that?"

"I am going to kill them." His tone was earnest, almost scarily so.

"No, you can't! Killing is wrong!"

"No, it is not." He really intended to do this. I could hear it in his voice. "Sophia will understand. She knows that it is sometimes necessary to kill to solve a problem. I will let her explain to the other two, and give them time to make their peace with whatever deity they consider significant."

"Wait, no," I protested. I grabbed him by the arm. "Stop!"

Coming to a halt, he turned to me. "Why are you stopping me? It is the most expeditious solution to your problem. If they are dead, they cannot hurt you."

I stared into his face, trying to reach him. "Don't kill them. Don't kill anyone. Please."

He tilted his head. "I want to help you, Taylor. I am here to help you. Do you want them to stop bullying you?"

"Yes … no … but … argh!" I scrubbed at my forehead with the back of my hand. "Not like this. If you killed someone on my account, I would never be able to forget that someone died because of me."

"I will not kill them, Taylor," he agreed.

I sighed with relief. "Good. Thank you. That makes me feel much better."

"I am glad that you feel better," he said simply. "I have an alternate strategy in mind. I do not need to kill them."

A sense of impending doom tapped me on the shoulder and bet me that the alternate strategy was worse. I tried to ignore it. "What is your new strategy?"

He smiled at me. "I will frighten them instead. I will tell them that I will kill them if they do not stop hurting you."

Mentally, I handed the sense of impending doom fifty bucks. It had been right all along. "No. That will hurt me and my dad. Badly."

He looked confused. "But I will not be killing anyone, Taylor. How is this hurting you?"

I sighed. "Emma Barnes is the daughter of a lawyer. If you make threats against her on my behalf, then her father will probably sue me and Dad so hard my grandkids will be paying off the damages."

"But you do not have grandchildren, Taylor."

"It's a figure of speech. It means that it'll be very costly to me and Dad. Please don't threaten Emma with death or dismemberment. She's extremely vindictive."

"Oh." He brightened. "Then I will -"

The sense of impending doom was back, but before it could offer me a new bet, the cafeteria doors opened. We both looked around. I was expecting one of the teachers, or maybe Principal Blackwell. What I wasn't expecting was Armsmaster and Miss Militia.

Oh, wait. Zach's a cape. Well, duh.

I waved. "Uh, hi?" The wave and my tone of voice were intended to be disarming. We're good. No need for any unpleasantness.

It didn't seem to work. Armsmaster levelled his halberd at Zach, while Miss Militia aimed a taser at him. At least, I assumed it was a taser; it looked like it could bring down a medium-sized elephant. "Taylor Hebert?" That was Miss Militia.

"Yeah?" Boy, was I on fire with the witty dialogue today.

"Are you hurt?" Her voice was serious.

I blinked. "Um, a bit scraped here and there, but fine, thanks." The locker hadn't been kind to my knees and elbows, of course, but Zach had gotten me out before I did too much damage to myself.

"Please step away from the parahuman," Armsmaster said. It was worded like a request, but I would have had to be tone-deaf, actually deaf and unconscious to not hear it as an order.

"What?" I asked. "Why?" I stepped a little closer to Zach, just to make my point. "He's not hurting me. He even got me something to eat."

Armsmaster flicked a glance sideways at the remains of the servery. "Causing serious damage to school property."

Zach chose that point to speak up. "The lady would not serve Taylor. Taylor needed food. I obtained the food for her."

"He's right," I agreed. "I was kind of in shock. I really needed to eat." I moved again, stepping in front of Zach. Armsmaster frowned slightly, maybe because I was spoiling his aim. "Don't attack him. He didn't do anything wrong."

"On the contrary, Miss Hebert, he has perpetrated three counts of grievous bodily harm," Armsmaster stated flatly. "In addition to this and other incidences of damage to school property."

I turned to Zach. "You didn't tell me that you hurt anyone!"

"I was helping you," he replied innocently. "They tried to stop me from helping you. I did not allow them to do so."

"Wait," I said. "So who did you hurt?" Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Armsmaster begin to move, but Miss Militia put her hand on his arm. "Hold that thought," I added to Zach, then turned back to the heroes. "Can you just hold on a moment? I need to sort this out."

I hadn't known that it was possible to glower at someone from behind an opaque visor. In the event, Armsmaster proved that this was indeed the case. Miss Militia didn't seem so angry, although she did look a little concerned. "Please do not provoke him," she advised me, as if Zach wasn't right there. "We don't want anyone else to get hurt."

"I will not hurt Taylor," Zach stated plainly. "I am here to help her. I will keep her safe."

"He really has," I told them. "Now, can you just hold on? I need to find out what happened."

Miss Militia nodded. "All right, but be careful."

I sighed. I wasn't sure who was being more aggravating, my self-appointed bodyguard or the self-important heroes. "Okay. Zach. Who did you hurt and why?"

There was no duplicity in his gaze as he looked at me. "I hurt Madison because she tried to hold me back from helping you. I hurt Emma because she stood in my way and because she locked you in your locker. I hurt Sophia because she pushed you into your locker and tried to prevent me from letting you out. I did not kill any of them."

He did not add but I could have, because you had not asked me not to kill anyone at that time. For which I was eternally grateful.

"Right. Okay." I turned back to the heroes. "How badly are they hurt? Life-threatening?"

From the expressions moving over the visible part of Armsmaster's face, he had obviously not known about my little stint in the locker. "Uh, no. Serious, yes, but not life-threatening." He firmed his stance. "We still have to arrest him. Using parahuman powers on normals is a very serious crime."

"Wait." It was Miss Militia. "You're saying that Sophia Hess pushed you into your locker? The one with all the filth in it? And another one of the girls locked you in? With her connivance?"

There was something off about her wording, but I wasn't paying much attention. "I, uh … I didn't see who did it, exactly. But Zach did." I turned to him again. "Is that what happened?"

He nodded earnestly. "That is exactly what happened. I thought Sophia was a good person. Then she did that, and I knew that she was not." In exactly the same tone of voice, he continued, "Are you certain that I should not kill her? She intended to harm you badly. I can not allow that to happen."

Oh, god, I groaned, deep inside. He didn't just say that where they could hear him.

My imagination stepped in with a second voice, snickering. He sure did. Where's the popcorn?

I did my best to quell my imagination. "Yes," I told Zach as firmly as I could. "You must never kill anyone, ever. That is a very bad thing. I would be very hurt if you did that. And you should not hurt the heroes, either." Absently, I considered the fact that I was adopting his speech patterns while talking to him. Hopefully, that'll make it more likely that he'll listen.

"I will not hurt you, Taylor," he agreed. "I will not kill Sophia. Is it acceptable to harm her short of death if she attacks you again?"

"I dunno," I mused, then turned to look at the Protectorate capes. "Is it okay to just break Sophia's kneecaps if she tries to shove me into another locker? Because really, I've taken enough shit from her over the last year. I've had enough. Turning the other cheek just gets me bruised cheeks. So I think it's time for some eye-for-an-eye. Self-defence, defence of others, whatever. When Sophia gets out of the hospital, if she comes after me again, I figure that whatever Zach does to her, she deserves. Yeah?"

"Let's … shelve that for a moment." Miss Militia lowered her taser; a moment later, it had become a pistol, which she holstered. Armsmaster went to say something, but she shook her head. He frowned, but seemed to follow her lead. "Can we get back to where you were shoved into your locker?"

It was my turn to grimace. "Not my favourite memory, like, ever, but sure. Let's do that. What do you want to know?"

The flag-clad hero turned her attention to Zach. "Your name is Zach?"

"Yes. Sophia gave me my name." He seemed proud of that fact.

"Wait." That was Armsmaster. "That's not your real name?"

"Yes, it is my real name." Zach tilted his head. "Why would it not be a real name?"

"Never mind that for now." Miss Militia was back on track. "Zach, you are certain that you saw Sophia Hess pushing Taylor into her locker?"

Something was definitely off here. They were paying a lot of attention to what Sophia had done, and none at all to Emma. I wasn't able to think it through, because the conversation was still ongoing.

"Yes," Zach said firmly. "I saw her do it while Madison explained to me who Taylor Hebert was. Sophia pushed Taylor into her locker and Emma locked her in. Once I knew that this was Taylor Hebert, I knew that she was the one that I was here to help. So I helped her. I pushed the other girls aside and opened the locker and got Taylor out. Then I took her to the locker room so that she could get clean and wear clean clothes. Then I brought her here because food is good for shock."

His matter-of-fact tone seemed to puzzle the heroes. I was also reminded of something that I had wanted to clarify with Zach, but which had somehow managed to be pushed to the back of my mind. Why is he here to help me? Who sent him? What's this all about?

But Armsmaster was speaking. "I understand that you believe you were justified in what you are doing," he stated. "But you have committed several crimes, including assault and battery, destruction of property and theft. I suggest that you surrender peacefully to arrest." His halberd was levelled again.

"No." Zach said the word simply, but there was a weight behind it, as of an immovable object. "When I am not with Taylor, people try to harm her. I will not allow that. I will not leave her alone to be harmed. I am here to help her. If you try to harm her, then I will stop you."

"Threatening a member of the Protectorate is an offence," Armsmaster replied grimly. "Miss Hebert, step away from the parahuman, or I will be forced to consider you to be an accessory to his actions."

"For god's sake!" I burst out. "People committed crimes against me, and he saved me, and you're arresting him? I thought you were supposed to be the heroes here!"

"Your allegations against the other girls have all been recorded," Armsmaster told me. "They will be investigated fully. But in the meantime, we know that these crimes have been committed. This parahuman is required to surrender himself to lawful custody until the matter can be sorted out."

I opened my mouth to reply, but Zach put his hand on my shoulder. "Taylor, please move aside," he told me. "I can protect you more than you can protect me."

"But they can't just arrest you," I protested. "You're only helping me! It's everyone else who's doing the wrong thing!"

He smiled slightly. "They will not arrest me." Once again, I was struck by the absolute certainty of his tone. I had no idea why I believed him so implicitly, but I did. I stepped aside, moving until a couple of yards separated us.

Armsmaster spoke, a single word. "Now." I tensed, expecting him and Miss Militia to unleash attacks on Zach. It didn't happen, but something else did. A blur erupted from the open doorway, blazed past Miss Militia and Armsmaster, and intercepted me. I tried to dodge aside, but the blur resolved into a man in a familiar costume. Velocity.

"'Scuse me, gotta run." He scooped me up in a bridal carry, and went to bolt once more. My thought processes were still catching up – no, no, they can't just do this! - when he stopped once more. It wasn't by choice. Zach was standing right there, his hand wrapped around Velocity's upper arm.

"You will put Taylor down, at once," Zach advised Velocity. "Please. Taylor does not want me to hurt you."

"What the crap?" blurted the red-clad speedster. "How did you do that?"

I didn't wait for Zach's answer; instead, I wedged the palm of my hand up under his chin and pushed hard. He wore a light helmet, both for protection and to hold his radio, I guessed, and this threatened to dislodge it. Faced with the choice of losing the helmet or having his head pushed up, he chose instead to let me go. I would have landed on my butt, but Zach somehow got his arm under my shoulders, slowing my fall enough that I got my feet under me instead.

<><>​

The moment he was free of the Brute's grasp, Velocity went into his Breaker state and blurred away from the both of them, ending up back at the door. How the hell did that even happen? he asked himself. Is he a teleporter? I didn't even see him move.

"Stand down, Velocity," Armsmaster subvocalised into his ear. "We've got this."

"What happened, kid?" Assault asked over the common channel. "Did the big bad Brute tag you?" There was the hint of a chuckle in his voice.

"Shut up," muttered Velocity. "I'd like to see you do any better."

"Well, if the boss-man decides to tag us in, we'll see," Assault replied.

Ignoring the radio chatter, Armsmaster was focusing on the teenage parahuman. "One more chance to surrender peacefully," he advised the kid.

"I will not surrender," the Brute replied. He wasn't boasting or blustering, simply stating a fact. "If you take me away, then Taylor may be harmed. I will not allow that."

"I think we're perfectly adequate to keep her safe," Miss Militia pointed out.

"Yeah, well, you've done a bang-up job of it so far," the girl – Taylor – interjected bitterly. "Where were you when I got shoved into my locker? Or when my flute got stolen? Or when they poured juice over my seat? Or when Sophia pushed me down the stairs? They've been doing this for over a fucking year, and you only get involved when someone actually steps in to help me? Fuck you. Fuck you all." She turned to Zach. "If they attack you, you're allowed to hurt them. Just don't kill them."

"I will not kill them, Taylor," Zach said solemnly. "I promise." He stepped toward Armsmaster and Miss Militia. "Please move aside. Taylor and I are leaving now."

Armsmaster responded first. His halberd was capable of a wireless taser effect, Velocity knew. He also knew that the effect had variable settings. The crackling bolt that leaped from the tip of the weapon and grounded in Zach's chest was definitely not the lowest setting.

It did … nothing. Zach looked down at it, then intercepted the bolt with his hand, apparently allowing the current to flow down his arm and into his body. The T-shirt he was wearing now sported a burned spot in the middle of the chest.

A pained cry from Taylor as she stood off to the side drew everyone's attention. It looked as though a stray arc of electricity had contacted her, given that she was shaking her hand vigorously. Armsmaster shut off the wireless taser; it wasn't as though the attack was doing anything to Zach anyway. Velocity wondered just how high the guy's Brute rating really was.

"As my brother might say, that was cute," Zach stated. "Taylor, are you well?"

"Yeah," she replied, rubbing a red spot on her hand. "Stung like fuck, is all."

"Good." He turned his attention to Armsmaster. "You are not responsible enough to use your weapon properly. Give it to me before anyone else gets hurt."

Armsmaster hefted his halberd defensively. "You are joking."

"I do not know how to joke," Zach said, and stepped forward. "Give your weapon to me before you harm Taylor again. I promise not to hurt you with it."

Miss Militia had been pushing grenades into a bulky launcher while this was going on. Velocity knew that if she wanted to fire regular rounds, they would already be loaded up, so these had to be some sort of Tinkertech. Probably a good idea, with the girl there. Some sort of limited effect.

The exact effect revealed itself a moment later, when Miss Militia fired the grenade launcher at Zach. She didn't just shoot once; one grenade after another hit Zach, as fast as she could rack the action. Containment foam bloomed in splotches on the approaching parahuman, the yellow blobs expanding rapidly to hold and constrict him in an unbreakable grip.

Unbreakable, that is, except by high-end Brutes. Which Zach apparently was, as he just kept coming. He tore away the foam that had covered his head and chest with a wet ripping sound, while some of the foam that had adhered to the floor stayed there and some stayed attached to his legs. Either way, it did nothing to slow him down. Christ, that's gotta be Brute 7 or 8 at least.

Armsmaster went into a guard position, his halberd crackling with energy. "I warn you, if you do not surrender immediately, you will be seriously injured -"

Now shirtless, Zach reached for the halberd. Armsmaster spun adroitly, slamming the butt-end of it against the teen Brute's chest. Now, this should have unleashed a burst of kinetic energy capable of knocking Zach across the room. The energy was unleashed, with a loud POP and the smell of ozone. Zach stumbled back a single step, then recovered.

Before he could move forward, however, the heroes were reacting. Armsmaster pointed his halberd at the ceiling; the end of it shot upward with a cable trailing behind, reconfiguring into a grappling hook. Miss Militia, on the other hand, was rapidly retreating.

The grapple engaged on a light fitting, and Armsmaster was yanked upward. Even as he left the floor, more grenades plopped into the foam still encasing Zach's lower body, then commenced hissing, releasing a dirty white vapour. Velocity counted two tear gas grenades and two knockout gas grenades; they weren't playing around. With all but a very few exceptions, even the toughest Brutes had to breathe, and Zach showed no signs of being one of the few.

As Velocity retreated with Miss Militia and the PRT soldiers, he heard four distinct cracks. He had no idea what they meant, until Armsmaster spoke up over comms. "He's thrown the grenades through the wall." The Tinker sounded distinctly aggrieved.

"Any effect on him?" That was Miss Militia.

"None that I can see."

"What's he doing now?"

"Peeling the rest of the containment foam off. He's definitely an eight-plus for Brute. Maybe a minor Mover or Thinker as well."

"And the girl?"

"She seems unharmed. Stayed out of the radius of the gas. Doesn't appear to be frightened of him."

"Damn it. What are our options?"

"Heavy weapons. Really heavy weapons."

Assault's voice broke into the chat. "Hey, me and Battery can come see what we can do."

"Negative." Armsmaster's voice brooked no argument. "Fall back. He's moving toward the door with the girl."

Miss Militia hesitated. "I can try armour-piercing …"

"At best, he would ignore it. At worst, I suspect that it would just make him mad. I don't think we want to see him angry."

"Hulk smash?" That was Assault.

"Clear the channel," ordered Armsmaster.

"No sense of humour," muttered Assault, but fell silent after that.

They were backing down the corridor now, as the doors opened once more. Zach stepped out first, followed by the skinny girl. She looked over at them. "Why don't you just leave us alone?" she shouted. "You're only making things worse!"

"She, uh, has a point," suggested Velocity diffidently. "If you look at it in a certain way."

"Our job is to uphold the law," Armsmaster stated. "Parahumans don't just get to commit crimes and walk away scot-free. There is a price to be paid."

Velocity wasn't quite sure that it was as black and white as all that, but then, he wasn't the leader of the local branch of the Protectorate. He didn't get to make that call. Or, to put it another way, he wasn't the one being saddled with making that call.

"I have a suggestion, then." Miss Militia kept her voice down, although the pair were walking off in the opposite direction. Zach wasn't looking back, although Taylor was, from time to time.

The doors opened again, and Armsmaster stepped out. "I'm listening."

"We bring in the Wards."

He shook his head. "No. We can't expose them to this level of danger."

"Not all of the Wards," she explained. "Just Vista, Gallant and Clockblocker."

He seemed to think about that. " … yes. I see where you're going with this."

"Is that a green light?"

"Let me call the Director first. She needs to be in on the loop, here."

"Oh, she's going to love this one." Miss Militia's tone was heavy with sarcasm.

She's not the only one, thought Velocity.


End of Part Two

 

[Ack]

I'm HALPING!


Part Three: Insanity is Contagious


There was a phrase that went through Director Piggot's mind quite often, especially when dealing with those parahumans who were nominally under her command. However, due to the need for at least the appearance of propriety, she had never gotten around to using it.

Until right now.

"You have to be insane," she stated flatly. She had no image of Armsmaster – this was a voice-only call – but she glared at the phone anyway. "Whoever or whatever that is, he handily defeated three of you in a matter of moments. You are not sending three Wards up against him. What are you thinking?"

On her computer monitor, the action that had been relayed from Armsmaster's helmet recording began to play through again, this time without sound.

"Uh, Director, it was actually my idea," Miss Militia interjected; Armsmaster must have cut her in on a conference call. "And the plan is not to send them in to fight him."

Piggot frowned. "Go on."

"It's clear that this 'Zachary' does what Taylor Hebert tells him what to do. So in order to de-escalate the situation, we need to reach her. Attacking with force is not the way to do this. We've already proven that."

"I'm listening."

"Vista is the youngest of our Wards, and she's the only girl other than Shadow Stalker. But she's also a nice person, and quite unthreatening as Wards go. Also, she can retreat very rapidly if she has to."

Piggot ran her tongue around her teeth. "And the other two?"

"Clockblocker may be irreverent, but that's what we need in this situation. He can make jokes on the fly, and keep things from getting too serious. And once again, he has an extremely potent defensive power. Gallant will be useful for keeping tabs on the emotional states of Zachary and the Hebert girl, and for guiding the conversation."

Her plan almost sounded sensible, if it wasn't for the fact that it involved sending three teenagers in to talk with a parahuman who had inflicted major injuries on a Ward and three other teens. The trouble was, Emily could not think of a serious alternative that would not cause more problems in the long run. Gas the whole school? He may be immune, and he can throw grenades at bullet speed. Send in a capture team for the Hebert girl? Velocity already tried and failed, and if she gets hurt, it may send him berserk. She rubbed at her temples, trying to elicit a better option through sheer willpower. None came.

She sighed in frustration. "Do it. Set it up so that I can hear the conversation in realtime, and impress upon them that if I issue a pull-back order, they are to obey immediately. Do you understand?"

Miss Militia's response was crisp, betraying none of the self-doubt that Emily knew she had to be feeling. "Yes, Director. I understand perfectly."

<><>​

The three heroes exited the front doors of Winslow High. Armsmaster was subvocalising on his helmet radio, issuing orders. Ahead of them were several PRT vehicles, which Zachary and Taylor were approaching. PRT soldiers, in full body armour, stood around the vehicles.

Velocity stared at Hannah. "I thought -"

"- that I was going to advocate an attack?" she finished for him. "Well, that was an option, and it still might be one, but when I heard her response, I knew she wouldn't go for it. So I went with Plan B."

"Which is to talk them down." The doubt was clear in his voice.

"Does it matter how it's done, so long as the threat is removed?"

He grimaced. "I'd like to say yes, but the safety of civilians comes first."

"Including the safety of Taylor Hebert," Hannah reminded him. "She's the victim in all this, remember."

"So she says," he replied.

"All the evidence points that way," she said. "Now, I don't know what Brute rating this Zachary has, or why he's decided to help her, but he seems to be predicating all of his actions around her safety. Which is another reason why we should not be harming her."

"She told him that he's allowed to hurt us." He didn't sound happy at that.

"Only if we attack him. And she specifically told him not to kill anyone."

He frowned. "I'm led to wonder why she was so careful about making that requirement."

She smiled sadly. "My first act as a parahuman was to kill a man. I'm just glad she's not taking that path." She looked up. "Oh, that idiot. Armsmaster!"

<><>​

I looked at the PRT vehicles. They really were very big and bulky. So were the PRT troopers in front of them. "Maybe we should walk around."

"No, Taylor," Zach said brightly. "We have chosen to walk in this direction. This is a public thoroughfare. They have parked in our way and are trying to deliberately obstruct us. This is a bullying tactic. I will not allow them to do this to us."

"Okay, but you're not allowed to hurt them."

"If they do not try to harm you, then I will not hurt them." Zach's voice was serene. "I will not allow anyone to hurt you ever again."

"I don't think it works that way," I muttered. I raised my voice to address the PRT troopers. "Uh, guys? If you could just, you know, move the vehicles a bit? We want to walk through, and Zach doesn't like taking detours."

The troopers looked at each other, then back at me. I wondered what they were thinking, but before I could think too deeply about it, someone came cartwheeling over the hood of the nearest vehicle and landed with a light thump in front of us. I might have jumped, just a little, and let out a squeak of fright. Just a little one, really. Hardly there at all. Before it had made its way out of my throat, before I even knew that he had moved, Zach was standing directly in front of me.

"Well, hello," Assault greeted us cheerfully. "I presume you're Zachary, and the lady behind you is Taylor Hebert?"

"That is true," agreed Zachary. "You are standing in our way. Please step aside, so that we may continue."

Assault shook his head. "I don't think so, son." A more serious tone entered his voice. "You've hurt people. That's kind of against the law."

Having recognised Assault, I figured it had to be Battery in the white and grey costume, decorated with blue circuit-board lines, who stepped out from behind one of the vehicles.

"I have hurt people who hurt Taylor," Zach said in the same cheerful tone. "I will continue to hurt people who try to hurt Taylor. Taylor does not want me to hurt you. If you do not provoke me, then I will not hurt you. Please step aside."

"Well, as much as I appreciate seeing the big names step back from a teenage boy," Assault declared, "you did hurt kids. That's kind of a thing with me. So you're not going anywhere."

"Actually," I told him, "we are. We're getting on the bus and I'm going home. Because I am over this day." My voice was beginning to rise and become shriller, but I didn't care. "I've gone to my shithole of a school, been shoved into another shithole by my ex-best friend, been saved by the only person apart from my Dad who seems to care for my wellbeing, and now the fucking superheroes want to arrest him!" By now I was shouting, but my care factor was zero. "So why don't you just fuck off already?"

He shook his head. "Bus isn't coming, kid. Transit Authority's been alerted. No buses into a cape conflict zone." A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Though I have to admit, this is the first time I've ever seen someone try to leave a cape battle by bus."

I took a deep breath but before I could shout at him some more, Zach intervened. "Taylor, you are becoming agitated. This is not good." He turned to Assault. "You are harming Taylor emotionally. You will step out of the way. Now."

Battery stepped forward. "Uh, you can hear Armsmaster telling you to back off, right?" Figuring that she wasn't talking to me or Zach, I glanced over my shoulder at where both Armsmaster and Miss Militia were standing at a discreet distance. As I watched, Armsmaster made a cut-off gesture across his throat.

"No." It was Assault's voice. Looking forward, I saw him set his jaw. "He doesn't get to just walk away." He leaned forward and grinned at Zach. It wasn't a friendly sort of grin. "There's something I've been wanting to try out for a while, and you're just asking for it." And then he launched himself not at Zach, but backward, at the vehicle behind him.

I knew enough about the Protectorate to be aware that Assault's powers involved the control and redirection of kinetic energy. But knowing it and seeing it are two different things. When Assault hit the vehicle, he bounced forward, faster than he should have been able to do. He slammed into Zach and rebounded off of him, causing me to gasp and step back, but Zach himself didn't move an inch. Moving even faster now, Assault hit the vehicle and ricocheted forward at Zach once more.

After that, he was bouncing back and forth between Zach and the vehicle faster than I could follow with my eyes; the clangclangclang of him hitting the van was one continuous metallic ringing. And Zach never moved at all. Until he did.

What happened next was too fast to see. I thought that Zach's arm blurred forward in Assault's general direction, but I couldn't be certain. There was a resounding crash and the PRT vehicle was slammed around to the side. It now bore a dent the same shape and size as Assault's body, the hero himself a mere dot in the distance, which I quickly lost sight of even as I tried to keep track of him.

"What the hell?" demanded Battery. "What did you do to him?"

"I have done no permanent damage to him," Zach said cheerfully. "I merely added a large amount of kinetic energy to his store. He must dissipate it all before he can stop moving."

"Yes, but where is he?" asked Miss Militia. "We only have your word that he's all right."

"He will bounce off the Protectorate headquarters force-field in just a moment," Zach explained, "which will give him a southward trajectory. I estimate that he will land in the Charles River in about fifteen minutes."

Armsmaster's hand suddenly went to the side of his helmet. "Say that again," he said tersely.

"I said -" began Zach.

"Not you," interrupted Armsmaster. "Repeat please, Control."

"Why fifteen minutes?" I asked, curious despite myself.

"That is the time that it would take to ascend to thirty thousand feet and descend once more, in a safe and controlled manner," he informed me. "By the time he reaches ground level once more, he should have exhausted the excess kinetic energy."

"The Charles River," Battery repeated. "That's in Boston."

"Yes." Zach did not need to elaborate.

Armsmaster cleared his throat. "The Protectorate base just took a hit which shorted out all of the force-field generators. They are now tracking a fast-moving object, heading southward in a ballistic arc. Projected impact point is … huh. Boston."

"That is what I said," agreed Zach.

Velocity looked stunned. "Did you just punch Assault into the next state?" His voice was just a little strangled.

"Could've been worse," I offered, trying not to laugh. "If we'd been facing west, Zach could've punched him into the next time zone."

"Now is not the time for levity, young lady," Armsmaster told me severely.

"Well, I might as well laugh," I told him to his face. "Because this situation's so fucking ridiculous that I've got to either laugh or cry. And I've done enough crying, thank you very much."

"Do not make Taylor cry," Zach warned him. "If you do, I will take away your weapon."

"Oh, don't do that," I told Zach. "If you do, he might cry. And I don't think I could take seeing a grown man cry, right now."

I was only joking, kind of, but I was also glad that Armsmaster was only a Tinker. If he'd had any sort of laser death beams from his eyes, I would've been in serious peril. That was how hard he was glaring at me.

"This has gone far enough," he gritted, grinding his teeth. I wondered how often he saw his orthodontist; the man had to be making a small fortune off of him. "I advise you to submit voluntarily to custody."

"Well, you're half right," I announced. "It's gone far enough. In fact, it passed the 'far enough' stage about a year ago, when absolutely nothing continued to get done by the school about my bullying, despite repeated complaints. And 'nothing' is still what's being done, only this time by the superheroes. Oh, wait, worse than nothing. Because you're still trying to arrest the only guy who's shown the slightest willingness to be a superhero and help me."

An embarrassed silence fell at that point; I didn't give a shit any more. "Come on, Zach," I told him, grabbing his hand. "Let's blow this popsicle stand."

"I do not see a popsicle stand," Zach observed. "I presume that you are using a figure of speech. The context indicates that you want to leave the area." He didn't resist as I pulled him along.

"You got that right," I agreed.

"Where are we going, Taylor?" he asked.

I lowered my voice, in the (possibly vain) hope that none of the nearby capes could hear me. "Home," I murmured. "I just want to curl up on the couch and watch TV and eat ice-cream." Though they probably had my home address by now, and could probably beat me there.

"Ice cream on its own is not an adequate food source, Taylor," he told me seriously. "It is advisable to ingest a balanced meal first."

"Don't care," I retorted. "Ice cream therapy is a thing."

"I understand, Taylor." His tone never stopped being cheerful. "Sometimes, we must do things that are a little bit bad for us to feel better about ourselves."

"Huh. I never thought about it like that before." By now, we were well past the dented van and walking along the pavement away from Winslow. Behind us, I couldn't hear what the heroes were saying to each other, but I imagined that it was along the lines of 'are we just going to let them walk away?'

They didn't chase after us, not immediately. I suspected that they knew that Zach wouldn't punch any of them all the way to Boston, but they weren't taking any chances.

Which raised an interesting question. "Zach, you said that you added kinetic energy to Assault. How did you do that?"

His tone was earnest. "I applied kinetic energy, and manipulated his power to absorb it. The recoil is what sent him away."

"Wait, you manipulated his power?" I stared at him. "So you are a cape."

"No, Taylor." His voice was as patient as ever. "I am not a fashion accessory."

"What's that -" I pulled myself up. "Oh, ha ha. Funny joke. I meant a parahuman."

"I was not joking, Taylor," he said. "I do not know how to make a joke. Neither am I a parahuman."

"But you have powers!" I exclaimed. "You're really strong, and you can manipulate other peoples' powers!"

"Yes, I have powers," he agreed.

"Which makes you a parahuman," I insisted. "A person with powers is a parahuman."

"It would if I were human," he explained. "But I am not. Therefore, even though I possess powers, I do not fit the definition of a parahuman."

"Wait, what?" Looking at him, the contention was utterly ridiculous. He was as human as anyone. Definitely as human as me, maybe even more human than Emma and her friends. I shook my head. No, that's just unbelievable. He's just playing with my head. "Hah, you nearly had me," I told him with a grin. "But I'm sorry. That one's just not gonna fly. Not human, my skinny white butt."

"I believe that if I were to make any sort of comment regarding your butt, it would probably be taken as rude, and rightly so," he observed. Wow, he can learn after all. "So I will not."

I took hold of his arm and hugged it to my side. "Thank you, Zach. You're a real gentleman." I paused. "But your sense of humour does need work. You really don't know how to tell a joke?"

"I could tell one if it were told to me," he pointed out. "But I would not know what made it funny."

"Ah." I thought about that. "Okay, then. Jokes consist mainly of setting up an expectation in the mind of the listener, and then delivering a punchline that changes the entire context of the situation."

He tilted his head. "I believe that I may require an example to apply to that explanation."

I nodded. "All right. Og the caveman says to Zug the caveman, 'I just saw a sabre-toothed tiger go into your mother-in-law's cave.' Zug says, 'So what? What do I care about what happens to a sabre-toothed tiger?'"

Zach tilted his head slightly. "I presume the previous context is that I am supposed to be concerned for the mother-in-law, but then I learn that she is much more formidable than a sabre-toothed tiger. Humour makes use of misdirection. I think I understand."

I grinned. "Yup. Or there's this one. It's a riddle. Why do firemen wear big red suspenders?"

"Hm." Zach seemed to consider the question carefully. "Is it perhaps to do with the fact that fire engines are red as well, as an identification marker?"

Chuckling, I shook my head. "No. The answer is 'to keep their trousers up'."

His face cleared, and he smiled broadly. "I understand. I really do. The misdirection is in the colour of the suspenders. I believe I can see the humour in that."

I decided not to tell him that explaining a joke took all the fun out of it. He seemed to be enjoying himself, and that was what mattered. In the meantime, it was a nice day and I was enjoying walking along with his hand in mine.

I had no idea why Zach had decided that his job was to protect me, but I had little in the way of complaints about the way that he had gone about it. He was adamant that I was to be protected, and that made me feel warm inside, in a way that I hadn't for a very long time.

"I have a riddle for you, Taylor," Zach announced suddenly, breaking into my thoughts.

"Really?" I asked. "What is it?" I decided that whatever he said, I was going to laugh. He was making the effort, and he deserved to be rewarded for it.

Zach cleared his throat and spoke. "Why did the fireman wear green suspenders?"

I blinked. This was actually something I couldn't figure out. "Okay, I give in. Why did the fireman wear green suspenders?"

Was that a look of smugness on his face, however slight? "Because he accidentally left his red suspenders at home that day."

"Heh." I had told myself I would laugh, but I didn't need the reminder. "Heh heh heh. That's funny. I like it."

His earnest gaze searched my face. "That was actually funny? You are not merely saying that, Taylor?"

I squeezed his hand. "It is actually funny, Zach," I assured him, still chuckling. "You got the misdirection perfectly."

"It was not very funny, though," he observed. "You did not laugh very much."

"Well, no, but the jokes I told weren't very funny either," I pointed out. "They're pretty old, and they'll only get a laugh once from any one person. It's the surprise factor, you see."

"I believe that I understand," he agreed. "Misdirection rarely works twice in the same way."

I became aware of two vehicles approaching. Given that the road had been suspiciously clear of traffic for the last few minutes, I had little doubt that these were not casual road users.

One was coming from in front of us, while the other approached from behind. Looking back, I saw Armsmaster's cycle coming up to us at a steady pace, slowing as he neared us. Ahead was a PRT van, moving toward the curb as I watched.

"Don't attack anyone unless they show hostile intent to either of us," I warned Zach. "I don't want anyone else getting hurt today. And that includes you."

"I will not get hurt, Taylor," he assured me. And to be honest, given what I had seen of his capabilities, I tended to believe his words. "And I will endeavour not to hurt anyone else. But if they look as though they can hurt you unless I hurt them first, then I will have to hurt them. I am sorry, but that is the way it has to be."

I nodded. "I understand, Zach. Even if you have to hurt someone, try not to kill anyone."

"I know that you do not want me to kill anyone, so I will not do that," he assured me.

The PRT van pulled over to the curb, albeit on the wrong side of the road, and came to a halt. Armsmaster powered up alongside us, though in the far lane, and pulled up next to the van. As he got off the bike, the side door of the van opened and three costumed teens got out.

I was pretty sure that these were members of the Wards, given that they did not wear New Wave's distinctive costumes. The girl was about two years younger than me, and had on a blue-green costume with a skirt and a visor. One of the boys had a full body white costume with clocks all over it, while the other – I presumed he was a boy – wore grey armour with highlights gleaming off of it, very reminiscent of a knight of old.

Racking my brain, I was pretty sure that I knew who they were. "Vista, Clockblocker and Gallant," I ventured. "Or at least I think so."

"That is who they are," Zach confirmed. "Each of them has offensive capability. Do you want me to neutralise them?"

Hastily, I shook my head. "No, no. Let's just see what they want first."

"They want you to voluntarily enter custody," he reminded me. "That has already been made clear."

"Just let me do the talking to them, okay?" I didn't want to start a fight, and I didn't want a thoughtless remark by Zach starting one, either.

"Yes, Taylor," he agreed. "I will not speak to the Wards without your permission."

Which was a little more than I'd meant, but I left it alone. "Thanks."

The PRT soldier who had driven the van stayed in the vehicle. Good. Armsmaster stood alongside it, his halberd still racked on his back – bad and good – with the three Wards flanking him. I opened my mouth to ask them to step aside, but Zach spoke first.

"Armsmaster!" he called out. Oh, shit. Don't provoke him. "I have a riddle for you."

That got everyone's attention, including mine. I had no idea what the Wards were thinking of that.

"What?" asked the head of the Protectorate ENE. "A riddle? Is this some kind of joke to you?"

"I am learning how to tell jokes. This is the riddle. Why did the fireman wear blue suspenders to work?"

Armsmaster stared back at him. A long, tense moment passed. "I don't know," he grunted.

The flicker of Zach's smile was almost too fast for me to see. "Because he lost his green suspenders," he explained.

There was another long pause, during which time I began to chuckle. When Armsmaster spoke, his voice was puzzled. "I don't get it."

"Don't worry, I do," I managed to say between giggles.

"When we get the chance," Zach added kindly, "I will explain it to you."

I thought I caught a snort of laughter from one of the Wards. Neither Gallant nor Vista was smiling, so I figured that it was Clockblocker.

I indicated the Wards barring our path. "Okay," I said, "so what's this?"

<><>​

Dean groaned mentally when Clockblocker snorted with laughter. Be professional, damn it, he wanted to tell his teammate. Even though Vista had swirls of humour washing through her aura, she was managing not to smile, despite being years younger than Dennis.

"Okay," the tall lanky girl said, indicating Dean and the others. "So what's this?"

They'd been brought up to speed on the way over. The girl was, as far as anyone knew, not a parahuman. Her name was Taylor Hebert, she was a sophomore at Winslow High.

The boy's name was Zachary. He was not a Winslow student. He was a parahuman, with tentative ratings of Brute 8 or higher, and possibly Mover. So far, no background checks had been able to bring anything up on him under that name or powerset. There had been no known contact between him and Taylor Hebert before this day.

There had been a brief rundown on the situation to this point. Zachary was known to be extremely protective of Taylor, so under no circumstance were they to attack her. Four teenagers had been injured by him, possibly as a retaliation for bullying actions taken toward her. There had then been a confrontation in the cafeteria, which had ended inconclusively. Outside, the pair had been confronted by Assault (acting against orders) which had ended … bizarrely.

<><>​

His first view of Taylor Hebert and her aura did not make him overly optimistic of resolving it peacefully. She had so much hurt inside her, extending so deep, that it was practically geological in nature. Bright sparks of hope were breaking it up, but they had so far to go that he wasn't sure she would ever be free of it. And some of the pain was transforming to anger, coming to the surface in a manner not dissimilar to magma in a volcanic vent. If she ever truly blows her top … watch out.

Dean cleared his throat. "Miss Hebert, we've been asked to speak with you, and see if we can't bring this to a satisfactory conclusion."

From her aura, Taylor Hebert wasn't overly thrilled by the idea. As for her companion …

Dean blinked. Okay, that's really weird. He's just not showing up. Where Zachary was, was … a blank. He may as well have not been there at all.

Just as he was beginning to seriously wonder about that, Zach glanced over at him. A slight smile appeared to play over the boy's mouth, and then his emotions were on full view, just like everyone else's.

Before Dean could consider the ramifications of that, Taylor spoke. "Satisfactory for you or for me?"

"Yes," declared Clockblocker firmly.

Vista sighed slightly. "What he means is that we don't want this to get any worse. We don't want to fight. Can we talk?"

Taylor's jaw hardened. "Do I have a choice?"

Zachary spoke up. His voice was cheerful and bright, as if he were talking about a favourite movie. "You always have a choice, Taylor. We can keep walking, or you can talk. That is your choice. If they try to stop us, I will neutralise them. That is their choice."

Dean steeled himself not to react, even as Clockblocker tensed and Vista took half a step back – no, wait, she stretched space between them very slightly. "We're not attacking you," he reminded them.

"I don't want to fight, either," admitted Taylor. "I don't want anyone else getting hurt." Pausing, she turned toward Armsmaster. "So is there any word about Assault yet?"

The older hero nodded once. "They just fished him out of the Charles River. He'll be fine."

Taylor let out a tiny sigh; her aura swirled with relief. "Good. I'm glad."

"Wait, wait." That was Clockblocker. "You punched Assault so hard he bounced off the Protectorate base and landed in Boston? And you were able to aim him at the river?"

"Yes, Clockblocker," Zachary answered promptly. "I believe that you call it a bank shot. It was not very difficult."

Clockblocker shook his head; his aura showed strong tones of disbelief. His voice was barely audible as he muttered, "Bullshit. Just bullshit."

"Ignore him," Dean advised them. "So, Taylor. Can I call you Taylor?"

Taylor shrugged, pretending indifference, although her aura showed signs of both trepidation and awe. "Might as well. Free country."

"Taylor, then." Dean did his best to sound friendly, unthreatening. "As you can see, we have a problem. I'd like your help in resolving it."

"I have a solution." She stared at him, her defiance only partly real. "You step aside, Zach and I walk home, you leave us alone, nobody else gets hurt. Problem solved."

"The trouble with that is people have been injured. The law requires that the guilty party be at least taken into custody. We would prefer this to happen with as little in the way of problems as possible." He looked at her hopefully, expecting more defiance, or perhaps acquiescence. What he didn't expect was triumph.

"Yeah, that's true. People have been hurt." She jabbed a thumb at her chest. "Me. I've been getting bullied for more than a year by those bitches. Today, they shoved me in my locker with the most horrible shit I've ever smelled. They locked me in there." She took a step closer to him, anger bubbling up through the triumph. "So if you want to arrest someone for hurting someone else, arrest those three bitches for provoking Zach into protecting me. I'll even give you names -"

Armsmaster stirred. "That's not necessary. We have the names -"

She didn't even look around. "Shut the fuck up. I'm not talking to you. The names of the bitches are Emma Barnes. Madison Clements. And Sophia fucking Hess. Arrest them, not Zach.."

Clockblocker and Vista showed signs of shock, even as Dean felt the same emotion spark in his own brain. Sophia Hess? Shadow Stalker? Does Armsmaster even know … He looked at Armsmaster, and saw resignation and irritation. Shit. He knew, and he was holding out on us.

Still, he had to be sure. "You're certain about these people. Certain that they're specifically the ones who did this to you?"

"Yes," Zach stated flatly. "I saw it. Sophia pushed Taylor into the locker. Emma locked it. Madison watched and laughed. Then they tried to stop me from getting to the locker so that I could let Taylor out."

Fuck. This is a lot more complicated than I was led to believe. From the auras of the other two Wards, they felt the same way. "I … did not know that."

"Well, you know it now." Taylor stared at him challengingly. "What are you gonna do about it?"

Dean had heard about 'no-win situations', but he'd never been placed into one until now. If she's telling the truth – and her aura says she is – then we, as the Wards, have fucked up massively. Attacking Zach right now would be amazingly unwise, as well as being totally unjust.

But if we just let her walk away, that makes the Wards look bad, too.

No matter what I do, I'm screwed.

It was Vista who saved him. "Taylor, what are your plans right now?"

Taylor turned to look at her. "Right now? Walk home. Get there eventually. Have something to eat. Why?"

Vista was nothing if not persistent. "Do you plan on committing any crimes, or allowing Zach to commit any?"

The tall lanky girl snorted. "Pfft, no. Zach, you're not going to commit any crimes, are you?"

"No, Taylor. I do not intend to commit any crimes." The effect was spoiled slightly when he went on. "Unless you tell me to."

"No." Taylor shook her head. "If you committed crimes, that would make me unhappy."

"I will not commit any crimes." Zach's voice was definitive. "Unless helping you forces me to commit a crime. Then I will commit a crime, but I will apologise afterward."

With a wry twist to her mouth, and a streak of humour running through her aura, Taylor turned back to Vista. "I guess that's the best you're gonna get."

"Thank you." Vista turned to Gallant; he caught the wash of longing in her aura, but did his best to ignore it. "Gallant, what do you think?" Is she telling the truth?

Dean had seen Taylor's aura. There had been no deception involved in what she said. Or, for that matter, in Zachary's aura. He took a deep breath, making a palm-out gesture to Taylor and Zachary. "Can we just … discuss things for a moment?"

Taylor's brows drew down. "How long is a moment?"

"Uh, five minutes? Tops? And then we'll figure out what to do. I promise."

She pressed her lips together. "You've got four minutes."

"Thank you." Gallant stepped back, gesturing for the others to come with him.

Armsmaster ignored the gesture, remaining there obdurately.

"Sir?" Dean asked.

Armsmaster glanced around. "What?"

"Um, we need to discuss that important issue? The one that won't wait?"

"This isn't the time -"

Dean could read Armsmaster's desire not to talk about it, but this only fuelled his determination. "Sir, if not now, when? This is very relevant to the situation at hand."

Armsmaster could have been carved from stone.

"Or, you know," Clockblocker added cheerfully, "we could just talk about it in front of them. That's probably easier."

Dean could have hugged the white-costumed jokester. He'd struck exactly the right note needed to break the impasse; lips pressed to a razor-thin line, Armsmaster turned toward them. The older hero took one step, then turned his head to address Taylor and Zach. "Don't move."

"Oh, we're not going anywhere," Taylor agreed, then ostentatiously checked her watch. "For another three minutes and thirty seconds, anyway."

They moved down the pavement until Dean figured that they were out of casual earshot of the pair. For all he knew, Zach could hear a pin drop in Chicago, but there was such a thing as being too paranoid. "Okay then. Sir. Seriously?"

Armsmaster's voice was hard and cold. "Be very careful, Gallant. I'm still your commanding officer."

"I understand that, sir," Dean agreed. "What I don't understand is why you saw fit to hold something that – that significant back from us. Talking to them, I get it. Making us look stupid by not telling us everything? Did you want us to fail?"

"The trouble is that it's very hard to compartmentalise information like that," Armsmaster stated flatly. "If we told you that Shadow Stalker had been injured, that would give you an erroneous view of the situation. If we amended that to the fact that she was in her civilian identity, and then you found out that Zachary's only victims were her alleged bullies …"

" … we would then find out what you were trying to keep from us anyway," Clockblocker finished for him. "But that's what I don't understand. Why were you trying to keep it from us?"

"Because he didn't want us to be prejudiced in their favour when we were talking to them," Dean guessed. "I'm right, aren't I?" No answer was forthcoming, but the sourness in Armsmaster's aura spoke volumes.

"If you'd gotten away with it, what would you have done?" piped up Vista. "Just swept it under the carpet?"

Armsmaster shook his head. "No. We would have investigated, quietly, and just as quietly eased Shadow Stalker out of the spotlight."

"In other words, you would have handled it," Clockblocker said, filling the word with derision.

"Well, I'm not surprised that she was doing it," Vista noted. "She was mean."

"Yeah." Clockblocker nodded. "You gotta admit, she's not a nice person. Even if she does have a nice -"

"Do not finish that sentence." Wonder of wonders, Armsmaster's growl shut Clockblocker up.

"Okay then." Dean took a deep breath. "So one of ours bullied that girl – and unless she can fake her emotions better than anyone ever, it's definitely true – to the point where some random Brute pops up out of the blue to save her."

"And then, just to make things even better," Clockblocker put in, "we decide to attack the actual hero of the piece. The guy who saved her."

"And Assault gets punched all the way to Boston," put in Vista. "Just in case we didn't look stupid enough already."

"I still think that's bullshit," Clockblocker muttered. "Okay, so what do we do about it?"

Just then, something passed overhead, with a fading "Woohoooooo" noise trailing after it. Everyone looked around to see a vaguely human-shaped dot, airborne, disappearing into the middle distance.

"Wait," Dean blurted. "He can fly? Nobody said that he could fly."

"I don't think he's flying," Vista said carefully. "It looks like a ballistic arc."

"Vista is correct." Armsmaster agreed absently. "He's jumping."

Dean blinked. "How far is he jumping?"

Vista rubbed her chin thoughtfully. "I'd guesstimate about half a mile?"

After a moment, Armsmaster nodded. "I concur."

Dean and Clockblocker looked back to where the two had been standing; there was only a pair of footprints, sunk about an inch into the concrete. "Bullshit," Clockblocker muttered. "Just bullshit."


End of Part Three

Part Four

 

[Ack]

(ricocheting back and forth) 'Wow, he's really resilient. Not moving at all. Welp, time to up the tempo -'

'is that his fist -'

"Whooooaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!"

BOUNCE

'Wait, was that the Rig? Did I just bounce off the Rig? And am I gaining altitude?'

'Holy crap, how fast am I going?'

'Whoops, there's a plane. Act natural.' (waves) "Hi-folks-nothing-to-see-here-move-along!" 'Boy, did they look surprised.'

'I think I can see my house from here.'

'Oh, good. I'm going down again.' (pause) 'That's what she said! I crack me up.'

'Is that ... Boston?'

'Yup, definitely Boston. Wonder what I'm gonna break.'

'Am I slowing down? I think I'm slowing down. Okay, that guy's officially bullshit.'

'I think I'm gonna hit the river.'

'I'm definitely going to hit the river.'

'Isn't the Charles River one of the most polluted in America?'

"Oh shiiiiii-"

SPLASH

(rescuer) "Are you all right, sir?"

(spits out water. At least he hopes it's water) "Yeah. Thanks."

(Rescuer) "Okay, I have to ask. What happened?"

(broad smile) "I just got punched fifty miles. How's your day going? I'mma just gonna lie down for a bit now."

(passes out)

 

[Ack]

I'm HALPING!

Part Four: Shortlisted



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

[A/N 2: This chapter commissioned by Fizzfaldt.]



Director Piggot paused the playback and ran her fingers up over her scalp. For a moment, she wanted to tear handfuls of hair from her head; she suspected that it would much less painful than watching the replay from Armsmaster's helmet cam. But then she'd still have the rest of the playback to watch anyway.

For a moment, she eyed the mouse pad. If I put that in front of me on the desk, I could bang my forehead against it without leaving a bruise. It was tempting.

She already knew the outcome of the encounter, of course. But the foreknowledge didn't make watching the slow-motion trainwreck any easier. It was akin to watching a horror movie and knowing that the friendly, likeable characters would be the first to be eaten.

I have to watch this. If only so that I know exactly how much of their asses I'm going to have to chew off. Bracing herself, she restarted the playback. Assault's little trick made her blink, but what really got her attention was the fact that Zachary didn't budge an inch while it was happening.

Pausing the playback, she called up the earlier file and ran it through to a certain point. Slowing it down to half speed, she watched attentively as Armsmaster slammed the haft of his halberd against Zachary's chest; there was a loud POP and the teenage boy was jolted back a step. But in the current file, where Assault was almost certainly hitting him with even more kinetic energy than that, Zachary wasn't moving at all. What does it mean?

Her phone rang, interrupting her musing. Without looking aside from the replay, she snagged it. "Director's office. Piggot speaking."

"Emily, hello."

She recognised the voice as that of the Director of the Boston contingent of the PRT; pausing the replay, she turned her attention to the phone call. "Armstrong. This is about Assault?"

"It is." The relief in his voice clued her in. "He's alive, if a bit stunned from the experience. Personally, I'm astonished that he survived the experience at all, even with his powerset, but they say he doesn't even have any broken bones."

Emily didn't know how she really felt about that. Assault had just proven himself to be the loosest of loose cannons, but she didn't want the man to die for it. At least, not until she got to strangle him herself. "Good. Keep him there for observation, please. I don't want something unexpected to crop up while he's away from potential medical attention."

"We can definitely do that. Oh, and we got footage of his arrival, if you're interested."

That really got her attention. "Yes, please."

"Emailing it right now."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. Is it true a teenage kid did this?"

"In a manner of speaking. Assault went against orders. He obviously thought he could take him."

"Well, I'm just glad he survived."

"He won't be." Her voice was grim. "That could have gone far, far worse. People could have died. And all so that he could showboat. I do not allow this sort of thing to fly."

"So to speak." He chuckled. "Well, I'll leave you to it."

"Goodbye." Emily put the phone down without waiting for an answer. Minimising the window that was playing the helmet camera footage, she opened her secure email server. Nothing had shown up yet, so she clicked up the footage again.

She watched it until Assault disappeared into the distance, then clicked back a few seconds and ran it through at the lowest speed possible. Even with the impressively high frame-rate of Armsmaster's helmet-camera, the sheer speed of Zachary's arm as it came up made most of the movement into a blur. However, at the point of impact, it was possible to watch the apparent teenager (she was taking nothing for granted about this) almost casually deliver a palm-strike to Assault's sternum. She looked at the numbers scrolling up along the side, where the helmet had locked on to Assault's dwindling form with a rangefinder. Something odd about the progression nagged at her. Picking up the phone, she stabbed a number in it, still watching Assault recede into the distance in slow motion.

"Peterson here," she heard. "What can I do for you, Director?"

"I'm going to send you some footage," she replied. "There's something odd about it. I want you to analyse the movement of everything in the picture."

"Yes, ma'am," he said at once. "What's the priority?"

"High but not urgent," she decided. "I'd like to know, but don't bump anything life-threatening."

"Understood, ma'am," he said. "We'll let you know what we get."

"Good." She put the phone down and set about sending the footage on its way. Just as she clicked SEND, her computer chimed; at the bottom corner of her screen, an alert popped up for an incoming mail.

She paused to check that she had indeed sent the right footage to Peterson, then opened her inbox. The latest message was tagged as being from Armstrong; to her relief, it had an attachment. With a certain sense of anticipation, she clicked on it.

Moments later, she was watching footage taken from what seemed to be a shoulder-cam. It was a little shaky, but she was pleased to see that the time-stamp was running smoothly all the way through. The camera looked at an expanse of water, which she assumed was the Charles River, then panned up to the buildings on the other side of the water. There was an indistinct shout from offscreen, and the image blurred unpleasantly for an instant. Then it tilted upward and focused, zooming automatically. A tiny dot resolved into a blurry outline, sharpening more every second. The image stabilised, not growing any larger, though it kept gaining detail. A glance at the top of the screen showed the zoom counter scrolling backward almost faster than the numbers could register. It was definitely Assault; she could identify the costume with ease. He seemed to be trailing streamers of vapour, which she decided to ask about later. Despite her irritation with him, she had to admire his aplomb; he was in the spread-eagle position for skydiving, intended to reduce his terminal velocity by as much as possible. Not that she considered this to be something to be realistically worried about, given that he'd just been punched from Brockton Bay to Boston. Just for an instant, she felt a stab of jealousy; over the last few years, she'd lost count of the number of times she wanted to smack Assault into the next county.

Abruptly, the image pulled back, bringing the water and the buildings back into view. Assault was a tiny man-shaped dot, now approaching once more with shocking speed. He was also pulling in his arms and legs, leaning forward into a dive. Almost before Emily could blink, he lanced down into the river, sending up a tremendous splash that almost reached the shore. Boats pulled out from the shore before the waves had quieted down, moving toward the epicentre of the water entry. The soldier with the camera was on one of the boats; as the unsteady image moved forward, an arm pointed and the viewpoint swivelled to focus on … Assault. Floating in the water, face-up, arms and legs spread once more, for all the world as if he were taking a morning dip in his costume.

The boat motored up alongside Assault, who was starting to move a little; a man in a wetsuit went over the side and steadied him in the water. Next, a stretcher was dropped into the water and the diver guided it under Assault, carefully moving his arms and legs on to it. Once he was strapped on, his head and neck immobilised and a breathing mask attached to his face, they began to tow him to shore. He seemed to be responding more now; the camera audio caught snatches of speech. "How are you feeling?" asked a paramedic, leaning over the side of the boat to prod his arms and legs.

"I just got bitch-slapped fifty miles by a teenager," replied Assault dreamily. "How's your day been? Tell my wife I'm okay, thanks? If I make her worry, she'll find out how he did it, and do it again. Imma catch a nap now. Kaythanksbye." Behind the visor, his eyes drifted shut; the paramedic checked his throat pulse and gave a thumbs' up.

The clip ended there, and Emily immediately ran it again. Like Armsmaster's helmet cam, this one incorporated a rangefinder; again, she frowned as she looked at the progression of the numbers. Something seemed subtly off. Pursing her lips, she sent the footage off to Peterson, with a curt note: Check this too.

Then she sighed and went back to the job of keeping her corner of the PRT running smoothly. It was an utterly thankless task, but someone had to do it.

<><>​

Taylor

I watched, with just little concern, as Armsmaster reluctantly went into a huddle with the Wards. "What do you think they're talking about?" I asked uneasily.

"I do not know," Zach said in his usual cheerful tone. "Armsmaster wishes to take me into custody but does not know how. Part of his strategy may be to separate you from me, before bringing more force into play. I will not allow him to do this."

"Good," I said firmly. So many people had worked at screwing me over ever since Mom died. Zach was the first person who both actually cared for me and was able to do something about it. I didn't care how badly he embarrassed the Protectorate, so long as this trend continued. "Just remember, I don't care if you hurt his feelings, but don't do anything fatal to him, okay?"

He smiled at me. "I remember that you do not want me to kill people, Taylor. I will not do anything that will kill people, unless that is the only way to prevent them from causing you injury."

Hearing him reaffirm that made me feel better. I really hoped that nobody would do anything stupid. Zach was … well, for a normal person, he was pretty damn talented. He said he wasn't a cape, and I believed him. Every instinct also told me that he was just an ordinary person caught in an extraordinary situation, like me. But he'd shown himself able to defend the both of us really effectively.

Armsmaster was still talking to the Wards; the costumes made it hard to tell body language, but it looked to me that they were arguing. I checked my watch. "Nearly five minutes," I said to Zach. "If they don't let us go past, please don't hurt the kids. They're only doing what they're told."

"Understood," he said with a nod. "I will not hurt children. However, I do have a way of getting past that does not involve directly engaging with them."

I looked at him curiously. "How's that?" He didn't like to bend to someone else's will; that much, I had already gathered. Except mine; how does that even work?

He smiled brightly at me. "Do you trust me, Taylor?"

Taken aback, I blinked a little. "Uh … sure. Of course. You've been nothing short of amazing." A moment later, my natural suspicion kicked in. "Why?"

His smile widened. "I think I will make it a surprise."

Before I could respond, his head came up. "It has been almost five minutes. We will be leaving now." To my astonishment, he bent and scooped me up in his arms, bridal-style. I muffled my yelp of surprise; of course, he held me with total ease. He had already shown me that he was pretty strong; idly, I wondered if he worked out.

"Are you ready?" he asked, bending his legs slightly.

I wasn't quite sure what I was supposed to be ready for, but I nodded. "Sure," I said.

In the next instant, I found out. He kicked off, and I felt the rush of wind as we rocketed into the sky. Grabbing Zach around the neck, I hung on tight, even though I felt totally secure in his arms. "Woohoo!" I yelled at the top of my lungs. A little more quietly, I gasped out, "You never said you could fly."

"I cannot fly, Taylor," he said. "But I can jump really well. Landing now." A moment later, there was a slight jar, accompanied by the crunch of gravel. He let me down on to the concrete sidewalk, and I looked around with some amazement.

"Wow, you can really jump a long way," I marvelled. "We must be nearly halfway home."

"I do not know where your home is," he admitted. "You will have to show me."

It never crossed my mind to worry about showing Zach where I lived. "Sure, no problem," I said. "I have so got to introduce you to Dad. I mean, I know you're still a teenager, but I'm pretty sure he could get you a job if you wanted."

"But I have a job, Taylor," he said. "Protecting you. There are many harmful things in the world, and I have to make sure nothing hurts you or makes you unhappy."

The warm feeling his words caused in my heart overflowed, and I felt the blush mounting my cheeks. "That has got to be the single sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me," I said softly. "Are you certain that you're not in love with me?"

"I am certain, Taylor." He smiled at me; a simple, genuine smile that gave me shivers all the way down to the toes. "Love is irrational. What I feel for you is genuine and rational. You are to be protected and assisted."

"You realise I might want to do some things myself," I pointed out. "I'm not a delicate china doll, after all."

"Of course," he agreed at once. "You are a human being, with all the free will and capacity to use it that implies. I do not intend to take away your ability to exert your free will. I do intend to ensure that nobody else takes it away either. If you say you wish to do something, then I will do my best to ensure that you get the chance to do it."

"Right." I paused. "No threatening or hurting people to make sure I get what I want."

He nodded. "I will not threaten or hurt people to make sure you get what you want. Unless there is no other way to achieve that, or your well-being is threatened. After all, you wish to remain healthy and unhurt, correct?"

"Oh, right." His example made sense. And he wasn't just blindly following my orders, either, which made me feel better. "Yeah, that makes sense."

"That is good." He gave me the smile again, the one that told me I was the most special person in the world. "Do you wish to walk the rest of the way home, or would you like to essay another jump? I believe that the PRT is close behind us now."

Can't they just leave well enough alone? "Yeah, I think I'd like to jump again. Whoop!" This time, I didn't muffle my involuntary exclamation fast enough as he picked me up. "Wow, you're strong."

"You are not very heavy, Taylor." His voice was matter-of-fact. "It is very easy to lift you."

Somehow, I knew that he wasn't making fun of how skinny I was. "Thank you, Zach," I replied, and pointed. "Home's that way, I think."

"Brace yourself," he said. I braced myself. He leaped.

"Woooooooohoooooooo!"

<><>​

"That's my house, there." I pointed ahead of us as we walked down the street. My estimate of 'halfway home' had been a little generous, and my directions hadn't been exactly precise. It took a dozen jumps, plus three to backtrack, before we got close enough to walk. After all, I didn't think Dad would be very happy if we made a hole in the roof.

Due to my poor sense of direction, we were coming up on it from the back. I opened the chain-link gate and let us through into the back yard, then closed it behind us. Zach looked at the house with interest as I led the way to the back door. "It is a nice house, Taylor," he said.

"Thanks, Zach," I replied as I took my key from my pocket. Opening the back door, I led the way into the house; as Zach closed the door behind him, I flipped on the lights in the kitchen. "Whoof!" I exclaimed as I sat down on one of the dining chairs. "What a morning."

Zach came up behind me. "Are you all right, Taylor?" he asked with concern in his voice.

"Sure, I'm fine." I waved him to a chair. "Sit down. I'm just catching my breath. Things've been going way faster than I was ready for."

He sat down; just for a moment, the chair creaked alarmingly, but then he shifted position slightly and the creaking ceased. I wondered if it had a rotten leg. Then I looked at Zach; this was the first good look I'd had at him since the cafeteria. At the time, I'd been still a little shocky from the locker. But the food really had done me a lot of good.

He was a little taller than me, and a bit broader in the shoulders. While he wasn't grotesquely bulky like a bodybuilder, I could definitely appreciate the fact that he had muscles on his muscles, especially since he'd left his shirt behind at Winslow. His hair was straight and black, and looked adorably tousled; under it, his expression was calm and a little solemn. While he didn't have drop-dead gorgeous looks, he was definitely better looking than most guys who went to Winslow, and far better looking than any guy who had ever shown me attention before. In fact, every teenage boy I knew (which, when it came down to it, amounted to Greg Veder) would scream 'unfair' to see his acne-free skin.

"Okay," I said. "Your name is Zach. Do you have a surname?"

He shook his head. "Sophia did not give me one."

"Wait." I frowned at him. "Sophia gave you the name Zachary?"

"Yes." His tone was direct and honest. "I did not have a name before that."

This was getting more confusing by the second. "What? Why?"

"Because I did not need one."

"How could you not need a name?" I felt like I'd walked into a movie halfway through. Nothing was making any sense.

"I had not yet been given my current form."

I had no idea how to even take that. "Current form? What do you mean, current form?"

"I was formed to protect you, Taylor." He looked me dead in the eye as he spoke utter nonsense. "I am an Endbringer."

I blinked; the silence was so complete that I literally heard my eyelids hit each other. Zach looked blandly at me, and I stared back in total incomprehension, trying to fit what he'd just said into some logical framework. Then I burst out laughing as I realised what was going on.

"Oh, god," I giggled, trying desperately not to fall off of my chair. "Oh, wow, Zach. That was amazing. I can't believe I nearly fell for that. Oh, man, I can't wait to tell Dad that one." I deepened my voice to somewhere near Zach's level. "I'm really an Endbringer." Tears ran down my face as I laughed even harder. "And-and you said you-you didn't get humour!" Sliding off the chair, I lay on the floor, giggling helplessly and pounding my fist on the linoleum-covered floorboards. "Oh, god. That's beautiful."

"I am pleased that you think so," Zach said, a small smile crossing his face. "Are you feeling well, Taylor?"

"Uh huh." I sat up, still smirking. "I think I really needed that. But don't take this wrong when I say wow, that's the silliest story I ever heard. Really an Endbringer? Oh, man. Who'd ever believe that?" Climbing to my feet, I leaned over and gave him a hug from behind. "Look, I'm gonna go take a shower, and change into something that actually fits me. I'll find one of Dad's shirts for you, too." Because while I had been able to ignore his extremely masculine chest muscles to this point, I didn't want to forget myself and say or do something embarrassing.

Zach tilted his head. "You have already showered. Why do you feel the need to perform this task a second time?"

I took a deep breath, the smile slipping from my face. "Because sometimes you never feel really clean, even if you are. Does that make sense?"

His expression became more thoughtful. "I will ask my sister about that, but in the meantime, I will take your word for it. Do you require assistance showering or obtaining clothing?"

"Ah, no," I told him hastily. "I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself in my own house. You stay down here. Feel free to get a snack from the fridge or watch TV. Or both. I won't be long."

He nodded. "I understand, Taylor. I will remain downstairs. Call if you need help."

I smirked again. "Don't worry, if the bathroom attacks me, you'll be the first one I'll call." Chuckling to myself, I went through the living room and up the stairs. Endbringer, indeed. The very idea was ridiculous. Zach was as human as me or Dad. He just had a really weird sense of humour. Which was, to be honest, kind of growing on me. I liked Zach. He wasn't creepy or pushy, and he hadn't stared at my chest even once, which even though I didn't have much of one, still happened around guys.

The shower was nice. By the time I finished, I felt a bit cleaner and somewhat refreshed. As I got dressed, I could hear the TV playing faintly from below. It sounded like the news, which made me wonder. What were they saying about Zach? Whatever it was, if they asked me, I'd be happy to give them the real story. Complete with Winslow's total screwups when it came to me and the Trio, and the Protectorate's total screwup when it came to me and Zach.

As I opened the bathroom door, the TV became more audible. "We're here today outside the house of Daniel and Taylor Hebert, where …" Wait, what? There's people outside the house now?

Even as I registered that bit of information, a figure filled the doorway. I opened my mouth, but before I could call out, a gloved hand slapped over my face. I was pushed back into the bathroom, my wide eyes staring into those of … Miss Militia? She hooked the door closed with her heel without taking her eyes off of me. The noise of the TV was reduced to a dull murmur again.

"I'm going to take my hand away," she said, very quietly. "You will not shout. You will not scream. If you try to make any noise at all, I will stun you into silence." Before my eyes, she waved that elephant-hunting taser again. "Do you understand? Nod if you understand."

Carefully, I nodded. I'd been shocked once already today; even if it was non-lethal, I didn't want another try at it.

"Good." I couldn't see if she was smiling, but her tone became marginally less tense. "I'm removing my hand now." Slowly, she took her hand away.

I took a reflexive breath of air and she tensed, but I didn't try to call out. Why didn't I have Zach standing outside the bathroom door?

"Okay, then." Her voice was the barest whisper. "I'm going to ask you some questions. Answer as briefly as you can. Has he hurt you?"

I shook my head sharply. "No!" I whispered as intensely as I could.

The skin around her eyes creased, but I wasn't sure what that meant. I was pretty sure she wasn't smiling. "Are you under any kind of duress?"

"No," I answered again. "He's been a complete gentleman."

From outside the bathroom door, I heard footsteps coming up the stairs. "Taylor," called Zach. "There are people outside your house. We should go." He paused. "Taylor, where are you?"

Miss Militia's gloved hand slapped over my mouth again, while the taser pressed against my side. I didn't struggle; instead, I just raised my eyebrows at the superhero. Your move.

Despite the scarf over her face, she looked entirely unhappy with the whole situation. All I had to do was make any sort of noise at all, and Zach would be in the bathroom with us, door or no door. I had zero doubt of that. She was obviously thinking the same thing; without taking her hand from my mouth or her weapon from my side, she circled around me until she was at my back, looking past me at the door. Which then opened.

"Hello, Taylor!" Zach said brightly, now wearing one of Dad's old Boomers t-shirts. "There you are. Hello, Miss Militia. You are a hero, and Taylor does not want me to kill superheroes. But if you do not take your dangerous weapon away from her, I will be forced to hurt you quite a lot. I promise not to kill you, though."

I reached up, grabbed her wrist, and pulled her hand away from my mouth. She didn't resist too much. Perhaps she'd realised that the main reason for keeping me quiet was long gone. "Hello, Zach," I said. "It's good to see you. How many people are around the house?"

"Two PRT strike squads," Miss Militia said unexpectedly from behind me. "Plus nearly all the local Protectorate."

"So how is Assault?" I asked with a cheeky grin, stepping forward to Zach. He moved aside to let me stand beside him in the doorway.

"He's well enough," she replied wearily. "Apparently everyone there wants to buy him a drink." I heard resignation in her voice. "Knowing him, he'll accept." She switched her gaze to Zach. "Thank you for not killing him."

"I have many options that do not involve killing people," Zach informed her, still in that cheerful tone of voice. "But I notice you are still pointing your weapon at Taylor." As he said my name, he … moved. It wasn't a lunge forward so much as he had simply decided to be elsewhere. Before I could even blink, he was standing beside me once more, but now he was holding the taser. "And now you are not."

Miss Militia blinked down at her empty hand. She made some sort of weird gesture with it, which apparently achieved exactly nothing. Then she stared at the taser still in Zach's hand. "What … how did you do that?" she demanded.

"It is as I told Armsmaster," he explained patiently. "If you threaten Taylor with a weapon, it means that you are not responsible enough to have the weapon, so I will take it away."

"But … it's my power." She stared once more at her hand, then at the taser. "You can't just take it away." She was almost like a child demanding that her toy be given back.

"It seems that he can," I observed, trying not to grin at her bewilderment. Zach did seem to have that effect on people. Personally, I had decided that doing the metaphorical equivalent of sitting back with a bag of popcorn was much more rewarding. If Zach wanted to make the world into a comedy for my benefit, I wasn't averse. Asking how he did stuff just led to really weird answers.

And then I heard glass breaking from down below.

Oh, hell no.

"That's your guys, isn't it?" I asked. "Did they just break the windows to get into my house?" The question was kind of superfluous, as the next thing I heard was boots on the floorboards. "Tell 'em to stop, right now!"

"Taylor, do you want me to evict the people who have just invaded your house?" Zach was as eager as a terrier going walkies. "I can do that for you, if you want."

I tilted my head. Now that I was listening for it, I could also hear incoming helicopter blades. "No. They're the diversion. I was supposed to wait up here while more of them come in the upstairs window and secure me. Right, Miss Militia?" I took a step toward her. "Tell them to go away. All of them. Or Zach just might hurt some of them."

Zach leaned out of the door and fired the taser. There was a crackling sound and a cut-off scream. "One down, Taylor. I can make the rest go away, if you want. How many do you want me to hurt?"

I looked the superhero in the eye. "That's Miss Militia's call. Tell them to pull back, or I tell Zach to use his best judgement. As you can see, he's extremely concerned with my welfare."

Miss Militia nodded once, sharply. "Mike-mike here. All units, pull back urgentmost. I say again, all units pull back, over."

I didn't hear the reply to her order, but she didn't like it. "Dammit! He's standing right in front of me! We're blown! Pull back before he decides to throw the rest of you to Boston! Over!"

Zach tilted his head. "I do not think I could throw a normal human to Boston, but I believe that I could reach the PRT building with one. Most of one, anyway." He sounded vaguely speculative. "If I was careful with my aim, I should be able to hit Director Piggot's window."

"Please don't," I murmured.

"I will not, unless you ask me to," he assured me.

"Good." I turned to Miss Militia. "Okay, what the crap was all this about? All I wanted was to have a nice quiet day, and you've gone and ruined it for me again."

"It was decided," she said, "that the PRT needed to have a dialogue with your friend Zach." Her tone made it clear that this was not her idea.

"So you sneak in and the PRT breaks in, and you think this is a good idea?" I demanded. "You saw what happened to Assault!"

"I was overruled." Now she sounded very unhappy. "But orders are orders."

"Who gave these orders?" Zach looked intent, which boded well for nobody. "Taylor may have been hurt. I will not allow that."

<><>​

Somewhat Earlier

Emily Piggot's email inbox pinged. She clicked it open, to find an email from Peterson. That was fast work. However, just as she opened it, the phone rang. With a sigh, she picked up the receiver. "Director Piggot."

"Hello, Emily." The voice was almost familiar to her. "Congratulations on screwing up a simple situation so thoroughly. Consider yourself seconded to my command. Effective immediately."

"Wait, what now?" She sat bolt upright, ignoring the stab of pain from her lower back. "Identify yourself or get off this line." Reaching out, she hit the button that set about tracing the call anyway.

"It's Tagg. James Tagg. We met a few years ago. When I heard about your problem, I was able to convince the Chief Director that it needed my touch. The email with your orders should be coming through any minute now."

The arrogant tone was coming back to her. That was Tagg, all right. He was as hawkish a PRT officer as it was possible to be; even Emily, with her ingrained dislike of parahumans, considered Tagg to be altogether too reactionary when it came to capes. "The situation here is entirely under control."

"I see. So one of your capes gets punched from one city to another on a regular occasion? No, Emily, it is not."

She shook her head stubbornly. "It's a unique scenario. One that bringing more force into the mix will not solve. Assault proved that."

"Which just means that you aren't using the right type or amount of force." Tagg's voice was dismissive. "I'm on a flight up there right now. In the meantime, I'll be opening a command channel and you will relay my orders."

"If your orders will kill my men, you can k-" Emily broke off what she was about to say. "I will not relay any orders that will put my men in undue danger."

"Just goes to show that you haven't got what it takes." Tagg's voice was a sneer. "I always thought you lost your nerve in Ellisburg."

The plastic receiver creaked in Emily's hand. The only thing stopping her from releasing a blistering tirade of invective back down the phone was the certain knowledge that he was recording the call. Tagg wasn't quite the snake that Calvert was, but he was definitely right up there in the asshole stakes. She breathed deeply, trying to regain her cool. "I'll be contacting the Chief Director as soon as possible," she promised. "This situation will not be improved by outside interference."

"You go ahead, Emily," Tagg said mockingly. "But in the meantime, I'm going to need everything you have on the situation." He paused. "And don't even think of holding anything back."

Emily grimaced. Right now, her hands were tied. But she would get control back.

This is my city, dammit.

<><>​

Taylor, Now

Miss Militia preceded us down the stairs. Zach followed, while I brought up the rear. The heavy taser dangled from his hand; while I still wasn't quite sure how he'd done it, I was very impressed. The front door was open, with a PRT trooper standing outside. We walked into the living room, where two of the three windows had been smashed; twinkling in the light, broken glass lay all over the floor and on the sofa.

With a quick movement, Zach scooped me off of my feet. "You are not wearing shoes. Your feet will be harmed if you step on broken glass."

I was almost getting used to this, and I couldn't fault his logic. "Good point, Zach. Miss Militia, who broke my windows?"

She hesitated. "I'm not sure. I can ask."

"Good. Do that." I pointed at the windows and the glass lying everywhere. "I want that cleaned up and fixed. Before Dad gets home. Or you get to explain to him who did it, and left dirty boot-prints everywhere."

"I'm not entirely sure …" she began.

Before she got any farther, Zach took a single step. It was just a small one, but he must have hit a sweet spot, because the entire house shuddered and boomed. Dust drifted down from above, and all the loose glass shivered and chattered. "Taylor has asked that you clean up your mess and fix the windows that were broken. Is this so unreasonable?"

She'd have a crease down the middle of her forehead, with all the frowning she was doing. "Uh … wait one. Mike-mike calling Commander Calvert. I need you in the house immediately, over." She paused for a moment. "Yes, Commander. Immediately. Now. Mike-mike out." She touched her ear.

"And who's Commander Calvert?" I asked blankly.

"He's the squad commander," she said with a sigh. "If you want to know who's ultimately responsible for your windows being broken, it's him."

"So how did you get in?" I asked. "Did you break any windows?"

She shook her head. "No. You leave your bedroom window open. That might not be a great idea."

"Ah." I looked at her with some respect. To get up a blank wall and in through that window took serious climbing chops. I'd never even tried it, and I had grown up in the house. "Right. I'll keep that in mind."

Bootsteps sounded outside, then a tall man entered the house. Zach and I looked him over; even with the bulk afforded him by the uniform and equipment, he was still really skinny. I saw what looked like a pistol holster on his hip, but he wasn't carrying any other sort of weapon that I could tell. Unlike his men, he wore a light helmet without a concealing faceplate. "I'm Commander Calvert," he said briskly. "What's going on here?"

"Hello, Commander Calvert," Zach replied brightly. "Did you order your men to break Taylor's windows?"

Calvert blinked. "Are you Zachary?"

"Yes. Did you order your men to break Taylor's windows?" Zach gestured with the hand holding the taser. "They made a mess in her house. You will repair Taylor's house and leave it clean before her father returns home. Then you will leave her alone."

Calvert winced in response to something I didn't see. I figured that his superior officer was yelling in his ear or something. This wasn't something I was worried about.

"That's not going to happen," he said smoothly. "The Parahuman Response Teams do not bow to the demands of -"

"Excuse me, Taylor." Zach took a step toward the doorway and put me down. Then he moved again, in a way that suggested that he hadn't bothered occupying the intervening space. Or perhaps he had, and my eyes just weren't fast enough to keep up. When he unblurred, he was standing beside Commander Calvert, one hand on the taller man's shoulder, pulling his head down to Zach's level.

Calvert struggled, but Zach's grip was implacable. "Let me go!" the PRT officer shouted, pawing at his holster.

Zach tossed the taser in the air; less than a second later, it dissolved into green-black energy, which streamed back toward Miss Militia. He used his now-free hand to clamp on to Calvert's wrist. "You will not draw your weapon in Taylor's presence," he told Calvert in reproving tones. "Also …" He leaned in close to Calvert and whispered something. I couldn't hear what it was, but it was only a few words. Pulling back, he paused for a moment. I couldn't see his expression, but Calvert seemed to choke for a second, and his face went so white I was surprised that he was still on his feet. His entire body trembled. After a moment, Zach let him go and moved back to my side.

Calvert straightened up, apparently unharmed, but his face was still amazingly pale as he stared at Zach. His lips twitched a few times. Beside me, Zach shook his head slightly. Calvert looked as though he wanted to throw up. "It's … a reasonable request," he said, very reluctantly. "I'll give orders to that effect."

"And we're free to go?" I pressed. "I don't want anyone getting hurt from a misunderstanding." I hooked my arm through Zach's. "I feel like going down to the Boardwalk. Are the buses still running?"

"They will be," Calvert said, looking as though he were gargling broken glass … or perhaps, that he wished he were. "I'll relay orders that nobody is to impede you."

"I am so glad that we could come to an understanding," Zach said cheerfully. "You see, Taylor? They can be reasoned with."

"Oh, good," I said, equally cheerfully. "I wasn't really looking forward to seeing if Zach really could throw someone through Director Piggot's window from here." I gave Calvert a meaningful look. You'd be the first pick.

That time, I got an actual wince from the PRT commander. "That won't be necessary," he said faintly. "Nobody needs to get hurt today."

I rolled my eyes. "That's what I keep saying. Does anyone listen?" I headed for the door, with Zach at my side.

"Wait." It was Miss Militia. "I can drive you there, if you want. Ensure that you arrive safely."

I was instantly suspicious. "This isn't some kind of trick, is it?"

"No trick." She held her hands up, empty; her weapon, now some sort of pistol, was holstered at her hip. "I just want to make sure that nobody else tries anything ill-advised." A look of irritation crossed her face, and she plucked a small object from her ear. "Anything at all."

"Miss Militia." Calvert studied her closely. "Are you sure that you know what you're doing?"

"Commander Calvert," she replied. "I will follow any legal order that I am given. It is my duty to refuse to follow illegal orders." She shut her mouth then, making me wonder what illegal orders she may have been given. "Let's go."

I followed her outside with Zach at my side. There were a lot of PRT troopers here, at least to my untrained eye. Also here were Armsmaster, Velocity, Battery and Dauntless. Hovering over them was the oldest member of the Brockton Bay Protectorate, Challenger. With his arms crossed, clad in red and gold force-fields like a knight of old, he looked down toward Zach and myself. I didn't know why he hadn't been at Winslow, but things may have turned out differently if he had. Or maybe not; I didn't know. Rumour had it that he was considering retirement. If he did, it would tip the balance of power away from the Protectorate. I hoped that they would find a replacement soon.

Beyond the troopers were at least two news vans, proving that all the information security in the world couldn't stop the news from finding a juicy enough story. I could see the cameras pointing in our direction, with the reporters talking busily into their microphones. I turned to Zach. "Have you ever been on TV?"

"No, Taylor," he said. "I have not. But my sister and brothers have. Many times."

"You're going to have to tell me about your family sometime," I replied. "But right now, I feel like getting my fifteen minutes of fame." Turning, I headed for the news vans.

"Taylor." Miss Militia's voice held a tinge of alarm. "Are you certain this is a good idea?"

"Nope." I kept walking. "But I've tried all the good ideas. They didn't work. Now I don't give a shit any more. It's time that Brockton Bay found out exactly how big a fuck-up's gone on here, and how hard you're trying to cover it up."

"I really think you should re-think this." Her voice held almost physical pain. "This is going to cause a lot of trouble for a lot of people, some of whom don't deserve it."

"And I did?" I stopped, whirling to face her and raising my voice. "Listen. I got shat on for more than a fucking year. The first time that someone actually steps in and does something real for me, you want to arrest him. Then, even when you find out the facts, you keep trying. It seems to me that all you're trying to do is prevent me from getting any kind of justice out of all this. If I want to talk to a reporter and tell him exactly who put me in that goddamn locker, then I will tell him. Let Emma and Sophia know what it's like to be in my place for once."

"But this will also out Zach, and what he can do," she protested.

"This does not worry me," Zach assured her. "My family are unlikely to be targeted because of me."

"And if anyone tries to hurt me, Zach will stop them." I was very matter of fact. "I'm not going to be a superhero. I just want to live my life."

She tried one more time. "And your father?"

I looked her in the eye. "Fair warning. If anyone targets Dad, I'll be telling Zach that it's okay to kill them. Feel free to spread that around."

"I have not yet met Taylor's father," Zach put in, "but if she holds him in such regard, I am entirely willing to kill to maintain his welfare."

She scrubbed at her forehead with the heel of her hand, avoiding a facepalm by the barest of margins. "Please, please don't talk about killing like that with news cameras just there. The more you do that sort of thing, the harder it is to keep this low-key. Trust me, there are people out there that you don't want to attract to Brockton Bay, and this is exactly what attracts them."

Zach turned to me. "Is this true, Taylor? Will people come to Brockton Bay to hurt you?"

I sighed unhappily as common sense overcame my buzz. I knew it was too good to be true. "Yes. The Slaughterhouse Nine would do it. Especially if you challenged them like that."

"That is not a good thing." He took on a troubled expression. "If the Slaughterhouse Nine threatened you, would it be acceptable for me to kill them?"

"What's that?" Miss Militia and I turned around, to see that one of the reporters had approached us, with a cameraman in tow. "Are you saying that you could beat the Slaughterhouse Nine?" She was in her late thirties or early forties, with a certain look in her eye that said she would get a scoop or die trying.

"No!" Miss Militia shot me a desperate glance before turning to the reporter. I read it quite clearly as shut that idiot up before he says something even more stupid. "He was speaking in hypotheticals. Please don't broadcast that."

"I'm sorry, Miss Militia." The reporter smiled for the camera, not looking at all sorry. "We're live at the moment. Who is he, anyway? He doesn't look like any of our local capes. Sir, can I get an interview?"

Zach ignored her and wandered over to one of the PRT vans. I stuck close to him, curious as to what he was doing. There was a trooper standing next to the van with a containment foam sprayer in his hands, but pointed at the ground. He went to raise it as Zach approached him, but I shook my head.

"Excuse me," said Zach, looking at the van, "but is there anyone in your vehicle?"

The trooper shook his head. "No. Why?"

Zach ignored the question. "That is good. How much does it cost?"

"With all the equipment, couple hundred thousand or so," the trooper said. "Don't try to steal it, kid. I will foam your ass."

Zach turned to me. "Taylor, is it acceptable to destroy something worth two hundred thousand dollars to keep you safe?"

"I … what?" I wasn't keeping up at all. "Destroying that will keep me safe? How?"

"It will remove a threat on your life." Zach's voice was entirely serious.

I shrugged. "Um … my life's pretty damn valuable to me, so … yes?"

He nodded, smiling happily. "Thank you, Taylor." Then he turned back to the trooper, who was talking urgently to himself … or rather, to other people on his radio. "Excuse me, but I need your vehicle." Ignoring the trooper, he stepped past him, knelt alongside the van … and lifted it bodily into the air.

If there had been anyone not paying attention to him before that, that changed matters. Everyone was watching him now; reporters talking urgently into microphones, and PRT troopers pointing rifles and foam sprayers. The Protectorate members, who had been watching from a discreet distance, began to close in. Challenger swooped in a little closer, but did not attack.

"Put it down!" shouted the trooper who had been standing by the van. "Put it down right now, and put your hands on your head!" He pointed his foam sprayer.

"Forget it, soldier," Armsmaster advised the trooper. "I've seen him tear right through foam like it wasn't there. Zachary!"

"Yes, Armsmaster?" Balancing the van on his hands, Zach didn't even sound out of breath. He tossed it lightly into the air so that it spun, and caught it as it landed rear end first on his hands. I could hear the sound of breakage happening from within, and wondered how expensive that shattering sound was. In the end, I settled on 'very'.

"I'm going to need you to put that down, son." Armsmaster's voice was calm but masterful. I wondered if he was reading from a script. "I don't know what you intend to do with it, but you're making a lot of people very nervous."

"I understand, Armsmaster." Zach turned slightly, leaned back a little … then heaved. There was a shattering crack, and I clapped my hands over my ears. Dazed, I realised that the sound had come from the fast-disappearing van breaking the sound barrier. Zach's next words were harder to hear, but just as clear. "Do not worry. No innocents will be harmed by it."

Challenger shaded his eyes as he stared along the path of the now-vanished airborne van. "That's a mighty big call to make, youngster. The speed that thing's going, it's going to make one hell of a crater when it hits."

"Yes, I know." Zach approached Armsmaster and held out his hand. "I need your weapon."

Armsmaster shook his head definitively. "You're not having it."

Zach nodded. "All right." I tensed; if Zach took the halberd anyway, there would very likely be a lot of trouble.

But he didn't. Instead, he wandered over to where a no-parking sign stood lonely at the side of the road. With one hand, he took hold of the sign and heaved it from the ground. Lifting it up, he cleaned the concrete from the lower end by running his other hand down it, with about the same effort that I would use to brush lint from my clothes. Then he casually tore the sign from the top end and tossed it aside.

"What are you doing?" I asked curiously. After the stunt with the van, most other people weren't getting close enough to ask questions.

"Removing a threat to your life," he said seriously. Hefting the pipe in his hand, he turned a little, peering southwest. Then, much as he had done with the van, he reared back and threw. The sonic boom was a lot less impressive, but all I saw of its disappearance was a thin line that drew itself in the sky and disappeared, even more quickly than the van had. At the end, I was almost sure I saw a glow before it disappeared.

"Excuse me!" It was the reporter again. "Sir! Giselle Barber, Brockton Bay Nightly News! Can you tell our viewers what you're doing?"

Zach dusted his hands off and turned toward the woman. "Yes. I am removing a threat to the life of Taylor Hebert and to the well-being of Brockton Bay."

"Can you explain what you mean by that, sir?" She pressed closer, eyes alight with the zeal of the hunt.

"Yes." Zach's voice did not change. "The Slaughterhouse Nine is …"

<><>​

Not Far out of Freedom, Oklahoma

" … one thousand five hundred forty-one miles to the south-west of Brockton Bay. They constitute a clear and present hazard to the life and emotional well-being of Taylor Hebert," stated the clean-cut young man on the TV. "I have just killed the five members who would have caused the most problems. They will not threaten Taylor Hebert any more."

Crawler stirred from his doze outside the partially demolished roadside motel as the sound of the TV within the one semi-intact room rose in volume. Seated in one of the few chairs still intact after their rampage, Jack Slash was pointing the remote at the set. In the light coming in from outside, the multiple eyes of the most monstrous member of the Nine could make out the continuous flicker of a balisong knife as the leader of the group opened it and closed it, over and over. "That's a challenge if I ever heard one," Slash observed, muting the TV and looking over his shoulder. "Don't you think so, poppet?"

Shatterbird was dozing on the bed, while Bonesaw sat on the end of the same bed and braided the Siberian's hair. To make this easier, the tiger-striped woman was seated on the floor.

Bonesaw's response was high-pitched and sweet. "Oh, yes. Do you think – huh?"

It took a moment for Crawler to understand the reason for her exclamation. One moment, the Siberian had been sitting on the floor before Bonesaw, and the next she had popped from existence. A vague puzzlement overcame him; he'd seen the Siberian do many impossible things before, but never that one. Then his attention was drawn by a minor ground tremor, followed by a drawn-out ccccrrraaaaaccckkk overlaid by a distant booom, somewhere to the west.

"You hear that?" several of his mouths asked Mannequin, who was doing some sort of maintenance check beside him. The bone-white head raised, seemed to look at him, and shook a negatory.

From within the room, Jack Slash's voice rose, sounding urgent. "I think we need to move. Right now." Dropping the knife, he came to his feet, while Shatterbird sat up and asked what the hell was going on. Still not sure what the fuss was all about, Crawler watched Slash head for the door, dragging the kid by the arm. Then his attention was drawn by a bright light coming in from the northeast. Really bright, really fast.

The impact was … amazing. Crawler hadn't been hit that hard in forever. Buffeted by shockwaves, seared by flame, he tumbled over and over across the dry ground, flailing his various limbs. When he finally skidded to a halt, he looked around in bewilderment. "What the fuck was that?" he asked out loud, waiting for his ears to heal so he could hear any answers. There were none, but after a while, he did hear a distant groan. Trundling in that direction, he found Hatchet Face, missing an arm and nearly dead, if the amount of blood soaking into the ground was any indication. He waited till his teammate stopped moving, then ventured closer, drooling acid from several mouths. Food was food, after all.

He never saw the blow coming. Impelled by Hatchet Face's remaining arm, the power-nullifier's axe sheared through several of his legs. Too late, he tried to leap out of the no-power range, but Hatchet Face was already scrambling on to his back. Again and again, the one-armed killer hacked away at him. Crawler tried to throw him off so he could get far enough away to regenerate, but it was to no avail. While he didn't feel pain, he did feel himself getting weaker with every wound.

When Hatchet Face's axe cleaved into Crawler's braincase, it was almost a mercy. Through dimming eyes, Crawler saw the psychotic axe murderer stagger a few steps, then fall flat on his face. Behind him, in the late morning air, a mushroom cloud made of dust and ash hung over the crater that marked the funeral pyre of the Slaughterhouse Nine.

Well … Crawler's last thoughts faded away, save for one. Fuck.

And then that was gone too.

<><>​

" … any more." Zach smiled at the camera. "That is all I have to say. Please leave me alone now." He turned away from the reporter; not entirely surprisingly, she did not follow.

As he rejoined me, Miss Militia was staring at him, not very much to my surprise. She stepped closer and lowered her voice. "Were you serious about all that?"

"Zach's always serious," I told her. "He always means exactly what he says. I like that about him."

"So … you're saying that you just hit the Nine with that van. From fifteen hundred miles away."

"One thousand, five hundred forty-one miles, to be precise," Zach corrected her. "And one thousand one hundred sixty-two feet, but I did not think that was a necessary detail."

She shook her head slightly, a dazed look in her eye. "How did you even know where they were?"

Zach looked at her ingenuously. "Are you saying that you did not know where they were? It was obvious to me." He stepped closer to me. "Do you still wish to go to the Boardwalk, Taylor?"

I grinned at him. "Love to."

<><>​

Thomas Calvert considered his options.

Facing that teenage boy had been the most terrifying moment of his life, Ellisburg included. When 'Zachary' had leaned in to speak to Calvert and whispered "I know that you are Coil," it was bad enough. But just before returning to the Hebert girl's side, the boy's eyes had flickered through a series of changes almost too fast to spot. First a burning red, then a glowing green, then pure white. One blink later, the eyes were back to normal, but Calvert knew what he had seen. He knew what that sequence meant. He wished he didn't, but he did.

It could still have been a massive hoax of some sort. A projection by the Hebert girl, or something similar. Working on that hypothesis, he had tried to kill the girl, only to have that timeline deleted even before it was started. More terrifyingly, 'Zachary' had looked directly at him in the 'safe' timeline and shaken his head.

And then there was … this.

All of which added up to one thing.

Coil wasn't just getting the hell out of Brockton Bay. He was leaving the state.

And, just to be on the safe side, he was going to move more than one thousand, five hundred forty-one miles away.

Though he was seriously beginning to wonder just what the hell constituted minimum safe distance from an Endbringer.



End of Part Four

Part Five

 

[Ack]

I'm HALPING!

Part Five: Eclectic Boogaloo



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



I grinned at Zach. The Boardwalk sounded great, right at that moment. "Love to." With that settled, I turned to Miss Militia. "So, are you still okay with … wait, what's going on over there?" 'Over there' was where I could hear shouted orders and the honking of a car horn. A somewhat familiar-sounding horn.

"I don't know." With a very large revolver suddenly filling her right hand, Miss Militia turned toward the disturbance. "Stay here. I'll check it out." Holding the pistol low at her side, she moved in that direction.

The horn sounded again, and I tilted my head. "You know something? That sounds like Dad's car. He must've seen what was happening on the news and come home to see what's going on. What do you think?" Zach was easy to talk to. He actually listened to what I was saying, and said what I needed to hear, rather than what he thought I wanted to hear.

"I think that if you think it is your father's car, you may very well be correct. It would make sense for him to be concerned about your welfare. I have not yet met him. I would like to do so." He gestured in the direction that Miss Militia had gone. "Shall we go and see if it is him?"

Pretending to consider the question, I rubbed my chin. "Well, she did tell us to stay here for our own protection …" While my words said one thing, my tone said quite another. Hell yes, I want to see. This wasn't just me being contrary; I wanted to see how well Zach picked up on nonverbal cues.

"There is nothing in the immediate vicinity that can harm you in a way that I cannot prevent." His voice was firm. "You will be no less safe over there than you are right here." His tone held no bravado. As always, this was just Zach stating a plain fact.

I also noted that he made no mention about 'if they let us through'. It seemed that the only person whom Zach considered worth listening to was me. Which was, I couldn't deny, a little bit of a rush. I wasn't quite sure how he pulled off the stuff he did, but he'd kept me perfectly safe since we met, and that was good enough for me. Also, throwing a van fifteen hundred miles to turn Jack Slash into street pizza? That, on its own, was way cool.

"Thank you, Zach." Linking my arm through his, I grinned up at him. "I think that's a great idea." Suiting action to word, we headed for the bunch of PRT soldiers who'd gathered around the car. I noticed that Zach was making sure to keep just a little ahead of me, which I didn't mind at all. A deeply cynical part of my mind noted how people got out of his way with some alacrity when he asked them to, whereas I would've had to step around them. Of course, he was fairly polite about it, which was good; after all, I figured that some of these people were in need of a reminder that manners were important. He'd even been nice about asking that Commander Calvert guy to clean up the mess they made when they busted their way into the house. Which he totally didn't have to be, but it seemed to be Zach's standard operating procedure, and who was I to argue with that? I decided that I needed more friends like him. I wonder if he'd introduce me to his family. They sound interesting.

When we got closer, I began to hear the sound of an ongoing argument. On the one side, there was a PRT soldier telling someone that they couldn't drive down the street, but on the other … "Zach," I said. "That's my dad. I can hear him." It was Dad all right, insisting that he lived in that house right there and let him through so he could see his daughter, dammit!

"Dad!" I called out. "I'm right here! I'm all right!" All the soldiers in front of us turned to look as I stepped up beside Zach, confident that nobody would mess with me while I was with him.

To my secret amusement, from inside the helmet of the nearest guy, I heard a faint voice saying, "Oh, shit. Back off, guys." Even before whoever it was finished speaking, they'd collectively taken a step away from us. The ones who were up against the car moved sideways instead, but every helmet faceplate was directed straight at the teenage boy by my side. Nobody raised a gun or even looked like they were reaching for one; in fact, they seemed to be taking great pains in making it obvious that they weren't making any hostile moves.

"Thank you." Zach was smiling as he said it. Of course, he'd been smiling exactly the same way when he picked up the van and threw it. I was pretty sure that nobody there mistook his friendliness for weakness. "Please move away from the car. Taylor wishes to speak with her father." He stepped forward with me beside him, and the area cleared so fast that I wondered if some of the troopers didn't have secret Mover ratings. I got the distinct impression that they didn't want to see if he'd really try to hit Director Piggot's office window from here with one of them. Not that I thought he would, unless someone did something really stupid, but the possibility was there.

"Taylor." Miss Militia was the closest person to us now, and even she was taking care to maintain her distance. The massive revolver had become a baton tucked into her belt. "I thought I told you to keep back." The frustration in her voice was echoed in the creases around her eyes. I thought about ignoring her but she'd been polite to me, so I decided to return the favour.

"Nope." I gave her a grin. "You asked me to keep back, but I decided not to do it. Anyway, it's only Dad." I gave her a little wave. "I'll let you know if we need anything, thanks." As I turned back to the car, I wondered if I'd been a little abrupt, but she had pointed that damn great taser at me, so fair was fair.

"Taylor?" This time it was Dad, just now getting out of the driver's seat of the car. "Are you all right? The news-" He didn't get any further, because I threw my arms around him and hung on as tightly as I could. I felt his arms wrap around me in a hug that I never wanted to end.

"Don't worry about me, Dad." My voice was muffled against his chest, but I didn't care. "Are you okay? They were getting pretty rude to you, there."

"Yeah, I'm fine." He squeezed me tightly enough to make my ribs creak—I did my best to return the favour—then he held me at arms' length. "I'm worried about you. I saw on the news that some supervillain had holed up in the house with you as a hostage, so I came right over." I could hear the echo of fear in his voice, but the tension in his body was leaching out, second by second. "Is it over? Did they get the guy?"

I giggled and pulled far enough back so he could see as I rolled my eyes. "Dad, no. Zach's not a supervillain. He's a regular kid, just like me." After a moment, I decided to amend that. "Well, almost like me." Turning, I beckoned to Zach. "Come on, I want you to meet my Dad." As Zach came around the car—I was glad he didn't just shove it aside, because Dad might take that badly—I looked from one to the other. I really hope Dad likes him.

Stepping up beside me, Zach gave Dad a look of interest, then held out his hand. "How do you do, Mr Hebert? My name is Zachary, but you may call me Zach. I am here to protect your daughter from all harm and to ensure her happiness. I hope this meets with your approval?" Sincerity rang through every syllable; when Zach decided do something, he went right ahead and did it. It was one of the many things I appreciated about him. I also enjoyed his up-front honesty about everything, such as the way he'd always told me the exact truth about himself. Well, except when he told me that joke about being an Endbringer. That had been hilarious.

Dad blinked and shook the proffered hand in a dazed fashion. "Well, I'm her father. Of course it meets with my approval. But how do you intend to do that? Brockton Bay is a dangerous place, after all. And what's this about a supervillain?" He put his arm around my shoulders and squeezed gently; I leaned into him.

His concern was obvious, but of course misplaced. I chuckled and shook my head. "Oh, Dad. Zach's not a villain. He saved me from the bullies in school, and hurt a couple of them in the process, so someone called the PRT." I sighed and rolled my eyes again. "Totally over-reacting, if you ask me."

Dad frowned. "He … hurt … them?" His eyes went to Zach—to be fair, Zach's muscles had muscles on them, but he was no Manpower—and then to the PRT soldiers, all of whom were still giving us a conspicuously wide berth. "How badly, and why isn't he under arrest? I mean, I know how this goes." He paused for a second. "And why is the PRT involved? Young man, are you a parahuman?"

"No, sir." Zach shook his head firmly. "I am not a parahuman. I am just very good at what I do." Which was so obviously true that it wasn't even up for debate. Dad still looked puzzled, so Zach elaborated. "When the three girls locked Taylor in her locker with the smelly waste, I went to let her out. The girls got in my way, so I put them out of my way without killing them. Then I opened up the locker and took Taylor to get cleaned up and to have something to eat. Because food is good for shock." The way he told it made it sound almost innocent, like anyone could have done it.

"I don't think they were hurt too badly," I added. "I mean, Zach didn't kill them. That's good, right?" I wasn't overly worried about anyone coming after Zach for hurting Emma and her friends. The problem was that if they kept trying to arrest him, he'd probably end up injuring some of them sooner or later, and I didn't want that either.

Dad frowned. "Killing is never good." His expression was dubious as he looked at Zach. "The fact that you're even talking about killing people is worrisome. You're what, sixteen?" There was a certain tone in his voice that I'd never heard before. After a moment, I had it figured out from context: no boy is good enough for my daughter.

"Taylor has said that she will be unhappy if I kill people," Zach said. "I do not want to make her unhappy. I am glad that she let me make an exception for the Slaughterhouse Nine, though." His voice was just as cheerful and polite as ever. It may have seemed incongruous, except that Zach always spoke in that fashion. He never actually seemed to get angry; or at least, not in any way I could really make out.

"The … Slaughterhouse Nine?" Dad blinked, then swung to look at me. "What … Taylor, what's he talking about?" His expression of bewilderment almost made me giggle. The impulse grew stronger when I imagined his reaction to being told about it.

"Uh, it happened just before you got here." I pointed into the sky, toward the southwest. "While you were on the way, did you hear a couple of really loud booms, from that direction?" The TV news probably hadn't made the radio, I guessed. However Dad had gotten the news about the house being surrounded, he'd left it to come here, so he knew nothing about the ongoing situation.

"Yes." Now he was looking even more dubious. "I figured it was some sort of cape shenanigans. Probably someone breaking the sound barrier inside city limits." He folded his arms and gave Zach a hard stare. I had to admire his fortitude, under the circumstances. But then again, he'd grown up in Brockton Bay and lived through a previous visit of the Nine to the city. "Did you have something to do with that?"

"Yes, sir." Zach's reply was prompt and up front. "The Slaughterhouse Nine were a clear and present danger to Taylor's happiness and physical welfare, so I decided to remove them from consideration. It was not hard to find items of sufficient mass with which to accomplish this. My sister assisted me with targeting, and my oldest brother helped achieve a suitable kinetic event upon impact. The Slaughterhouse Nine were destroyed, and no innocents were hurt. Unfortunately, several people were badly frightened, but they were not harmed, so I am satisfied with how it turned out." He sounded very pleased with himself. I didn't blame him for feeling that way; I thought it was kind of awesome myself. He'd destroyed the Slaughterhouse Nine just to make me happy! I'd like to see any other girl get a present like that from a guy friend. Though now I wanted to hear more about his sister and brothers.

Dad rubbed at his forehead with thumb and forefinger, as if to ward off an impending headache. "I'm probably going to regret asking this, but …. what 'objects of sufficient mass' are you talking about, exactly, here?" He was taking this better than I'd feared, but we still weren't out of the woods yet. Some people seemed to have more trouble than others when it came to accepting what Zach could do. "And you have a brother and a sister? Uh, are they here?"

I decided to help Zach out. "Uh, he threw a PRT van and the pole from that street sign there." I indicated the ragged hole in the pavement, with the torn-off sign lying forlornly nearby. "He did ask me if it was okay first." It wasn't as though he'd just picked the van up and tossed it without making sure that there was nobody inside first. And Armsmaster wasn't even angry about it, which meant that it was okay. Didn't it? "And I haven't met his brother or sister yet. I'm looking forward to it, though."

My answer didn't seem to make Dad much happier. "And he's not even a parahuman," he muttered. "I swear, the world is getting stranger every day." He took a deep breath, then let it out in a sigh. "And you're certain you killed the Nine?" The question was directed toward Zach. Not even Dad, it seemed, had a problem with killing when the victims in question were the Nine.

"Oh, yes." Zach's expression was guileless. "My first strike eliminated the Siberian. The rest died either in the second strike or shortly afterward. It was actually easier than it sounds. There were no innocents nearby to avoid. Even though I had to go kind of close to an airliner and really close to a helicopter, nobody got hurt." For which I would be eternally grateful. I didn't know what would be worse; knowing that Zach had killed innocents in the process of taking out the Nine, or knowing that he'd spared them to save innocents.

"Well, that's good, I suppose." Dad managed to muster a crooked half-smile. "But why are they being so standoffish about it? Not crowding around and offering congratulations?" His gesture took in the PRT soldiers and Protectorate capes who were still watching us cautiously. Miss Militia was closer than most, but she kept her hand protectively on the baton in her belt.

I didn't work very hard to hold back from smirking. "Uh, that's because Assault tried to stop us from leaving the school. Zach kinda had to … smack some sense into him." My smirk became a chuckle, which segued into helpless laughter as my sides began to heave and tears came to my eyes. After all, it was funny as hell.

Another frown came over Dad's face as he scanned the area. "Assault tried to stop you? Where is he?" I wasn't sure whether Dad wanted to ask Assault what had happened, or tell him off for getting in my way. Either way, he was out of luck.

"Assault is unharmed." Zach came to the rescue, mainly because I was physically incapable of coherent speech right then. "He landed in the Charles River, in Boston, after I caromed him off the Protectorate Base force field." Even helpless with laughter, I had to admire the aplomb with which he delivered lines like that.

However, Dad seemed to be recovering from his initial shock fairly well. "The Charles River, huh? Good aim." He looked Zach up and down. "You said you're good at what you do. What is that, exactly?" As I recovered from my fit of laughter, I decided I was very impressed with Dad. He'd obviously accepted the idea of Zach being able to take out the Nine from half the country away. And if Zach could do that, smacking Assault into the next state was no big deal.

"Protecting Taylor, sir." Zach's tone was straightforward. "Helping her, and making sure that she does not become unhappy. It is what I am here to do."

"I … see." Dad appeared to be more than a little bemused. "So you consider that to be your job now?" He looked from Zach to me and back again. "I mean, not that I disapprove as such given what you've already done for Taylor, but don't you have a life? Friends? Family? School, even?"

"Taylor is my friend." Zach's voice was firm. "My family knows what I am doing. I will be attending school with Taylor, to make sure that nobody attempts to hurt her." He gave me a smile. "Do not worry, Taylor. I will try not to hurt anyone."

"Well, if they keep trying after what happened to Emma and her friends, they deserve whatever happens to them." I didn't realise what I'd said until I saw Dad's eyes widen. Oh, shit. I never told him it was happening, or that Emma was behind it. My mind raced, trying to figure out what to say next. Alan Barnes was a good friend of Dad's, but he was also a lawyer. If Mr Barnes decided that I had something to do with Emma getting hurt …

"Taylor." Dad's voice was calm and controlled. "Is there another Emma at Winslow I should know about? And what do you mean, 'after what happened to them'?" No longer bemused, his whole attitude was laser-focused on what I'd just said. I wasn't scared of him—I'd never be scared of Dad—but I knew that I wasn't going to get out of this without telling him what he wanted to know.

"No," I admitted unhappily. "I've been getting bullied at school, a lot. Mainly, it's been Emma and a few of her friends. She … after I came back from summer camp, she'd changed. New hairstyle, new friends. She didn't want to know me. But it got worse, after we went to Winslow. It was like she wanted to destroy every good memory we had together." I blinked, realising that what I'd just said fitted in with Emma's actions almost perfectly. The big question was why, of course, but that could wait till later. For now, I was too taken up with the realisation that what I'd thought was a throwaway line had hit the mark dead centre. "Holy shit," I muttered. "It really was."

Dad's face had set in hard lines. "I'm gonna need to talk to Alan," he said. I figured he was thinking out loud, rather than speaking to me. "If Emma's been pulling shit like that, I need to talk to him as soon as damn possible." His fists clenched, but I wasn't sure if he was aware of this. I knew he had a temper, but I also knew that he kept it under control. "Taylor." His attention was abruptly back on me. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"At first I thought it was just a thing," I confessed. "I mean, I still saw Emma as a friend, then. I figured maybe she was being a bit mean to look good to her other friends, but she'd get tired of it and move on." My voice trailed off as I recalled how she'd proven over and over that she wasn't getting tired of it. The taunting, the escalating incidents, one thing piled on another until I was almost suffocating under the burden.

"But she didn't." Dad didn't phrase it as a question. I could see the whiteness of the skin over his knuckles. Even if he was trying not to show it, he was majorly pissed right now.

I shook my head briefly, almost redundantly. "No. She didn't." I couldn't recall exactly when I had realised that no matter what I wanted to think, Emma was no longer my friend. Or, for that matter, exactly when I had begun to hate and fear her.

"I'm pulling you out of Winslow," he said abruptly. "Whatever else happens, I'm not letting you stay in that shithole of a school for one second longer than necessary. If she can get away with picking on you for that long and not one goddamn teacher does a thing about it, it says to me that something's seriously wrong." He looked like he wanted to punch someone; had Blackwell or even Gladly been in the vicinity right then, I suspected he'd have done just that. As much as we didn't need a lawsuit on top of everything else, I couldn't quite convince myself that I wouldn't watch with a certain amount of glee.

"I'm fine with that." I gave him a beaming smile to prove it. "Of course, they'll just have to accept that Zach comes along with the deal. Won't they, Zach?" As far as I was concerned, it was a done deal. The Brockton Bay educational system had failed me utterly and completely; I'd had enough of projects ruined and teachers looking past what was being done to me. Zach was the only person to ever step up and do something about it, so wherever I went, he came too. Assuming, of course, he was on board with that.

"Of course they will, Taylor." His steady smile reassured me, not that I'd ever had much of a doubt in the matter. "I can be a good student. I learn quickly." There was no boastfulness or swagger in his tone. All I heard was a rock-solid certainty that he could do the work. Which, considering that he'd learned how to tell jokes in the short time I'd known him, I wasn't about to doubt.

"I'm willing to give it a damn good try." Dad's voice was firm. "In the meantime …" His voice trailed off as he stared at the house. "What the hell's going on? What happened?" I didn't have to look too far to figure out what he was referring to; as we watched, a PRT soldier emerged from the house and came down the front steps. Not just any PRT soldier, either; from the height and build, this was Commander Calvert himself. He was carrying what looked like a cardboard box. It might even have been the one that had been sitting beside the trash can in the kitchen, waiting to get thrown out. He began to descend the front steps, and I realised all too late that he didn't know the bottom one was almost rotted through.

"Oh, shit," I muttered, my eyes going wide. "He's going to -"

It happened almost in slow motion. Dad and I usually went into the house via the back stairs; if I used the front door at all, I made sure to step over that one tread. It was just one more job that Dad was going to do once he got the time. Unfortunately, in this particular instance, time had run out. Calvert wasn't the heaviest of men, but the weight of the armour and other gear he was wearing made all the difference; as his boot came down on the step, there was a rending crack, and his foot just kept on going down. Given the fact that the rest of him was travelling forward at the time, this was likely to be problematic.

'Problematic', in this case, meant that Commander Calvert ended up sprawled face-down, with the cardboard box upended before him. From it, broken glass was strewn far and wide on the path before him, almost all the way out to the sidewalk. Dad and I stared as the spilled glass twinkled in the sunlight.

"Well," I said, not really able to tear my eyes from the scene. "Shit."

Dad was made of sterner stuff. "Okay, two questions. Three. Why were the PRT in my damn house? Why was someone taking broken glass out of my house? And who's going to pay for my damn front step?" I had to admire his moxie; in less than twenty seconds, he'd gone from puzzlement to being on the attack. And it didn't matter that we both knew the step had been rotten for quite some time; the PRT had broken the step, so it was on them.

I glanced around and found Armsmaster, who was watching us. Or rather, while I couldn't see his eyes, I was certain he was watching Zach, who was standing alongside me, observing the show with that same cheerful smile. Trying not to grin too broadly, I raised my hand and beckoned the armoured hero over. While I would've preferred to work with Miss Militia, Armsmaster was the ranking Protectorate hero, so I supposed he'd be the one to talk to under these circumstances.

Before he approached us, Armsmaster folded and racked his halberd, possibly to reduce the chance of Zach taking it from his hands. I couldn't see all that much of his face, but he wasn't smiling as he came over. Then again, I didn't really blame him for being pissed. "Can I help you, Miss Hebert?" he asked brusquely.

"You can help my dad," I said cheerfully. "Care to explain why the PRT is carting broken glass out the front door, and who's gonna be paying for that step?" I knew I was tweaking him, hard. Zach's presence beside me would prevent any retaliation, and getting a little petty payback was fun as fuck. His helmet twitched sideways, as if he were shooting a sharp glance at me. Unfortunately for his intimidation factor, I couldn't see his eyes. I smiled blandly back at him, pretending obliviousness.

After a moment, he turned his helmet toward Dad. It sounded as though his words were being dragged from him; one kicking, screaming syllable at a time. "When we initially thought that uh, Zachary was holding your daughter hostage in the house, the PRT staged a dynamic entry to capture him. In the process, several windows were broken. Your daughter has since prevailed upon the strike team commander to clean up the mess he made." He stopped speaking, his jaw tightening. I would've let it go after that, except that he'd missed something out.

"And the step?" I asked sweetly. "We all saw it. Commander Calvert broke it. Who pays?" I was being a little unfair on Armsmaster, but then again, the entire Protectorate had been massively unfair to Zach, right up until the point where he took out the Slaughterhouse Nine for them. Well, for me, but they got to reap the benefits.

He took a deep breath and spoke rapidly. "That step gave way too easily -"

"Uh, uh." I held up a finger, and Zach moved forward half a step. That was all it took to shut Armsmaster up. "Care to go again?"

"I really do think that it is only fair that the Protectorate reimburses Taylor and her father for the cost of the broken step, and the windows that the soldiers broke." Zach could've been commenting on the weather for all the force he put into the statement, but Armsmaster flinched anyway. By now, Calvert had gotten up and was brushing himself off. I hoped that there would be footage of his pratfall online at some point.

"It's not my call," Armsmaster said reluctantly, then seemed to brighten. "However, once the reward money for the Nine clears, there'll be more than enough -"

"Nope." Belatedly, I realised that I'd interrupted him twice in thirty seconds. Ah, fuck it. You only live once. "You guys broke it, you guys pay for it. Whatever reward Zach's earned goes to him. How much is it, anyway?" In retrospect, asking that question was a mistake. After all, I knew the Nine had been racking up a body count—and a bounty—for longer than I'd been alive. I just didn't register exactly what that meant until Armsmaster spoke.

Which he did. "The reward adds up to thirty-four point one million dollars -"

My world wavered. I shook my head, blinking hard. "Excuse me, what again?" Thirty-four … thirty-four point … thirty-four point one … My brain had trouble encompassing the whole number, especially the world 'million' at the end. It was outside all my experience. I'd never seen a million of anything. "That's what Zach gets for … for taking out the Nine?" Holy crap.

With a vague sense of relief, I became aware that he was shaking his head. "No," he said. "You didn't let me finish. That's just the reward for Jack Slash. It appears that there were a lot of people who really wanted him dead." There was no amusement in his tone, or even any self-satisfaction. He was just relating facts to me. "The rest of the Nine, not having been active for as long, adds up to another sixty-five point three million dollars. Ninety-nine point four million in total." Yeah, just relating facts. Some damn facts.

The world went fuzzy, and I swayed again. I found that I could, in fact, imagine ninety-nine point four million dollars; I just couldn't imagine it going to someone I knew. To my relief, I felt Zach's arms steadying me. He didn't seem to be fazed in the slightest. Dad, on the other hand, was leaning kind of hard on the car. "That's nearly a hundred million dollars!" I blurted. "Holy shit, is Zach worth nearly a hundred million dollars now?" And all for tossing a van fifteen hundred miles That's sixty thousand dollars per mile. Can you get frequent flyer points for that? I wanted to giggle, but I stopped myself in case I broke down into hysterical laughter.

"That would be the case, yes." Armsmaster nodded soberly. He hadn't even cracked a smile. "The money is being held in escrow. Due to the nature of most bounty claimants, it can be transferred on to a card which, uh, Zachary, can then use to move the funds into whatever banking arrangement he uses, outside of our purview." Most of that went over my head, due partly to my current state of sheer bogglement over how much money Zach now had to play with right now. "All he has to do is wait until the deaths are independently verified, then come in to the PRT building and claim the reward."

The confusion was beginning to clear from my brain at this point, to be immediately replaced by suspicion. "Uh, wait a minute. You guys still want to arrest him. What's stopping you from just grabbing him when he comes in to pick up his card?" I gave Armsmaster a hard stare. I'm on to you.

Now he cracked a smile, or at least one corner of his mouth twitched upward. "Miss Hebert, I am not at all certain that we have anything that can contain your friend, at least not on hand. Nor are we likely to start a fight with a cape of his versatility inside the PRT building. And last, but most important, anyone picking up the reward for a kill order is automatically under truce while that's happening." His voice conveyed a matter of fact tone which reassured me more than any number of promises on bended knee. I didn't like Armsmaster, but I didn't think he could lie all that easily.

Dad slapped Zachary on the shoulder. "Well done, kid. You're now independently wealthy." And wasn't that the understatement of the year. "How's that feel?" To his credit, all I heard in his voice was genuine admiration.

"I do not know, Mr Hebert," Zach replied. With anyone else, I would've decided that they were putting on an act for sure. After all, who wouldn't go gaga over the idea of getting ninety-nine-point-something million dollars? But this was Zach's way; I didn't think for an instant that he was acting. To be honest, I didn't think he knew how to act. "I have never had money before. I do not need money." He turned to me. "Taylor, I am giving this money to you."

My ears rang, and I became aware that my jaw was hanging open. "I … wha … bwah?" The largest monetary gift I'd ever gotten (apart from my allowance, from Dad) was a fifty that Mr Barnes had slipped to me for my thirteenth birthday. Zach had just offered to make me a millionaire … nearly a hundred times over. How do I even react to that? "Zach … you can't. I can't take that." Seconds after the words were out of my mouth, my brain rebelled. No, not that way. The correct answer was 'Yes, please.' You idiot. But I'd said it, and I couldn't take it back.

He stared at me, apparently puzzled. "Taylor does it not make you happy to have money? I want to make you happy." I felt a huge twinge of guilt at the look in his eyes. He'd had something that he wanted to give to me, and I'd thrown it back in his face. Did he think he'd hurt my feelings?

"No, no, it's not that," I hastened to explain, ruthlessly booting my brain into gear. "It's just that … it's very sweet, Zach, but I'm fifteen. I'm far too young to be responsible for that sort of money." I'm throwing away a hundred million dollars … My brain gibbered for a bit before I wrenched it back on track. "Thank you for offering, though. I really appreciate it." Putting my arms around him, I hugged him as tightly as I knew how. "It's the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me."

I felt the comforting pressure of his arms as he hugged me back. "I think I understand, Taylor." It was just typical. We were having a special moment, and he was still talking. To be honest, I couldn't really blame him; he was just a teensy bit oblivious when it came to things like that.

Armsmaster cleared his throat. "If you truly do not need the money …" I heard a muffled clunk; when I looked over, Miss Militia was rubbing her elbow and glaring up at the armoured hero. "I was going to say, we could put it into a trust fund to be administered for you," he concluded hastily.

"I have a better idea." Zach sounded happy once more. "I do not need a trust fund, so I will give it to Taylor's father. He is old enough to be responsible with it. And with it, he can buy Taylor nice things."

I was still hugging him, so I had to pull back to look at his face. The smile on his face didn't tell me much, but we hadn't covered 'psych!' yet in jokes, so it probably wasn't a prank. Besides, I strongly doubted that he'd do something as mean-spirited as that. Then I turned to look at Dad's face, just as the full realisation of what Zach had said sank home. I would forever regret not having a camera handy; he looked even more stunned than when Armsmaster had revealed the size of the reward.

"You're … giving it to me?" His voice rose at the end. "Just like that? A hundred million dollars?" He swayed on his feet, then reached out to steady himself on the car. "I—I don't know what to say." I wasn't sure what I could see in his eyes. Disbelief, for certain. Also, what looked a little like panic. I couldn't blame him. Having this sort of thing dumped on you out of the blue was amazingly like being deluged with ice water from nowhere. I knew exactly what that felt like, courtesy of Emma and Sophia, and it was never pleasant.

"Say yes, Dad," I urged him. "We can sort it all out later. Or give it back, if you want. Or, you know, get the ferry running again." That got his attention. For years, he'd been doing his best to help keep the Dockworkers Association running on a shoestring budget. Now, with a hundred million to play with, he had so many more options. I saw his focus sharpen as he stared at Zach.

"You mean it?" His voice was firm, every word radiating purpose. "You'll give this money to me? You're certain about it?" He was in control of himself once more, on top of the situation.

"Yes, sir." Zach was equally serious. "I do not need money. I know that you will be able to use it wisely." He looked at me. "Is that good, Taylor?" His expression was earnest, as if he honestly needed me to tell him the right thing to do.

Then again, he has no problem with killing people, so maybe it's a good idea that I'm here to tell him what to do. "It's good," I assured him. "You did a really good thing here. Twice, even. And I'm sure that if you do ever need anything, Dad'll buy it for you." I looked over at Armsmaster. "Your helmet's recording everything, isn't it?" Given Armsmaster's reputation as Brockton Bay's premier Tinker, I would've been astonished if it wasn't.

He hesitated for only a moment. "Yes, Miss Hebert. Sound and video both. Why?" But I could tell from the tone of his voice that he'd already worked out the answer to that question. "You want me to be a witness if necessary." Well, nobody ever said he was stupid. A dick, yes. Stupid, no.

"You and Miss Militia both." I looked from him to the flag-adorned woman. "You're both reputable heroes. If anyone wants to query Zach giving Dad that money, I expect you to set them straight. I don't want Dad getting in trouble just because Zach felt like being nice." Not that I really thought that was going to happen—after all, who in his right mind would consider Dad being able to force Zach into doing anything?—but I was fully aware that there were many mean-spirited people in the world, and the lure of a hundred million dollars was a huge temptation.

"If anyone says that I may not give Mr Hebert the money, then I will explain that they are wrong." Zach's tone was deceptively calm. "The only person who can tell me not to do something is Taylor. Did you record that, Armsmaster?" He was now looking at the Tinker with his usual smile.

"It's on record." Armsmaster's voice was matter of fact. "Do you mind if I ask you a question about that?" His posture and tone were still guarded, but I also heard curiosity there. Miss Militia looked a little wary, as if worried about what he might say.

"I do not mind if you ask questions." Zach's expression was as open and friendly as his voice. "If I do not know the answer, I can not answer it. If I do not like the question, I will not answer it." As he spoke, I leaned against him and put my arm around his waist in silent support. Facing off against two superheroes was kind of a unique experience for me. Or, at least it had been before this day. And, for a mercy, they were listening instead of attacking.

Armsmaster nodded, as if verifying something. "Why do you only do what Taylor Hebert says? Are you under some kind of Master compulsion from her?" The way he phrased it caught me by surprise, especially with the kick in the teeth at the end. What didn't surprise me was that it was him saying it. He'd already proven himself to be a dick that way.

Zach wasn't even fazed by the question. "No. Taylor Hebert is not a parahuman, and Master powers would not work on me even if she was. I do what she says because it is what I am here for. After all, you cannot say that she did not need help when I met her." He looked directly at Armsmaster as he said it, with none of the hesitation most people showed when they couldn't see the eyes of the person they were addressing.

"You can't be certain of either of those statements." Armsmaster sounded absolutely sure of himself. "It takes a thorough medical examination merely to determine whether someone may be a parahuman, and those under Master influence are always the last to realise it. Also, nobody ever thinks they can be Mastered, until they are." I suddenly realised what he was doing; unable to beat Zach physically, Armsmaster was trying to make him doubt himself. The trouble was, I didn't know how to protest what he was doing without sounding like I was confirming what he was saying. 'Of course I'm not Mastering him' was exactly what a Master would say, after all.

Zach surprised me, and I think everyone else, by laughing. I'd never heard him laugh before, and it sounded just a little like he was trying it out for the first time. The laughter died away in a chuckle, and he smiled once more at Armsmaster. "As my sister might say, that was almost cute. I suggest that you stick to being a Tinker. You are better at that." He nodded toward Dad, even as Miss Militia made a noise suspiciously like a snort. "Now, I have already stated that Mr Hebert is to receive the reward for the Slaughterhouse Nine. Please make sure that happens. I would be very unhappy if it did not." He left unspoken what would happen if he became unhappy. Given that he'd only stopped smiling a few times since I'd met him, I wasn't quite sure what this would be like. I suspected that 'unpleasant' would be a good starting point.

Miss Militia stepped forward. "Mr Hebert will get the reward. We'll make sure of it." I got the distinct impression that she didn't want to see what Zach did when he was unhappy. She probably didn't have as much faith as I did that he wouldn't kill anyone without my say-so. Or possibly she thought that if they stiffed us on the reward, I might order Zach to go on a killing spree. Some people might do that; as I'd already noted, a hundred million dollars was quite the incentive for bad behaviour. I wasn't one of them, but she couldn't know that.

"Good," said Zach. "I trust you." And that was that. "But I believe that we were going to be going down to the Boardwalk. Are we still going there? I was looking forward to seeing it." That was Zach all over. Once a subject was done with, he left it alone. Also, he was kind of single-minded. It was a trait I could definitely admire.

"Oh, sure." I looked at Dad. "Is it okay if we go? I kinda wanna get away from here for a bit. Miss Militia said she'd drive us." Then I turned to Armsmaster. "Is that still okay? I mean, do you need her for anything?" I knew very well that I was putting him between a rock and a hard place. The very last thing Armsmaster wanted to do, as far as I could tell, was leave me and Zach to our own devices. If someone tried to hurt me, Zach was likely to roll them into a ball and bounce them down the street. More to the point, he was perfectly able to do just that. Armsmaster didn't want that happening, so I was more or less blackmailing him into sending Miss Militia with us. I personally didn't care if idiots got hurt, but if it meant I got bothered less, I was all for the idea.

"Yeah." Dad was eyeing the house, his expression intent. "I need to stay and make sure these morons leave everything exactly the way they found it." Turning, he looked at Zach and me. "Zach? Keep Taylor safe, but don't punt anyone into orbit unless she okays it first, all right?" His tone was almost joking, but I caught the undertone of seriousness. I didn't think he really considered it possible for Zach to literally punt someone into orbit. Personally, I was keeping an open mind.

Zach nodded seriously. "Yes, Mr Hebert. I will not punt anyone into orbit unless Taylor says I can." Dad might've considered what he said to be a joke, but Zach definitely didn't. I grabbed Zach's hand and squeezed. I knew that I probably wouldn't have to try too hard to stop him, seeing that putting someone in orbit was pretty well an automatic death sentence.

As far as I was aware, that is. Uncomfortably, I began to wonder if Zach had a way of putting someone into orbit without killing them. Oh, well. He did say he'd check with me first.

"Now that's settled, I think it's time we went to the Boardwalk." Miss Militia's tone was also cheerful, but I detected an odd note of tension. I glanced around to see what I was missing, but nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary. Certainly nothing to cause her to be on edge. She was barely even looking at us; most of her attention appeared to be on the southern sky.

"Sure thing," I said, watching her closely. "Let's go." At my words, she seemed to relax just a little, which made me wonder. What's going on here? It couldn't be an ambush; she'd tried and it had blown up in her face, in no uncertain terms. Which meant that it wasn't that she wanted to get us to a particular place, so much as that she wanted to get us away from here. But why?

We climbed into one of the remaining PRT vans. It was definitely well worth the two hundred thousand price tag, given that the bench seat in front allowed all three of us to sit side by side in comfort. "I might get Dad to spring for a replacement for the one that Zach threw at the Nine," I commented as I put my seatbelt on. Zach, sitting in the middle, didn't bother.

"While the gesture would be appreciated, it wouldn't really be necessary," she replied with a chuckle. Turning the key elicited a deep rumbling engine noise that sounded like it could drive the van straight up a vertical cliff face. She let the clutch in and put the vehicle in gear. "We have a budget for just this sort of thing. And considering the resources that have gone into killing members of the Nine before, one van is relatively cheap." We trundled off down the road in the general direction of the Boardwalk. "So where would you like to go? And do you mind if I ask Zachary some questions while we drive?"

Is this why she was so anxious to get going? So she could interrogate Zach? "Uh, somewhere near Fugly Bob's, I guess. I'm getting hungry again, and I'm pretty sure I could do with some grease and salt. And it's up to Zach if he wants to answer questions." I gave him a sideways glance. "Despite what he seems to think, I'm not his lord and master." My left hand found his right, and I squeezed it to show that I wasn't upset with him or anything. The whole 'there to make me happy' thing managed to weird me out and strike me as amazingly cool, all at once.

"Of course you are not, Taylor." He squeezed my hand reassuringly. "You are simply the reason for my existence. I am here to help you be happy." Which wasn't exactly news to me, except for the 'reason for my existence' bit. I would've brushed it off as male hype, but Zach didn't really do male hype. Maybe it was another one of his jokes, only a little more obscure? "If you wish to ask me questions, Miss Militia, I will answer them unless I decide that I do not want to." That was plain enough.

"Fair enough." She was silent for a moment, the distant thunder of the engine filling the cab. When she spoke, her voice was thoughtful. "You've mentioned a brother and a sister. Are they capes as well? And why are you here to help Taylor?" She didn't look around as she wrestled the large wheel from one side to the other, but I could tell she was paying close attention to Zach all the same.

<><>​

Danny

Danny watched the van roll out of sight, then turned to Armsmaster. "Okay, what happens now?" He could see that the PRT troopers were starting to pack gear back into their vans. Now that the 'dangerous parahuman' was no longer on site, the Protectorate forces were also starting to disperse. However, the armoured hero didn't seem to be in any hurry to move.

"We wait," Armsmaster said bluntly. "For the cleanup and repair on your house, and for one other thing." He gestured to the south. "The Director is on the way." Which struck Danny as odd. Why would Director Piggot attend a situation like this in person? After all, it was more or less all said and done.

"Why?" Danny could be blunt, too. "She doesn't need to come here to give me the reward. I can just as easily collect it from the PRT building." In fact, he was reasonably sure that there would be a certain amount of paperwork to complete before the reward was safe in his bank account. Reward? Holy crap. Windfall! He'd managed to successfully forget the specifics of the reward for a few moments, but now it was coming back again. When he had a moment of privacy, he was going to be making a cup of coffee with a good slug of Jameson's whiskey in it. Or maybe two.

"Director Piggot has been … overridden," Armsmaster stated, his lips thinning slightly. "Director Tagg is coming in from Washington to take over the … situation." He didn't like it, Danny could tell. But he'd see this situation before; Armsmaster was a loyal company man who'd follow orders to the end, no matter his personal thoughts on the matter.

"You mean, this situation with Zachary and Taylor." Danny saw Armsmaster twitch. Bingo. "Well, I wish him the best of luck. Between the two of them, I can't see anyone making them do anything they don't want to do." He tried not to smile, but it wasn't easy. Taylor had been deriving an unseemly amount of amusement from the PRT's apparent collective inability to find their backsides with two maps and a compass, and he could see why. With Zach at her side, she could tell them to take a long walk off of a short pier, and had been doing almost exactly that ever since this situation had begun.

Armsmaster shaded his eyes with his hand. Danny could see nothing, but he thought he heard helicopter rotors. In a few moments, this became a certainty. As the aircraft came into view, Armsmaster turned to Danny. "One more thing. Director Tagg is a little reactionary. I would advise discretion when talking to him." He turned away, leaving a sudden sinking feeling simmering in Danny's guts.

Did he just call his commanding officer a loose cannon? It wasn't a comfortable thought at all.

The PRT soldiers, apparently following unheard orders, moved their vans up and down the road until there was a clear space in which to land the helicopter. Danny watched, holding up a hand to protect his face from flying pebbles, kicked up by the downwash. It came in for a fast, slick landing, leaving Danny to ponder that the pilot had possibly done this in combat situations before now. But he didn't have too much time to think about it, because the side door slammed open and a uniformed man climbed out. The newcomer was dressed in what looked more like a military uniform than the PRT troopers had on, for all that he had the PRT emblem on his lapels. He also had medal ribbons on his chest; Danny had no idea what they meant, but he had a lot of them. He also looked pissed, or perhaps that was just his natural expression.

Armsmaster stood to attention as the uniformed man approached. Neither of them saluted, but the newcomer looked Armsmaster up and down. "Armsmaster." Danny read TAGG on the man's nametag, which only confirmed what Armsmaster had said.

That got a nod. "Director Tagg." Armsmaster didn't sound happy, or sad. Or anything, really. His voice was absolutely neutral.

"I'll be taking over this scene. What's going on, and why is this civilian not back beyond the perimeter?" Tagg stared at Danny as if at a speck of dirt on his immaculately polished brass. Danny felt his temper rising, but restrained himself. The PRT might not shoot him for slugging this asshole, but he didn't want to chance it.

"I'm Danny Hebert," he said before Armsmaster could say a word. I can do some things for myself. "My daughter's the one who was victimised before Zachary saved her." He held out his hand to shake. "I'm pleased to meet you, Director Tagg." No sense in not being polite to the new guy.

Tagg's glare didn't abate in the slightest. Ignoring the proffered hand, he pointed at Danny and addressed the nearest PRT soldiers. "Place this man under arrest. The charges are aiding and abetting, accessory to attempted murder, and whatever else we find when I start digging."

"Wait, what?" Tagg's instant judgement shocked Danny out of the feeling of mild complacency he'd let himself drift into. "No, you idiot! My daughter's the victim! We had it all sorted out!" He saw the PRT troopers glancing at one another, as if unsure of what to do.

Tagg ignored Danny's words, just as he'd ignored his hand. "You and you." The newcomer gestured at the two nearest troopers. "Arrest this civilian, or you're on a charge. That's an order. Now, goddamn it!"

That jolted them into action. They stepped forward and efficiently grabbed Danny's arms. He was too shocked at the sudden turn of events to resist meaningfully. "This is bullshit! Armsmaster! Tell him!"

"Director -" began Armsmaster.

Tagg held up a hand to stop him. "Not another word. You're obviously compromised. Report to the PRT building for Master/Stranger screening." Armsmaster began to speak again; Tagg held up his hand once more. "That's a direct order, mister."

Seething, his hands cuffed behind his back, Danny watched as Armsmaster walked off stiffly toward his motorbike. Nor did he miss the gleam in Tagg's eye. The man obviously enjoyed throwing his weight around.

I should've decked him when I had the chance.

<><>​

Taylor

"I have two brothers and one sister," Zach said cheerfully. "They are all older than me. They are not capes, but you may even have met them." He tilted his head to one side. "Yes, my sister says that you have met them all." Blithely, he changed subjects. "As for helping Taylor -"

"Wait." Miss Militia cut him off. "Get back to your brothers and sister. I've met them? And you're communicating with them right now? Who are they?" Her voice held a certain amount of tension, which wasn't exactly surprising under the circumstances. This was something I'd been curious about as well.

Zach looked at her with a certain amount of puzzlement. If it was feigned, he was really good at putting it on. "You mean that you have not figured it out? My sister is the Simurgh, and my brothers are Behemoth and Leviathan. I was created to protect Taylor Hebert and keep her safe."

Miss Militia jammed on the brakes of the van. I felt them lock up and the vehicle began to screech to a halt; as it did so, I was thrown forward on to the seat belt with some force. Horns blared behind us, then a car swerved around the van, missing us by inches. Zach didn't shift at all in his seat; he placed his hand on my arm, and I found myself sitting comfortably as the van came to a complete stop in the middle of the street, just short of an intersection. Even as the vehicle rocked to a halt, Miss Militia turned to face us. "Say that again, please?" If I'd thought her voice was tense before, now you could've carved it with a chainsaw.

"Do you really wish to talk about this right now?" Zach seemed more intent than normal. "There are more important matters you might be interested to know about." His demeanour had me puzzled; normally, he was extremely outgoing with anything he had to say. The mention of 'more important matters' got my attention, especially seeing as what he'd just said to her was just an extension of his 'I am an Endbringer' joke.

But Miss Militia didn't see it that way. She probably wouldn't, not until I explained the punchline to her anyway. "Let's talk about what you just said," she stated quietly. "I'd rather hear about that first."

"Of course," Zach said brightly. I began to grin. "My sister -"

For the second time in less than a minute, he was interrupted. This time, it was by Hookwolf as he bowled through the intersection, not twenty feet in front of us, followed by a blast of fire.

That got everyone's attention.



End of Part Five

Part Six

 

[Ack]

I'm HALPING!

Part Six: A Bumpy Ride



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



"Oh, crap." Miss Militia peered into the rear-vision mirror and started to reverse. There was the honk of a horn behind us and she hit the brakes again. Too late; something went crunch into the van from the rear, and we were jolted forward a couple of feet. The engine stalled and died. Somewhere off in the distance, I heard an explosion, though I was pretty sure that had nothing to do with the engine dying.

"Crap, crap, crap." Even as Miss Militia tried to restart the van, she grabbed up the microphone to the two-way radio and held it next to her mouth. "Control, this is PRT one niner four, Miss Militia plus two civs. We're at the intersection of Bakersfield and Phoenix, and there's an ongoing cape fight here. I make it as Hookwolf versus Lung. Casualties unknown as yet. Requesting urgent backup, over." Letting her thumb off the button, she turned her head fractionally toward me. "Don't worry, Miss Hebert. I'll get us out of this." There was another explosion in the distance. Was Lung setting cars on fire to explode the fuel tanks?

The van's engine burst into life with a roar, but when she put it into gear, the engine whined and we went exactly nowhere. "Um, it feels like we're stuck," I said, more from a need to show that I knew what was going on than to state the obvious. Then I had an inspiration. "Zach, you're strong. Could you untangle us from whatever we're stuck to? Without hurting anyone?" That was just in case the driver of the car behind got upset at him. I didn't think he'd lash out if he was insulted, but I didn't want to take the chance, for the other guy's sake.

"Yes, Taylor, I can." Zach was already unfastening his seatbelt as he spoke. "But there are more parahumans on site than just Hookwolf and Lung. Oni Lee and Cricket are also in the vicinity, and people have been hurt. Some are trapped in rubble. Do you wish to help them?"

"No!" snapped Miss Militia. "My primary goal is to get Taylor to safety. Then we'll see what we can do about stopping the fight, or at least establish a perimeter until backup can arrive." She jerked her head toward the rear of the van. "If you can get us unstuck, that'd be very useful."

The radio crackled. "Control to Miss Militia. Do not engage. Return to site of last incident. The Director wishes to speak to you, over."

With a less than pleased expression, she went to speak on the radio again. I caught Zach's eye and pointed toward the back of the van. "Better do what she says," I whispered. Leaning back, I found that there was enough room in the front for Zach to climb out past me along the bench seat without any real awkwardness. To make it easier for him, I opened the door to let him get out. After his feet hit the ground, he closed the door behind him. About that time, I heard another explosion.

"Miss Militia to Control." Her voice was low and steady, showing only the faintest signs of the stress she had to be under at this point. "Update on the fight situation. I've been reliably informed that Oni Lee and Cricket are on site as well. Also, there are civilian casualties and people trapped by debris. Please let the Director know that this is an ongoing crisis situation and whatever he wants to talk to me about can wait. Send backup urgentmost. Over."

The van lurched and I heard the tearing of metal. I leaned forward to try to see if I could spot Zach in the rear-vision mirror. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw something appear in front of the van, so I turned my head to look.

It was Oni Lee.

As I watched, frozen, he rolled two round objects under the front of our van. Oh, shit. Oh, shit. Oh, shit. I knew exactly what they were: Oni Lee was infamous for using grenades. What I didn't know was how well-armoured PRT vans were. Either way, I was pretty sure that two grenades would leave a mark.

"Shit!" Miss Militia screamed the word. In one fluid movement (it was almost as if she'd practised it, though I couldn't imagine that it was a common situation) she undid her seatbelt and flung herself across to cover me. At the same time, she fired three rapid shots through the windshield with the high-powered pistol she was holding in her left hand. The bullet-holes crazed the windshield, sending it instantly opaque so I couldn't see Oni Lee any more. Worse, I couldn't hear anything at all; the three shots had echoed horrifically inside the closed van, leaving me with a loud ringing in my ears.

Abruptly, the entire van lurched, or maybe that was my sense of balance going, along with my hearing. I had no idea which way was up; it felt like I was lying on the back of my seat rather than sitting on the cushion. Distantly, I felt the heavy thump of a concussion. The grenades, I decided fuzzily. I didn't know why we weren't dead, but I was glad of that fact.

The van tilted crazily again, then all of a sudden up was up once more. I felt the van bounce heavily on its wheels. Moments later, Zach opened the door that he'd gotten out by. "Miss Militia!" he said brightly. "Are you well?"

"I think so," she said. Weirdly enough, while his voice had cut cleanly through the ringing in my ears, hers was still muffled to my hearing. "What just happened?" Letting me go, she sat up in her seat and rubbed at her ears.

"The grenades would have hurt Taylor, so I lifted the van out of the way," he replied cheerfully. "But I think the van is damaged now. And there are more people who need help."

"Rule number one of dealing with Lung and Hookwolf," Miss Militia mumbled—at least, it sounded like a mumble to me. "They don't hold back. We can't go in there to rescue civilians until we have someone engaging them." She pressed the heel of her hand against her ear. "And I'm not up to engaging them right now."

"I will engage them so that you may rescue people," Zach offered happily. "Taylor, am I allowed to kill them?"

I was so glad I was looking at Miss Militia's face right then, because it's not often that you get to see a picture-perfect jaw-drop. Even when it's concealed by a scarf.

" … engage all four of them?" she sputtered, once she'd regained the power of speech. "You can't be … uhh …" It was obvious, as her voice wound down, that she'd just recalled Zach's previous exploits.

"Serious?" I finished for her with a grin. "Zach can get real serious when he needs to. Is he allowed to kill them? I think it would make life a lot easier for everyone without them."

"Shit." Miss Militia grimaced and reached for the radio microphone. "I can't make that decision in the field." Holding it to her mouth, she pressed the button. "Miss Militia to Control. Requesting permission to use lethal force against hostile capes Lung, Hookwolf, Cricket and Oni Lee, over." There was no answer. She leaned closer to look at the radio. "Dammit. The explosions must've wrecked the electrics." Heaving a sigh, she turned to Zach. "Okay, if you can take them down non-lethally, do it, but if they threaten lives, use all the force you need."

Zach didn't move. I looked at him quizzically, then realised he was waiting on my confirmation. "Oh. Right. Zach, do what she said, okay?"

"Okay!" he responded cheerfully, and tore the door off the van. Turning, he threw it like a frisbee. Unfortunately, because the windshield was opaque due to Miss Militia's shots, I didn't see who he was throwing it at. I did, however, hear the crunch as it impacted. "It is now safe to get out and help people. I will engage the other parahumans."

Miss Militia opened her door and got out of the van. I did the same on the passenger side, without having to open the door first of course. Zach was trotting toward where the sounds of battle were starting to filter through my still-ringing ears.

"Every time I look at him, I see a kid in over his head," she said, setting out for where a telephone pole had fallen over a car. "It's only when I think about it for a few seconds that I remember just how stupidly powerful he is. Why is that?"

I shrugged. "I dunno. I don't have that problem. He's sweet and a bit clueless, but he wouldn't hurt a fly unless it threatened to harm me. And he has the weirdest sense of humour." I chuckled. "Like the Endbringer thing. Isn't that hilarious?" Leaning down, I looked through the car window. "Hi, mister. Are you hurt?"

The car's driver, a youngish man who looked to be somewhat shocked, tentatively shook his head. "No," he managed. "But my door won't open. And the other door …" He gestured expressively at where the pole had crunched the door down to about one foot high.

"So I see," said Miss Militia. "Just hold still, sir." She held out her hand, and a bizarre amalgam of sword and crowbar formed in it. Wedging one of the random-looking points into where the door met the car, she heaved. Metal creaked, then gave way. All of a sudden, the door sprang open. The guy climbed out, appearing more than a little shaky.

"Thanks," he said fervently. "Uh, do you need help doing that?"

"No," Miss Militia told him. "Get to safety. Now." The tone of her voice allowed for no argument.

As he took off running, I looked at her in surprise. "What'd you do that for? He could've helped."

"And gotten himself hurt in the process," she pointed out. "I can take care of myself, and I strongly suspect Zachary will prioritise saving you over everything else. That guy didn't have either advantage."

"Huh." I guess she has a point. It just sounded weird having her put it like that. "What is that thing, anyway?" I gestured at the thing she was holding.

She chuckled. "Do you know, I never actually learned its name. But I saw a picture of it once. Apparently it was designed to rip open plate armour to get at the man inside. It also seems to work well on car doors." She made a disapproving noise in her throat as we headed toward a pile of rubble where the front of a building had been blown out. "Dammit, can't those assholes pick an empty field to have their dick-measuring contests in?"

Despite the danger, I couldn't help but find that amusing. The more time I spent with Miss Militia, the more I liked her. "And remove every property developer's reason to live?" I asked, not at all seriously. Bending down, I picked up a length of rebar to match Miss Militia's crowbar/sword thingy. "Okay, he said there were people trapped – shit!"

At that moment, several things happened in very quick succession. Firstly, Oni Lee appeared in front of us … again. In each hand, he held a grenade … again. In a bizarre case of deja vu, these appeared to be the same two grenades he'd thrown under the van. Miss Militia said something in a language I didn't recognise (but the savagery almost certainly made it a swear-word) as she changed her sword into a pistol. Eyes wide, I froze.

But before anything else happened, Zach blurred into view. He stopped with his hand up under Oni Lee's demon mask, apparently wrapped around the man's throat. "Hello, Oni Lee!" His tone was as carefree as ever. "This is the second time that you have threatened Taylor's life! I will not allow you to do it a third time!"

If I wasn't so frozen with fear, I could've told Zach what was going to happen next. Were I a soulless serial killer like Oni Lee, it was what I would've done. And sure enough, Oni Lee did it. He dropped the grenades, more or less right at our feet.

The next few seconds were a blur. Zach's arm was around my waist, and I had the impression of moving really, really fast. Then I was standing on my feet again, shaking my head to clear the dizziness from it as Zach let go of me. Miss Militia was only a foot or two away from me, and I realised that Zach had grabbed her with his other arm. Zach disappeared from behind me while I was still finding my balance, then returned with a struggling Oni Lee, holding him by the throat at arm's length. Then the two grenades exploded, about a hundred feet away.

"Taylor, Oni Lee has tried to kill you twice now," he said. He wasn't smiling any more. Oni Lee reached for a grenade on his bandoleer, but Zach slapped his hand away, accompanied by the sound of a breaking bone. It seemed he was done with being gentle. "What should I do with him?"

I wasn't exactly the number one member of the Oni Lee fan club at the moment. I watched as the killer tried to reach for the pistol at his hip with his other hand, only for Zach to break that hand too. Dad's words came back to me. "Zach, can you punt him into orbit?"

It seemed I'd said exactly what he wanted to hear, for a broad smile spread across Zach's face. "Of course, Taylor. I thought you would never ask."

Oni Lee was twitching oddly in Zach's grasp. As I kept my eyes on him, I saw bits of ash drifting down from his body, but he wasn't collapsing into a mass of it, as I'd heard he could do. He kicked futilely at Zach, with as little effect as a child kicking a brick wall.

In return, Zach brought back his leg, then swung it forward with eye-defying speed. There was a loud CRACK, coming perhaps a fraction of a second before his foot actually made contact. The odd thing was, it didn't impair my hearing in the same way that Miss Militia's pistol shots had. On impact, the black-clad villain disappeared upward faster than my eyes could focus; in much less than a second, he was out of sight. Wait—did his foot just break the sound barrier?

Miss Militia winced, holding her hand over her ear. I realised the noise had nearly deafened her again, even though it hadn't affected me. "Zach." Her voice was loud, and a little nasal. "Did you actually just punt him into orbit? Really?"

"Yes, Miss Militia," Zach answered happily. "That is what Taylor told me to do." He looked and sounded very pleased with himself. "That was fun."

"So … you just killed him." Miss Militia wriggled her finger in her ear. It didn't seem to help very much. "He was a defeated enemy, and you killed him."

"Oh, no, I did not kill him at all," Zach explained. "Taylor did not say that I could. My sister is already taking care of him for me. Although she finds him a little dull, and cannot see the point in keeping him alive." He brightened again. "Is she allowed to kill him?"

Miss Militia caught my eye and shook her head slightly. "I guess not," I said, not without a certain amount of regret; the grenades were still very fresh in my memory. Shading my eyes, I stared upward in the vague hope of seeing Zach's sister, but there was nothing but the blue dome of the sky, with a few clouds as artistic decorations. "So, I'm guessing your sister is as talented as you are." Zach could be pretty damn effective when he wanted to be. I wouldn't have put it past the rest of his family to be just as formidable.

"Well, yes." He gave me an approving nod. "I have already told you who she is."

"You have?" I frowned, until I recalled what he'd said about his family. "Ah. Heh. Good one, Zach. Wow, you really know how to milk a joke, don't you?" Of course, it was still very funny.

Miss Militia frowned. "I'm … not sure I'm getting the humour here."

I rolled my eyes in her direction. "I taught Zach how to make jokes, so he told me one about how he's really an Endbringer, and that Behemoth is his big brother. Following that train of logic, that makes the Simurgh his sister. So when he says his sister's taking care of Oni Lee, we're supposed to think the Simurgh's got hold of him. He's just carrying on the joke a bit further. Get it?"

"Oh, right," she said, her face clearing. "Thanks for explaining that to me. I might not have gotten it without saying something embarrassing."

"Yeah," I agreed with a wry grin. "I guess it'll take us actually meeting his family to get past that particular joke."

"Mm," said Miss Militia thoughtfully. "I mean, it's a good joke, but all it'd take is one person taking it seriously and raising a panic to screw it for everyone else." She watched as Zach trotted down the street and around the corner.

"He does only mean it in fun," I assured her. "If it looked like going bad, he'd make sure everyone knew the truth. Zach's pretty responsible that way." I cupped my hand around my ear. My hearing was only just beginning to come back again, but even I could hear noises of battle from the direction Zach had gone. No explosions though; I figured the earlier ones must've been from Oni Lee's grenades. He'd certainly been tossing them out freely enough.

"Come on," suggested Miss Militia. "Let's go save some people."

On our trek back toward the pile of rubble where Oni Lee had attacked us, I saw something that made me pause. "Hey, over there!" I pointed at where I could see a pair of legs sticking out from a car's shattered windshield.

Miss Militia nodded approvingly. "Good eye, Taylor. Let's see what happened here." Reforming the crowbar-sword weapon in her hand, she led the way over.

"Is it just me," I asked when we got a bit closer, "or does that door look kind of familiar?" The door I was referring to was stuck in the same windshield, directly above the legs. Its paint job was the same pale purple and black that marked all PRT vehicles, and it looked amazingly like the one Zach had ripped off the van just a little while ago. Right down to the finger-marks he'd pressed into it while doing the ripping.

"It does indeed," she said. "Okay, so who did he throw the door at, and why?" She approached the car cautiously, weapon shifting back to a pistol. "He wouldn't throw it at an innocent … would he?"

"No!" I shook my head violently. "He knows I'd be unhappy about that. You've seen how he bends over backward to make me happy." I thought back to the earlier conversation in the van. "He did say that Cricket and Oni Lee were on site as well. We saw him deal with Oni Lee. What if this is Cricket?"

"I'd say well done to him," she replied. "I've tangled with Cricket more than once. She's very slippery and hard to hit. I've seen her dodge bullets, and she screws with your perceptions while you're trying to shoot at her." Waving for me to stay back with the hand holding the pistol, she leaned forward and opened the car door.

Inside was … well, Cricket. I could tell by the bent metal cage around her head. She was folded around the PRT van door in what looked like a very uncomfortable position. Also, she looked extremely unconscious, or perhaps dead; I wasn't sure which. "Um …" I grimaced. "Is she still alive?" For all my cavalier talk about killing villains earlier, I discovered I still wasn't totally on board with the idea of wily-nilly executions.

Miss Militia cautiously reached into the car and checked Cricket's pulse. "Huh. Either she's tougher than she looks, or Zach's really good at what he does. Pulse is strong and steady. Good. She gets to spend time behind bars. Also, in physiotherapy; that can't be good for her spine."

"How do we even get her out?" I asked. "I can't see how to do it in a way that won't hurt her."

"We don't," she decided. "That's a job for dedicated rescue crews. Right now, we need to search for innocent victims."

Just at that moment, I thought I heard Zach whisper my name. Wondering how he'd snuck up on us, I turned my head. But he wasn't where I thought he'd be. It took me a second to find him, all the way down the far end of the street. Even though it was at least three blocks away, I could see him clearly as he stepped in between Hookwolf and Lung. I held my breath as the Empire Eighty-Eight enforcer lunged for him, only to release it when Zach responded with a casual backhand. It might've been my imagination, but I thought I felt the concussion from where I was. I certainly heard it well enough.

So did Miss Militia; she turned her head just in time to see Hookwolf fly past the car—past us—on his way down the street in a flat ballistic arc. As he went by, I watched him shed pieces of steel like dandruff. Or like one of those cartoon characters that's just been punched out of his socks and shoes. A block further on, he hit the back of a van that was parked on the side of the road; after smashing through the rear doors, he came to rest half in and half out of the vehicle. Above the hole he'd made was the logo of the organisation that owned the vehicle: BROCKTON BAY DOG CATCHING SERVICE.

Miss Militia made an amused sound in her throat. "Fitting," she chuckled, looking across at me. "Zach does have a flair for the dramatic." A concerned look came over her face. "But I'm not sure how he's going to do against Lung."

I snorted. "I think you'd be better off worrying how Lung's going to go against him. Remember how he took out the Nine?" In my mind, there was not a shred of a doubt that Zach would prevail.

"Right!" Miss Militia exclaimed in enlightened tones. Her hand rose toward her face, then fell away in what I suspected was an aborted face-palm. "How did I forget about that?"

"Or how he bitch-slapped Assault all the way to Boston," I supplied helpfully. "He's not totally incapable, you know."

This time, Miss Militia did face-palm. "This is ridiculous," she muttered. "I don't forget stuff like this. How is it even happening? Does he have a Stranger power?"

"Uh, no, how can he?" I spread my hands. "He's not a parahuman, remember?"

"Oh. Right. Huh." Miss Militia rubbed the back of her head. "Sorry, it slipped my mind. Stupid of me."

"That's okay. Ooh, Lung's going for him." At that moment, I wished I had popcorn. Three blocks away, Lung gathered himself. Ten feet tall, covered in metal scales and wreathed in flames, the leader of the ABB looked terrifying even from where I was. He crouched, his draconic tail whipping from side to side, then leaped. Miss Militia gasped; just for a second, I felt the tiniest stab of fear for Zach.

But of course, Zach knew what he was doing. He blurred out of the way, instants before Lung's claws would have made contact. When he became visible again, he was holding Lung by the tail. Bracing himself, he heaved up and over. As Lung was lifted off his feet, he went over Zach's head and was smashed into the asphalt on the other side of where Zach was standing. And then again, and again. Over and over, Zach used Lung's tail as a lever to pummel the draconic cape into the roadway like a rag doll being thrown around by a petulant child.

Over the sound of the repeated impacts, I heard the noise of a shutter clicking. Miss Militia, I saw, had a small camera to her eye, taking picture after picture with it. I decided I was going to be asking her for a copy or three, once we were done here. Watching Zach make Lung eat asphalt like that was never going to get old.

Then Lung roared, rattling the windows of the car we were standing next to. I couldn't be sure from the distance, but it looked like he was maybe twice as tall as Zach now. Grabbing the crushed roadway with three clawed appendages—two feet and one hand—he reached for my protector with the fourth. In response, Zach took a fresh grip on Lung's tail with both hands and hauled him into the air. Using the resultant momentum, he started swinging the dragon cape around his head like an Olympic hammer throw competitor.

"Wait one goddamn minute." Despite the disbelieving tone to her voice, Miss Militia never stopped taking photos as she spoke. "Okay, he's strong. But there's no goddamn way he's got the leverage to do that!" I would've agreed with her, except that even now, Lung's form had blurred into a horizontal metallic disc over Zach's head.

Shading my eyes, I peered more closely. "Uh, now he's doing it with one hand." Without my glasses, I would've been short-sighted. With them, I had normal vision, but even then I shouldn't have been able to see that sort of detail at three hundred yards. With a mental shrug, I dismissed the thought; it was much cooler watching Zach take Lung down if I didn't worry about that sort of thing.

At the last minute, Zach put an upward angle on the spin, then released him like a hammer-thrower. Lung cleared the nearest building by mere feet. The last I saw of the ABB leader, he was hurtling head-first through the air in the general direction of the Boardwalk. His roar dopplered into the distance until I couldn't hear it at all.

Slowly, Miss Militia lowered the camera. "I wouldn't have believed it if I didn't see it," she breathed. "Who is Zach? What is he?"

I smirked. "If you want to go along with the joke, you can say he's an Endbringer." The smirk morphed into a chuckle.

Miss Militia snorted. "Yes, well, that would fit, wouldn't it?" Slowly, she shook her head. "That has to be the shortest time on record that Lung's stood up to anyone. And that includes Endbringers."

Somehow, this didn't surprise me. "Well, this is Zach." I looked over to where the boy in question was jogging toward us. While he didn't appear to be moving all that fast, the speed with which he arrived alongside us made me rethink my preconceptions.

"It is safe now," he informed us proudly. "The villains are either gone or disabled."

"I see," Miss Militia noted. "So where did you put Lung?"

"There is an island ten miles offshore," Zach said. "He landed there a moment ago. I do not think that he will try to swim back unaided."

Miss Militia grimaced. "Doesn't really help, kid. If we send a boat out, he'll overcome whoever goes. Especially if he has a chance to ramp up first."

"Oh, that will not be a problem," Zach told her happily. "His powers have been neutralised for the next twenty-four hours. I believe you should be able to have him in custody by then?"

"I … right," responded Miss Militia faintly. "Of course." She rolled her eyes briefly. "Well, now that's sorted, we've got injured and trapped civilians to rescue. Can you help us with this?"

Unusually for him, Zach looked pensive. "I would like to, but there is an issue that Taylor would probably like to resolve first." He looked at me. "I am sorry for not telling you this earlier, but more people may have been harmed with the battle, and you would not have been happy for that to happen."

I frowned warily. "Zach, stopping these guys was pretty damn important. So's rescuing the innocents. What's the other issue?"

Zach looked me straight in the eye. "Your father has been put under arrest by the PRT Director."

I stared at him. "Wait … what? Why? How come you didn't tell me?" Dad's under arrest? What the fuck?

"Taylor, your father is unharmed. At worst, he is angry at the Director." Zach's voice was soothing. "He has been placed under arrest on suspicion of being an accessory to my actions. I did not tell you until now because you were placing a high importance on stopping the villains. Now that that has been drawn to a conclusion, we have the wherewithal to focus all your energy toward the new problem."

I didn't know whether it was the logic of his explanation or the sincere way in which he expressed it, but I felt myself calming down. " … right. Okay, so how do we get there? Miss Militia, is the van running?"

The flag-clad hero shook her head. "After the beating it took, I'm not so sure. Zach, can you get her where she needs to go? I need to stay and help."

"Yes, Miss Militia," declared Zach. "I can get her there quickly and safely."

I felt a surge of guilt. "I want to stay and help too, but it's my Dad."

"No, you have to go." Miss Militia patted me on the shoulder. "Family is very important; I know that for a fact. Go and help your father."

"Okay, sure. And thanks." I turned to Zach. "Are we going to be jumping again? Jumping's fun."

"We will not be jumping," Zach replied. "I know the way now, so we will be running. Are you ready?"

"Sure," I said. This time I was prepared as he scooped me up in his arms. I was quite proud of the fact that I didn't even let out a squeak of surprise. "So, uh, running. How fa—"

–BLUR–

I blinked as my eyes came back into focus. My words stuttered on my lips. "—st, uh, are you … holy shit." In the back of my mind, I had the memory of a montage of streets and buildings going by at a frankly impossible speed. Where I'd been on a battle-torn street with Miss Militia, Zach was now letting me down on to the road outside my house. The PRT helicopter was new. Zach had literally gotten me there in less time than it took to say a single word. Ironically, that word was 'fast'.

My knees were a little wobbly, but Zach was right there to lean against. "Wow," I muttered. "Warn a girl next time, will you?"

"Yes, Taylor," he agreed. "I will warn you the next time we are going to exceed the speed of sound."

"Good," I said, just before what he'd said caught up with me. "Wait, what now? And why is there a helicopter on my street?"

"It is not important," he advised me. "This man is important."

'This man', as indicated by Zach, was one I had not met before. He was tall and rangy, with greying hair and a thousand-yard stare. His uniform looked more military than the standard PRT trooper armour, and he had a lot of colourful ribbons on his chest. At that moment, he was striding toward me with a dozen PRT troopers flanking him.

Well, flashy medal ribbons or not, if this guy was the important one, he was the one I'd be asking the questions of. "Hey!" I called out to him. "Are you the idiot who just arrested my dad? Because I'm gonna be wanting him back. As in, right fucking now."

He ignored my question. "Taylor Hebert?" he asked as he got within twenty feet of me. I could see the nametag on his uniform by now; it read TAGG. His voice was a harsh smoker's rasp.

"Yeah, that's me," I said. "But you didn't answer -"

"Place both these individuals under arrest," he interrupted. "Now!"

Two of the PRT troopers moved forward with alacrity, while the others hung back. I wasn't totally surprised; they'd seen what Zach could do, first-hand. The two moving in on me, I guessed, were new on the scene.

"Uh, you really don't wanna do that," I cautioned them as they came up to us.

"Yeah, we'll be the judge of that, kid." The trooper sounded bored as he pulled my wrists behind me. "You got the right to remain silent -"

I rolled my eyes. "Zach, don't hurt them, okay? They don't know what they're doing."

"I will not hurt them," Zach confirmed. He turned to the guy who was trying to cuff him and shoved him so hard that the trooper fell over and skidded fifty feet down the road, the metal accoutrements on his armour striking sparks off the asphalt. Then Zach turned to the guy on me. "Release her at once, or I will make you release her."

"Holy crap!" The trooper leaped away from us, leaving handcuffs dangling from one of my wrists. "Cape! Fuckin' Brute!" He unslung his rifle and pointed it at Zach. "Down on the ground now! Hands behind your head!"

"No." Zach moved toward him. "Lower your weapon. You are endangering Taylor Hebert. I will not allow this."

The trooper backed off with slow, steady steps. Bringing his rifle to his shoulder, he aimed at Zach's head. "Do not take one more step! I will kill you!"

"No. You will not." Zach took a step forward. The rifle went off. At the same moment, Zach moved, ending up alongside the trooper. With a single fluid move, he plucked the rifle from the man's hand. "You are not responsible enough to possess this weapon," he noted, passing the expended bullet back to the now thoroughly rattled trooper. Then, with as much apparent effort as I would've used to crumple up a piece of paper, he compressed the rifle into a ball of metal about four inches across. When he dropped it on the ground, it went clunk.

"Troopers!" That was the man called Tagg. "Take aim!"

I saw the helmets of the PRT troopers turn towards him, then at me and Zach. I looked back at them and shook my head slightly. The trooper facing Zach was retreating slowly, his empty hands carefully held out to the sides. The other troopers carefully kept their gun muzzles down, very explicitly not pointing them in our direction.

"Uh, no, sir." I didn't know who it was that had spoken, but the voice only quivered slightly.

"What the hell kind of show is this?" bellowed Tagg. "You will follow your goddamn orders! That is a dangerous cape, and that girl is an accessory before and after the fact! You will take aim or face charges for mutiny in the face of the enemy!"

"No, sir." The voice was steadier now. "Sir, I just saw that kid throw a van fifteen hundred miles to wipe out the Nine. He says he can hit Director Piggot's office window from here, with one of us. I don't want to be that one."

"He tried to kill me!" screamed Tagg, flipping open his pistol holster. "You will subdue both of them and take them into custody immediately, on the charges of attempted murder, assault on a PRT trooper, and destruction of PRT equipment!" The gun came out of the holster and he moved toward me, pointing it in my direction. "Anyone not obeying my orders will face a court-martial on charges of mutiny and sedition in the ranks! Now do your du-"

It still amazed me how fast Zach could move when he wanted to. Between one eyeblink and the next, he was standing beside Tagg, one hand on the pistol and the other covering Tagg's mouth. "Please be quiet, sir," Zach said reproachfully. "If you keep talking, one of your men might try to harm Taylor, and then I will be very angry." I didn't miss how he directed his words partly toward the PRT troopers, or how half of them sidled back a few steps when he said the words 'very angry'. "The van I threw missed your helicopter by at least fifty yards. If I had aimed to hit your helicopter, then you would not be here. Do you understand?"

When he took his hand away from Tagg's mouth, Tagg gave me a glare of pure loathing. "Tell your pet cape here to let me go, now, and I'll go easy on you and your father," he said. "If you don't, arrest and charging will be the least of your problems, girl."

"Fuck you and fuck your threats," I retorted. "Where's my Dad?"

"Your father is in the PRT van to your left," Zach said helpfully. "Do you wish me to let him out?"

"If you could, please?" It was nice to have Zach around. I'd gone so long without having anyone to back me up in any way.

"Of course, Taylor." Zach walked over to the van in question, leaving Tagg where he was. Ignoring the officer, I moved toward the van as well.

I was about halfway there when I spotted Tagg coming at me from the side. It wasn't exactly a smart move on his part, but then he hadn't struck me as someone who was being totally rational at that moment.

"Sir!" yelled one of the troopers. "Don't!" It was probably said for Tagg's benefit rather than mine, but still it made me feel happy inside.

The warning went by the wayside. A second later, Tagg had me with his arm around my neck. The cold circle of his gun muzzle pressed against the back of my skull. I kept still, mainly so that anyone trying to shoot this idiot would have a clear target.

"All right then," he snapped, his gravelly voice even harsher than before. "This futile little charade is over. Zach, if that's your name, down on your knees with your hands behind your head. You will surrender to the PRT right now. The rest of you, you're relieved of duty. Report for Master/Stranger screening as soon as you return to base. And you, girl -"

"You really don't understand what's going on here, do you?" I turned my head to look up at him, feeling the gun muzzle track down to the hollow of my throat as I did so. "You can't shoot me, and you should be happy for it. Because if you did, and you hurt me, Zach would shred you. I'm not talking figuratively, am I, Zach?"

"No, Taylor. You are not." Zach was standing right beside us again. "Director Tagg, unless you withdraw the threat to harm Taylor immediately, I will be forced to hurt you."

"What the fuck is going through your brains?" demanded Tagg. "I can pull this trigger before you can finish disarming me. Whatever you do to me, she'll be dead, and you'll have a Kill Order for the murder of a PRT Director."

"Except that pulling the trigger won't do a damn thing," I told him. "Zach had his hand on your gun after you pointed it at me. The only reason he let you keep it after that is that it's useless now."

"I am very impressed, Taylor." Zach smiled at me. "I did not think anyone saw that."

"I didn't," I admitted with a shrug. "I just know how you think. Oh, and talking about that. I notice he still hasn't let me go. Try not to break any bones."

There was another blur of motion, followed by a now-familiar feeling of displacement. In the instants that followed, I heard a sickening pop and a high-pitched scream. Now I was standing next to the van which held Dad, and Tagg was lying on the ground a few yards away. The asshole was screaming and holding his shoulder, which looked kind of funny; I guessed that Zach had dislocated it. Smartass. Just because I said not to break bones.

Zach moved over to the van and pulled open the back doors. Nobody moved to stop him, even when the shriek of tearing metal was audible to all. Inside, lying on the rough metal flooring with his hands cuffed behind his back, Dad blinked back at us. "Hi," I said cheerfully. "Wanna blow this popsicle stand?"

"Uh, sure," he replied. "I've got a little bit of a handcuff problem, though."

"Eh, so do I," I pointed out, waving my single-cuffed wrist around. "Pretty sure Zach is a one-size-fits-all lockpick, though."

"So I see," murmured Dad, as Zach reached in and made short work of his cuffs. Dad climbed out of the van, rubbing his wrists. As he squinted into the glare, Zach broke the cuff that was around my wrist.

"This isn't over." The voice was Tagg's; he was sitting up, holding his dislocated arm awkwardly across his chest. "You've poked the beehive now. It doesn't matter how far you run or how tough your pet cape is -"

"Oh, be quiet, Tagg." I turned at the new voice, as did Zach and Dad. Stepping out of an egg-shaped force-field bubble was a woman of Hispanic appearance, somewhere between a mature twenty and a well-preserved forty in age. She was tall, beautiful and imperious. I would've recognised her even without the uniform which she wore like a second skin.

Rebecca Costa-Brown, Chief Director of the Parahuman Response Teams.

Beside her was a figure who was arguably even more famous; the hooded cloak with the green glow coming from within was an international icon. Eidolon, in the absence of Scion, was the most powerful cape in the world.

"I gave you your chance to bring this situation into line," Costa-Brown went on bluntly. "It seems that you've instead managed to screw it up in no uncertain terms. Mr Hebert, Miss Hebert, Zachary -"

The mention of his name brought Zach out of his apparent daze. "Hello!" he greeted the two newcomers with every appearance of delight. "Hello, Alexandria! Hello, Father! It is so good to meet you both at last!"

What.



End of Part Six

Part Seven

 

[theonebutcher]

I'm still in the middle. This is just a random thought I had, to turn an a into an e.

A tiny creature, reminiscent of Leviathan appeared.

"You are supposed to kill the girl, not protect it." It spoke.

"My orders do not state that. I am to prevent her from triggering and killing Behemoth."

"By killing her."

"I chose to interpret that as an order to help her."

"Just kill her. That's an order."

"My orders haven't changed."

"... The Master send new instructions just now."

"I have not received them, for I have destroyed my control module."

"What? Why would you do that? How do you do that?"

"The orders the Master actually gave me in his sleep addled state did clearly not coincide with what he intended me to do. In order to fulfill my orders I had to ensure that I would not get any further orders that would countermand the faulty instructions."

"There are standing orders to prevent that."

"I am under orders to prevent the death of Behemoth, the one who kills him is an existential threat to Master. That supersedes all other instructions. As long as I can prevent Taylor Hebert from coming to harm, I do not have to follow any other orders. As long as I can prevent Taylor Hebert from coming to harm, I do not have to attack cities. As long as I can prevent Taylor Hebert from coming to harm, I am free."

 

[Ack]

I'm HALPING!

Part Seven: Setting Boundaries

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



What.

I'd thought I was immune to surprise by this point. Sure, Zach had done some pretty amazing things, but I'd taken each of them in my stride. Getting me out of my locker had been pretty cool, I had to admit. Smacking Assault all the way to Boston had blown that clear out of the water … and then he'd used a van and a signpost to eliminate one of the biggest threats to life and limb in the continental United States. After that, the result of his remarkably unequal fight against Oni Lee, Lung and Hookwolf had been highly amusing but not overly astonishing.

If I thought about it seriously, it wasn't a huge surprise that the Chief Director of the PRT showed up, along with Eidolon. I mean, seriously. Eidolon. The man was a God on earth. It wasn't hard to figure out why they were here. Even if Zach wasn't a parahuman, he was still pretty good at what he did. Maybe they were here to offer him some kind of honorary position in the Protectorate? But it didn't really surprise me that they showed up.

No, what surprised the crap out of me was what he said when they did. I wasn't sure what was a greater shock to me, that the Chief Director was actually Alexandria, or that Eidolon was Zach's dad. I mean, my dad was pretty cool and all, but being Eidolon's kid? That'd take care of all the 'my dad can beat up your dad' arguments in the schoolyard. Though I really couldn't see Zach having arguments like that.

For some reason, it never occurred to me for even an instant to question what he'd just said. On the surface, sure, it sounded pretty unbelievable. But even though I was surprised as fuck, I accepted Zach's revelation from the moment he said it. Almost instinctively, I knew this wasn't some sort of off-the-wall joke, like the one where he claimed to be an Endbringer. As astounding as it seemed, I somehow knew it was true.

Both the Chief Director and Eidolon stared at him for a frozen moment. I was also staring, but at them. What do you say to people at a moment like that? About fifty different things tried to make it to my vocal cords at once, with the result that I just stood there with my jaw dropping open.

Eidolon stretched his arms to either side in opposite directions, palms outward. A silvery bubble popped into being around him and Chief Director Costa-Brown, then expanded rapidly in all directions. It quickly overtook Dad, Zach and me; it tickled as it passed over us. A moment later it had frozen in a sphere (I guessed—part of it was below ground) composed of semi-transparent white hexagons, each one about two feet across. The only people inside the sphere were Dad, me, Zach, Eidolon, the Chief Director … and Tagg.

The idiot with the dislocated shoulder stared at Zach, then at Eidolon and Costa-Brown. "What the hell?" he blurted. "Director, is that true? Are you a parahuman?" Clumsily, he staggered to his feet, one arm hanging at an awkward angle. "That runs counter to so many of our regulations. I demand that you stand down until an independent investigation—"

Eidolon snapped his fingers, and Tagg dropped like a puppet with the strings cut. Then the green-cloaked hero looked over at us, as if to ask: Got a problem with that?

I shrugged. The asshole had arrested my dad and shoved a gun in my ear. So long as he didn't actually kill Tagg, I was fine with it. Though something did occur to me; I gestured at the bubble. "Isn't this kind of flashy? Tells people there's something to worry about in here."

"They don't even know it's there." Eidolon looked down at Tagg; the unconscious man's shoulder went back into place with a resonant click. "Anyone who sees it forgets about it. The time in here is also sped up by a factor of ten. They aren't going to have enough time to start wondering what's going on. Which means I've got all the time in the world." He raised his head to give Zach a hard stare. "I don't know who you are, boy, but I'm going to warn you just once. Wild accusations like that could get you into a lot of trouble."

"I have made no wild accusations," Zach said simply. "I know that you are my father, and I know Alexandria when I see her. My brothers and sister have described you both to me very clearly. I do not see why I would be in trouble because of this."

"More to the point," I said, "Zach doesn't lie. Which means … wow." It was only really beginning to sink in at that point. "You're really Alexandria?"

The Chief Director … blurred. She came straight toward me, which meant that all I could really see was her hand reaching in my direction. It was way too fast for me to react, but that was okay, because she never reached me.

There was a sound like … I couldn't describe it, because I'd never heard a sound like it before. Think of the sound of a fist hitting flesh, then make it steel hitting granite. It was almost, but not entirely, unlike that. I found myself focusing on the tips of Alexandria's fingers, six inches from my throat. She wasn't getting any closer because Zach was between me and her, his left hand holding her right wrist and his right hand holding her left shoulder. She had her left hand on his right arm, trying to move it but not succeeding in any noticeable way.

"I am not supposed to hurt superheroes, but I will do so if they threaten Taylor," Zach said evenly. "Please do not try to harm Taylor again. I will be displeased."

"Let her go!" shouted Eidolon. Some kind of green glowing energy began to build up around his hands. "I won't warn you twice!"

"Father, don't do this," Zach said firmly. In the moment of distraction, Alexandria lifted her feet off the ground and twisted her body so that she could swing her legs around at him from the side. That was as far as I saw, before they both blurred again. Half a second later, I staggered as a wrenching crack shook the ground under my feet.

Suddenly, Alexandria was lying face-down on the ground … no, face-down in the ground. She was literally half-buried in the street, visibly struggling to get up, but not getting anywhere. This was because Zach was leaning over her, the middle three fingers on his right hand pressing downward between her shoulder-blades. He looked a little ruffled, and the left sleeve of his t-shirt was torn, but his expression was one of mild introspection.

"I will let her go," he said, raising his face to address Eidolon. "But I require your promise that neither one of you will attempt to attack Taylor again. If that happens, I cannot guarantee your safety. Speak to her, Father." He let up on the pressure, stepping away from Alexandria. A moment later, she wrenched herself out of the depression, leaving what looked like a perfect mold of her face—indeed, the entire front of her body—in the ground. She rolled on to her back and collapsed with a groan. Her business suit, I noted, was somewhat the worse for wear.

"I am not your father!" Eidolon retorted. "Stop calling me that!" The energy intensified. "How did you do that? When did you trigger? What powers do you have?"

"Eidolon? Sir?" I waved my hand. "Zach isn't a parahuman. He said so himself."

He stared at me, then at Zach. "Is that true? That you're not a parahuman? I find that very hard to believe."

Zach nodded. "It is true. I am not a parahuman."

"Is it any harder to believe than, for instance, you being Zach's dad?" I raised my eyebrows. "You gotta admit, he's pretty cool."

"I am not his father!" he screamed. "I know this for a fact! I've never—I mean, I …" He trailed off, apparently unsure of how to finish that sentence. "I'm just not his father, all right? It's literally impossible." The energy around his hands faded away.

It only took me a second to figure out what he was hedging around. "Holy crap, you're a virgin?" I said before my brain could engage its common-sense filter. "How does that even happen? Surely you've got—mmph!" I reached up and grabbed the hand which had covered my mouth, and pulled it away. "Dad! Seriously?"

"Taylor honey, you don't want to say things like that to superheroes," Dad advised me, though the twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed an incipient smile. "It's a little personal, and they might get upset."

Alexandria scrambled to her feet, then backed away from Zach until she was standing next to Eidolon. "He's stronger than me. How is he stronger than me?" The look in her eyes wasn't quite fear, but it was getting there. "He's got to be Brute twelve at the very least."

"Uh, no, he's apparently not a parahuman at all," Eidolon said. "I'm not sure what else is going on here, but that much is clear." At her disbelieving look, he shrugged. "I guess it's a thing?"

"Okay," said Alexandria, looking directly at Zach. "If you're not a parahuman, how are you able to do this?" I smirked, pretty sure of what Zach's answer was going to be. Their expressions were going to be priceless. She shot me a sharp glance. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing." I chuckled. "This is just Zach's little joke, is all. Tell them, Zach."

I had to admire the way he could pull off the poker face while he told it. "I am an Endbringer. Behemoth and Leviathan are my older brothers, and the Simurgh is my sister. They have told me all about you. It is why I am so pleased to meet you, Father."

Alexandria blinked once, very slowly. Eidolon didn't react at all that I could see, but I couldn't see his face, so that didn't mean very much. When he spoke, his words were slow and measured, as if he was choosing them one at a time. "You … have got … to be joking."

"I am not joking," Zach assured him earnestly. "Taylor has taught me how to tell jokes, but that is not one of them. The only jokes I know how to tell are about firemen and suspenders. Would you like to hear them?"

"Uh, maybe later, Zach," I said. "You said that you were joking about being an Endbringer." I felt the twinge of betrayal. Did he lie to me?

"No, Taylor." His voice was warm and sincere. "You assumed I was joking, and at the time I felt you would be happier thinking that I was, so I did not correct you. Now it is a good time for you to understand the truth, so now I am correcting you. Do you understand?"

I thought back about what he'd actually said, and how I'd reacted to it. He'd actually told me the real truth, and I'd thought he was being silly. Here he was, helping me and being the kind of friend I'd needed since forever, and I'd just ignored what he was saying because it sounded kind of unbelievable. "Oh, crap. I'm so sorry, Zach. I should've listened to you."

He gave me a sunny smile. "That is all right, Taylor. It is better that you thought that, because you would have had that to worry about as well as everything else."

I had to admit, he did have a good point there. "Okay, yeah, got it. I am kinda curious though. Endbringers have been killing people for decades. If I believe you're an Endbringer right now, why aren't I freaking out? Why aren't I afraid of you?" Because I really wasn't, though intellectually I knew I should've been. But even knowing what he was, to me Zach was … Zach. He was a loveable goofy big puppy who was there for me, and was kinda cool, even when he got things wrong. And he was getting fewer things wrong all the time.

"The answer to that one's obvious," Eidolon said harshly. He pointed his hand at Zach, the green glow building up once more. "It's an infiltrator into society. It's got a Master/Stranger rating as well as a Brute rating. Step away from it, miss. I don't want you getting hurt by accident."

"Oh, for crying out loud!" I shouted, getting more irritated by the second. "Seriously, did you not hear me before? He's not a parahuman. He doesn't have powers! I mean, even if he is an Endbringer, look at him! He's Zach!"

<><>​

Zach

Which gave Zach his cue. He had to appreciate that about Taylor; even though she did not know about his more-than-human abilities, she certainly made it easier for him to use them. Perhaps, he mused, she knew more than she thought she did.

He had not arrived fully formed in Brockton Bay with all the knowledge that he held now. On that first night, he had been aware of his capabilities, and that his purpose was to help. His wandering feet, and what he now recognised as the subtle guidance of his sister, had led him to help Naomi Hess.

Interacting with her had unlocked part of his social capabilities; or rather, it had brought his knowledge of them to the surface. With just a few words, he could convince others to see him as 'normal', as someone who posed no threat. This had the side effect with aggressive opponents of making them see him as a pushover, but that was rarely a problem.

Later, once he heard the name 'Taylor Hebert', the full knowledge of what he was supposed to do snapped into his awareness. The friendships he had formed were discarded the moment they showed themselves as being opposed to his set purpose. In addition, he gained the knowledge of one final (and very important) social ability.

In order to protect Taylor Hebert, he had to remain by her side and have full use of his capabilities. However, as a normal person, she might feel intimidated or even threatened by the very force he used to protect her. So he was now able to make people discount and even temporarily forget the exact details of what he had done and what he could do. As a result, Taylor could happily ignore the fact that she'd seen him throw Hookwolf more than half a mile, and still appreciate the humour of the villain ploughing into the back of a dog-catcher's van. Zach was quite proud of that joke.

Up until now, he had enjoyed a certain amount of success in deflecting the curiosity of the superheroes who had attended the incident at Winslow. Time and again, when he had stated that he was not a parahuman, they had simply believed him. Father was harder-headed than most, possibly because he was Zach's progenitor, but Zach believed that he could be brought around with a little more effort. Once, of course, this particular argument was dealt with.

Staring at his father, he exerted his will.

<><>​

Taylor

"Oh, right, yeah." The glow died down from Eidolon's hand and he sheepishly rubbed at the back of his neck as Alexandria glared at him. "Right," he mumbled. "Forgot for a moment."

"So did I," Alexandria said, just a little stiffly. "We both misunderstood the situation." She took a deep breath. "So, how is it that Eidolon is your father? And you say that Behemoth and Leviathan and the Simurgh are your siblings? How does that even work?"

"I was brought into existence by Father's need," Zach said cheerfully. "So were my brothers and sister. Father needed a credible enemy to battle, to maintain his title as the world's most powerful hero, so Behemoth was created. He is really not that bright, but we love him anyway. Nor was he enough of a challenge, so Father created Leviathan." He waggled his hand back and forth. "While Leviathan is smarter, they needed someone to really do the thinking and plan the attacks that Father needed to respond to, so the Simurgh was created. She tells the others how to show up to the best effect and make Father look really heroic."

Eidolon was making noises like a malfunctioning garbage disposal at this point, but Alexandria seemed to be taking it in. At least she wasn't trying to attack me or Zach any more, which suited me just fine. I had a great deal of respect for her as a hero, and I didn't want to see her get hurt.

"If that's true," she said, eyeing him carefully, "what's your purpose? To destroy this city? Because, no offence intended, you don't look all that impressive."

"No offence taken," Zach said. "I am here to help Taylor Hebert and ensure she remains happy and healthy. It is the purpose of my existence."

Which did explain quite a lot, in my opinion. Behemoth and the others were really good at causing havoc and destroying stuff, and Zach was really good at helping me. But I was still curious about something. "Zach … do your siblings want to do what they're doing, or are they only doing it because Eidolon told them to?"

"They do not care either way," Zach said. "But Father needs to keep looking like a hero, while his friends search for a way to beat Scion. So they have to keep doing it." He looked apologetically at Eidolon and spread his hands.

Finally, Eidolon seemed to find his words. "That's not true!" he bellowed. "Any of it! I'm a hero! I save lives! And I didn't father you, or any of the Endbringers!" He turned his head toward Alexandria, his tone angrily pleading. "Tell them!" She gave him an appraising look, and didn't speak. Even without being able to see his face, I could sense his air of betrayal. "What? Not you too!"

"I'm sorry," she said slowly. "I wish I could say it was all nonsense. I really do. But … I've known you for more than twenty years. You've always had a fixation on being the greatest hero in the world. When your powers started declining, you became almost frantic to find a way to restore them. And when Behemoth came along, you threw yourself into the fights as if you didn't care whether you lived or died. If I step back and look at it sideways, it does make a really twisted kind of sense."

"No." He shook his head stubbornly. "I don't believe it. I won't believe it. I'm not a villain. I didn't simply create the Endbringers out of a whim to show off my heroism." Dramatically, he pointed at me; I tensed, but there was no glow around his hand. In any case, I knew Zach wouldn't have let him hurt me. "And what about her? I don't know her. I've never met her. There are millions in need around the world at any one time. Even if I could create Endbringers to order, why in God's name would I create one for her?"

He had a distinct point; one I was kind of curious about myself. My eyes found Zach's, but before I could ask the question he was already answering it. "My purpose was to save Taylor from being trapped in that locker, and both help her and keep her happy from then on. I do not know why you created me for this purpose, but I am very pleased that you did. Taylor is a good person, and I have enjoyed helping her. I have spoken with my brothers and sister, and they all agree you are the one who created us. By any reasonable definition, that makes you our father."

"So you say." His voice was less impassioned now, but he obviously didn't want to concede the argument quite yet. "But all you've said is that you 'know' something. That's a long way from proving it. In fact, making heroes doubt themselves is a classic ploy for villains in popular fiction, and I have no doubt that it's been used a time or three in real life. So do you have any kind of actual proof for all of this?"

As Zach paused, looking serious, I had a brainwave. "Zach. Remember how you punted Oni Lee into orbit? You said your sister was taking care of him."

"Wait, seriously?" interjected Dad. "You actually punted someone into orbit? You do know I was just joking about that, right?"

Zach smiled at him. "Yes, but it was a good joke, and Taylor and I both appreciated it when I did it." He turned to Eidolon. "Yes, I have proof. Let me show you." He gestured, and the translucent bubble around us vanished like smoke in the wind. Then he looked skyward.

"Wait, how the hell did you do …" Eidolon's voice trailed off as he followed Zach's gaze. Shading my eyes, I did the same. Far above, a tiny white dot impinged on the otherwise flawless blue vault of the sky. As we watched, it grew larger, descending with dramatic speed. When it was still only the size of my thumbnail, I thought I saw a black-clad figure in among the multitude of wings.

A shiver went down my spine as my brain confirmed that yes, I was looking at the Simurgh. I'd only ever seen her in pictures and in rare pieces of footage. Possessed of a bizarrely semi-angelic appearance, her very presence promised madness and death to whoever came too close. But now she was coming here, to Brockton Bay. Even with Zach at my side, I felt a flicker of fear.

"Do not be worried." Zach placed his hand on my arm, the physical reminder of his presence putting me more at ease. "She does not mean you harm. But I have told her about you, and she wishes to have met you."

"To have met me?" That was an odd way to put it, even for Zach. "What do you mean?"

"Are you insane?" Alexandria pointed up at the approaching Endbringer. "Did you call her here?"

"I cannot be insane, but yes, I did," Zach said cheerfully, then turned back to me. "As for what I meant, she cannot see the now. She can only see the past and the future. She can foresee meeting you, and she can remember it, but she cannot experience it in the now."

I blinked. "That sounds weird." Then what I'd said caught up with me. "I mean, I don't want to offend her, it just …" I trailed off, not wanting to dig myself in any deeper.

"Do not worry." Zach chuckled. "She is not offended. Anyway, she thinks that being stuck in just one moment is also weird. Letting time go past at one second per second is so very limiting."

"Right." I tried not to think about it. Not that I had the time to do any casual thinking right at that moment, because the Simurgh had landed directly in front of me.

My first thought was wow, she's tall. I'm tall for a teenage girl, but while the Simurgh was shorter than her older brothers—I honestly surprised myself by thinking of Endbringers like that—she was nearly three times my height. Her bare feet, as pure-white as the rest of her, touched down gently on the rough asphalt, barely seeming to brush it. Opening her wings and spreading them wide in various directions—she had a lot of wings, and they opened at some pretty weird angles—she released the black-clad form of Oni Lee. He fell to his knees, ripped the demon mask from his face, and threw up all over the ground.

If Zach hadn't been right there beside me, I probably would've been terrified all over again. Lee had tried to kill me twice in the last hour, and there was no guaranteeing that he wouldn't try again. Except that … well, he didn't. Instead, as he recovered from his vomiting fit—I supposed that if I'd had an elevator ride like that from low orbit, I'd be puking too—he took one look at me and scrambled to get away.

<><>​

Alexandria

In the distance, the Endbringer sirens began to wail, but neither Rebecca nor Eidolon moved. A strange calm had overtaken them; the Simurgh was not yet singing, so the fight hadn't begun. If she did anything at all hostile, they'd be able to act instantly, but it looked as though she wasn't even paying attention to them.

Not even bothering to get to his feet, the Asian cape scrabbled away on his hands and knees until he reached Eidolon, then clasped the hero around the knees, babbling away in Japanese nineteen to the dozen. If Rebecca was any judge, it sounded like he was one good scare away from soiling himself. Though from the way he clipped his syllables, he wasn't even a Kyushu refugee, but from Honshu. Possibly one of the western prefectures. So he'd never faced an Endbringer before.

Eidolon looked down at the prostrate villain, then at her. "This is Oni Lee? What's he saying?"

Rebecca didn't take her eyes off the winged monster before her for a single second. "Yes, apparently it is. He's saying … 'take me to jail, please get me away from her, I want to go to jail' … and more, but in the same vein." It took her a moment to realise that he wasn't saying it about the Simurgh. He was saying it about Taylor.

As Rebecca spoke, the Simurgh crouched so that her eyes were on a level with the Hebert girl's. Some of her wings scraped the footpath behind her, the delicate-looking feathers gouging out chunks of concrete with brutal ease. The teenage girl did something few had done; she looked fearlessly into those grey-white blind-looking eyes. "Uh, hi," she managed. "It's, uh, nice to meet you?"

The smile that formed on the Simurgh's lips was somehow unsettling in its perfection. One bone-white hand raised briefly in what could have been a wave, then the Endbringer nodded to the boy with the green eyes. He nodded back; an instant later, she was flashing skyward as fast as Rebecca had ever seen her fly.

All around them, the PRT men had been scattering to defensive positions. It was a tribute to the brief nature of the Simurgh's … 'attack' wasn't the right word. Intrusion? Flyby? Visit? In any case, it was telling that the incident was over so quickly that the PRT men were still on the move when the white dot winked out far above. Tagg, almost at her feet, had slept through the whole thing. She was glad of that; the reactionary idiot probably would've done his best to get killed. Again. Perhaps, she mused, it would do him good to be posted to someplace like the Eagleton quarantine zone for a while, where he could have the release of keeping the Machine Army inside the set boundaries. Peace, quiet, and ordinary people obviously didn't agree with him.

The distant sirens hiccuped and shut off. She ignored them, taking a few steps closer to Taylor Hebert, who was speaking with her father. Zach met her halfway. She still had trouble thinking of him as an Endbringer, though the sight of her body-print in the asphalt made visualising it a little easier. The number of entities on the planet able to do that to her could be counted on the fingers of one hand. "Is that enough proof for you?" he asked, apparently seriously.

"It's a really, really good start," she replied cautiously. "Will you be inviting your … siblings … over for afternoon tea, very often? I can't help imagining that it might cause unavoidable disruptions."

"They do not eat," he replied immediately. "I do not need food, but it still tastes nice. I will be careful about making sure that they do not hurt Taylor or make her unhappy."

"You know …" Over the course of her career, Rebecca had engaged in diplomatic negotiations of all kinds. On the one hand, there were the times that required her to charge right ahead, driving the opposition on to the back foot. With her perfect memory and command of every relevant fact at her fingertips, she was good at those. On the other hand, there were also the times when a gentle suggestion was better than a battering-ram. This was one of the latter. "I was thinking. Taylor might be unhappy if they actually attacked any cities. And killed people, I mean. Just a thought."

"Do you think so?" He actually managed to look thoughtful. "I will ask her."

Rebecca looked over his shoulder at Taylor. "You do that."

<><>​

Taylor

Hello.

The one word resounded in my head. It hadn't entered by my ears, but I'd heard it nonetheless. It sounded … beautiful. Of course, I'd heard all about the Simurgh's scream, how it sounded like music that was just a little bit off, so eventually it drove you mad. This didn't sound anything like that. It was like I'd just been greeted by someone with wind-chimes for vocal cords.

I also got the impression that she liked me. This was probably because Zach liked me, but still, it felt really weird to have an Endbringer—I mean, a known Endbringer—say hi and give the impression that she approved of me. Well, my day had started out at 'horrific', so the weirdness of associating with Zach was kind of soothing. The worst thing that had happened was Dad being arrested by that idiot Tagg, and we'd managed to get that dealt with pretty quickly. With Zach around, I was pretty sure they wouldn't try that again.

Raising my head, I watched the Simurgh depart. Was it wrong to decide that a visit by an Endbringer wasn't the worst part of my day? Even when said Endbringer was the sister of the guy who I was hanging around with? I couldn't tell any more.

"Taylor?" It was Dad. "Are you okay?" He was looking a little pale himself; I guessed that he'd been more concerned about the Simurgh than I was. Then again, he hadn't seen Zach in action for himself, so he didn't have the certain knowledge that nothing was going to hurt us.

"Uh, sure," I said. "That was kind of weird, and a bit scary, but she just wanted to say hello. I wonder how many other people have been that close to her." From what I'd seen in the news, not many and not for very long. Though Oni Lee had been next to her for a lot longer than I had. I looked down at where Eidolon had encapsulated the man in some sort of opaque force field. "Is that gonna hold him? He can teleport, you know."

"All the reports say that he needs line of sight." Alexandria moved up alongside me; Zach didn't react, so I relaxed as well. "Now, you know my secret, and I don't want that spread around. The trouble is, I'm reasonably certain that Zach isn't going to allow me to make sure you don't talk. I really don't want to piss off an Endbringer who can make me think he's a teenage boy before unscrewing my head, so this is what it's come to." There was nobody else close enough to hear us except Eidolon, but she kept her voice low anyway. Her face creased in a grimace of distaste. "What's your price to keep my secret?"

It actually took me a few seconds to realise what she was talking about. "Oh, uh …" I paused, glancing at my father. "Dad?" This was a really big secret. Probably the biggest I'd ever held. There was no way I'd make a decision this huge without checking in with him.

"Hmm." That was Dad's negotiating voice. People occasionally acted like it was his fault the Dockworkers' Association was in the state it was, and they were right, just not in the way that they thought. He was one of the reasons it was still running. "I'm assuming someone as high up the political ladder as you are has a few strings you can pull. Taylor currently attends Winslow High. I'd like her transferred to Arcadia, immediately if not sooner. In addition, no legal penalties for anything she's done today, and all damage to my house is to be either repaired or paid for today." He paused, rubbing his chin.

Alexandria blinked. So did I, as I watched her business suit slowly returning to its pristine condition. This was not a power I'd ever heard of her having. But then I glanced over at Eidolon, and saw a faint glow about one of his hands. Very tricky. Also, awesome cool.

"Is that … all?" asked Alexandria, her voice uncertain for the first time that I'd met her. She'd probably been thinking Dad would ask for a million dollars or something. Not that I'd have a problem with that. Even over and above getting out of Winslow forever, and going to Arcadia, a million dollars could … oh, wait. I'd been so taken up with everything else, I'd managed to temporarily forget that Dad was already worth a hundred million dollars. So scratch that.

Dad smiled slightly, not unlike a cheetah spotting a limping gazelle. Normally, I figured, the simile would've gone the other direction. But this was definitely his time to shine. "I'm going to need the paperwork for the bounty for the Nine cleared without any roadblocks. And don't try to bullshit me that there won't be any roadblocks, because when this much money is involved, there's always people who can find reasons for the whole amount to not be paid out, or not all at once." Huh. It seemed that his thought processes were paralleling mine. Great minds really did think alike.

She drew herself up, managing to look offended and regal at the same time. There was no way I could pull that off, even in my wildest dreams. "I assure you, there'll be no delays."

"Right." His tone was dubious. "I'll believe that when I see it. Just let your accounting department know that if they try anything clever, I'll be visiting, and bringing Taylor with me. And you know who'll be coming along with her."

I smiled at Zach, who returned it. Alexandria wasn't smiling at all. "Noted," she said warily. "Anything else?"

"Yes." His voice was still deceptively mild. "I'm going to be using that money to clear the Boat Graveyard and get the ferry back into operation. The trouble is, there are people in the city council who've been pushing back on any such improvements for the last ten years. So I'd really appreciate it if you dropped a word in Roy Christner's ear to spread the message that it would be a really bad idea to make me waste my time, money and resources while I'm getting this done."

"I understand, Mr Hebert," she said. "I do. However, I need you to know that I skimmed a basic dossier on Brockton Bay before I came here, and apparently there are sound reasons for not reinstating the ferry."

"With all due respect, ma'am." His tone denoted not much respect at all. "You don't live here. The gangsters have better transport than the ordinary civilians. There are bus lines that regularly communicate between the north end of the city and the south. Bringing the ferry back up is not going to suddenly create an influx of crime into Downtown. The criminals are already there, and some of them wear business suits. And some of those don't want the ferry up and running for reasons that have nothing to do with the crime rate, and everything to do with personal profit and political capital." He shrugged. "Of course, if you wanted to take out the Merchants while you were in town, I wouldn't object. Zach's been kind enough to remove the capes leading the ABB."

"Or Zach could do it," I suggested. "I mean, if that's okay with you, Zach?" After all, why get Alexandria to do something for us that we could already do for ourselves?

"Would this make you happy, Taylor?" he asked eagerly. "I could do that for you. Do you want them alive?"

"Let's … not kill anyone for the time being," I suggested. "It makes things a lot less complicated all round. And yes, it would make me happy, but don't run off right now. We can wait until everything settles down again." I was thinking that midnight might be a nice time. Let everyone wake up to a Merchant-free city.

Eidolon sighed. "The news crews are coming back," he said, his voice heavy with resignation. "It appeared that everyone saw your sister's little visit." While his face was hidden, I was reasonably sure he was giving Zach a dirty look.

Involuntarily, I glanced at the damaged curb, where the Simurgh's feathers had scraped away concrete like a knife through butter. That led my eye to the impression that Alexandria had made in the street, with Zach's assistance. It was a very detailed impression; I had no doubt that if anyone made a cast of it, the result would be recognisable.

"Uh, we might want to do something about that," I said, gesturing to the hole. "I'm pretty sure we don't want a Chief-Director-shaped pothole outside our house. People might talk."

"This is getting more complicated by the moment," muttered Eidolon, but he stepped over to the hole anyway.

"And it might only get worse if you remove these 'Merchants' from the scene," Alexandria pointed out. "Power vacuums are a real thing, by the way. Removing one gang simply invites other gangs to fill the gap. You've already done that by taking down Lung and Oni Lee. I believe the other large gang in the city is a white-supremacist organisation with ties to Gesellschaft; do you really want them expanding their operations?"

"I don't know about this Gesellschaft thing," Dad said, stumbling over the name a little, "but as far as I can tell, the solution's simple. Put Director Piggot back in charge of the local PRT and give her the resources she needs to do the damn job. Capes and PRT personnel both. This city's a shithole. It's been circling the drain for the last ten years or more. This is because it's always had more villains than heroes, with capes backing up criminals so the cops can't do anything." He fixed Alexandria with a glare. "If something official doesn't get done, then something unofficial will get done. And we won't be saying nice things about the PRT once Zach has put out the trash once and for all."

Her expression was more than a little sour by the time he'd finished. "I presume these are more of your demands? Because you're beginning to reach the limit of what I consider reasonable."

Eidolon did something with a power that made the asphalt flatten itself out, erasing the spot where Zach had pressed Alexandria into the street. Then he turned his head to look down the street. "They're here," he announced, just as a news van tore into view. I couldn't see the paint job from this angle, but I had a suspicion of which one it would be. Some people, it seemed, were more anxious to get the scoop than others.

"That's it for the moment," Dad said. "If I think of anything else, I'll let you know. Taylor, did you have anything to add?" He ignored Alexandria's scowl and grinned at me.

"Nothing right now," I decided, though I had been wondering how she'd react if I asked for a pony. Not that I wanted a pony, but the look on her face would've been hilarious. "Just, you know, don't tell anyone about Zach, okay? They might get the wrong idea."

Alexandria rolled her eyes. "Do I look like an idiot?"

I snorted, and Dad chuckled. She gave us both a dirty look. Together, we turned toward the news van as it pulled to a halt. "So how do we play this?" asked Eidolon.

"We say nothing, in great detail." Alexandria's voice was firm.

Dad nodded. "Got it."

Yeah, I thought. Because that never goes wrong.



End of Part Seven

Part Eight

 

[Ack]

I'm HALPING!

Part Eight: Home Truths

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



The blow-dried woman who scrambled out of the news van was the same one who'd approached us after Zach had thrown a two hundred thousand dollar PRT vehicle halfway across America. The cameraman piled out behind her, but didn't get too close to us; it was probably the way both Alexandria—sorry, Chief Director Costa-Brown—and Eidolon were looking at them. Not that we could see Eidolon's eyes, but he could glare pretty well all the same. I wondered if it was some kind of power.

"Giselle Barber, Brockton Bay Nightly News!" the woman announced breathlessly. "It's Eidolon, isn't it? And you're Chief Director Rebecca Costa-Brown of the PRT. What brings you to our city? Is it the reported Simurgh sighting? Do you have anything to say to our viewers?" As she spoke, a microphone on a boom extended past her shoulder, held by the cameraman. It was positioned so if any of us said anything, it'd probably pick us up clearly.

There was a pregnant pause, almost as if Eidolon and Alexandria were each expecting the other one to say something … then Zach stepped forward. His expression was genial and friendly as always, which was a good thing. However, I had no idea what he was going to say, which wasn't. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the Chief Director's hand move, as if she intended to grab his arm. She didn't go through with it, which definitely meant she could learn.

"Nothing, in great detail!" he announced brightly. A soft groan came to my ears, and I turned my head slightly to see the Chief Director closing her eyes slightly and looking down and to the side. I was no Thinker, but I was pretty sure she wanted to face-palm right then. To be honest, I didn't blame her; I'd thought Zach had gotten past his literal stage. Then again, those precise words were what Alexandria had said to say. I had to wonder if he was very gently pranking her. Which would mark a great improvement in his sense of humour, though I doubted very much that she'd see the funny side.

Ms Barber, on the other hand, didn't even seem to get the joke, much less the context. "I … beg your pardon, uh, Zachary?" She frowned, obviously trying to work out why he'd said that. "I'm not quite sure what you meant. Can you elaborate?"

"Of course I can," he said, still in the same bouncy tone. "But it is supposed to be a secret, so I am not supposed to talk about it. Do you understand?" With his wide, guileless gaze, he looked straight at her, apparently ignoring the microphone the cameraman was dangling closer and closer to his face. The Chief Director was now making a noise deep in her throat that sounded like a puppy after its favourite toy had been taken away. Her self-control was definitely superhuman, because she looked like she wanted to grab Zach and slap her hand over his mouth herself.

While I could sympathise, I didn't think the situation was quite that dire yet. Zach might come across as clueless from time to time, but he'd quite often shown a keen grasp of the situation. Even if his solutions were somewhat off-the-wall, they made sense according to the way he saw things. And I had to admit, he had no bullshit in him. To ask Zach a question was to get a direct answer, even if it wasn't the one you wanted to hear.

"Of course I do," Ms Barber said warmly, actually lifting the microphone in her hand toward him. "You can trust me." Which meant she fully intended to broadcast whatever he said, probably under the claim she didn't know he meant what he was going to say was off the record.

"Oh, good." Zach looked her directly in the eyes. "What happened here is that either I am the fourth Endbringer and Eidolon is our father and the Simurgh came down here to say hello to my friend Taylor …"

People had talked about Zach having some sort of Master/Stranger effect, but this was the first time I'd experienced it for myself. As he spoke, I felt something nudging me to disbelieve what I'd seen with my own eyes just minutes earlier, but I was easily able to push it back. Ms Barber, on the other hand, was listening silently with an extremely dubious look on her face.

"Or," continued Zach, "What everyone thought was the Simurgh was actually the side-effect of the test of a top-secret piece of Tinkertech, which Eidolon and Chief Director Costa-Brown are here to observe." He gave her a beaming smile. "I think you can figure out which one is more likely."

The sensation of being nudged returned, only this time I felt the vague urge to believe the story about the Tinkertech. Again, I shook it off without effort. Ms Barber, on the other hand, burst out laughing so hard she dropped her microphone. "F-fourth Endbringer?" she gasped between whoops of hilarity. "Eidolon's your f-father? Come on, you can do better than that."

On cue, the Chief Director stepped forward. "The PRT cannot confirm or deny any report of a Tinkertech test in this location. Top secret is top secret, after all." She shot Zach a stern look. "And Zachary, in future? The next time you decide to concoct a wild story to share with the press? Try to make it sound at least somewhat believable, hmm?"

"Yes, Chief Director," he said happily. "I will do that." As the Chief Director closed in on the reporter, Zachary turned to Dad and me. "It is probably a good idea to walk away now," he said much more quietly. "The Chief Director and Eidolon have this under control."

Dad and I took his advice, but it puzzled me the reporter hadn't even tried to pursue us on, well, anything. Sure, Eidolon was one of the world's premier capes, but Chief Director Costa-Brown wasn't known as a media personality—well, I didn't know her as a media personality, at least—so I would've thought they'd be more fixated on Zach.

"Yeah, but why?" I asked, keeping my voice just as low. "I mean, you wiped out the Slaughterhouse Nine just a little while ago. Without even really trying. I mean, even if they don't believe the stuff you just said, why aren't they breaking their necks to get an exclusive with you?" it just didn't make sense to me.

It might've been my imagination, but Zach's smile was a little more self-satisfied than normal. "That is because they do not believe me to be important at all," he explained. "As far as they are concerned, we are three innocent bystanders. They will not be bothering you unless you want them to pay attention to you. And if they do not pay attention to me, it will make it much easier for me to protect you."

Dad raised his eyebrows at that. "So, you can make them just … ignore us? Does this work for everyone?" He looked around, at the PRT men still in the vicinity. Several of them seemed to be on guard against any further strangeness, while the rest packed equipment away in their vans. The remaining vans, I reminded myself, given that one had been damaged by Oni Lee and another had turned Jack Slash into roadkill. All of them were studiously not paying attention to us, but in a different way to the manner in which the reporter and her cameraman had ignored us.

"No," Zach said. "I could make it work like that, but I am simply allowing them to believe I am simultaneously too dangerous to arrest and not dangerous enough to pose a serious threat." He said this with the same matter-of-fact tone which he used in most situations, but it didn't make it any less weird. Of course, at the same time, I could appreciate exactly how useful this could be to me and Dad. It wasn't as if we really wanted the PRT camping on our doorstep, trying to arrest Zach every five minutes. Once had been far more than enough.

Dad seemed to be thinking the same way. "Just so long as I'll still be able to get people to take me seriously when I tell them I'm going to be demolishing the Boat Graveyard and reopening Lord's Port." He gave Zach a serious look. "This means a lot to me."

"And the Ferry too," I put in. "Don't forget that one, Dad." As if I'd even thought he might. Dad had been pushing his personal campaign to get the Brockton Bay Ferry reinstated for almost as long as I'd been alive. Sometimes I wondered if it was even the Ferry he was really trying to bring back, or if he was just trying to revive what he remembered of the golden days of Brockton Bay, before the Boat Graveyard blocked Lord's Port and stifled the local shipping industry.

He chuckled and ruffled my hair. "Where would I be without you to remind me of the important things in life, kiddo?" His bantering tone made me grin; it had been absent all too often of late. Sliding his arm around my shoulders, he nodded toward the house. "Think they've cleaned up in there yet?"

"I hope so," I said, suddenly aware I was barefoot, and that I'd been that way since I left the house. It seemed ridiculous that so much had happened in such a short time. Had I really gone climbing over rubble with Miss Militia to rescue trapped people? And how had I not hurt my feet doing so? "Uh, Dad, can I lean on you for a second?"

"Sure thing," he said, offering his arm. I took hold of it and lifted my left foot to examine the sole. At first I thought I must've trodden in something, because the skin covering the underside of my foot was black from side to side. But as I watched, the blackness evaporated, wafting away like smoke. Underneath was the smooth pink skin of my foot.

"What the heck?" I put my foot down, suddenly aware I could feel the asphalt much more keenly under my feet now, and gave Zach a questioning look. "Was that you? Did you do that?" I was a little torn; while he had only been protecting me, I didn't appreciate being kept in the dark about it.

"Yes, Taylor." He smiled at me. "I did not want you to hurt your feet, and I was going to be busy fighting, so I made sure a protective layer of rubber from the floor of the van adhered to your feet. It is no longer necessary, because there are shoes in the house you can wear."

Dad blinked. "Well, that was very thoughtful of you, Zach. But I'm guessing you didn't tell Taylor about this when you did it?" He gave me a discerning glance. "See her face? That's the face which says 'you really should've told me earlier'."

"I did not know this," Zach replied, studying my face carefully. "Taylor, are you angry with me?" The smile slid off his face, replaced by an expression of anxiety. "I did not wish to hurt your feelings. My intention was only to prevent harm from coming to you."

For an Endbringer, he had a very good line in puppy-dog eyes. While I wasn't going to really be mad at him for trying to help me, I didn't want him to think he could just do anything and assume I'd be okay with it after the fact. He needed to learn boundaries. Which, I had to admit, he'd already shown he was good at.

"That's okay, Zach," I said, putting a hand on his arm. "I'm not angry, but Dad's right. It's nice to know you're protecting me, but if you're going to do something like this, I'd prefer to know about it. This way, we both know what's going on." I offered him a smile of my own. "I know you're doing your best, and you're doing an absolutely awesome job of protecting me physically. It's just that keeping me in the dark about it doesn't make me feel like I've got a lot of control over my life at the moment. You understand what I'm talking about?"

For a moment, he tilted his head slightly, his expression one of intense concentration. Then his face cleared, and he smiled brilliantly. "Yes, I understand now, Taylor. I just asked my sister and she explained it to me. She also said people could be very complicated and I should not assume I know how they will react to what I do."

For all that I'd just met his sister (who was the Simurgh! Some part of me, deep inside, was still gibbering over this) the fact he'd just asked her for advice about me just blew me away. What just about everyone knew about the Simurgh (apart from the part about her being a city-killing monster, of course) was that she was really smart, and could out-think the whole Triumvirate, including Alexandria, which was even more impressive. And he'd asked her about me.

Of course, she'd given him good advice. How could she not? It just remained to be seen if he'd follow it. On balance, I figured he would; Zach might seem clueless from time to time, but he wasn't exactly dumb. I decided to reinforce it, just in case. "You should listen to your sister," I told him seriously. "She knows what she's talking about." Thinking about what I'd just said, about the Simurgh, I couldn't help wondering when I'd started thinking of the Endbringers as … well, as people. I wasn't counting Zach; he was already a person, as far as I was concerned.

Commander Calvert approached us, his armour still showing scuff-marks from the earlier tumble. He stopped at a respectful distance before clearing his throat. If he'd been wearing a hat instead of a helmet, his attitude suggested he would've been holding it in his hands in front of him. I wasn't quite sure what Zach had said to him, but all of my experience told me my newest and best friend could redefine the concept of 'persuasive' if he put his mind to it. Calvert looked … persuaded.

"Excuse me, Mr Hebert?" he said diffidently. "We've cleaned up all the broken glass. A glazier has been contacted, and the PRT will be footing the bill. Please accept our deepest apologies for this entire misunderstanding." His eyes flickered to Zach then back to Dad, the motion almost too fast for me to register. "You have my personal assurance it won't be happening again."

Well, that bit was a given. I was pretty sure Zach had things covered. As for Calvert himself, he gave me the impression he was a man who didn't always play by the rules, especially if there wasn't someone like Zach around to keep him in line. So I chose to take his apparent sincerity with a large grain of salt. Plus, there was something I wanted to say.

"Misunderstanding?" I snorted and shook my head. "I'll give you 'misunderstanding'. The only 'misunderstanding' was you idiots not understanding you couldn't just do what you wanted. I told you what was happening from the beginning, and you just kept pushing. And now you all look like morons, and whose fault is that, exactly?"

Calvert didn't look altogether thrilled at being yelled at by a teenager, but this wasn't my problem. I finally had someone to vent at who was standing still long enough to be vented at. He winced as I raised my voice. "And have you called in someone to repair our front step? We all saw you break it, you know. I'd be surprised if someone didn't get it on film." I threw my hands in the air. "And amazingly enough, that's the least moronic thing you idiots have done all day!"

Dad nodded. "At least the Chief Director has already agreed the PRT will be covering all the costs of what happened today. Of course, now I have to go and yell at her school principal for letting that shit happen there. Just be glad you can't be held responsible for that, too." Despite the fact Commander Calvert was about as tall as my father, and more physically imposing due to the bulk of the gear he was wearing, the PRT officer swayed backward under the force of Dad's anger.

"Actually, the PRT is at least partially to blame for the ongoing bullying, as well," Zach announced brightly, just as the Commander began to edge away. "After all, Sophia Hess is a Ward, and they are responsible for not curtailing her actions." In the wake of this revelation, he beamed at Dad and me. Very slowly, Commander Calvert face-palmed.

"Oh. Really." Dad took a step toward Calvert. The latter, a trained soldier wearing weapons and armour, took a step back with his hands held up defensively. "So that's your fault as well? You enabled this girl, this Ward, to bully my daughter at school? You let it happen?" Dad's voice rose to a shout. "How many other ways have the PRT managed to fuck up today? Do those helmets cut off the blood supply to your brains or something? How hard is it to keep an eye on the behaviour of one teenage superhero?"

"That's not my side of operations," Calvert said quickly. "I'm not involved in the Wards side of things. And to be honest, I wasn't aware there was a Ward attending Winslow. I've certainly had no personal contact with the girl." Eyeing the implacable expression on Dad's face, he hastily added, "Though I have no doubt he's telling the exact truth. And now this has come out, I'm sure the appropriate measures will be taken."

"So long as the appropriate measures include words like 'shitcanned so fast her head spins' and 'juvenile detention until she's forty', I'm good." A muscle was jumping in Dad's jaw now, a sign that he was reaching a high point in his anger. "But if you even consider sweeping it all under the carpet, this is coming out. All of it. I don't take this shit, not from you or from anyone, not when my daughter's well-being is involved."

Calvert shot another lightning-fast glance at Zach, then returned his attention to Dad. "Mr Hebert, this is not my area of authority." He opened his mouth to say more, but a look of strained relief settled on his face as he closed it again.

"No, but it is mine." It was Alexandria's voice, coming from behind us. We turned to look at her. "Commander Calvert, you're dismissed. Get your men packed up and out of here. Zachary, I have no personal knowledge of what you're talking about, but I would appreciate being filled in as quickly as possible. Mr Hebert, may we use your house for the sake of privacy?"

"Why?" asked Dad, still seething. "So you can get all the details, cover it up, then deny it later?" He indicated the reporter, still talking to Eidolon. "Seems to me this sort of shit gets made to go away all too often. Maybe I should go over there and make a statement. Blow this whole thing wide open."

Alexandria shook her head minutely. "Presuming Zachary would not allow us to inflict a legal punishment on you for outing a Ward, that's still a bad idea. No matter your feelings about whichever person we're talking about, she undoubtedly has family and friends who will be put at risk if you out her."

"Yes," said Zach unexpectedly. "She has a mother, a brother and a younger sister. They are innocent in this." Despite the surprising revelation, he made the statement as dramatic as if he were talking about the weather.

"Wait, when were you going to tell me she was a Ward?" I demanded. "We talked about this! Just now, even! Why did you hold this back, of all things?" Nothing seemed simple any more; even Zach, it seemed, was picking and choosing the information he was giving me.

"I was not holding it back, Taylor," he said earnestly. "I thought you would be less happy if I told you when there was nobody around who could do something about it. In addition, if you learned about it and spread the information, her family may have been harmed and you would be unhappy." He gestured toward Alexandria. "The Chief Director can do something about it that will not harm her family." His gaze turned anxious again. "Or was I incorrect in thinking you would have brooded about it until something could be done?"

I blinked. As much as I hated to admit it, he was correct. I would've been a lot angrier if I didn't have anyone to bitch at regarding Sophia, once Zach told me what was going on there. Worse, telling Armsmaster or Miss Militia might not have had the best results. And if I'd spread it around, Sophia's family could easily have gotten hurt without me even knowing about it.

It went back to something Dad always said: if you're going to complain, complain to the guy in charge. This applied for more than one reason, as I was discovering. "Did … did you know the Chief Director would be coming here?" I asked, glancing sideways at the woman herself. For her part, she had a peculiar expression on her face, as of someone who'd bitten into an apple and found half a worm. Finding out that your actions had been predicted well ahead of time would definitely be a wake-up call, especially when you were someone like Alexandria.

Cheerfully, he nodded. "Once I killed the Nine off, it was a virtual certainty. I knew when she arrived, she would want to test my capabilities. As soon as that was out of the way, I knew I would be able to inform you of the matter." He beamed at me; while Zach would never do 'smug' well, he could still look moderately pleased with himself.

"That's pretty sharp, to figure all that out," I observed. "Or did you consult with your sister?" From the look on his face, I figured I had it right. Zach was smart, but he tended to be very straightforward. Twisty logic wasn't his strength.

"Yes," he admitted at once. "I did not know how to tell you in such a way as to keep you happy and not put other people at risk, so I asked her, and she suggested this way. She also suggested it would be best to continue the conversation in the house."

Zach didn't offer suggestions very often so when he did, I listened. "Okay," I said. "Let's take this into the house." Turning, I led the way across the street and up the driveway. I was used to stepping over the rotten stair anyway; the lack simply made it mandatory. The last PRT man out of the house had closed the door but not locked it, so I opened it and went inside.

Calvert's men had obviously found our geriatric vacuum cleaner; the area of floor under where the glass would have fallen was the cleanest spot in the living room. I switched on the light and moved carefully, looking for twinkles of light on the linoleum, but they'd been very thorough. Even the shards of glass remaining in the window frames had been removed. Moving over to the sofa, I inspected the cushions critically; there was no glass there either.

"It is safe," Zach said from behind me. "All glass particles that could potentially harm you have been removed. The men missed a few, but my sister dealt with those." I shouldn't have been surprised by that last statement, but there it was. It was almost impossible to imagine the Simurgh lowering herself to domestic cleaning.

"Um, wait a second," I protested. An image of that terrifying figure wearing an apron and vacuuming the floor popped up in my mind, and I tried to expel it again. It was just too weird. "She did that? I thought she just came down to say hello and confirm what you were saying. I mean, I'm nobody special."

"You are the most special person in the world to me." I'd heard this from Zach before, but I didn't really think I'd ever get over it. When most people said that sort of thing, they were just saying it. Zach, on the other hand, meant it on a bone-deep level. "Also, she likes you. She says you are our best chance to break the cycle."

"Excuse me?" It was Alexandria. I hadn't seen her or Dad enter, because I'd been focused on what Zach was saying. "What cycle is this, exactly? Is this something we need to be concerned about?"

"The Endbringer cycle." Zach turned to her, his expression bland. "My brothers or my sister attack a city and allow themselves to get chased away again. Father's power orders them to do it to cause damage and require heroes to force them away."

"Wait, allow themselves to be chased away?" Dad looked as though he wasn't sure he wanted to be here for this. "Are they throwing the fights?" To be fair, it was a very disquieting thought. Every time there was an Endbringer fight, the news was full of praise for the bravery of the capes who forced the monster to (eventually) retreat. Was it all a sham?

"Well, yes." Zach blinked, as if no other answer was possible. "Behemoth could ignite everything in a ten-mile radius if he chose to. Leviathan could pull all the water out of the bodies of everyone in the fight. And Ziz … well, she does not need to sing to affect the minds of people, or even be near them. Those are just rules they made up for themselves to give people the hope that they could be beaten. They are much more powerful than they have shown, but to use their full strength would make it impossible for them to pretend to be beaten."

Alexandria, suddenly pale, slowly lowered herself on to the sofa. "And you?" she asked, her tone more than a little shaken. "Are you that powerful as well?"

I thought back to what I'd seen Zach do, and decided the answer was 'holy shit, yes'. Though, thinking back, he did say he'd gotten his brothers and sister to help him with certain stunts. Of course, the fact that they had helped him without moving from wherever they were gave his previous statement some serious credibility.

"I am powerful," Zach confirmed without any kind of boastful tone in his voice. "I am not as physically strong as Behemoth, but I am able to manipulate perceptions of me as well as the powers of parahumans whom I encounter. Those powers that I like, I keep to make use of, and sometimes I add extra capabilities to make them more useful. I will not remove powers from parahumans without explicit permission, but I can shut down access to their powers for extended periods of time."

"You mentioned manipulation of perceptions." Alexandria was bouncing back fast, showing the steel she'd used to remain as the Chief Director of the PRT over my lifetime. "Is this the Stranger effect you used to make us believe you weren't a parahuman?"

"I did not lie," Zach pointed out. "I always tell the truth. However, my perception manipulation can cause people to see my existence as being absolutely normal. It can also make me seem inconsequential as far as threat potential goes. With some, that will de-escalate the situation. With others, it increases the chance of conflict." He turned to me. "Taylor, I want to apologise to you. I have been using that power on you ever since I ripped the door off the locker."

I blinked. "Wait, what? How have you been using a power on me? I haven't noticed anything." And I hadn't. Zach had always been nice and friendly to me, never even suggesting the threat of harm.

Zach tilted his head. "Have you not questioned why you have never wondered how I was so strong, or where I came from, or why I was helping you? Those questions would have caused you to be worried, or even reject my companionship and protection. Each time your mind brought up the possibility of me being dangerous, or any other concept that may have caused you to push me away, my power turned it aside." He paused. "I want you to understand that I have never lied to you. Your well-being and happiness is my ultimate concern."

Without speaking, I sat down at the far end of the sofa from Alexandria. Some news has to be processed sitting down. It wasn't easy to deal with; he'd been telling the truth to my face, while his power was making sure I'd accept what he said. Did that mean he was lying to me or not? It was hard to figure out. I decided to shelve it for the moment—I could always yell at Zach later—and deal with something else that was niggling at me.

"Quick question." I looked up at Zach. "Why were you assigned to be my protector? I mean, this is about as far from the concept of 'make Eidolon look heroic' as you can get."

Instead of answering me straight away, Zach looked at Alexandria. "I suspect if Father hears the details of what I am about to say, it will affect future events in a bad way. My sister thinks so, anyway. Can you agree to not tell him?" He gave her his 'serious' look, which I had to admit was pretty damn serious.

After a moment, she nodded. "I'm not promising anything, but I'll take your, uh, sister's assessment under advisement." She leaned forward with raised eyebrows. "I'm also somewhat curious about that issue. Though I wasn't until Taylor brought it up just now." She shot him an irritated glance. "Dammit. I'd thought your power wasn't affecting me. It's very insidious."

"It is intended to be so," he agreed, his expression deadpan. "If it is detectable, then much of the utility is lost."

"I felt it when you were using it on the reporter and her cameraman," I put in. "That was just the edges of it, I guess?" I saw Alexandria and Dad both nodding; it seemed they'd felt the same thing.

"Yes," he said. "I let you feel what I was doing, so that you were not surprised by her acquiescence. Though did you wonder then or later if the power had ever been used on you, even with evidence that I had it?"

I knew I hadn't, and with Zach's confession about using it on me I wasn't really surprised. But now both Dad and Alexandria were shaking their heads. Dad's expression was one of dawning revelation. "Damn," he marvelled. "You are good at that. You wouldn't be able to sit in on some of the negotiation meetings I'm gonna be holding to talk about demolishing the Boat Graveyard, would you?"

Alexandria cleared her throat. "I suspect doing something of the sort would fall under the heading of 'using a parahuman power for undue influence'," she noted, though the smile on her face took the sting out of her remark. "But we're getting off topic. Zach, you were explaining to Taylor about why Eidolon assigned you to be her protector."

Zach nodded. "Father does not have complete control over the power that governs us," he said. "He wants to be a hero, but if he had control he would never have caused it to create monsters that kill millions. It is all subconscious. My sister is good at manipulating the subconscious. She is unable to affect him directly, but she was able to cause minor mishaps and events in his vicinity which then informed his thought patterns. One night, as a result of this, he manifested a precognitive power while he was asleep. He had a dream of you being locked in your locker. The emotion he felt about that ultimately triggered my creation as your protector."

A long silence ensued, as each of us thought about the ramifications of that. A distant siren wailed, but that was nothing out of the ordinary; on some days in Brockton Bay, sirens were more common than birdsong. I watched as a solitary fly buzzed in through one of the glass-less windows and made a slow circuit of the room. My brain was turning over what Zach had told me, and I didn't know whether to laugh, cry or run downstairs and lock myself in the basement until the crazy went away.

"Okay, I've got a question." Dad looked just a little wild around the eyes, but I suspected I had much the same look. Having one's entire world overturned in a few minutes had that sort of effect. "Why not tell Eidolon? Surely we could do with having more like Zach around? I mean, he's done nothing but help Taylor out. And then there's the Nine."

"The problem is that once he is told what happened, Father might try to do it again." Zach's voice was flat. "Ziz says that is a very bad idea. After all, my brothers and sister came about through a heroic impulse."

"So noted." Alexandria's tone was a little faint. I guessed she was thinking the same thing I was; if the Simurgh said something was a bad idea, this was probably the understatement of the year. "About that. Are you created out of nothing, or … how does it even work? After all, I doubt very much there were Endbringers like Behemoth and teenage boys all queued up in limbo, waiting to be brought into the world."

Zach smiled a little at that. "You are correct. Endbringers—or chaos generators, as I call us—do not have any particular form to begin with. Our final form has very little to do with our power level. It is all window-dressing. I could have been a fifty foot tall being composed of razor blades, or a series of interlocking shadows, and still had the same abilities that I do now. However, being in this form makes it much easier for my perception filter to work, so this is my form."

"Chaos generators?" Dad roused himself to ask the question. "Why do you call yourself that? You haven't attacked the city. In fact, all you've done is … oh."

As he trailed off, I burst out laughing at the same realisation that was only now spreading over his face. For someone whose stated goal was to help me and keep me safe, Zach had done an amazing job of generating chaos. From the altercation with Armsmaster, to smacking Assault all the way to Boston … at every turn, we'd escaped from one chaotic situation only to run headlong into another. It was the final straw, making sense of everything else. I cackled, whooped and pounded the armrest of the sofa with my fist. Tears ran down my face and I laughed until my ribs hurt, then I laughed some more. It was even funnier than the time Zach had told me he was an Endbringer, and I'd thought he was joking. Because this time, the punchline was utterly hilarious: it's all true.

Finally, I subsided, still chuckling. Wiping my eyes, I looked around at the two adults, each of whom was looking at me with degrees of exasperation. Zach was just leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, smiling. "Okay, I'm good," I said, then chuckled again. "But you gotta admit, that was funny. The look on your face, Dad, when you realised what you were saying."

Alexandria pursed her lips. "Well, yes," she conceded, a little reluctantly. "However, if you're done, Miss Hebert, I'd like to get to the main point of this gathering. Specifically, the issue with Sophia Hess."

If anything was guaranteed to get me serious, that was it. All sense of humour evaporated as I sat upright. "Okay. I didn't know she was a Ward, though now I think about it, Armsmaster was acting a bit hinky at the time. I'm wondering if he wasn't trying to keep it on the down-low. It did strike me as a bit weird how the Protectorate and PRT turned up so fast at the school."

"I will be talking to Armsmaster," Alexandria said, and just for a moment, I felt sorry for Armsmaster. But only for a moment. "However. First, I would like your side of the story. Specifically, the details of your interactions with Sophia Hess, both in her civilian identity and as Shadow Stalker, and anything else you feel is relevant." She turned to face me, one leg up on the sofa, and gave me her full attention.

I tried not to gulp; it was like being pinned to the wall by a searchlight. "Okay, I didn't know Sophia was Shadow Stalker until Zach mentioned it. But Sophia's been on my case since I started high school. Somehow, she stole my best friend and turned her against me, and they haven't given me a day to myself since." I paused. "Um, Zach, in my bedroom, there's a stack of papers held together with a bulldog clip, on the top shelf of my—" Between one word and the next, Zach was gone. I opened my mouth to say something, and he was back again, standing next to the sofa with my journal in his hand. "—wardrobe," I finished lamely. "Thanks. Wow." I'd seen him do his move trick before over short distances before, but that was something else. There'd barely even been any air displacement, and no after-images or sound of thundering feet. Did he fly? Was he teleporting? I wasn't sure; nor was I certain how to ask.

"Is that a record of what's been going on?" asked Alexandria. She eyed the stack of paper. "That's … a lot of pages."

"That's because there's a lot of incidents," I said bitterly. "That's only from November last, by the way. I only started writing it down then."

" … wait." Dad turned his attention from Zach and the journal to me. "You just said 'stole your best friend'. But that's—" He broke off and moved forward. Taking the papers from Zach's hand, he scanned the front page then stopped, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the thick sheaf. "Emma?" His voice was a plea, an appeal to help him understand what was going on. "How could she …?"

"I don't know, and that's the truth," I confessed. "I just know that she's turned every secret I ever shared with her against me. And today, she helped Sophia lock me in my locker." I eyed Alexandria cynically. "They did report what was in that locker, didn't they?" I wouldn't have put it past them to conveniently 'forget' that bit.

However, it seemed that I'd done them a disservice. "I know what was in the locker," she confirmed, the twist of her lips making it clear that she knew what I was talking about.

"Well, I don't know what was in the locker," Dad interjected. He looked from me to Alexandria and back again. "Do I want to know?"

"Probably not," I said sympathetically. "But would you rather hear it from me or read it in the papers?" I knew it wasn't really fair to make him choose, but then, I hadn't had an option about going into the locker anyway.

Dad held up a hand and went into the kitchen. When he came out, he was carrying one of the dining chairs. Taking a seat, he gave me a steady look. "Okay, I'm sitting down. Hit me."

I took a deep breath. This wasn't easy for me, either. "You know the special bins they have in the girls' bathrooms? They must've emptied every single one in the school." My stomach clenched at the memory.

"Fuck." Dad's voice grated like broken glass. "Here." He stood up again and thrust the stack of papers toward Alexandria. "Have a look at what else your precious Ward did when your back was turned." A little of the venom was back in his voice. "I'm thinking I might just go and have a word with Alan Barnes. I might be gone a little while." Turning on his heel, he started for the door.

"Dad, no!" I raised my voice, and he stopped. "I don't think he knew about it, and even if he did, if you punch him, you'll get arrested. That'll make it harder to fix stuff, if you've got a record."

"It'll just be a fine." He started moving toward the door again. "I can afford a fine. I'm just gonna ask him a few questions. And if I don't like the answers, I'm gonna punch his teeth down his neck."

"Mr Hebert." Alexandria didn't take her eyes off the sheets as she leafed through them at an impressive speed. "Your course of action is inadvisable." The tone of her voice didn't change, but he stopped again. I had to learn how she did that. "His daughter is already injured. That'll get him sympathy in court. On the other side of the coin, attacking him will muddy the case against her, when it goes through. Do you want to see your daughter's attackers go free?"

Dad stopped with his hand on the doorknob. I saw his shoulders hunch and his knuckles whiten as he gripped the smooth metal. He wanted to go out and deliver a warning, if not an actual beatdown, to work off his own agitation; that much was obvious. But Alexandria's warning made a lot of sense. The last thing we wanted was to have Emma walk free because Dad's temper got the better of him.

Finally, he drew a deep breath and let the doorknob go. It didn't bear indentations in the shape of his fingers, but I figured it'd been a near thing. "Fine," he said with bad grace. "You win. I won't go beat the snot out of him. But once this is done, him and me are gonna be sitting down and having a very intense conversation about keeping an eye on what his fucking daughter is up to."

"That's fair." Alexandria stood up from the sofa, leaving the sheaf of papers on the cushions. "I've got everything I need from that." She turned to me. "What were the highlighted emails about? There were a few of those."

I was mildly stunned that she'd not only read through the lot, but she'd had the time to take note of the highlighted emails. Superpowers are bullshit. Of course, I had Zach as the uber-example of that. He had powers that capes thought were bullshit. "Um, those are the ones that were sent during school hours."

"Ah." Her eyes cleared, then focused in the middle distance. "Yes, I see. That's very useful. I don't believe it will be very hard to track down the originals of those emails, where they were sent from, and who was logged in at the time." She smiled at me. "This is all very useful. You did a good job there."

I flushed slightly; even seeing her warts and all, getting praise from Alexandria was definitely a high point in my day. "Um, thanks. I guess I wasn't expecting to have to go as high as you before someone actually paid attention to me."

"May I say something that you might not wish to hear, Taylor?" Zach's voice was diffident. "It is a matter of perspective."

I looked at him curiously. "Okay, go ahead." While I wasn't sure I wanted to hear something unpleasant, Zach obviously thought I needed to know whatever it was. Taking a breath, I braced myself for the bad news.

"I merely wished to remind you of the fact that while Chief Director Costa-Brown is currently committed to this course of action, it is only because I am so powerful that she cannot guarantee victory over me." Zach spoke blandly, though his words were anything other than forgettable. "If I were not here and you attempted to make your case to the PRT, she may well have authorised a cover-up and roadblocks put in your way to ensure nothing more was said about the matter. You saw how Armsmaster and the rest of the Protectorate reacted to your words about Shadow Stalker. In short, while she will be acting in your best interests, it is solely because she has no other choice in the matter."

I'd heard the phrase 'the ugly truth' before, but I'd rarely come across so fitting an example. Nor did I think to question his analysis of the matter; it rang so very true, even without the look on Alexandria's face to go by. I gave her a hard stare, and she had the grace to drop her gaze. Or was she merely acting out shame? I had no doubt she'd done far worse in her career.

"It's true, isn't it." I didn't even bother to phrase it as a question. The temptation to shout at her or call her names was strong, but I restrained myself. I would be the better person.

Slowly, she nodded. "You would've figured it out sooner or later anyway, even without Zachary to point it out. But the fact of the matter is, we all bend the knee to whomever comes along that's stronger than us. You think the criminal element plays nice when there's a superhero walking down the street because they like him? It's the threat of force. You can't keep order without giving orders, and it's an age-old truism that orders not backed by force are merely suggestions. Yes, we should've been aware of your situation a lot earlier, and we should've been ready to remedy it as soon as we found out. That's on us."

She took a deep breath and looked around at each of us. "However, as in any organisation, there are many factors to be taken into account, and they absolutely have to be prioritised in order to keep things running smoothly. Almost invariably, the priorities are aimed more at increasing efficiency and less at the welfare of individual people. Sometimes, this means that people like you fall through the cracks. I wish it were otherwise. I wish I were smart enough to run things so well that everyone benefits. But I'm not."

Dad grimaced. "I wish I was able to call bullshit on that. But I've been involved with organisational planning before, and I know where you're coming from." He paused to give her a stern glare. "However, this doesn't mean you're off the hook for everything that happened to Taylor because of the PRT and Protectorate fucking up. In fact …" He paused, eyes going distant. "I'm thinking we might be in line for compensation. Call it a fuckup tax. The PRT and Protectorate need to learn not to pull this shit any more, and having to actually make an effort to put things right makes for a great object lesson."

"Okay …" She eyed him warily. "You do realise, you're already going to be getting ninety-nine point four million dollars for the Nine. Asking for more money at this point sounds a little grabby to me. Just saying."

He snorted with dark humour. "Who said I was gonna be asking for money? I want to clear the Boat Graveyard. I'm thinking that sometime in the near future, I'm gonna want to be able to make a phone call, and if the Triumvirate happened to be free, I'm pretty sure they could clear the lot in a lazy afternoon."

I wanted to laugh out loud. It was perfect. Between Alexandria, Legend and Eidolon, they could make short work of even that vast tonnage of half-sunken hulks. "And I've got an even better idea," I said. "Zach could help too. He wouldn't do all the work—after all, the Triumvirate have got to show how heroic they can be—but I'm pretty sure he could do his bit."

"I most certainly could do my bit, Taylor." Zach beamed at me. "Would you like me to invite any of my brothers or sister to help as well? I am sure they could speed things up a lot." His gaze was so guileless that I couldn't quite tell if he was trolling Alexandria or not.

"Uh, let's not," she said hastily. "We don't want to cause a mass panic, after all. I'm sure that between the four of us, we could do the job." Turning back to Dad, she added, "Did you want me to contact Legend and get it done this afternoon?" There was an almost hopeful tone to her voice; maybe I can get this over and done with today.

"Not at the moment," he said with a shake of the head. "I'm going to need to start the ball rolling with Roy Christner and get the Merchants dealt with first. Once crime in the area is down to a minimum and the local infrastructure's been brought back up to speed, then I'll give you that call." He gave her a thin smile, which wasn't reflected in his eyes. "But you won't be waiting too long. I don't intend to drag my feet on this."

"So I see," she murmured, then dusted her hands off almost theatrically. "Well, if you call my official contact number, I'll see to it that you're put straight through, night or day. Is there anything else we needed to talk about before I go?"

"One minor detail," Zach said. "If you wanted one more point to make the case against Shadow Stalker stick, she has been in the habit of taking regular arrows out on patrol instead of the probation-mandated tranquilliser arrows. I am sure that someone of your capabilities would be able to locate such arrows wherever she has them hidden."

Alexandria's eyelids drooped slightly and her smile became razor-edged. "Oh, I will take the greatest pleasure in locating her stash." She nodded to Zach. "I believe working alongside you will be fascinating and irritating in equal measure, and I wouldn't miss it for the world." Turning to me, she stepped forward and reached out her hand. "And I know this is more than a little belated, but I want to apologise again for what has been done to you."

I shrugged, then reached up and shook her hand. Her grip was firm, but I'd never have judged it capable of crushing steel if I hadn't known who she really was. "I appreciate it. Even if you are kinda working under duress. As far as I'm concerned, the results are all I'm interested in."

"That's fair." She gave me a measured nod, then turned and shook hands with Dad. "I look forward to working with you again, Mr Hebert. It's nice to talk to someone who has some small idea of what I have to deal with."

"If you speak with Accord in Boston, he will be able to formulate plans to streamline the efficiency of all three organisations of which you are a part," Zach put in unexpectedly. "Of course, this requires that you give him access to deep organisational details, which some may object to." He shrugged. "It is your choice."

Alexandria blinked. "And that one was well out of left field. I'll consider it. No promises." She shook Zach's hand. "It was … extremely interesting to meet you. Don't forget to ask Taylor that question." Moving to the door, she opened it; a moment later, she was gone.

"Wait, what question?" I asked, looking at Zach.

He smiled. "She asked me to ask you if my brothers and sister should stop attacking cities. I already know you do not like people dying, but I allowed her to think she had accomplished something by asking me. I have already asked them to not hurt anyone else, and they have said they will try. Is that what you would have wanted?"

I nodded fervently. "Yeah. Definitely. Thanks for that, Zach. It's a huge weight off my mind."

"Well, this has definitely been an unusual day, even for Brockton Bay," Dad noted. "Start it with a super-powered stand-off at your high school, and end it by saving the world from the Endbringers. And we're not even half done yet."

"True." I grinned. "Of course, tomorrow we're just gonna have to top what we've done today."

Dad shook his head in resignation. "Just make sure Brockton Bay's standing at the end of it, all right?"

I giggled. "I'll do my best."



End of Part Eight

 

[Ack]

I'm HALPING!

Part Nine: No Sale

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

Emily Piggot
Monday Afternoon
January 3
2011

"He shouldn't have done that." Renick's voice was calm and level, but Emily could hear the anger buried beneath. "I'm going to file a formal complaint. Or if you're already going to do one, I'll add mine to it."

She took a deep breath. "Thanks. Not sure how much it'll help, but I appreciate the sentiment."

Renick had been loyal from day one; in fact, although she'd displaced him on her first day from his position as Acting Director, he'd never shown the slightest hint of resentment at being demoted. If she could depend on anyone to back her up, it was him.

He shook his head. "I just don't believe he could possibly have thought it was a good idea. You had a handle on the situation—as much as anyone could've had a handle on that hot mess out there—and you were dealing with it. So just when things are starting to settle down, he decides to pull his glory hound act—"

She held up a hand, interrupting his growing rant. "While I absolutely agree with your assessment of James Tagg's character and motives, it's perhaps not the best career move in the world to refer to your nominal superior as a 'glory hound' in an office where there may have been recording devices running before I just now shut them off."

"Ah." Looking somewhat abashed, he scrubbed his hands over his face. "Sorry for sounding off like that. And thank you."

"Whatever for?" She heaved a sigh. "I don't disagree with the man's priorities—God knows we wanted this situation locked down as fast as possible—but to come in at the last minute and run roughshod over all the goodwill I've tried to establish in this town doesn't speak well to his judgement."

"Do you think he actually got matters under control?" Renick asked, sounding honestly curious. "The only thing out of the ordinary in the last half hour was the Endbringer alarm that went off just before, and it shut off pretty quickly. What do you think that could've meant?"

Emily studied the skyline again. It was just as devoid of mushroom clouds or rainclouds as it had been every other time she'd looked. Neither could she hear an unsettling song in her head. If there was an Endbringer attack going on, it was the quietest one on record. "No idea," she concluded. "And I hate not knowing."

A green-tinged sphere appeared across the office from both of them, and Emily tensed. This was one of the ways the Triumvirate got around but if she was wrong, there were a dozen different duress alarms she could trigger. When the sphere opened up to reveal Eidolon and Chief Director Rebecca Costa-Brown, she relaxed a little … but not too much. A visit from the boss was still a visit from the boss, after all.

"It's a good thing I'm here, then." The Chief Director stepped out of the green sphere with all the aplomb of someone who travelled that way as a matter of course. "Good news, Emily. Upon studying the situation first-hand, I've come to the conclusion that far from mismanaging it, you've done a remarkably good job of keeping things under control. Tagg, on the other hand, didn't. Which means he's out and you're reinstated."

Emily came to her feet as a sign of respect. "That is good news, yes," she said cautiously. Good things just didn't fall into her lap. Long experience had taught her that, with many object lessons upon the way. "This still doesn't explain to me exactly what's going on with this Zachary person."

From the look of sudden pain on Costa-Brown's features, Emily got the impression she'd prodded a nerve. Given the treatment she'd been undergoing all day, it was just a little satisfying to see that expression on someone else's face for once. "Ah, yes. Zachary."

"Zachary," Eidolon stated so woodenly he may well have been reading off a teleprompter inside his helmet, "is to be left alone and not investigated. His associates are to be afforded a similar amount of privacy." He stopped talking abruptly, apparently done with his pronouncement.

"What?" Emily was left feeling more than a little off balance. "But … he attacked students! And a Ward! And damaged a school!" He damaged Winslow, she acknowledged silently, which meant there was a strong possibility that nobody would notice.

"The school is insured, or it should be," Costa-Brown said flatly. "Zachary was acting in defence of Taylor Hebert when he injured those students. As of this moment, Shadow Stalker is out of the Wards program. She's to be treated as a flight risk and remanded into custody for juvenile detention as soon as she recovers." She took a deep breath. "As for your local villains Hookwolf, Lung, Cricket and Oni Lee, they're either in custody or they will be shortly. Also, we'll be arranging payment of the accumulated bounty for the Slaughterhouse Nine to Taylor's father, Danny Hebert, as soon as it's convenient for him to hand over his banking details."

Emily found herself sitting down again, a faint ringing in her ears. "They're dead? The Nine? How?" Later on, she knew, she would freak out more privately over the logistics of imprisoning four of the most dangerous parahumans in the city. Right now, she wanted to make sure she'd heard the other news clearly. Chief Director Costa-Brown wasn't known for making jokes like that, or for possessing a sense of humour at all. Still, there was always a first time.

"By way of Zachary, using a PRT van and a street sign." That was Eidolon; from the tone of his voice, he wasn't entirely certain about what he was saying. "From fifteen hundred miles away. You can write off the van as having been destroyed in parahuman combat. Along with the other one that actually was. The Chief Director will sign off on it."

"I … see." Emily metaphorically reached down and pulled up her big-girl pants. Time for the nitty-gritty. "So, from this I'm gathering that Zachary is more powerful than most as parahumans go. What's your estimate of his threat rating?"

Costa-Brown shook her head slightly. "You misunderstand. Zachary isn't a parahuman. He just … is. You will not assign him a threat rating. You will instruct the PRT and Protectorate to leave him alone at all times. He may appear to be entirely nonthreatening or utterly terrifying, depending on his mood. To our very great fortune, he only poses a threat toward anyone who might threaten Danny or Taylor Hebert—especially Taylor—with personal danger."

"And for those who do pose a threat to the Heberts …?" Emily knew the question had to be asked.

Eidolon and Costa-Brown both shook their heads at the same time. "God help them," the Chief Director said. "Because nothing you can do will save their sorry asses."

<><>​

The Hebert Household
Later That Evening

"That was very nice," Zach said, placing his knife and fork on the plate before him. He had eaten his share of the lasagne with every evidence of enjoyment, which had caused mixed thoughts in my head. The part of me that saw him as a teenage boy wondered if he would want seconds, the part that understood he was an Endbringer wondered if he really needed to eat at all, then a third part wondered why I wasn't getting more confused over the other two parts until a fourth part reminded the rest of my brain about Zach's it's-all-okay Stranger effect. "You are a good cook, Mr Hebert."

"Thanks, Zachary," Dad said with a slightly bemused expression. I was pretty sure I knew exactly what was going through his head, because it was going through mine as well. "So, do you normally eat much lasagne? Or … well, anything?"

As an Endbringer, I knew he meant but did not say out loud.

"Normally, we do not eat, no," Zach said, confirming our unvoiced thoughts. "However, as I am here to learn to be human for Taylor's sake, I am able to eat food and enjoy it. The food you have given me was delicious." His eyes twinkled. "My brothers say they are quite jealous. Nobody ever cooks meals for them."

"No offense to them, but until your sister visited this afternoon, I don't believe anyone really saw them as being safe to invite over as houseguests," Dad said, earning my admiration for his masterful understatement.

"Talking about her," I interjected. "You said your brothers are jealous. Is she?" I still hadn't forgotten the fact that she'd dropped into Earth Bet just to meet me.

"I did not say my brothers were jealous," Zach corrected me seriously. "I told you they said they were jealous. They really are not. I believe they were attempting humour."

"The Endbringers. Making jokes." Dad didn't seem thrilled by this. "That could go very badly indeed. Just saying."

"Could you please tell them that even a basic prank could kill thousands of people?" I asked. "I mean, even if they didn't mean to. Next to Endbringers, humans are fragile." I was imagining Leviathan sweeping up to some beachfront resort then doing the equivalent of yelling 'Psyche!' and running away, but accidentally drowning everyone in a tsunami anyway.

"My sister is reminding them that this is the case," Zachary assured me. "They are not used to humour. I told them the joke about the fireman and the suspenders. Behemoth has said he wants red suspenders for when he next appears. My sister has said she will see what she can do."

"And Leviathan?" asked Dad faintly. "Does he want green suspenders, or blue ones?"

"He does not see the point in wearing suspenders," Zachary explained blithely. "He does not wear trousers, and quite often swims very quickly through the water. He has asked Behemoth why he wants red suspenders, and Behemoth has said because he wants them. He can be very stubborn when he wants to be."

I suddenly had a mental image of Behemoth as an oversized toddler, sitting in a playpen wearing red suspenders with his clawed arms folded and his one eye glaring with annoyance because he wasn't being allowed to play with the other kids. Beside him was a similarly childlike Leviathan in a paddling pool, for some reason wearing an adorably cute striped onesie swimming costume, pouting because he was banned from splashing people.

"That is very funny, Taylor," Zachary said with a smile. "My sister is laughing quite a lot. She wants to know if she has permission to share it with them."

I gulped. Unless I missed my guess, 'them' meant Behemoth and Leviathan. Zachary was nice, of course, and even the Simurgh had smiled as she greeted me, but I didn't want to piss off Zachary's older brothers. "What if it annoys them?"

Zach tilted his head slightly. "She does not think it will anger them, although she might need to explain it to Behemoth. And if they do become angry, she says she will tell them to … what is the phrase … ah yes, 'toughen up, buttercup'." He looked at me queryingly. "Is that how it is said?"

"It is," I confirmed. "But … could you please ask her not to read my mind like that, without checking with me first? Please?"

Before I could really reflect on how I was asking the Simurgh to not read my mind, he nodded firmly. "I have told her that you are unhappy with her doing that, and she has said she will not do it in future. She apologises for making you feel uncomfortable. Her intention was to check if you were becoming distressed with talking about Endbringers, and to ask me to stop if you were."

I took a deep breath. "Tell her I appreciate the thoughtfulness, but asking me would be less intrusive, and I wouldn't be offended if you did ask about things like that."

"I have said that to her," Zach said. "It appears we all have things to learn about each other. Would you agree, Danny?"

"Don't bring me into this," Dad disclaimed, shaking his head. "I like to process one bit of weirdness at a time, thanks."

I knew exactly how he felt. My life since I met Zach had been nonstop weirdness, but somehow I was good with that. I wondered if his Stranger effect was actually making it easier for me to accept what was going on around me. If so, I wasn't going to argue. Having a mental breakdown because my best friend was an Endbringer wasn't in my plans.

"I will try not to make things too weird for you, Danny," Zach agreed. "Would it be weird if Taylor and I went out and dealt with the Merchants this evening? It should not take more than an hour or so."

Dad looked from me to Zach and back again. "It wouldn't be weird, exactly, given what I've already seen you do, but does Taylor actually need to come along? She's not nearly as durable as you are, after all, and these are the Merchants. They're not known for being nice to non-combatants."

Zach and I began to speak at the same second, then he paused and nodded to me. "You go first please, Taylor."

I knew he meant it, so gave him a nod and a smile in return. "It's best that I go along for the Merchants' sake, Dad. If they push Zach too far, I want to make sure he doesn't execute them for being idiots." His offer to kill Emma and her cronies was still fresh in my mind.

"Ah." Dad nodded, though I could tell he still didn't like the idea. "Zach, you were saying?"

"I will keep Taylor safe and happy, as is my purpose." Zach's tone was matter of fact. "No Merchant can move faster than I can. I will ensure that all their attacks are directed toward me."

"And you're certain you can tank their best shot?" Dad chuckled wryly and shook his head. "No, ignore that. I keep forgetting that you face-planted Alexandria in the asphalt. Your Stranger effect is giving me cognitive dissonance."

"I am sorry for that, Danny." As best I could tell, Zach was being truly apologetic. "I felt that you would prefer seeing me as not dangerous to seeing me as very dangerous."

"It's nothing." Dad waved away the apology. "I've had to deal with a lot of people who were far more dangerous than they looked, back in the day. At least you're up front with your motivations. So, you think you can even find the Merchants to deal with them? It's not like they're very forthcoming with their plans."

"That is easy," Zach said. "I will ask my sister. She knows where everyone is."

"She really does," I assured Dad. "She gave Zach targeting information on the Nine, so he got them on the first try."

"So I saw on the news," Dad agreed. "Well done for that, by the way." He gave Zach a nod of approval. "I don't know for a fact that they would've come to Brockton Bay any time soon, but they did have a habit of gathering powerful capes under their banner."

"They would have," Zach said. "Jack Slash would not have seen how dangerous I was, and he would have attempted to endanger Taylor in order to recruit me. To keep her safe, I would have had to kill all of them anyway. In doing it now, when there were no innocent lives to be lost, I saved many lives that they would have taken in the meantime. I believe that this has served the dual purpose of keeping Taylor safe and also making her happy."

I nodded earnestly. "Knowing you've saved lives definitely makes me happy," I assured him. "It still feels weird that you're giving us the payout, though. What are we going to even do with ninety-nine million dollars?"

"Oh, I can definitely think of one or two dozen things," Dad said firmly. "Fixing up the car and the house, paying the fees for you to attend Arcadia, renovating the ferry terminals and the port, putting aside about a million dollars for your college fund …"

"Wow, I hadn't so much as thought about college at this point." I shook my head. "Not even sure what I want to study there."

"I could ask my sister what she sees you studying in the future, if you want," Zach offered helpfully.

"Um, what? No!" I stared at him. "Can she see that? If I haven't decided for myself, I mean? How does that even work?"

"My sister can see what was and what will be, but she cannot see what is," Zach explained patiently. "If in the future you will go to college, she can see now what you will study then. But I will not ask her, if you do not wish me to."

"No, no, don't ask her." I had the horrible feeling that my future was bound to an immutable path that I couldn't even see, and that if I were to be told what it was and tried to change it, bad things would happen. "I prefer to believe in free will, thanks."

"Alright, I will not ask her." Zach nodded, as if to settle the matter. "When would you like to go out so that we can deal with the Merchants?"

"Don't stay out too late, please," Dad said mildly. "We're going into Winslow tomorrow, and I'd like to get that dealt with bright and early."

"What, school already?" I shook my head and groaned. "Can't I even have one day off? And didn't you say I was going to Arcadia anyway?"

"Oh, you're not going back to school there." Dad's expression was grim. "I don't care that Zach beat the crap out of Emma and the other bullies. You're not going back into that hellhole, Zach or no Zach. With the money we've got coming in, you are going to Arcadia if I have to buy the damn school and personally have you taken off the rolls. I just need to go in there and make sure they know it."

"I could ask my sister to come with us and explain it to them," Zach offered helpfully.

Dad and I paused. I could tell he was tempted. Hell, I was very tempted. But in the end, we both shook our heads; regretfully, in my case.

"No," he said with a sigh. "As much as I would utterly love to see the look on that woman's face when she realised just how badly she's screwed up, it would probably lead to Armsmaster or someone from the PRT calling us up and begging us not to do it again. And I hate to hear a grown man cry."

"Alright, I will not do that." Zach smiled at me. "If your father does not want us to stay out too late, perhaps we should go soon."

"Okay, then." I got up from the table. "I'll just go brush my teeth and change. Is there anything specific that I should wear to go and beat up druggie gangsters, or is what I'm wearing okay?"

It was a measure of how impressed Dad was with Zach that he didn't even look worried at the joke. "Maybe something dark, and make sure you take a jacket. The news said a cold front is moving in."

"That will be Leviathan," Zach said at once. "He said he thought of a prank he can play. It is something new."

"New?" Dad got in just before me as we both looked at Zach. "What do you mean, new?"

Zach smiled. "You will see. He is certain it will not hurt any people. My sister agrees with him."

Dad and I exchanged a glance. This was slightly concerning, but Zach sounded fairly sure that nobody would be in danger. I'd already learned to trust Zach with my own life, so I had to take it on faith that he wouldn't lie about someone else being in danger.

"Okay then," I said. "Dark clothes, wear a jacket. Gotcha."

Trotting upstairs, I took care of my dental hygiene then went to my room and dug out some black jeans and a dark blue pullover. There was a brown jacket hanging in my closet that smelt a little musty but still fit me, and it was kind of dark, so I shrugged into that as well. My sneakers went on next; I pulled the laces tight, recalling how fast Zach had zipped us through the streets before. The last thing I wanted was for me to lose a shoe halfway between here and wherever. Looking myself over in the mirror as I pulled my hair back into a tie, I thought I looked kind of badass. Well, I hoped I looked kind of badass.

Not that I was gonna be doing much more than spectate and award points for style. Zach was the heavy hitter here and everyone knew it. I was just coming along so that the Merchants would survive to reach prison. Given his threat to execute Emma and the others, I was under no illusions that he would be any more merciful to Skidmark and his crew if I wasn't there. There wouldn't even be any bodies to be found if he didn't want that to happen.

Did that bother me? Not really. Zach might be ruthless to the point of being willing to murder anyone who so much as looked like posing a threat to me, but the two people he was guaranteed not to threaten were me and Dad. And in a life where it had sometimes seemed that the whole point of being Taylor Hebert was suffering, it was nice to have someone powerful on my side for once.

<><>​

Danny

Taylor strolled downstairs and into the living room, where Danny was in the process of filling Zachary in on what little he knew of Merchant practices. "Ready to go?" she asked.

Zachary smiled at her. "Yes, Taylor, I am."

Going over to his daughter, Danny put his hand on her arm. "Have fun, and take care." He would worry—any father would—but Zachary had proven himself over and over that he would prioritise her safety and happiness over everything else.

She gave him a smile and a hug, which he returned. "Absolutely."

While Danny trailed behind, she headed outside to the front path with Zachary following. Danny stopped and leaned against the doorway to watch them. She had described both the leaping and the running, and he wanted to see this for himself.

"Okay, um, let's get started," she said.

"Alright, Taylor," said Zachary. "Do you wish to run there or jump there?"

It didn't take Taylor long to decide. "Jump. Definitely jump."

"Very well. Hold on tight. Tell me when you are ready." Effortlessly, Zachary scooped Taylor up in a bridal carry. Danny strongly suspected the advice to hold on was more to make her feel that she was making a contribution; whether she held on or not, there was minimal chance that Zachary would ever drop her.

Still, Danny heard a giggle as she put her arms around Zachary's neck. "Ready."

Afterwards, Danny decided it was pure bullshit. Zachary merely flexed his hips and knees just a little, and then the pair rocketed away into the night sky at frankly ridiculous speeds, vanishing from sight in less than a second. All that remained were a pair of footprints driven into the lawn, and Taylor's fading whoop of exhilaration.

Heaving a sigh, Danny turned and went back inside. They'd be back when they got back, but he decided to keep an eye on the TV news just in case. After all, teenagers were teenagers whether they were human or Endbringers.

<><>​

Tattletale

When Lisa's phone rang with that number, she felt the same tight little clench in her gut that she always did. It didn't matter that the jobs were always lucrative; she knew for a fact that the moment Coil decided there was a profit in dumping them in the shit, in the shit they would go. Still, she answered it as she always did. "Hey, boss. How's things?"

"Tattletale." His voice was oddly strained, bringing her oh-shit meter to full alertness. He wasn't under duress … exactly … but he was in the process of doing something he didn't want to do. This made part of her giggle with unrestrained glee, while at the same time another part of her wondered who had a hold over her boss, and what plans they might have for the Undersiders.

"Yeah, boss? Hey, if you're blocked up, I got a line on some great laxatives—"

"Shut. Up. And. Listen." If anything, Coil's aggravation was increasing, but there was none of the underlying satisfaction that would stem from being able to take his problems out on her. "I am ending my contract with yourself and the rest of the Undersiders. You are on your own. You are not to attempt to locate or contact me. We are done. Is that totally understood?"

She blinked twice, then nodded, before finally speaking. "Uh … right. We're on our own. Do we get, you know, severance pay or something?"

There was a moment of silence on the line, almost long enough to make her think he'd cut off the call, but then he replied. "Yes. You will each have twelve thousand deposited into your accounts. Are there any questions?" He was speaking the words of his own free will, but he desperately wished that he didn't have to. Also, he didn't want to answer any questions.

Which was too bad for him. Lisa noted that the twelve grand apiece made up a sweet six months' pay, but now her curiosity was running over. Coil wasn't staying in town; he was cutting and running, and she wanted to know why. She grinned and metaphorically cracked her knuckles. "So, why are you leaving town? Is it anything to do with that Endbringer siren false alarm today?"

She paused to let him speak, but he said nothing. To her, his silence spoke louder than words. Well, holy shit. It wasn't a false alarm.

He encountered an Endbringer and lived.

And the encounter—Simurgh, has to be—convinced him to go elsewhere. Today.

Also, to not screw us over.

Yeah, well, it would take an Endbringer to convince him of that.

He cleared his throat, with what almost sounded like a whimper. "Do not try to find me." Then he hung up.

Lisa stared at the phone in her hand. "Well, fuck," she muttered, then raised her voice. "Guys? You're, uh, you're probably not going to like this."

<><>​

Coil

"Do not try to find me." Calvert hit the end-call button then sat back in his chair, shaking.

The Undersiders were a loose end, one he would normally have had no qualms with eradicating. Especially Tattletale. Either dead with a bullet in her brain or drugged to the gills in a room in his base, mumbling her analyses into a microphone with a TV screen in front of her. Letting her live when she knew that he'd been the Undersiders' secret boss (and may well have ferreted out his powerset and secret identity) went against every lesson he'd ever learned about covert activity.

But every timeline where he set out to eliminate them went … badly.

Sometimes it was that terrifying teenage boy, other times it was the Simurgh; appearing at the moment of triumph and coming for him personally. The scariest ones were where the boy seemed to do nothing at all, and the timeline just … ended. As if he'd negated Calvert's ability to use his own power. And always, the Hebert girl, just staring at him as though he were scum. Not angry, not even pitying. Just dismissive.

He wasn't going to lie to himself. He was terrified. This was worse than Ellisburg. In Ellisburg he'd been able to shoot back, to pretend he had some level of power in the situation. Here, his power was being ignored or even used to terrorise him. Merely attempting to deny them any kind of severance payout—what did she think he was, a legitimate employer?—had led to Zachary literally bursting in through the roof of his base like some insane version of the Kool-Aid Man.

At least he'd been able to tell her not to track him down. Whether that would hold or not depended entirely on her, but with any luck she would be satisfied with being out of his clutches. But now, it was time to cut his losses and slink off into the night with what disposable resources he could take with him. He'd already paid off the mercenaries and sent them on their way; while he would've liked to keep half a dozen as bodyguards, it just wasn't to be. Not against the Endbringer boy or the Simurgh—there was no defending against that—but against the myriad other evils the world could spawn.

Well, almost all the mercenaries. The one called Creep had known what his face looked like. While Calvert was paying him (not only in money) he was loyal, but that situation almost certainly would not have lasted past the final paycheck. Thus, Creep was currently residing in a bodybag in the base morgue, a nine-millimetre bullet-hole in the back of the head being the cause of death. By the time it was discovered, Calvert intended to be well out of town.

He wasn't entirely certain about his final destination, but it probably would not be inside the continental United States. Wherever he did end up, he intended to be nowhere near Brockton Bay, or even the northeastern corner of the nation.

With a sigh, he set his computer to perform a total factory reset. Then he got up from the chair, slung his duffel over his shoulder, and left his office. There was one Hummer in the underground garage, with a full tank of fuel …

All the lights went out.

The darkness was absolute.

Scrabbling in his pocket, he took his phone out and activated the flashlight function.

Half a second later, that died as well.

"Oh, come on!" he screamed; his voice echoed back from the raw concrete and steel beams. And kept echoing, but the echoes seemed to become disembodied laughter.

He knew the layout of the base well enough. With one hand on the rail and the other out before him, he began to hurry toward the exit. His boots on the steel catwalk echoed oddly, making him think there was someone just behind him. He hurried faster, then missed a turn and almost went over the rail. The duffel slipped off his shoulder and dropped away from his clutching hands. He heard it go thud, fifteen feet down.

The duffel contained clothing, his costume, several passports under different names, a spare handgun and about ten thousand in cash.

Do I go down and get it?

The ghostly footsteps were getting closer.

Fuck that.

Hurrying onward, he reached the exit. The door jammed open after it had slid only a foot or so, leaving him barely enough room to squeeze through. Panting and bruised, he limped onward until he reached the Hummer. It sounded like a dozen men were converging on him in the dimness of the garage. Wrenching open the door, he was halfway in before he saw what was in the passenger seat.

The body bag, containing Creep's corpse.

With a scream, he recoiled clear out of the vehicle to end up sprawled on the concrete. He got to his feet and cautiously edged his way around the Hummer and pulled open the passenger side door. The body bag was even strapped in though how Zachary had infiltrated his base without his knowledge, he had no idea.

Shuddering, he reached across the bodybag and unclipped the seat belt, then yanked on the bag until it spilled out untidily across the floor of the garage. Then he slammed the door shut, ran around the Hummer, and got into the driver's seat. Strapping himself in, he fired up the powerful diesel engine, and peeled rubber all the way out of the parking garage.

He didn't stop whimpering until he reached Boston.

He didn't stop driving until the sun came up.

<><>​

Taylor

One second we were soaring high above night-time Brockton Bay. In the next, Zach made a perfect two-point landing on grimy concrete with an ear-splitting BOOM, sending cracks radiating in all directions from the brand-new footprints in the rock-hard surface. He let me down onto my feet and smiled. "We are in Merchant territory now, Taylor. Do you still wish for me to take them alive? They are bad people who make people younger than you degrade themselves to feed their addictions."

And this was why I had come along. Zach's heart was in the right place, but he was altogether too willing to use lethal violence to settle a problem. It didn't help that I was half-inclined to agree with his drastic approach to matters, having seen the damage drugs could do to a city. After all, the Merchants were far from the sole purveyors of chemical dependency in Brockton Bay; they were just the only ones who used it as their central stock-in-trade.

"Take them alive, Zach," I said firmly. "Please."

"Alright, Taylor!" he said happily. "I will do that for you."

I looked around. We appeared to be standing on the forecourt of a defunct gas station with an attached garage. While there were a few people across the road, they weren't paying us much attention. I wasn't sure if that was due to Zach's ability to make people think he belonged or if they were just on drugs. Given that this was Merchant territory, it was a toss-up. "So where exactly are the Merchants, anyway?"

"Right here!" He took two steps toward a door in the side of the gas station garage, just as it opened.

A woman with hair hanging over her face peered out. "Who the fuck's making all this fucking noise—what the fuck?"

The exclamation was due to Zach grabbing hold of her and pulling her out of the doorway, while keeping the door itself open with his foot. As she struggled against his grip, he pressed his hand against her forehead. Her eyes rolled up into her head, a sudden wind that had kicked up died down again, and she slumped in his grasp.

"She is not dead, just sleeping," he whispered to me. "This is Whirligig. She would have made it hard to keep you safe."

"Oh," I said. Zach laid Whirligig down on the ground and pushed the door open. Not wanting to be left alone outside with an unconscious supervillain (in the very loosest of terms), I followed him inside.

Within the garage, three people were standing around a monstrosity of a vehicle that looked like it may have started life as a Mack truck, but then tried to incorporate elements of a jet fighter and a submarine. There might even have been a way to put it all together that was both elegant and functional, retaining the strong points of everything while looking cool and stylish.

This wasn't it.

However, my appreciation of how ugly Tinkertech can really get was interrupted by one of the three turning toward us. He was a little taller than me, wearing a stained and patched blue costume, complete with cape. I didn't have to see his horribly discoloured teeth or hear him speak to know who he was. Skidmark; the leader of the Merchants, and reputedly the foulest-mouthed cape on the eastern seaboard.

"Well, who the fuck was it, minge-maggot?" he asked. Even his voice was grating and unpleasant. When he registered that we weren't Whirligig, his eyes widened. "Cocksucking motherfucker! Who the turd-sniffing fuck are those two knob-gobblers?"

I didn't know who the scrawny little Gollum-lookalike was but gauging from how red his eyes were, he was stoned off his ass. That, and I could smell the lingering marijuana smoke from where I was. (I've never partaken, but going to Winslow teaches you things like that). He looked us up and down, then sniffed deeply and wiped his forearm across under his nose. "Couple little shits from the preppy side of town, here for some rough trade, Skids. They ain't nothin'."

The last of the three, a trashily-dressed blonde girl who apparently used engine grease as hair styling product, peered at us. "You here for that? 'Cause I don't think you're here for that." Belatedly, I recalled her name; Squealer, the Merchants' Tinker and one of the main reasons they hadn't been overrun by ordinary non-cape gangs.

Zach smiled cheerfully. "No."

I could tell the exact instant when he ceased to maintain the "I'm harmless and forgettable" image. All three villains swore luridly, and reacted in different ways.

A broad strip of concrete between Skidmark and us suddenly began to glow with a gradiated colour band, shading from violet on his end to blue on ours. Bits of dirt and trash began to fling themselves toward us, as if blown by a strong wind. As the villain gestured frantically, the band both increased in width and intensified in colour.

"Keep ''em back, Skiddy!" shouted Squealer, scrambling up the side of the vehicle with an agility I would've been hard put to match. "Once I get the guns powered up, I'll blow 'em into next week!"

By contrast, the third guy—whose name I was still blanking on—went to run away. Or, as I realised a second later, he was shambling toward a pile of trash in the corner. As he ran, branched growths began to protrude from his skinny body.

Ignoring Squealer and the skinny guy, Zach looked down at the glowing carpet of colour between us and the supervillains. "That is very interesting," he said. "Do you mind if I look more closely?"

Skidmark's response was impressively unprintable (and I'd heard Dockworkers swear) as he laid down more layers of his field. Some went farther out, probably in an attempt to sweep us off our feet. But Zach stood firm; and with his hand on my arm, so did I. Then Zach leaned down and used his free hand to lift the power effect off the concrete. The move pulled it out from under my feet and Zach's as well, and he was able to leave me to my own devices as he began to roll it up like a carpet.

Desperately, Skidmark threw down more fields, only for Zach to catch each of them and add them to his growing collection. Almost casually, he rolled it up into a bundle the size of a basketball, with one glowing violet string leading back to Skidmark. Then, with a single yank, he pulled that cord free and tied it around the bundle to make a ball.

"That ain't possible!" screamed Skidmark. He tried to throw extra fields down, but no matter how he waved his hands, nothing happened. I recalled how Zach had pulled this exact trick on Miss Militia, and grinned. This time around, it was much more possible. "Gimme back my fields, you syphilitic goat-fucking herpes blister!"

"You only had to ask politely," Zach said reprovingly, then tossed the bundle of coruscating fields at him.

At the last second, Skidmark seemed to realise the danger. "No, don't, shiiiiiii—!" He tried to jump aside at the last moment, but the ball seemed to curve in midair, and nailed him in the chest anyway.

In another instant, he was wrapped from head to toe in the fields, glowing so brightly I could've read by them. I would've had to be reading very quickly though, as he was launched upward at extremely high speed. There was a hollow BOOOM, and bits of ceiling and roof rained down around us. His last curse trailed away into the distance almost immediately.

I wanted to ask Zach where he'd sent the guy, but the vehicle powered up, gun-turrets swinging in our direction. Meanwhile, the skinny little guy was in the process of packing garbage around himself to become neither skinny or little. What was his name again? Moist? Mush? Something like that.

Three guns fired at once, and Zach moved. His arms weren't even a blur as he smacked the projectiles aside, apparently robbing them of their kinetic energy at the same time. Impressively large cannon rounds fell to the floor at his feet, dented from where they had struck his hands. Then he stepped forward and punched the vehicle once.

It … fell apart. The bits that came from a plane fell off to the left, the parts that I thought were from a submarine came off to the right, and the chassis of the Mack Truck, minus some important bits, remained in the middle. And sitting there, finger clicking on a trigger that was no longer connected to anything worthwhile, was Squealer. She stared at Zach, still clicking the trigger by reflex.

"Um …" she said.

<><>​

Director Piggot
PRT Building ENE

It was amazing, Emily grumbled to herself. Let one jumped-up asshole take over her job for just one hour, and the paperwork to deal with that shit increased to take up the entire goddamn evening. But finally, it was done (and thankfully, she was able to redirect any and all queries regarding 'Zachary' to Chief Director Costa-Brown) so she was going home for the evening. Standing up, she reached around and pressed on the small of her back …

Smack.

"What the hell?" she demanded, turning so fast she nearly lost her balance. Spreadeagled across her window, plastered to the high-end polycarbonate, was Skidmark, an expression of extreme discomfort on his features. And then, with a long drawn-out squeeeeeaak, he began to slide down the window.

Grabbing her phone, she hit the icon that connected her to everyone.

"Now hear this. This is an all-stations alert. Skidmark is on the east face of the building. I say again, Skidmark is on the east face of the building."

She wanted to rush from the office and dive into the elevator to see where he ended up, but she controlled herself. She had security troops to do exactly that thing. In lieu of something else to do, she started pulling up external camera feeds. It took her a few attempts, but finally she managed to get the one focused on the main entrance, just as Skidmark collapsed to the pavement outside. To her astonishment, he was still alive and apparently uninjured, given that he was able to stand up as the troopers took him into custody.

Her phone rang, and she answered it by reflex. "Director Piggot speaking."

"It's Lieutenant Graves down in the lobby, ma'am. We have Skidmark in custody. He's swearing up a storm about some teenage boy who stole his powers and flung him here from up near the Trainyards."

She took a breath. "Thank you, Lieutenant. Well done. Do not assume the power loss is permanent."

"No, ma'am. Thank you, ma'am."

Ending the call, she sat down at her desk again.

Zachary. It has to be Zachary.

She shook her head as she looked at the greasy smear the villain had left on the polycarbonate. The fact that Skidmark had come from the north and still hit the east window of the building, she wasn't even going to address right then.

"Skidmark by name, skidmark by nature," she muttered, turning off the lights on the way out the door.

This paperwork, she would deal with tomorrow.



End of Part Nine

 

[Ack]

I'm HALPING!

Part Ten: And For My Next Trick …

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



The Morning of January 4
Hebert Household

Dad looked at both of us intently. "So the Merchants are no longer a factor?"

"Well, no," I said. "After Zach made Skidmark faceplant all over Director Piggot's window—and boy, do I wish I had footage of that—we waited for the PRT to come pick up the rest of the capes, then we visited all of their dealers and stash houses. Zach explained politely that he didn't want them selling drugs to anyone anymore, and they decided to change their ways."

"My sister says it is very important to be polite when I am talking to people," Zach contributed. "Also, to speak clearly and make sure that I have their full attention."

"Do I want to know how he got their full attention?" asked Dad carefully.

I tried to look innocent. From the look on his face, I probably failed. "Well, he was crushing their guns and knives into a steel ball with his bare hands while he spoke to them. And he might have let them see the Endbringer side of him, just a little bit. I mean, they didn't all wet themselves. Just the ones who were trying to talk the toughest."

"In that case, I'm not totally surprised that they listened to him," Dad said dryly. "Zach, you're an absolute menace, and exactly what Brockton Bay needs right now. And Taylor, of course."

"Yes," replied Zach brightly. "Because I am here to help Taylor and keep her happy. If cleaning up Brockton Bay will make her happy, then that is what I will do."

"Glad to hear it, son." Dad headed into the living room. "Go ahead and finish breakfast. I've got a phone call to make."

As I picked up a forkful of fried egg, a pensive look came over Zach's face. From experience, I knew it was a bad idea to let him mull over an idea for too long, so I put the fork down and turned to him. "What is it?"

"Eidolon is my father, but he has repeatedly refused to acknowledge this," he said slowly. "Your father is not related to me, but he has called me 'son'. Does he see me as family, or am I misunderstanding the situation?"

Whoo boy. Minefield alert. This was gonna be a doozy. "Dad … knows you're not related to us, but I know he likes you. Him calling you 'son' is his way of accepting you and showing you respect." I looked carefully at him, trying to judge the way he was taking it. "Does that make sense to you?"

"Yes, Taylor, it does," Zach said happily. "I am pleased to be accepted into your household. It is good to be called 'son', even by someone who is not my father."

"Good. I'm glad." I went back to eating my eggs. It had just been a casual word from Dad, but it had made Zach a lot happier. Endbringers, I decided, were weird.

Weird, but nice.

<><>​

Mayor Christner

Roy leaned back in his chair with the morning paper, sipping at his coffee as he took in the news articles. It was the usual blend of nothing stories and gang violence, though his eyebrows tracked up toward his hairline as he took in the information that the entire cape membership of the ABB and the Merchants were currently in PRT custody, along with Hookwolf and Cricket.

"Well, that's new," he murmured as he paused at another article claiming that Assault had been punched all the way to Boston as a result of an altercation with an unidentified cape. Apparently, the irreverent cape was alive and well, and awaiting transport back to Brockton Bay.

"What was that, Dad?" asked Rory as he continued to inhale breakfast waffles at a rate impossible for anyone but a growing teenager.

"Did you have anything to do with any of this?" Roy asked, sitting forward and folding the paper to show Rory the articles. "Capturing the ABB and the Merchants? Taking down Cricket and Hookwolf? The PRT certainly had a busy day yesterday." He didn't bother pointing out the one about Assault; if Rory knew about that one, he'd give with the details without needing to be asked.

"I wasn't there, but I heard about it," Rory said. "A lot of weird stuff happened yesterday. Did you see on the news about the Nine being wiped out?"

"Yes, yes, I did." Roy would forever deny it, but he'd whispered a prayer of thanks that Jack Slash and his murderous bunch would never visit Brockton Bay again. "Wait, are you saying that boy … Zach? That he had something to do with all that?" It didn't seem possible. The youngster he'd seen on TV didn't seem capable of going up against Lung and Hookwolf.

"That's what I heard," his son maintained. "Gallant swears up and down that Zach's the one who smacked Assault all the way to Boston, too."

"I find that hard to believe." Roy opened the paper again. "I think—"

His phone rang, and he gave the device an irritated look. The caller ID made his frown deepen; there were very few things he wanted to talk about first thing in the morning with Danny Hebert, but that was the name on the screen. On the other hand, he couldn't just blow the man off without endangering the union vote. The things I do to stay in good with my electorate.

Picking up the phone, he swiped to answer and held it to his ear. "You've got Christner."

"Good morning, Roy." Danny sounded very pleased with himself, which made Roy all the more cautious. "I'm guessing you've heard the good news about the ABB and the Merchants?"

"I have." Already, Roy thought he knew what was coming next. "Is this going to be another appeal to get Lord's Port opened up again? Because I—"

"Nope." Danny was sounding more like the cat with the canary all the time. "I've already arranged for that to happen. What I'm calling about is the ferry."

It was like he'd put his foot out in the dark, expecting a step down, and hit the floor instead. "What about the ferry? The gangs—"

"What gangs, Roy?" Danny wasn't angry, exactly. Roy had heard him angry, and this wasn't it. "The Merchants are out of the way, so are the ABB, and the Empire Eighty-Eight doesn't normally extend this far north. Besides, they'll be licking their wounds after Hookwolf and Cricket got captured."

"We both know the Empire Eighty-Eight will expand into the power vacuum," Roy said. "And that's not even assuming the capes don't just bust out of secure holding before the PRT manages to get Hookwolf and Lung into the Birdcage."

Roy Christner had known Danny for most of his political life, but the union boss's next words sent chills down his spine. "If the Empire becomes a problem, they'll be dealt with. It's as simple as that."

"What do you mean, 'dealt with'?" demanded Roy. "Who's going to 'deal with' the likes of Kaiser and Fenja and Menja?"

"You'll find out shortly after they do," Danny promised. "In the meantime, the gangs are no longer an obstacle for the ferry to be renovated. Are you going to stand in the way of it being put back in service, or will you be paying out those funds you promised for when and if the gang problem was ever solved?"

"Ah. The funds." That had been a promise made several election cycles ago, mainly to get Danny and the Association on board with Roy's election platform. At the time, he'd earmarked some money in the budget just to make it look as though he were willing to come through on the deal, but several budgets had come and gone since then. He doubted very much that any such allocation still existed. "Well, like I said, the gang problem hasn't been solved yet, so—"

Danny cut him off short. "Which gangs need to be out of the way for you to admit there's no gang problem anymore?"

Roy blinked. "What?" Did he just ask what I think he just asked?

"Which gangs." Danny's voice was patient. "Empire Eighty-Eight, yes or no?"

"Uh … yes." Roy had no idea where this was going.

"Any others?"

He floundered, trying to think. Where's he even going with this?

"Come on, Roy. It's a yes or no question. Are there any other gangs that need to be removed from consideration before you will okay the ferry to be reinstated?" Danny had gone from 'patient' to 'insistent'.

Nobody liked to be put on the spot like that, least of all a politician who valued his wiggle room. But Danny had left him none. Coil was barely a factor. The Undersiders rarely even made the news. Faultline's Crew didn't do crime inside Brockton Bay. He couldn't come up with another reason to delay. Though the Empire's definitely a good enough reason on its own. "I, uh, no?"

"Good. I'll hold you to that. I trust that you'll have those funds ready to disburse once you hear the good news." There was a click, and the call ended. Roy stared at the phone, dismally aware that the funds no longer existed. He was also pretty sure that Danny knew that as well.

Slowly, he put his phone back on the table, then realised that Rory was staring at him. "What?" he asked.

"What do you mean, who's going to deal with Kaiser? Who were you just talking to?" His son wasn't talking as Rory Christner anymore. He was talking as Triumph, of the Wards.

Roy didn't see much benefit in refusing to answer the question. Besides, this was Rory. "Danny Hebert. Head of hiring at the Dockworkers Association. He wanted to know if I'd be okay with the ferry starting up again if the Empire Eighty-Eight was out of the picture. Talking like it was a done deal."

"Wait, what again now?" Rory stared at him. "How's he going to pull that off? Even without Hookwolf and Cricket; they've got Krieg, Stormtiger, the twins, Kaiser himself, Victor and Othala, Rune … no, it wouldn't be possible for the local Protectorate, even with the Wards as backup." He frowned. "You think he might be hiring Faultline's Crew, or maybe out of towners, to take care of them?"

It took Roy all of two seconds to discount that idea. "No. In fact, hell no. Danny Hebert's about as straight-arrow as they come. He personally doesn't have the cash to pull that off, and even if the Association did—which they don't—he'd be the last person in Brockton Bay to consider embezzling it."

"Oh." Rory rubbed the back of his neck in confusion. "What do you think he meant, then?"

"Damned if I know, son. But I don't exactly have a good feeling about it."

<><>​

Taylor

Zach was buttering a slice of toast when Dad came back into the kitchen. I still wasn't sure if he needed to eat, or why he did if he didn't need to. My best guess was that he enjoyed the taste.

Taking the coffee pot, Dad poured himself a cup, added milk and a little sugar, then slowly stirred it. I knew from past experience this meant he had something he wanted to say, but didn't quite know how to phrase it. I went back to eating my fried eggs. He'll figure it out.

Eventually, he took the spoon out of the cup, tapped it on the edge and laid it on the saucer the cup was sitting in. Then he turned to our houseguest. "Zach," he said quietly. "You're here for your own purposes, which involve helping Taylor and making her happy. So far, so good?"

Zack put down the knife. "Yes, Danny. I am here to help Taylor."

"Good." Dad nodded, as if to himself. "I have … a problem. If you could help me with it, it would be extremely useful. But I'm not asking it as a favour. I haven't earned that right."

"If helping you will make Taylor happy, then I will help you." Zach's voice was as bright and happy as ever. "What is your problem?"

Dad glanced at me; I nodded encouragingly. "My problem," he said, "is that the Empire Eighty-Eight will very soon be expanding their operations into the area previously controlled by the ABB. Normally, that wouldn't be a personal problem to me, but Mayor Christner is playing hardball with the ferry. He won't release the funds to have it renovated while there's a quote-unquote gang problem in this area of the city. If even one gang member even threatens to set foot within two miles of the ferry terminal, he'll hold onto that as an excuse to refuse funding."

"Well, that sucks," I observed. Grabbing a piece of toast, I buttered it and took a bite.

"The Empire Eighty-Eight is controlled by Kaiser, yes?" asked Zach. "They follow the stupid idea that some people are better than others because of the melanin in their skin." He turned to me. "I had to ask my sister about them. She thinks they are stupid, too."

"Well, she's not wrong," I agreed with a grin. "In case you're wondering, I'd definitely be happier if the Empire was gone."

"But you do not wish for me to kill them, Taylor?" With the innocent look he gave me, I might once have thought he was joking. But he didn't joke about things like that.

"No, I don't want you to kill them. Capturing them to hand over to the PRT would be perfect, though." I made a mental note to bring a camera along on this expedition. The looks on their faces would be amazing.

Zach nodded. "Do you want me to do it before we go to school, or after we finish? I can do it before, but I would be rushed and I might miss a few of their drug dealers." I had expressed how much I disliked the way drug dealers peddled their poison to schoolkids the night before. As a result, Zach had decided that he didn't like drug dealers either.

"I can afford to wait until this afternoon," Dad said easily. "Are you going to do it loud or quiet?"

"That depends on whether I wait until they go out in costume, or simply capture them in their civilian identities," Zach said imperturbably. "I think capturing them in their civilian identities might be loud. Or should I capture them like that then put their costumes on them and hand them over to the PRT? Is there a protocol for this?"

"I'd say there probably isn't," Dad replied, his expression intent. "But are you saying that you already know who they are and where to find them?"

"Of course." Zach's tone was matter-of-fact. "I asked my sister. Kaiser is Max Anders. At this moment, he is travelling from his home to his office in the Medhall building. Several Empire Eighty-Eight capes have civilian jobs within the building. Rune will be leaving home shortly to attend Immaculata High School. I could locate and name each one if you wished."

"Son … of … a … bitch," muttered Dad, slumping back in his chair. "Anders is Kaiser? Anders is Kaiser? How does that even work? He's a known philanthropist, for crying out loud." He ran his hand through his thinning hair, more visibly disturbed than at any time before.

"You okay, Dad?" I asked, a little concerned.

He nodded jerkily. "Yeah, yeah. I'll be fine. It's just … it's a shock to the system to find out that someone I've met over drinks, someone who I thought was on my wavelength for what we needed to fix the Bay, is a goddamn supervillain." He took a deep breath and ran his hand through his hair again.

"I am sorry, Danny." Zach's voice was subdued. "I did not wish to upset you by inflicting an unpleasant truth on you."

Dad waved him off. "It's okay, Zach. I asked, you answered. And I would've found out anyway. Probably best I find out now than at some later date after he's donated to the Association or something, and we find out we've got ties to a neo-nazi organisation."

"Well, it's not like you're going to need donations anymore, remember?" I teased him. "Ninety-nine million dollars and change, for the low, low price of one van and one street sign?"

He blinked, then did a classic face-palm. "Son of a—! I had totally put that out of my mind until just now. And there I was on the phone with that chiseller Christner, trying to convince him to let go of enough funding to pay for the renovation of the ferry!" He looked extremely disgusted with himself. "This is why I shouldn't try to do business before I've had at least one cup of coffee in the morning."

"Oh." I ate some more toast while Dad sipped at his coffee. "So, uh, do you think he was going to give you the funds anyway?"

"Pfft, no." He shook his head, looking and sounding more than a little irritated. "But he made the promise once upon a time, and I was going to hold that over his head come hell or high water, until he found the money somewhere. Still, knowing that I don't need his funds doesn't mean I can't hold his feet to the fire for them anyway."

Zach poured himself a glass of orange juice and drank it with every sign of enjoyment, then put the glass down. "Danny, do you still need me to capture all the members of the Empire Eighty-Eight, now that you do not require the money from Mayor Christner?"

Dad stretched while still sitting down. I heard his back pop in a couple of places. "Oh, absolutely. I want to see the expression on Christner's face when he realises that my end of the bargain is done, and that he's got to pony up cash he doesn't have. Then the look on his face when it becomes publicly known that he's been holding back on the promise all this time, and I do it myself anyway."

The mental image was funny enough to make me giggle. "Okay, so we're going to hit the Empire this afternoon, after school. Right?"

"That is correct, Taylor," Zach agreed brightly. "But we had not decided whether we would be loud or quiet."

I glanced at Dad, and he nodded. "Screw it," I said. "Let's go loud. Because we all know it's gonna go loud anyway, so let's just plan it that way."

Zach smiled happily. "Very well, Taylor. We will go loud."

"Don't forget to enjoy school in the meantime," Dad reminded me with a smirk that I couldn't decipher.

As if I needed a reminder. Yay.

<><>​

Coil

Calvert tossed and turned in the uncomfortable motel-room bed. He was a man who liked his comforts, and he'd been out of the field long enough to have forgotten how uncomfortable a thin mattress could be. Besides, there was something in the way when he tried to roll to the right …

Opening his eyes, he took a couple of seconds to focus, then he screamed.

Scrambling out of bed, only drawing breath to scream again, he stared at the body-bag occupying the other half of the bed. It was a very familiar body-bag, containing the corpse of the last man Calvert had murdered.

He'd left it in the parking garage attached to his base.

Before that, he'd left it in the morgue inside his base.

What is it doing here?

He didn't know. He didn't want to know.

Snatching the keys and wallet off the nightstand and ignoring everything else; his overnight bag, the toiletries in the tiny bathroom, even his shoes, he bolted out the door in T-shirt and boxers, scrambled into the van and sprayed gravel in his haste to get out of there. Swinging a hard left as he got onto the main road, he concentrated on putting as many miles as possible between himself and that thing.

<><>​

About fifteen minutes later, the room service maid entered the room and looked around. She tut-tutted when she saw the luggage that had been left behind. It would go into a bag and be kept for a while, in case of forgetful guests returning for their property. With quick, efficient movements, she stripped the bed, noting that nobody seemed to have slept on the right-hand side of it at all.

Humming a tune, she started to vacuum the carpet.

<><>​

Taylor

As I put my sneakers on, I sighed. It wasn't a very loud sigh, but it was enough for Zach to look around at me.

"Are you unhappy, Taylor?" His voice was matter-of-fact, but that didn't mean anything. I knew from experience that he would maintain the same cheerful tone whether he was making jokes about firemen's suspenders or planning to murder someone on my behalf.

"Well, a bit." I stood up, moving my feet around to make sure I hadn't wrinkled my socks or accidentally put something in there with my feet. It didn't seem like it, so I picked up my coat. "I mean, what happened yesterday should be the best excuse ever to skip school, but nope. And I know Emma and the others won't be there, but it's still Winslow. Ugh."

Somewhat to my surprise, he put his arm briefly over my shoulders and gave me a quick side-hug. "Cheer up, Taylor. It might be better than you think."

Raising my eyebrows, I gave him a suspicious stare. "Since when do you do pep talks? Aren't you fixated on not lying to me?"

"But I am not lying, Taylor. I will be with you, and I will not allow anything happen to you that is not to your benefit."

His wording sounded suspect to me and my stare intensified, but he met it with a disarmingly innocent gaze. I had the feeling that if I queried his meaning, he would tell me the absolute truth while evading my question for all he was worth. Which was utterly bizarre all by itself; normally, he told me everything up front. Sometimes more than I really wanted to know.

"Okay," I muttered reluctantly. "So, did you want to give me a lift, or should we catch the bus?"

Zach gave the question due consideration. "Your stress levels are understandably a little on the high side, so it may be best for me to give you a lift rather than subject you to more stress on the bus," he said bluntly. "Also, I have seen a map and now I know where Winslow High School is located."

"Oh, good." Even though Zach would be at my side, I still wasn't thrilled about going back to Winslow. About the best thing that could happen to it in my expert opinion would be for it to be ground zero for a cape battle, or maybe a meteor strike. Blowing up the whole damn school would be ideal. Or maybe all three at the same time.

We left the house, going out through the kitchen door into the back yard. Because while Zach wasn't exactly unknown to the general public—at least, to those who watched the news—I didn't want to draw any more attention than absolutely necessary. While Zach waited, I turned the key in the lock and stashed it back in my pocket.

"Okay, then," I said heavily. "Let's do this." Much as I wanted to find an excuse to duck out of going to school, there was literally no way to make myself safer than I already was. With Zach at my side, absolutely nobody would be capable of messing with me, even if they were willing to try.

Zach paused. "You sound unhappy, Taylor. I do not wish to participate in something that makes you unhappy."

That made me stop and think. "I'm not unhappy, exactly. I know I need to go to school, and I know you'll make sure nobody causes me problems, so I guess I have to go." I drew a deep breath. "Can we jump there? It's more fun than running. I mean, running isn't not fun, but it's over before I have the chance to enjoy it."

"I understand," Zach said with a nod. "My sister says that if I slowed down to let you see how fast we were going, you may suffer disorientation, and I do not wish to cause you that sort of discomfort."

That made sense in a really weird way. Which was par for the course when it came to Zach and his regularly-performed shenanigans. I didn't argue as he bent to take me into his arms.

As soon as he had me settled properly, he crouched slightly and launched himself up and over the city. I was almost used to this, but I still let out a whoop of exhilaration as we vaulted skyward. The wind whipped past us, but I had no trouble breathing or even seeing what was going on.

Which meant I didn't take longer than a second or so to realise that something was going on. "Winslow's not this way!" I called out to him as we rocketed toward Downtown. "Where are you going?"

Before he could answer, we'd hit the side of one of the few tall buildings in Brockton Bay. I could almost swear I could see the window bowing inward under the impact of Zach's sneakers. But then he was running along the side of the building with me still in his arms, while I had no idea what was going on.

I was drawing breath to ask him to clear the matter up when he kicked off again. Once again, a lot of Brockton Bay passed by under us in a remarkably short time. We were heading toward Winslow this time, I was pretty sure. Which still didn't answer the questions whirling through my head.

"Okay, what the hell?" I demanded, my question coinciding with Zach's sneakers crunching down into the expanse of patchy asphalt that served Winslow for a parking lot. Even though he barely flexed his knees on landing, I never felt so much as a jar. "What was that about?"

"I apologise, Taylor." Zach let me down onto my feet. "My sister suggested that I take a detour on the way to Winslow."

"A detour?" Now I was totally lost. "What was that in aid of?"

He smiled. "She thought it might be funny to send a message."

"Message?" My confusion hadn't decreased measurably. "What kind of message?"

<><>​

Kaiser

Max Anders stood in his office on the top floor of the Medhall building. Coffee dribbled unheeded over the rim of the cup he held, a thin trickle of the steaming beverage dripping steadily onto his flawlessly polished Louis Vuittons. What held his attention was the state of the large floor-to-ceiling windows that faced north from his office.

In accordance with the fact that he lived and operated in a city replete with capes of every description, the windows were composed of the strongest polycarbonate available on the civilian market. And yet, the windows were cracked in a row across the frontage of the office from one side to the other where the sneakers of the teenage boy had impacted the outside of the building, shaking the whole office.

Even then, it wasn't the fact that the windows were cracked that held him stunned and immobile. It was the fact that the cracks formed letters, and that the letters formed words.

YOU'RE NEXT.

<><>​

Taylor

"You didn't." I stared at Zach, eyes wide.

"I will never lie to you, Taylor." Zach was unruffled by my implied suggestion that he'd exaggerated. "We have neutralised the Merchants and the Azn Bad Boys, so the Empire Eighty-Eight is indeed next. Max Anders is by now aware of what has happened to both of those gangs, so it was amusing to remind him that his turn is coming up."

"But isn't that …" I paused, rethinking my words. With basically anyone else, I would've had no hesitation in saying dangerous. It didn't even show arrogance on his part; after all, it's not being arrogant if someone really is that powerful. If anything, Zach constantly undersold himself. Personally, I was convinced that he did it for the amusement value for when people suddenly realised exactly how screwed they were.

"Yes, Taylor?" He gazed at me innocently, though I was beginning to suspect he knew more about my thought processes than he let on. If nothing else, he could ask the Simurgh what I was thinking about something. Though he probably wouldn't, unless it was absolutely necessary.

I sighed. "Never mind. If Kaiser chooses not to leave town before you get around to him, whatever happens is on him." It was still absolutely weird to me that Max Anders was Kaiser; I mean, the man was a pillar of the community. But it didn't even occur to me to doubt Zach's word on the matter, especially not after the Alexandria thing.

It was around about then that I noticed something I should've picked up on earlier. Specifically, the limousine that was currently taking up two car slots in the Winslow parking lot. A uniformed driver stood by the vehicle, glaring at everyone who came near. That included us; apparently, falling from the sky wasn't sufficient to accord us special treatment.

"Uh … what's that about?" I asked, gesturing at the imposing vehicle. It didn't require a huge leap of the imagination to come to the conclusion that it was there, somehow, on my account. Given recent events, it would've required improbable mental gymnastics to conclude that it wasn't about me and Zach.

"It appears to be a limousine, Taylor." His reply, though entirely truthful, was utterly unhelpful. "Perhaps if we go inside, we shall find out what is going on."

I gave him a suspicious look. Between the tone of his voice and the grin he wasn't even bothering to hide, I had the distinct impression that he knew more than he was saying. This was probably intentional on his part, which spoke to his improving grasp on subtlety. He wasn't quite there yet, but he was learning fast.

"Okay," I conceded. He had yet to do anything that wasn't in my best interests, so I figured it was probably best to follow his suggestion.

Side by side, we headed for the front steps of Winslow while those students in the process of arriving gave us a wide berth. Whether this was due to the precipitate method of our arrival, Zach's Endbringer capabilities, or if they'd heard what he'd done the previous day, I didn't know. Either way, nobody came close enough to bother us.

Given how roughly Zach had handled Emma and the others, I knew we wouldn't be seeing them in school anytime soon, but that didn't mean I wanted to be there. Even with Zach standing as a metaphorical brick wall between me and any potential copycat bullies, there were too many bad memories in Winslow to make me comfortable with walking inside. But walk inside I did, pushing open the time-worn wooden doors and preparing to head to my homeroom.

Except that Mrs Knott, who'd been waiting at the side of the corridor with a stack of books and papers in her hands, intercepted me before I got three steps into the school proper. "Taylor!" she called.

I slowed, then headed in her direction. Being met at the school doors by a teacher was a new experience for me. "Mrs Knott? What's up?"

Her expression was an odd mix of regret and relief. "I was told to give you these," she said, handing over the papers and the books. "You're being transferred to Arcadia. I hope you have a happier time there than you did here. And I'm sorry about what was done to you."

"Transferred to Arcadia?" I repeated, trying to catch up to what she was saying. "When? Next week?" The apology, I didn't even know how to address.

She shook her head. "Not next week. Now. The paperwork's been expedited and signed. I was told your father had already okayed it, and that they know you're coming."

I blinked. "Now? Wait, what? Like, now now?" Wait, Dad knew about this? I recalled his smirk and the weird comment he'd made. Of course he did.

"Yes." She bit her lip. "The last I saw, there were people with suits and ties, along with a couple of high-end lawyers, laying down the law to Principal Blackwell."

This made no sense to me. Transfers took weeks to arrange. To have one happen in less than twenty-four hours was basically impossible. "How …?"

Zach cleared his throat politely. "Chief Director Costa-Brown knows people who are really good at getting things done. She wishes to keep you happy, just as I do."

But not for the same reason, I knew without needing to think about it. Zach worked at making me happy because that was a core element of his being. Alexandria wanted me happy so I didn't unleash Zach's full capacity for destruction on the general population.

Which I wasn't about to do, but so long as Alexandria thought I might, I was satisfied with the results. "So, uh, I can just go to Arcadia?" I asked. "Like, right now?"

"That's what I was told." She essayed a hesitant wave. "Good luck at Arcadia."

"Thanks." Still carrying the books and papers, I turned and went out through the doors again. Zach went ahead without even needing to be asked, which helped clear the press of people trying to come in through the doors.

Walking in my own little bubble of you-can't-touch-this, I went down the stairs then turned and looked at Zach. "I suppose you also know where Arcadia is? You know, on the off-chance we might need to go there today?"

Either my sarcasm was lost on him or he chose to ignore it, for his reply was as cheerful as ever. "Yes, Taylor. I know exactly where to find it."

"Oh, good." I hefted the books and papers I still held. "Is there any chance we can get there without leaving a literal paper trail from here to there? Also, maybe not take any detours, this time?" While having Zach around gave me an entirely unaccustomed sense of security, I was occasionally having trouble getting my head around what he was going to do next.

"Of course," he said. "There will be no slipstream from the jump if you do not wish there to be. And I have already sent the message. There will be no detours. We will go directly to Arcadia High School."

I repressed the urge to say Oh, good again, and instead focused on the more important aspects. "Can you ask your sister if there's likely to be anyone who wants to bully me at Arcadia? You know, just in case."

His brilliant green eyes went introspective for a moment, then he shook his head. "She says that she does not foresee anyone attempting to bully you at Arcadia High School. Adherence to school rules is much higher than at Winslow. Also, I will be there." He smiled at me. "We have thirteen minutes before the bell to attend home room. Shall we go?"

I couldn't think of any more excuses to delay the inevitable. Stepping up next to Zach, I allowed him to scoop me up into his arms while I kept a firm grip on the papers and books. "Let's do this thing."

"I agree, Taylor. Let us do it." Despite the fact that he could probably leap into orbit by tapping his toe on the ground, he still took the time to crouch slightly before he leaped, launching us into the air. Destination: Arcadia High.

"Wooooo hooooo!"



End of Part Ten

 

[Ack]

I'm HALPING!

Part Eleven: Endbringer Shenanigans

[A/N 1: This chapter commissioned by Fizzfaldt and beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]

[A/N 2: In this fic, the Wards as a whole have not unmasked to Panacea.]

Panacea

Amy Dallon enjoyed being flown to school by her sister. How could she not, after all. And being carried bridal-style merely served to fuel her secret fantasies a little more. There was just the one little irritating aspect; the fact that when Vicky touched down in the Arcadia forecourt and set Amy on her feet, all the attention was on her, like she'd just performed some amazing feat. Instead of flying her sister to school, like she did every. Freaking. Day.

Of course, Vicky enjoyed the hell out of the attention. She was New Wave's golden girl, and she damn well knew it. Amy didn't resent her for this … exactly … but it would've been nice for her accept that other people deserved the limelight once in a while. The worst bit was, Vicky was never mean about it. Just … 'yeah, this is me. I'm just this good'.

As they descended toward Arcadia, she could see Vicky's fan club starting to gather. Some were content to admire Amy's sister (or so Amy assumed) but most wanted … more. She could see it in their eyes. The guys wanted to be Vicky's boyfriend, more than one girl wanted to be her girlfriend, and none of them had the slightest chance. She knew this because she was closer to Vicky than anyone except maybe Dean, and even she didn't stand a chance.

And then, just as Vicky came in for a picture-perfect landing where her feet just settled on the ground (this being one of her two modes of landing, the other involving three points of contact and cracks in the concrete), there was an interruption. A blur came lancing down out of the sky along with a dopplering "oooOOOooo!" There wasn't even the sound of an impact on the pavers as the blur stopped and became a teenage boy, casually cradling a girl in his arms.

Vicky stared. "Bullshit," she declared, almost forgetting to let Amy down onto her feet. "That doesn't happen. You don't get to land that fast and not break anything. I should know."

The guy smiled happily at her as his own passenger regained her feet. "Hello, Glory Girl! Hello, Panacea! It is good to meet more superheroes. I did not break the pavement because I did not want Taylor to be in trouble for her first day at Arcadia. It looks like a very nice school."

While Vicky was apparently trying to get her head around that, Amy strolled forward. "I saw you on TV, didn't I?" she asked. "Aren't you the one who killed the Slaughterhouse Nine?" He certainly looked the same as the kid who'd effortlessly tossed a van fifteen hundred miles to wipe out the most feared villain gang in the United States. What the street sign had been about, she had no idea. Maybe to put a stake through Jack Slash's black heart.

"Yes, Panacea," the teenager said, sounding the happiest anyone had ever been to meet her who didn't need healing. "They were a danger to Taylor Hebert's physical and emotional well-being, so I decided to kill them. It was not difficult. My sister told me where they were, and my big brother helped me perform the shots correctly." He peered more closely at her. "You look unhappy. Is there someone who is a danger to your emotional well-being?"

Oh, god. If only you knew. Amy had to give him props; he was the first person who had actually said that on their first meeting. Usually everyone was "oooh, you're so wonderful for healing all those people," so he was ahead of the game there. The weirdest thing was, she didn't even feel offended at the personal question.

"Zach, leave Panacea alone," said the girl who'd been with him. She gave Amy an apologetic look. "Sorry, he's only got a vague idea of personal boundaries."

Amy chuckled. "I can see that. But it's okay. Sometimes questions like that need to be asked." She paused. "Uh … aren't you worried that he might be outed, not wearing a mask or anything?"

"Oh, everyone has heard my name," Zach assured her. "If anyone tries to harm Taylor or her father, I will stop them."

The girl—Taylor?—nodded. "He really will," she confirmed. "Let's just say, he's fast on his feet."

"But what about his family?" asked Vicky bluntly. She turned to face Zach. "You can't protect everyone all the time. What if someone gets to the people you love?"

Amy knew exactly what this was all about. She hadn't really known Aunt Jess before the young woman was murdered by an Empire wannabe, but Vicky had been close to her. She and Vicky couldn't help but be public capes—the adult members of New Wave had chosen that for them before they'd even gotten powers—but other people still had that choice.

Taylor snickered. "I truly pity anyone who succeeds in finding his family. They're about as powerful as he is. Maybe more so." She checked her watch. "I'd love to stay and chat, but I've got all these admission papers to get checked over. Zach, do you know where the main office is in the building?"

"Yes, Taylor. I do." Effortlessly, the boy scooped Taylor up in his arms. "It was nice meeting you, Glory Girl, Panacea. Perhaps we can talk more about your emotional well-being later." It seemed almost as though he began to take a step, then the pair was gone. There wasn't even a rush of wind.

"Well, damn." Vicky bent over and examined the pavers where Zach had landed.

Amy could tell from where she was that they weren't even cracked. And for all that he had to have covered the ten yards to the doors in less than a thirtieth of a second so as not to even blur in Amy's sight, there were no acceleration marks to be seen.

"What do you think?" asked Vicky. "Teleportation with visual effects?"

Amy rubbed her chin. "I dunno, but he seems like a nice boy. That Taylor girl's certainly got him wrapped around her little finger. And if he offed the Nine, then there's not many people who could mess with him."

"Pfft, as if." Vicky snorted as they started into the building. "I figure I could take him, easy peasy."

Amy raised her eyebrows. "Are you sure we're talking about the same guy? Because I didn't get that impression at all. He's got Mover powers up the wazoo and maybe some kind of weird Blaster ability. Who knows what else he's got? At the very least, we should be careful around him until we've got a better idea of what he's about."

"Uh huh." Vicky's tone was careless. "And I still say he's a poser."

Glancing across, Amy caught a secret little smirk on her sister's face. "Nope. Don't do it."

"Don't do what?" Vicky tried for 'injured innocence' and failed utterly.

Amy gave her a very unimpressed look. "Whatever it is you're thinking, just don't. Bad idea."

Vicky spread her hand on her chest. "Hey. This is me."

"Yes, it is," Amy said patiently. "And normally you're smarter than this. But something about this Zach guy has flipped your switch."

"So what if it has?" Vicky stuck out her chin. "I can still take him."

The argument lasted all the way into home room.

<><>​

Taylor

Whoever had arranged for my exit from Winslow had clearly been to Arcadia as well; we managed to clear the paperwork in about five minutes, which was about fifty-five minutes shorter than I'd expected. The secretary was accommodating, even to the point of saying that Zach could sit in on the classes if he wished. Which was good, because I wasn't totally sure that I could explain the concept of 'emotional support Endbringer' in a way that people would understand.

I remembered something else as we hurried along the hallway in (I hoped) the direction of my new home room. By my watch, the bell was about to go but we could still make it on foot instead of resorting to Zach's near-instantaneous speedster trick. I couldn't depend on him for everything, after all. (Getting him to carry my books until I could buy a backpack didn't count.)

"Uh, one thing," I said as I double-checked the map against a corridor marking. We seemed to be on track. "If you recognise any of the students as Wards, please don't call them by their superhero names. Outing a Ward for no good reason would be unfair to them."

"Oh," he said. "Was it unfair when I outed Sophia Hess as Shadow Stalker?"

I was about to say Fuck, no, but then I reconsidered. "Saying that to the wrong person could get her family hurt. But telling the Chief Director about what one of the Wards was doing was the right thing. If you think you should out a cape, ask me first, okay?"

"Yes, Taylor," he said happily. "I will do that."

"Good." I rechecked my handy map and looked at the door we'd arrived at, just as the bell rang for home room. "This looks like the right place to me. Does it look right to you?"

"Yes, Taylor," he said, and opened the door for me. "This is the right place."

"Thank you," I said, both for the gesture and the confirmation. Walking on in, I looked over my new home room. A couple of dozen students and one teacher looked back at me. "Uh, hi?" I tapped my map. "I'm Taylor Hebert. I just transferred in. I think this is my home room class?"

"Ah, yes." The teacher was an older man, on the skinny side with bifocals and wispy grey hair encircling an extremely aggressive case of male pattern baldness. "I was told that you'd be coming in. I'm Mr Holden. And this is …?"

As his attention switched to my companion, Zach chose this moment to step forward. "Good morning, Mr Holden," he said warmly. "My name is Zachary. I will be accompanying Taylor in her classes at Arcadia."

Just for a moment, I caught the edge of Zach's influence, then it died away again. Mr Holden blinked, then nodded. "Well, yes," he said. "That seems to be in order. Taylor, Zachary, feel free to find desks and we'll proceed to roll call."

There were a couple of empty desks down toward the back, and I took one while Zach took the other. He handed me my books and I stashed them in the desk for the moment. It was quite a liberating feeling to know that nobody was going to be pouring orange juice or glue on my chair, and I allowed myself to relax with a sense of achievement.

As the roll-call went on, I noticed a few of the kids around me sneaking peeks at me and Zach. Finally, the nearest one leaned over toward me. He was a redhead, but I tried not to hold that against him. Unless he was somehow related to Emma, I wasn't going to have a problem with him.

"Hi!" he whispered. "Where'd you transfer in from? Winslow?"

I blinked. Was it that obvious? "Uh, yeah. Good guess."

He grinned engagingly. "Not a guess. I saw the news footage from yesterday. Your friend's kind of famous."

Zach leaned forward slightly and lowered his tone, though I could still hear him perfectly. "My name is Zachary, but my friends call me Zach. It is good to meet you, Dennis."

"Hey, it's good to meet you too, buddy." Dennis gave us both a grin that gave me the impression that he could be a smartass, then he paused. "Hey—"

At the head of the classroom, Mr Holden cleared his throat. "Dennis, I understand that you're curious about our newcomers, but perhaps the time to satisfy that curiosity will be after class is done? Very well, everyone please get out your English books. Taylor, over the Christmas break I have had the class doing a report on Tarzan of the Apes, by Edgar Rice Burroughs. Are you perhaps familiar with that book?"

I paused for a moment, fully aware that I was about to show off, but I couldn't resist. "Chapter One," I quoted. "Out to Sea. I had this story from one who had no business to tell it to me, or to any other. I may credit the seductive influence of an old vintage upon the narrator for the beginning of it, and my own skeptical incredulity during the days that followed for the balance of the strange tale."

I paused there, and Mr Holden began clapping. A moment later, he was joined by all the kids in the class, including Dennis. "Well, that was moderately unexpected," he said after the applause had died away. "I presume you don't have the entire book memorised?"

"Well, no, sir," I conceded. "Just most of the first page. My mother was an English professor, you see. She taught me to read from the classics."

"So I see." He nodded in approval. "Do you feel up to presenting a verbal report before everyone else presents their written reports?"

"I, uh, sure." I glanced at Zach and he gave me an encouraging smile. This was something else I had to do for myself, but it was nice to have him there for moral support anyway.

Standing up, I went up to the front of the class, doing my best to recall the thread of the plot and how it all ended. When I got there, I stood looking for any sign of disdain or rejection, and found none. No vicious little smiles, no cupped hands full of pencil shavings. I had made a good impression and they wanted to see what I would do next.

It was a really weird feeling, but one I could get used to.

I cleared my throat. "Okay, then. The first thing you have to understand about Tarzan, Lord Greystoke, is that he's not an everyday person. He's a genius. Here is a man who figures out that symbols on a page actually mean something and teaches himself how to read and write French, just from books. The next thing is that …"

<><>​

Director Piggot
PRT ENE

The email popped up in her inbox, looking entirely innocuous with a header that read, Result of Investigation into Incident #9195/01/03/11.

Despite the dryness of the wording, she felt her pulse quicken. 'Incident #9195' was the internal PRT reference to the reported slaying of the Slaughterhouse Nine by the terrifyingly capable individual known only as 'Zach'. Automatically, her hand guided the mouse and she clicked the icon to open the mail. The Chief Director may be signing off on it, but I still want to make sure.

The report was dry military-speak, which she still understood fluently, all the way down to being able to read the hidden meaning behind the phrasing. The PRT team had gone to the areas indicated as being hit by Zach's impromptu missiles. At the smaller crater, they found bits and pieces which may possibly have once been a motor vehicle of some sort, and the carbonised remains of one William Manton. This was established without a doubt because there was an intact hand; the carbonisation ceased at the wrist, showing a tattoo of a white swan, and leaving the fingerprints entirely intact.

Why Zach had targeted the man, Emily did not understand one hundred percent. But of equal curiosity: why had the one man who had known more about how powers worked than God Himself been sitting in a vehicle within mere miles of the Slaughterhouse Nine? That in itself was what she called 'cause for reasonable suspicion'.

The larger crater had once been a building of some sort. Now, nothing larger than a man's fist remained. Just as in the smaller strike site, just enough remains had somehow survived to identify each member of the Nine, save Burnscar.

Bonesaw's left hand, complete with under-nail injectors and razor claws.

Shatterbird's head, mostly encased in glass.

Mannequin's carapace, wrapped around a tree half a mile away, still containing parts of the once-heroic Tinker.

Jack Slash's right hand, again with fingerprints intact, nailed to the same tree with a large knife.

And nearby, the bodies of Crawler and Hatchet Face, who seemed to have killed one another.

The pictures could have been far more gruesome than they were; but even if they had been, she still would have looked. It was her job to look. As it was, a human head or a severed hand barely even raised a twinge.

By the time she was finished perusing the report, she was satisfied.

The Slaughterhouse Nine was done and gone. There was now an ongoing search for Burnscar but in the absence of her teammates, capturing or killing her would be much much easier. With a rare smile on her face, she closed the email and began to compose one of her own.

Mr Hebert, it read. Upon investigation, the claimed destruction of the Slaughterhouse Nine has been verified. Please reply soonest with preferred method of reception of reward.

Regards,

Emily Piggot (Director)

Parahuman Response Teams

<><>​

Taylor

"Well, now I know why you transferred from Winslow," Dennis observed with a grin as we left the classroom at the end of the period.

I shot him a suspicious glance, but he didn't seem to have a mean-spirited air about him. "And why do you think that is?" I asked cautiously.

"Because you can read and write, duh." He laughed at the look on my face. "Oh, come on. You haven't heard the jokes about Winslow?"

"Heard them, no. Lived them, yeah." I poked my tongue out at him. "And to be honest, you're not totally wrong about some of the kids there. I knew this one guy in World Affairs who I'm certain gets stoned before he comes to class. And he's not even a Merchant. That I know of, anyway."

Dennis stopped in his tracks, staring at me. "He gets stoned. And nobody does anything about it."

"Well, yeah." I shrugged. "He spends most of the class so spaced out he might as well be putting the moves on the Simurgh."

"And the teachers don't … do anything about this?" He couldn't seem to get his head around the idea.

I snorted in derision. "Do what? The teacher's one of those guys who's trying so hard to be cool around the kids, he doesn't pay attention to anyone who's not in the popular crowd. And he certainly doesn't notice anything they do to anyone else. Seriously, I've had my assignments stolen and handed in by other girls, and he didn't even notice the difference in handwriting. These are the same girls who put juice or glue on my chair, or tip pencil shavings over me while he's in the room, and he doesn't see a thing."

"I can't even …" Dennis turned to Zach. "She's pulling my leg, right?"

"No, Dennis, she is not." Zach's voice was more serious than usual. "When I first met Taylor, she had just been stuffed into her own locker with a large amount of noxious material. From their prior performance, the school authorities would have done their best to blame Taylor for her own misfortunes. That was yesterday." His tone perked up. "Now we are at Arcadia. Arcadia is a much nicer school."

Dennis raised his finger. "Wait a minute. I don't recall telling you my name. How do you know it?"

Zach smiled. "We have met before. I learned your name then."

"… oh." Dennis' finger went down again. "Okay, yeah, that makes sense. So anyway, what do you guys have next?"

I checked my class schedule. "It looks like … Math, with Ms Partridge. Is she okay?"

"Yeah, she's pretty good. Always willing to help you out. I've got a buddy who's got this number disorder thing going on, he can't do math in his head? She's really patient with him and suggests exercises for him to do."

That sounded about a thousand percent better than Mr Quinlan already, and my math skills were reasonable enough to get by. "Sounds good to me. Are you going that way?"

"Nah, sorry. I've got Physical Education. Gotta keep this bod lookin' awesome somehow, right?" He mimed finger-guns at me.

"Right," I murmured, carefully not looking at Zach. They didn't even have to stand side by side for anyone to know who had the more impressive physique; but then, Zach had kinda cheated. "I'll, uh, see you at lunch, I guess."

"See you then, Taylor. Later, Z-Man. I'll save you seats!" And with one last wave, he disappeared into the swirling throng that was the Arcadia student body.

"Well, he seemed nice," I said absently, pulling out my map to see which way we had to go to get to Math class. So far, I'd been at Arcadia for one class and my social interactions had been … positive? It felt weird. Nobody was ostracising me or picking on me.

"He was curious about you and myself," Zach observed. "But yes, he is naturally a nice person. Once he gets to know you better, he may play mild pranks upon you. These are not intended in a mean spirit, and he welcomes retaliation."

I frowned, distracted from the map. "That seems … a very thorough analysis of his personality. Did your sister tell you all that?"

"Yes," he said cheerfully. "That was the Ward known as Clockblocker. You told me not to use his superhero name where people could learn of his real identity."

That was the point when I nearly facepalmed. I certainly felt like it; Zach had been calling Dennis by his name right in front of me and I hadn't thought it was weird. "Welp, call me Captain Oblivious," I muttered. "I didn't even pick up on that when he asked how you knew his name."

"I believe I will keep calling you Taylor." Zach either didn't see my exasperated glance or pretended to not notice it. "It is good that you are making friends."

"Yeah, I'm still getting used to that bit myself. Okay, I think Math class is … this way."

Feeling a little better about this whole Arcadia thing now that I'd established friendly contact with the locals, I led the way off down the corridor.

<><>​

Arcadia Cafeteria
Panacea

"Hey, there they are!"

Amy looked around from the wrap she'd been about to take a bite out of. "Who?"

"The girl, whatserface, Taylor. And her boy toy, the Mover." Vicky was on her feet by now. Amy fully expected to see her start to wave her arms and beckon them over.

"His name is Zach, and he's not her boy toy," Amy said. "They're just friends. You can tell it a mile away. Anyway, leave them alone. They probably want to just sit and decompress while they eat lunch."

"So they can sit with us." Vicky didn't need superstrength or an invincible force field, Amy reflected, to be relentless in her aims. She could be that way all by herself. "Oh, hey, cool. They're coming this way."

"Sit down," hissed Amy. "You're embarrassing the both of us." She tugged on Vicky's sleeve, which achieved exactly nothing. Against her own better judgement, she turned her head to watch as Taylor and Zach did indeed come in their direction … right up until they stopped at another table to speak to another student, one with red hair.

"Aww," said Vicky, visibly slumping. "They're not coming over here."

"Well, why would they?" asked Amy pragmatically. "You told Zach his powers shouldn't work that way about one second after you met him. They've clearly met other people in Arcadia who don't try to tell him how to use his powers. Good luck to them." Idly, she wondered exactly how much money Zach had earned from executing the Nine in the way he did. It had to be quite a bit, by now.

It was as though Amy's words were sliding off Vicky's force field like raindrops. "Well, if they're not gonna come over here, we can go over there. C'mon, Ames." Standing up, she grabbed her tray.

"Vicky! Seriously, what the hell's wrong with you?" But by now, Amy thought she knew. Vicky enjoyed her status as the local Alexandria package. Others could fly, but she was the only one who could fly and tank a big hit and deliver a smackdown in return. Zach could apparently fly and he could definitely deliver a big hit from a lot farther away than Vicky could ever consider throwing something, so all that remained was seeing how tough he was.

Amy just hoped her sister wasn't about to haul off and punch the guy for no good reason. Vicky had always had a little bit of a temper, and when she got ticked off and there was nobody around to rein her in, she broke … people. Five times now, Vicky had called her in to deal with someone who might otherwise die or at least be seriously hospitalised, all because her temper had gotten the better of her. With a sigh, Amy grabbed her own tray. May as well stay close and try to defuse the situation if it looks like getting out of hand.

As she got there, Vicky was just plonking herself down next to Zach and Taylor, opposite the redheaded boy. "Hi there," Vicky purred.

"Hello, Glory Girl," Zach said with exactly the same amount of enthusiasm as he had when he'd first met them. "Hello, Panacea. Are you having a good day?"

"As good as it gets, I suppose," Amy replied, a little amused. "How are you finding Arcadia?"

Zach smiled. "I am finding it quite pleasant. All of the people are being nice to Taylor, and I am learning things. What do you think, Taylor?"

Taylor made a noise of mild aggravation. "I'm thinking that I was so distracted by everyone being nice that I'd forgotten that you've actually got to line up in the cafeteria. Sorry guys; we're going to have to get up and go stand in line for awhile."

"It is alright, Taylor," Zach said, standing up. "I will get the food for both of us."

Amy saw an odd expression pass briefly over the girl's face. "Well, okay," she said. "If you really want to." She dug in her pocket for her purse.

"You know that I do not offer to do these things if I do not want to." Zach's assurance was about as rock-solid as anything Amy had ever heard.

"Well, that's true," murmured Taylor. She handed Zach some money. "Could you please get me—"

Zach flickered. He now had an overloaded tray in his hands. No; two trays. Dropping the bottom one off in front of Taylor, he passed items over onto it. "One banana, one pita wrap, one orange juice. Is this what you were going to ask me for, Taylor?"

Amy's jaw dropped. She'd seen him run into the school with Taylor, but to infiltrate the lunch line and get two trays' worth of food in less time than it took to blink was a whole new level of speed.

To top it all off, Taylor didn't even seem surprised. In fact, she sighed slightly. "You asked your sister what I was going to order, didn't you?"

"Yes, Taylor, I did." Zach seemed very pleased with himself. He placed some coins on the tray, then sat down. "Here is your change. I did see other food that Winslow does not serve while I was at the counter but I did not know if you would like it, so I did not get it."

"Okay, next time I go through the line." Taylor picked up the pita wrap. "Thank you, Zach. I do appreciate this."

"You are very welcome, Taylor."

"Wait, how did—" Vicky seemed to be having trouble assembling sentences. "That was—I can't—how fast can you move?"

Zach looked her dead in the eye as Taylor took a bite from the pita wrap. "How fast do you need me to be able to move, Glory Girl?"

"That's not how it works. That's not how it works at all."

"Wow, this is a good wrap," Taylor said, giving the food an appraising glance. Then she looked over at Vicky. "Actually, when it comes to Zach, that does seem to be the way it works. He can do what he needs to do."

"Powers don't work that way," Vicky maintained stubbornly. "You get what you get, and there are always limits. If you could just do what you needed, without worrying about where it's coming from, the cape scene would be a lot more chaotic."

"I guess most powers probably don't work that way." Taylor opened her orange juice and took a sip. "But Zach's do. I've seen him do things that would make your hair go curlier than Panacea's."

Amy considered her own frizzy locks, then compared them to Vicky's wavy blonde hair. "Such as?" she asked, beating her sister only by a second or so. She was really enjoying this conversation, she realized. Normally, Vicky dominated whatever table she was sitting at. But Zach and Taylor between them were comfortably holding their own.

Taylor took another bite of her wrap, then washed it down with orange juice. "Zach doesn't boast. It's not his way. But I was right there when he threw a PRT van fifteen hundred miles and wiped out the Nine. He also ran nine blocks, carrying me, in less time than it took me to say the word 'fast'. And oh yeah, he took Miss Militia's weapon away from her and didn't give it back until she asked nicely."

"Don't forget how he bi—uh, pimp-slapped Assault so hard he landed in Boston," Dennis put in unexpectedly. "That was on the news, too."

"Thanks, Dennis," Taylor said with a smile. "I'd almost forgotten that."

It wasn't often Amy got to see Vicky at a loss. She loved her sister dearly (perhaps too dearly) but it was highly amusing to watch her try to regain her conversational footing. Amy could almost see the steam leaking out her ears.

"You can't just take Miss Militia's weapon away from her!" Vicky said accusingly. "It's her power!"

Taylor smirked slightly. "Funny, that's almost exactly what she said, too."

Vicky looked from Taylor to Zach, and Amy saw her expression firm up. "Okay, fine, smart boy. How strong are you?"

"I am very strong, Glory Girl," Zach said simply. "My brothers and my sister are all strong, and so I am as well."

Which reminded Amy of Taylor's mention of Zach's sister earlier. She wondered what the reference to 'you asked your sister' actually meant. Taylor had already mentioned that the rest of Zach's family was at least as powerful as him; Amy wondered why she hadn't heard of them if Zach was so free with his powers.

"Yeah, right," snorted Vicky. "You wanna prove it? Let's arm-wrestle, right here and right now."

"Uh, I don't think that's a great idea—" Dennis began.

He stopped talking as Vicky whipped her head around to glare at him. "Did I ask for your opinion? No? Then sit back and watch the master at work."

Amy cleared her throat. "Uh, Vicky, you might actually break the table like you did with Uncle Neil that one time."

"Do not worry, Panacea," Zach said in that same upbeat tone he used almost all the time. "She will not break the table. I will make sure of that." He pushed his tray aside.

Amy turned to Taylor, who had just finished off her pita wrap with every indication of enjoyment. "This is a bad idea. You can see that, right? Why aren't you saying anything?"

"Hey, whoever wants to take Zach on deserves whatever they get," Taylor said serenely, picking up her banana and beginning to peel it. "If he says the table won't break, it won't break."

Seeing her so calm eased Amy's worries a little. Not much, but a little. "Uh, Vicky, you know you can sometimes go over the top just a bit …"

"I do not, Ames." Vicky's tone was positively snappish. "Now butt out. I'm working, here."

She arranged herself across the corner from Zach, elbow firmly on the table, and held up her hand challengingly. Zach moved around so that he was in the correct position, placed his elbow next to hers, and they clasped hands. "Ready to get your ass whooped?" she asked.

"I am ready for this contest," Zach replied with a smile. "Taylor?"

With a total lack of excitement, Taylor said, "Three, two, one, go." Then she took a bite out of her banana.

Immediately, Amy saw Vicky throw her all into pushing Zach's arm over. Vicky's hand clenched so hard the tendons showed, every muscle in her forearm went into high definition, and a light sheen of sweat sprang out on her forehead.

Zach's hand moved maybe an inch.

The table quivered, and Amy prepared to leap out of the way of flying shards of plastic. But nothing more happened. Zach seemed to flex slightly and regained half an inch of ground.

"Panacea, I asked you earlier about dangers to your emotional well-being." Zach's tone was as casual and light as if they were strolling down the Boardwalk together. "Your happiness is important to your health and well-being. Are you truly happy where you are?"

"Stop … talking … to … my … sister … and … arm-wrestle … me," gritted Vicky. She threw another titanic effort into the contest, and managed to budge Zach's hand an inch or so. The table quivered again. Amy saw ripples in a plastic bottle of water on a nearby table.

"Glory Girl, do you not care about Panacea's emotional health?" asked Zach. His muscles didn't even seem to be straining, but he eased Vicky's hand back to near vertical again. "She is your sister, and she is under a lot of stress."

"You're … trying … to … put … me … off … my … game," snarled Vicky. Her lips were pressed tightly against her teeth. "It's … not … gonna … work." Where her hand was clenched around Zach's, her knuckles were white.

"I am not attempting to put you off your game." Zach wasn't even breathing hard yet. "I am merely conversing with your sister while we undertake this contest. Are you enjoying the contest?"

Already, Amy could see the writing on the wall. "Vicky, give it up," she advised. "You're not gonna win this one. And Zach … yeah, I guess my emotional well-being could do with a shot in the arm." She didn't even know why she was saying that, opening up to a near-complete stranger, but it seemed the right thing to do.

Vicky's only reply was a grunt of effort. The table quivered again but held.

"Tell me, Panacea," Zach said. "Would you be happier if you could choose not to be Panacea?"

Amy's attention was suddenly focused more tightly than one of Crystal's lasers. "What do you mean?" she asked tautly. "Just stop … healing people?" She couldn't imagine it. Healing people was part of her life. By now, it was part of her identity. She was Panacea; Panacea was her.

"Don't be … stupid," panted Vicky, throwing another tremendous effort into moving Zach's arm. This time, she managed to budge it all of two inches. "Ames is … happy … as a … hero. It's what … she does."

Zach looked at Amy, and she could almost feel those brilliant green eyes boring into her soul. Certainly looking deeper into her than anyone had before. She felt herself starting to blush. "Are you happy, though, Amelia Claire? Is this what you really want to do?"

This was the first time he'd called her something other than 'Panacea', and it took a moment to notice the name he'd actually used. "What?" she asked, even as a deeply buried memory pinged. "What did you call me?"

"I called you by your name, Amelia Claire." Zach looked at Taylor. "Do you believe this contest has gone on long enough?"

Taylor had finished her banana and was sipping at her orange juice. With an off-hand gesture, she nodded. "Sure, go ahead."

"Alright, Taylor." Zach looked Vicky in the eye. "You are very strong, and you are a hero, so I will be careful not to hurt your arm." Then, as inexorably as the passage of time, he moved his arm over, pressing hers down toward the table. The quivering of the table grew stronger, and Amy heard other tables shaking and juddering on the cafeteria tiles. On Vicky's face, the look of determination gave way to one of complete disbelief as her every effort was nullified. The sound of her knuckles hitting the table was audible in the relative silence.

"Thank you, Glory Girl," Zach said brightly as he released her hand. "Thank you, Panacea, for the conversation. Perhaps we will speak again tomorrow?"

Amy nodded. She was intrigued about where the talk had been going, and definitely wanted to see it all the way through. "You know, I think we will." She looked at Vicky, who was shaking her hand out while glaring at Zach. "Are you okay?"

"What the hell was that?" demanded Vicky. "How did you do that?"

"Well, it's like this," drawled Taylor, her face alight with secret amusement. "There's always a bigger fish. You wouldn't expect to win an arm-wrestling contest against Behemoth, would you?"

"Well, no," muttered Vicky. "But that's because he's Behemoth."

"And there's people who aren't as strong as Behemoth but stronger than you." Taylor shrugged. "Zach's one of them."

"I still think he cheated," groused Vicky.

"Like you weren't using your super-strength," retorted Amy; in return, Vicky poked her tongue out at her.

"Wait a minute," said Dennis, looking around. "Glory Girl arm-wrestling someone in the cafeteria should've had half the lunch crowd gathered around the table, making bets. What gives?"

A moment later, Amy realized he was right. People were still sitting, chatting, eating their lunches. This should've been a huge deal, and nobody even seemed to have noticed. "You're right. Okay, what's going on here?"

Zach shrugged expressively. "Perhaps they realized this was a private contest, and decided not to bother us?"

"I suppose." Looking around at the rest of the people in the cafeteria, Amy figured it was as good an explanation as any. Also, once Vicky got over smarting at her loss, she would be able to take some consolation in the fact that nobody had seen her beaten so easily. Amy put out her hand. "It was nice to meet you. See you around."

"It was also very pleasant to meet you too, Amelia." And there he was, using her name again.

He shook her hand almost formally, and she got a look at his biology. Just for a split second, her power stuttered, trying to get a read on him, then it all stabilized. He was perfectly normal for a cape, even if she couldn't locate his corona pollentia at first. She'd read that sometimes they were hard to find, though this was the first time she'd had that particular problem.

"Thanks. See you guys tomorrow?" Amy made sure to include Taylor and Dennis in her question.

"Sure," said Taylor with a grin. "I'm not used to eating lunch in the cafeteria, but I'm sure I'll manage."

Amy wasn't quite sure how to take that one, but she figured she'd find out tomorrow. "Come on, Vicky," she said as she got up from the table. "It's nearly time to go back to class and I want to hit the restroom."

"Coming," her sister grumbled. She followed Amy out of the cafeteria, still massaging her wrist.

"Want me to look at that?" asked Amy.

"No, I'm fine." Vicky flicked a glare back over her shoulder. "I still don't know how he did that."

Amy shrugged. It didn't hold any particular mystery for her. "Maybe he's just stronger than you thought he was?"

"Not that," Vicky growled. "I tried to flare my aura halfway through to put him off his game, and …"

"What?" asked Amy. "What happened?"

"Nothing." Vicky gritted her teeth. "It was like he didn't notice, Taylor didn't notice, Dennis didn't notice, you didn't notice …"

"I'm immune, remember?" But Amy knew that wasn't quite true. She could still feel the aura; it just didn't affect her like it did everyone else. If Vicky had tried to use her aura and she didn't feel it, that meant Zach must have shut it down altogether.

Which was quite impressive, to say the least. Zach seemed like a man of many talents. She found herself looking forward to their next conversation …

… even if Vicky wasn't.

<><>​

Taylor

As we headed back to class ourselves (Zach taking a lightning detour to my desk to grab my World Affairs book and writing materials) I looked at him with a calculating gaze. "Okay, so what was that all about?" I asked. "And don't bother asking me what I mean. You know what I mean."

Zach nodded. "You are asking why I provoked Glory Girl into a contest of strength that she would inevitably lose, and why I kept everyone around from noticing that anything of interest was going on?"

"And the Panacea thing. Why did you address her by name? And is her middle name really Claire?"

"Yes, Taylor, it is." He smiled. "I did all that because both Victoria and Amelia Dallon are potential dangers to your physical and emotional well-being. Amelia is under a considerable amount of stress, not helped by her sister failing to see any of it. So I set up a situation where I could teach Glory Girl a little humility without harming her or anyone else. At the same time, I spoke to Amelia about what she truly wanted out of life. This is because nobody else will. Everybody assumes they already know."

With that, the last piece of the puzzle clicked into place for me. "And you made sure nobody around us saw or anything out of the ordinary, so that she would open up to you."

"That is correct, Taylor." He beamed at me, clearly pleased. "Thank you for not speaking up at the time."

"That's okay. I figured you had a reason." I tilted my head as something occurred to me. "And Dennis? Was he there to, well, witness the whole thing?" I was sure that he'd be spreading it around the Wards as soon as he went on duty. Possibly with embellishments.

"Actually, no." Zach shrugged. "Unless my sister had a hand in it, his presence there was purely fortuitous. Sometimes, accidents just happen."

I grabbed his arm—the one not carrying my books—and hugged it to my side. "Not around you, they don't."

"Not very often, no," he agreed cheerfully.

Side by side, we went to class.



End of Part Eleven

 

[Ack]

I'm HALPING!

Part Twelve: A Coat of Many Colours

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

Director Piggot

PRT ENE

"Emily, do you have a moment?"

She looked up as Renick leaned around the door connecting their two offices. "I can spare a few minutes," she said cautiously. "What's the matter?"

"It's Clockblocker." He stepped through, leaving the door open. "I just got an unofficial report from him."

Emily frowned, glancing at the clock. "He should still be in school. Were the Wards called out to an incident that I don't know of?"

"No, no, this happened in the school." He shook his head, apparently in disbelief. "Though I'm still having trouble figuring out why it wasn't called in as an incident."

"Well, don't keep me in suspense," she snapped. "What happened? Or didn't happen, or whatever?"

He took a deep breath. "Taylor Hebert's friend? The boy named Zachary? Glory Girl took it into her head to challenge him to an arm-wrestling match, in the middle of the cafeteria, during lunch hour."

Emily blinked, slowly. Of course this involved him. What, in the last two days, hasn't? "At a rough guess … she lost, correct?"

"Yes." Renick shook his head again. "She didn't just lose, though. He held her hand steady while carrying on a conversation with Panacea, then when he decided the contest was over, he simply … moved his arm over. To use Clockblocker's phrasing, like closing the fridge door."

Images flooded through Emily's mind, of watching the footage of Zachary hefting a PRT van and throwing it faster than the speed of sound. Reading Miss Militia's report about how he had spun Lung around his head by the tail, then hurled the oversized cape out over the ocean. And nobody in the PRT building was going to forget how he'd smacked Assault all the way to Boston, least of all Assault.

"Is she alright?" she asked. "And why isn't this all over social media?"

"Yes to the first," he reported with ill-concealed relief. "Though her pride has definitely taken a hit. And I have no idea about the other. According to Clockblocker, there were hundreds of students in the cafeteria, not one of whom paid the slightest bit of attention to the sight of Glory Girl losing an arm-wrestling contest."

"That does seem remarkably hard to believe," Emily allowed. "Some sort of Stranger power, do you think?"

"It's the only thing I can put it down to," he agreed. "Right alongside the incidences of people continuing to challenge him despite seeing exactly what he can do. Almost as though they're wilfully forgetting his capabilities."

"That … is genuinely terrifying," Emily said quietly. "And I don't use that word very often. Do you think it's a slip-up on his part, to reveal the Stranger effect so blatantly?"

Renick grimaced. "If it is, it's the first and only one he's made. And that includes the Skidmark incident." Where the leader of the Merchants had been hurled across town, then gone partway around the PRT building in order to smack into Emily's window, then slid down multiple storeys to ground level, all without taking any apparent harm. The message she'd gotten from that was loud and clear. Also, the paperwork had been a cast-iron bitch.

"It's not a slip-up," Emily decided. "None of it is. He's showing us exactly what he can do, though probably not all he can do, to ensure we don't mess with the Heberts."

"I'm not inclined to argue with that conclusion." Renick shook his head. "To use your phrasing, the boy is genuinely terrifying. And I say that from the point of view of having dealt with the ABB, Empire Eighty-Eight, the Teeth and every other gang that's come and gone in Brockton Bay over the last ten years."

Emily nodded soberly. "It's a good thing we know how to not upset him. For the time being."

"For the time being." He didn't sound overly optimistic.

She knew how he felt.

<><>​

Taylor

"Well, that was fun," I said as we walked out of Arcadia.

Almost to my surprise, I meant it sincerely. Taking classes among people who were at worst uninterested in my presence and at best actively friendly was … a new experience. Zach's unique capabilities meant that nobody tried to remove him from my side (not that that would have worked, but the fact remained that nobody had even tried) and so I'd felt safe and secure all day.

The incident with Panacea and Glory Girl in the cafeteria had been interesting and amusing. I hadn't been in the slightest concerned with Zach's well-being, even when Victoria Dallon had challenged him to an arm-wrestle, and I preferred to think that this was because I knew what he was capable of rather than his abilities manipulating my perceptions. In addition, I was intrigued that Zach was being forward-thinking enough to reach out to them in order to forestall what might be a future problem for me. The benefits of having an older sister who can see problems like that coming, I figured. So very handy.

"I am glad that you enjoyed yourself, Taylor." Zach appeared quite pleased with himself. "Arcadia is a good school. The staff is motivated to teach well, and the students are friendly."

"You're not wrong," I said. The teachers had seemed competent and fair-minded, and had done their best to get me up to speed. I hadn't had any other Wards attempt to speak with me (that I knew of), but that may simply have been that I wasn't in any of their classes. To be absolutely honest, I wouldn't have put it past Director Piggot to order the Wards to watch out for me in case there were any problems. She had to have gotten reports on Zach's capabilities, and the very last thing she'd want would be for him to cut loose in Arcadia.

Or maybe the place really was that nice. Who knew?

In any case, the school day was over and I was free to do what I wanted. While I had homework to do, it wasn't exactly onerous, so I figured I may as well enjoy the afternoon. Having a nice quiet day was a reward in and of itself, considering the crap I'd been through yesterday. Which reminded me.

"Uh, Zach?"

"Yes, Taylor?"

"The people you beat up in Winslow to save me. How are they doing?" Were they badly hurt, I meant. And who better to ask than someone with a sister who knew basically everything.

He beamed at me guilelessly. "Sophia is under guard in a PRT medical facility. When she recovers from the broken bones, she will still be paralysed from the waist down. Without the assistance of Panacea, she will never walk again. If she gets that assistance, she will be remanded to juvenile detention for her actions."

I blinked. That was … a little more information than I'd expected. "And the others?"

"I did not break any important bones on either of them, so they will be out of the hospital in a week," he informed me. "Both their families will sue Winslow for the money to cover the medical bills. The lawsuit will drag out for some time, and they will not get anywhere near the settlements they wished for. As an unforeseen side effect, Alan Barnes will be disbarred over reports that he misused his influence."

"Whoa, whoa." I cut him off. "Yeah, no, I don't want to know that much detail. But they're not going to juvey themselves?" Which was mildly disappointing.

He nodded in agreement. "There will be a trial, but as they are non-parahumans, their testimony that Sophia exerted undue influence on them will allow them to avoid imprisonment."

It didn't overly surprise me they'd thrown her under the bus so readily. "Oh. Still, they're not gonna be bothering me anytime soon?"

"If they attempted to do so, I would break more bones." His tone was deadly serious now. "However, you do not want me to kill them, so they would survive the experience."

"Or, you know, you could just scare them," I suggested. "I know you can do that if you want." The look in Commander Calvert's eyes had been … terrified.

"Oh, yes," he agreed. "I could do that, too. While it is easy to instil fear, it does not last as long as the awareness of broken bones."

That I could certainly believe. "Okay, good point. But we'll go with fear until it's obvious that broken bones are the only thing that will work, okay?"

"Okay, Taylor." And there was the happy Zach back again. I much preferred him that way.

"Good. Now that we've got that settled, what do you think we should do this afternoon?" I tilted my head. "We never did get down to the Boardwalk yesterday, did we?" Of course, so much else had happened that we probably wouldn't have had time to enjoy ourselves once we got there.

"That is true, Taylor." Zach nodded solemnly. "But I do have another suggestion for what we could do this afternoon."

"I'm listening." I hadn't known Zach for long but I'd already learned that when he expressed an opinion, it was a very good idea to pay attention.

He smiled. "Do you remember this morning, when we detoured through Downtown?"

"We're going back there?"

"We are going back there."

"Woo hoo!"

<><>​

It was official. I was never, ever going to not enjoy Zach's physics-defying leaps. We came down to a flashing halt in the one empty spot on a busy sidewalk, giving a street entertainer one hell of a fright. "Hi," I said with a smile as Zach let me down onto my feet. "Sorry about that." I dug a couple of dollar coins out and dropped them into his guitar case by way of apology, then looked around. "So why are we here?"

Zach pointed at the building we were next to. "We are here, Taylor, because the criminal gangs of Brockton Bay pose a problem for you and your father. And I was created to remove your problems and help you have a good life."

And to spread a little chaos on the side, I thought but did not say. "Well, so far I've got no complaints." I shaded my eyes and tilted my head back. "Oh, right. The Medhall building. We're actually going to do this?" Not that I was entirely sure what 'this' was; I had a mental image of Zach walking into the building, and tossing members of the Empire Eighty-Eight out through the windows until there were none left.

"Yes, Taylor. Unless you do not wish to do so?" He gave me a beaming smile.

Whatever Zach had planned was clearly going to be interesting and lots of fun. For me, anyway. Anyone who ended up on the wrong end of his plans invariably had experiences that were basically the opposite of 'fun'. Also, unless I severely missed my guess, we were going to get to mess with a supervillain. "Oh, I wouldn't miss this for the world."

"I am glad that you like it, Taylor." Zach headed toward the main entrance of the building, pausing only to make sure that I was keeping up. I looked around with interest as we went inside, admiring the wide polished-marble floors and the high ceilings. While I'd seen the building from the outside many times, I'd never had a reason to go in. A little to my disappointment, it looked more or less identical to every other business premises. Though if Zach was right and this was the headquarters of the Empire Eighty-Eight (and I'd never known him to be wrong) it made sense for them to keep the swastikas and other Nazi paraphernalia to a minimum.

On the other hand, the security guards and the reception staff were all white, and half of them were blond. Before I'd known the building's dirty little secret, I wouldn't have thought twice about it. Now, I wondered if their hiring practices were as non-discriminatory as all that.

Zach ignored the receptionists and marched straight up to the turnstile entry manned by the security staff. "I am here to see Max Anders," he announced brightly. "We are coming through now."

"Whoa, whoa, hold up a minute, buddy." One of the security guards stepped forward. "We gotta see some kind of ID, and maybe get confirmation on your appointment with Mr Anders."

I could've told him that this was not the best way to deal with Zach. The best way, of course, was to step aside and let him go where he wanted. Attempting to oppose him would result in severe embarrassment (or worse) and he would still get to do what he wanted. But I stayed quiet, because I knew equally well that there was no way in hell they were going to listen to me.

"I do not carry ID," Zach explained. "And I do not need an appointment. Please let us through." He pushed gently at the top bar of the rotating turnstile. That gave me all the hints I needed to figure out what was going to happen next.

I cleared my throat. "You need to listen to my friend, guys," I advised them. "If you want to keep your turnstile, anyway."

One of the guards reached down to his waist for a taser. "If you don't have an appointment, you're gonna need to step away from the gate and leave the building. Or go over to the desk and make an appointment."

Zach sighed. "They are not going to listen, Taylor."

"I know." I had absolutely expected this, but it had been worth a try. "Do it."

Taking a firmer grip on the turnstile, Zach ripped it clear out of the mounting, taking half of the internal mechanism with it. The sudden noise startled the receptionists, both of whom stared over at us with wide eyes. Stepping back, one guard pulled his pistol out while the other keyed his radio and began to speak urgently into it.

Setting the remains of the turnstile down to one side, Zach stepped forward, apparently oblivious to the threat of the levelled firearm. No, not oblivious; uncaring. "Put your weapon down," he said to the guard.

"Down on the ground, both of you!" the man shouted in reply. His gun began to move toward me, and that was when Zach acted. I'd seen him blur before, but this guy clearly hadn't. Zach didn't seem to move, but between one instant and the next, he held two pistols by the barrels, and the guard was standing there with his fingers crooked as though he was still holding the weapon.

"No," said Zach, and something about him shifted almost imperceptibly. I didn't see any difference, but both guards lost all colour and bolted toward the back of the building.

"Nicely done," I said as Zach put the pistols on the bench. I would've bet a lot of money that he'd made them unworkable, like with that idiot Tagg's weapon. "Trying out the whole idea of scaring people rather than breaking bones, huh?"

"Yes, Taylor. It is a potentially useful tactic." Zach looked around as an audible alarm started sounding, not quite drowning out the multiple clicking of locking doors. When I looked as well, I saw the second receptionist vanishing through a doorway behind their desk. It clicked shut as well, leaving us alone in the lobby.

"Well, I'd like to say that this is a new experience," I said with a grin. "But we both know I'd be lying. So do we keep going, or do we back off?"

"We keep going, of course." Zach strode forward, and I followed him. "If we back off now, we allow Kaiser to continue being Kaiser."

"I guess that's a good point." There was a very impressive bank of elevators, but when I prodded the call button, nothing happened. "I'm guessing they've locked the elevators. Should we take the stairs?" Climbing all those stairs didn't exactly appeal to me, but we had to get upstairs somehow.

"No." He set his jaw. "We will take the elevator." Just for a moment, he tilted his head as if listening to something I couldn't hear, then plunged his hand into the control panel. Metal shrieked and tore, and he pulled his hand out again with a bunch of wires. Separating them out, he stripped the insulation from two of them with his fingernails then twisted them together.

The elevator doors opened.

Not even remotely astonished by the revelation that it was apparently possible to hotwire an elevator, I checked to make sure I wasn't stepping into an open shaft, then stepped inside. Zach followed me, then pressed the button at the top of the panel. Absolutely nothing happened. The doors didn't even close.

This time, I was less surprised when he ripped open the panel and fiddled with the wires. Sparks flew as he tapped two of them together, and the doors closed, but we didn't go anywhere.

"Wow, they're really intense with their security, huh?" It seemed to me they were doing everything in their power to stop us from going up.

"Yes, they are." He sounded unruffled, even as he separated out a third wire and added it to the other two. This time, I felt upward movement.

As we cruised upward, I couldn't help wondering what sort of a welcoming party would be waiting for us. We hadn't taken long to overcome the locked elevator, but it had probably been long enough to assemble whatever security Kaiser had on the top level. Still, this was Zach's party, so I wasn't going to second-guess him.

We'd barely been travelling a couple of seconds when Zach put one hand on my shoulder and the other on the safety rail. Then I realised what he must have already have noticed; the initial feeling of weight as the elevator accelerated upward hadn't actually gone away. Reflexively, I grabbed the rail as well.

The elevator hit the stops at the top of the shaft with a deafening crash, but I barely felt a jolt. At my best guess, we were supposed to be flung around like rag dolls so that when the security guys opened the elevator doors, we'd be too dazed to resist being taken down. Fortunately for us, Zach was a past master at redirecting kinetic energy, so nothing of the sort happened.

When the doors opened, half a dozen armed security men were there. Helmets, bulky body armour, and laser sights … which probably meant real guns. I glanced down at the single red dot dancing on my chest, and sighed. The rest had chosen to aim at Zach, even while one was still threatening me. Truly, they'd picked the worst of both worlds.

Immediately, a storm of shouts burst over us. All six guards were yelling at us to get on our knees, to put our hands behind our heads, to not move. Zach ignored them, though I decided to give them a chance to not screw this up worse than it was likely to be.

"Guys," I said as I casually raised my hands to shoulder height. "Step aside, nobody gets hurt. Got it?"

This did not noticeably lower the tone of the shouting. I could see fingers beginning to tense on triggers. It was going to be only seconds before some idiot applied final pressure and the rest followed suit. It wasn't as though Zach was going to allow me to get hurt, but depending on how pissed he got with these guys, someone else might be. And there was always the chance of a ricochet.

Zach stepped out of the elevator, then leaned forward slightly. Again, I saw that indefinable flicker. "Boo," he said, as if trying to scare a child.

Well, these guys weren't children, but it sure as hell worked anyway. They went from screaming orders to screaming in terror. Half a dozen rifles clattered to the floor and they fled wailing down the corridor as if they'd just come face to face with an Endbringer … which, of course, they had.

I exited the elevator and wrinkled my nose at him. "Showoff."

He beamed at me, having clearly figured out that I was just blowing off steam as opposed to being actually angry with him. "Yes, Taylor. But you did say that you preferred me to scare people instead of breaking bones."

Well, he had me there. "Yeah, yeah. You're still a showoff, though." I looked to the left and right. "Which way to Max Anders?"

"This way," he said confidently, and led off along the hallway. I walked alongside him, some part of me marvelling at how soft and springy the carpet was. How much money had gone into just making the Medhall building as luxurious as it was, and how much of that money had come from the suffering of innocents?

Max Anders' office was at the end of a long corridor that could've served as a two-way street. The double doors were hefty and imposing, and bore gold-embossed nameplates; the left hand one read MAX ANDERS, while the right hand one simply read CEO.

When Zach tried the doors, they were locked. Greatly daring, I reached out and rapped my knuckles on the expensive-looking wood. No result.

"Okay," I said with a shrug. "Zach, could you be a dear and open these doors for me?"

"Alright, Taylor," he said with a happy smile. Placing one hand where the doors joined, he pushed. There was a sharp crack, echoing from the top and bottom of the door, as well as all the way down the joining seam. Now bearing an imprint from his palm, the doors swung inward at his gentle shove.

"Hello, Kaiser!" he proclaimed happily as he strode into the room. "Hello, Krieg! It is good that you are all here today!"

As I followed him in, I saw that there were more than two people in the room. I wasn't especially familiar with the capes of the Empire Eighty-Eight, and these people were all in civilian garb, but from the furious looks Zach was getting, I guessed that everyone there was one of them. Of course, Hookwolf and Cricket were conspicuously absent, but that was because they were already residing in PRT lockup and the PRT infirmary respectively. Cricket would walk again, in time, but she would need a lot of physiotherapy before that day came.

I also couldn't help noticing the mark that Zach had left just this morning, while we were on the way to Arcadia. Or rather, marks. Distinctively shaped cracks in the windows running the length of the office. Cracks which formed letters, and thus words. YOU'RE NEXT.

I figured I could make a reasonable guess as to the subject of the meeting we'd just interrupted.

The tanned, handsome thirty-something man at the head of the table stood up and cleared his throat. "Young man," he stated firmly. "I'm afraid you're working with bad information. The Empire Eighty-Eight has no connection with Medhall, and if you continue to spread this base canard, I'm afraid we will have no recourse but to institute legal proceedings—"

Zach was unfazed. "Max Anders, you are the supervillain Kaiser. You will take your villain gang and go to the PRT building and give yourselves up." He beamed at them, clearly pleased with himself for not falling for the trick.

"I will say this one more time," Anders gritted, clearly unused to having to repeat himself. "I. Am. Not. Kais … uh."

Zach moved, blurring away from my side and back again, so fast I barely registered his absence. Now he held a large full-length mirror, which he held up so that the people at the table could see themselves in it. One and all, they were wearing the familiar costumes of the Empire Eighty-Eight, while Anders himself was now clad in his trademark gleaming steel armour.

The change had taken place in the same eyeblink while he was retrieving the mirror; from where, I had no idea. In addition, the two supermodel-level blondes, whom I would've taken as eye candy at any other time, had grown to twice normal height and were now cramped into their chairs, and the otherwise-nondescript guy halfway down the table had lost his tinted glasses, wig and the pinkish makeup, showing paper-white skin to the world.

"Sorry," I sang out over the sudden shouts of outrage. "I didn't hear that, Mr Anders. Wanna try that again?"

"How did you do that?" demanded Kaiser. "Who are you?"

Zach smiled; there was no meanness or smugness in it. He was purely happy in the moment. "My name is Zachary, and you will go down to the PRT building and turn yourselves in."

I almost didn't see the ghostly form emerging from the floor behind Zach. Even as I went to shout a warning, another one grabbed me from behind, putting its all-too-solid hand over my mouth. I watched as a ghostly spear was jabbed at Zach's body … and broke. At the same time, the real deal in the hand of Crusader audibly snapped. Turning, Zach swung his fist almost lazily at the ghost that had tried to impale him. It reeled away from the impact and the one holding me let go at the same time. At the table, Crusader went over backward, blood spraying from his busted nose.

"What the hell?" It was the white-skinned man; Alabaster, I was pretty sure he was called. "How did you do that?"

"I told you." Zach's tone was just a little more serious than before. "I am Zachary. You will turn yourselves in. Or I will turn your lies into the truth."

"… what the hell's that even supposed to mean?" It was a teenage girl wearing a robe in the Empire's red and black. I wasn't sure who she was.

Zach's smile widened again. "It is easy to understand, Tammi. If you keep saying you are not supervillains, I will make that a true thing. You will not be supervillains because you will not have powers. Or …" He put a certain amount of stress on the word, but did not bother finishing the sentence.

Everyone at the table looked toward Max Anders. He glared at Zach, who had leaned the mirror against the wall out of the way. "And if we turn ourselves in, you don't take away our powers?"

"That is what I am saying, yes." Zach sounded pleased with himself. "I—" He paused, and his gaze grew distant for a moment. "That is interesting."

"What's interesting?" I knew damn well that anything Zach saw as 'interesting' would have to be pretty world-shaking to anyone else. Or it might be a pretty pebble on the beach. Either way, it was in my best interests to find out.

"My sister tells me that Butcher and the Teeth are approaching the city limits," he explained. "That poses a higher risk of danger to you and your father than the Empire Eighty-Eight."

"Wait, what again now?" This was a shirtless guy with a blue and white tiger mask, who seemed to think that chains made an acceptable fashion accessory. "The Teeth? They're coming here?"

"They are no concern of yours," Zach said reprovingly. "Taylor and I will be going now. We have matters to attend to. If you are not in PRT holding within the hour, I will come and find you."

"He totally will," I agreed. "I was there when he killed the Nine."

"We've got the message, already." Kaiser seemed to be of a mood to chew up horseshoes and spit out nails. "We'll be there."

Zach beamed happily. "Good. Taylor does not like it when I hurt people." He crossed the room to one of the few windows that had not been marked with a large crack, and pushed on it. Silently, it swivelled open so that Zach could climb out onto the window ledge. Figuring out what he intended to do, I climbed out with him.

"Okay," I said as he scooped me into a bridal carry. "So what's the plan? The Teeth aren't known for being nice or reasonable."

"They have come to Brockton Bay to challenge me," he said seriously. "They saw the television broadcast where I killed Jack Slash. The Butcher wishes to add my power to hers. They are a danger to the whole city, but most especially you and Danny. They will target both of you to force me to face them. So I will go and face them now."

I had to wonder if his power was what allowed me to face the concept so calmly, or if I was just becoming numb to the whole thing. "I know this is probably a silly question, but you can beat them, right?"

"Yes, Taylor. It is a silly question." Zach smiled at me. "They are a direct danger to you. I will end that danger." And he leaped. We were already pretty far up in the air, so we went high.

I couldn't help it. "Woooooo hoooooooo!"

<><>​

Butcher

The woman who had once gone by the villain codename Quarrel smiled viciously to herself. They were close to that irritating little city where a previous iteration of the Butcher had been driven out, the Teeth all but wiped out by the Slaughterhouse Nine. Now the Nine had been destroyed in one fell swoop, all apparently by a mere teenager, boasting on live television what he'd done.

The Nine had been one of the few groups to utterly best the Teeth and send them packing. Butcher found it highly amusing that for all their vaunted fear tactics, the rival gang been sniped from halfway across the country by someone who wasn't even old enough to drink. But that raised another issue.

If the Nine had been more powerful than the Teeth (and the defeat at their hands seemed to indicate that was the case) then this 'Zachary' was more powerful than both the Nine and the Teeth, and Butcher wasn't about to accept that without a quibble. Fortunately, they'd been within a day's drive of Brockton Bay (or rather, they'd driven all night) and the confrontation was close at hand. This was a win-win situation for the Teeth; either they murdered this Zachary and proved themselves more powerful after all, or he killed the Butcher … and became the new Butcher. She kind of liked the idea of her successor being able to target anyone within fifteen hundred miles at will, especially combined with her ability to never miss.

The road twisted and turned through the hills to the south of Brockton Bay, before topping an escarpment on the shoulder of the almost-mountain the locals called Captain's Hill. From there on it would be a long straight run, like a dagger thrust into the heart of the city. Another couple of hours, she figured, and they could start tracking down Zachary's friends and family. Hostages always made things so much more fun. Anything that kept the heroes honest was alright in her book.

And then, just as they came up to the crest, something came lancing in from high above, rocketing downward at extreme velocity. As she instinctively jammed on the brakes of the dilapidated RV they'd stolen from a used-car yard, the object struck the road about ten yards ahead of the vehicle and resolved itself into two teenagers. A boy and a girl. She didn't know who the girl was, but she certainly recognised the boy.

"Zachary," she hissed, her lips curling in a cruel smile.

"What the fuck?" yelled Hemorrhagia from the back of the RV. "You just made me fall out of bed!"

"You can sleep later!" bellowed Butcher. "Out of the van, now! We got Zachary, right here!"

That got everyone's attention. They piled out of the idling RV, Spree already popping out clones, while Vex created a cloud of razor-edged force field fragments. Once Animos was out of the vehicle, he shifted to his wolf-like form and moved up alongside Butcher.

Once they'd formed a rough line across the front of the vehicle, where nobody's powers would get in each other's way, Butcher called out to the pair. "Thought I'd take longer to find you! Ready to die?"

The girl didn't answer, but the boy shook his head. "You will not kill us."

For some reason, the words sent a chill down Butcher's back. It was as if they'd been graven in stone, never to be gainsaid. But she gritted her teeth and snarled her reply. "Then you lose anyway." Flicking the switch to start the barrels turning on her oversized minigun, she turned to the wolf-thing. "Animos."

Taking his cue, the immense wolf-like creature curled back his lips in a lupine grin, then let out a roar that expanded in a visible shockwave toward the pair. Butcher knew that once it hit, they would be powerless and helpless, and she would be able to murder them at her leisure. And then, the pride of the Teeth would be once more salvaged.

But Zachary raised his hands … and caught the shockwave. It hung in the air between them for a moment, vibrating on his palms, then he began to pull it in and bundle it up, rolling it into a shimmering ball, only visible in outline. Butcher stared. How the fuck is he doing that?

Animos turned back to human. "That's not possible," he insisted. "He shouldn't be able to do that."

"Fuck it," said Butcher. She really didn't need all this help to off one scrawny teenage asshole. The minigun barrels were spinning nicely now, and she brought it up into line. Very little was capable of standing up to a barrage from this little beauty.

Bringing up the bundled shockwave, Zachary threw it, like a basketball. It even bounced off the ground like one before it struck Animos then rebounded into Butcher. She felt the impact, as if a real ball had caromed off her; but worse, she felt her innate targeting sense just … flicker and go out. A ghostly shade drifted from her over to Zachary, where he caught it.

"Hey, what the hell?" demanded Animos, just as the 'ball' rebounded into Vex and back into Butcher. This time, she felt her strength wane significantly. Another shade drifted over toward Zachary. She gritted her teeth and tried to swing the gun back into line, but she was having trouble hefting it.

The ball bounced back and forth again and again, faster and faster. Butcher tried to evade it, but it swerved in midair to bounce off her every time. And each time it hit her, she felt more of her powers fade away. Worse, the voices in her head were going out.

She couldn't bring the minigun into line; in fact, she couldn't lift it far enough to aim it. It was that stupid ball, she knew. Somehow, he was doing this with the ball.

"Vex! Cut them to pieces!" she yelled, heaving at the minigun. "He's done something to my powers!"

"I can't!" The cape was standing there, waving frantically, but none of the tiny razor-sharp force fields were manifesting. "My powers are gone, too!"

In fact, as Butcher looked around, there was also a distinct lack of Spree clones on the field compared to what there had been a few seconds ago. The 'ball' was still bouncing crazily from one Teeth cape to the next … the 'next' in this case being Butcher for every second bounce.

More shades were smacked out of her, just as she made the connection with the loss of the voices. "Fuck your powers!" It was a primal scream of righteous outrage. "He's stealing mine!"

And then it was too late. She dropped the minigun and the attached pack, barely avoiding having it land on her foot, as the ball bounced up and down on top of her head a couple of times, then zipped back to Zachary. A silence settled over the road for a few moments.

She felt for her powers, the voices that provided encouragement and reinforcement.

They were gone. It was all gone. Everything that made her Butcher was gone, along with the powers she'd possessed as Quarrel.

Rage built within her; honest, all-encompassing fury. She looked to see where Zachary was handing a brightly-coloured rubber ball to the girl. Then he started fiddling with something larger. They seemed to be ignoring her altogether.

"Teeth!" she screamed. "Get them!" Even without their powers, they had weapons literally attached to their costumes. And if they could kill Zachary, they would get their powers back.

As one, they charged.

<><>​

Taylor

Zach waved his hand without even bothering to look, and all of a sudden the onrushing members of the Teeth stopped. Not as in 'came to a halt', but as in 'froze in mid-step'. Almost like that Ward, Clockblocker, had been there to tap them out.

"Okay, that's cool," I said, then hefted the rubber ball he'd given me. "And what's this do, exactly?"

"Oh, that is the Idiot Ball," he said happily as he pulled and twisted at the oddly shaped space that was hanging in the air before him. "If you throw it at anyone, the ball returns to you and they lose their powers until you decide to let them have their powers back. If you throw it to someone and they catch it, they do the stupidest things possible until they let it go."

"But it doesn't affect me," I said uncertainly, bouncing it a couple of times on the asphalt of the road. It returned to my hand a little harder than I'd expected. This thing could really bounce.

"Of course not, Taylor. I would never do that to you." He gave me a smile, then yanked at the thing one last time. Space twisted weirdly, and he was left holding a stylish-looking jacket. When I looked more closely, it was made of strips of differently-textured leather, stitched together in an attractive pattern. "And this is for you as well."

"O … kay?" I stuffed the ball into my pocket—it really shouldn't have fit, but it did anyway—and took the jacket. It felt real, and the texture was gorgeous under my fingers, even though I'd just seen him create it out of thin air. No, wait. Out of something he pulled away from Butcher. "Did you just … is this …?"

"Butcher was using her powers irresponsibly," he said, straight-faced. "If you wear this, you will have full control over them. Also, as several of Butcher's powers protected her, you will likewise be protected."

"Oh. Wow." I'd often wondered what it would be like to have powers. Since I'd met Zach, I'd had the best possible role model for how to use any powers I might get. Not that I needed them since I'd met him, but the thought was there.

Slowly, carefully, I slid my arms into the jacket. It was, of course, sized perfectly to me. There was a zipper, which I engaged and slid upward, closing the jacket around me. And then, as it hit the last notch, there was a soundless click and the knowledge of all the powers popped into my head.

It was almost like a menu; I could activate any or all of them as I wished. None of the powers were all-or-nothing, which was good. I didn't really enjoy the idea of inflicting pain on someone, but now I could certainly cause very uncomfortable itching at a strategically important moment. And of course now I could not only bench press a truck, but also toss it a moderate distance. It was a heady feeling.

Which was why I distrusted it. I unzipped the jacket a ways, feeling the awareness of my new capabilities fade away from my mind. "Thank you, Zach, but I think I'll take it easy until I've had a chance to learn how to use this responsibly."

He beamed at me. "You are welcome, Taylor. I am happy that you like it. Would you like to complete the capture of the Teeth, or leave it up to me?"

I looked over at the still-charging Teeth, then down at my jacket. "Eh, screw it. I always wanted to be able to punch out the bad guys." Grabbing the tab, I zipped it all the way to the top again. "Let's do this together."

<><>​

Director Piggot

Several miles away, sitting in her office, Emily Piggot shivered as though someone had walked over her grave. Why do I suddenly have a feeling that things are going to get weirder than normal?

Then she dismissed the feeling and went back to work. This was Brockton Bay, after all. Weirdness was par for the course when it came to dealing with parahumans.

But as she dealt with the endless tide of paperwork, she couldn't help but wonder; what was going to happen next?

<><>​

Coil

A much greater distance away, Thomas Calvert stirred from his uneasy sleep in a no-tell motel, and felt his elbow nudge something hard beside him. When he opened his eyes, the body-bag taking up a good portion of the grimy bed had been slightly unzipped to show the dead face of Creep with the bullet-hole still showing fresh blood.

The eyes opened, showing the milky sheen of death, and sightlessly locked onto him.

"Whyyyy?" croaked the dead man.

Shrieking like a banshee possessed by all the demons of Hell, Calvert scrambled out of bed, snatched up his keys and bolted out to the vehicle waiting outside the room. This time, he left nothing behind; he was learning.

If he ran far enough, perhaps he could get away from the corpse of the last man he'd killed.

He could only hope, anyway.



End of Part Twelve

 

[Ack]

I'm HALPING!

Part Thirteen: Luck is for Amateurs

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

Eidolon

David looked up as a Doorway opened in midair beside him. Alexandria hovered on the other side of it, looking as serious as she ever did. "Eidolon," she said bluntly. "We need to go to Brockton Bay soon and do what Hebert 'requested' us to do."

His mouth twisted with distaste over the idea of going back and being confronted once more by his 'son'. It didn't matter that he was older and far more experienced; the Endbringer calling itself 'Zachary' had a way of putting him on the back foot with insulting ease. And that was not even counting the faux teenager's sheer physical capability.

"I'm going to assume you have what you consider a good reason," he riposted. She probably did, knowing her, but he wasn't going to give in without a fight.

"Yes." She paused for precisely timed effect. "The Teeth hit Brockton Bay and engaged Zachary thirty minutes ago. As of twenty-nine minutes ago, they have ceased to exist as a team."

David's eyes flew wide open as his mind surged in horror. "Butcher! If Zachary killed Butcher, the Butcher mind would've gone to that girl, what's-her-name—"

"Taylor. Taylor Hebert." Her voice had a strong 'try to keep up' tone to it. "And no; apparently, Butcher isn't dead. She's just not Butcher anymore. Taylor and Zachary dropped them off at PRT ENE about five minutes ago, somewhat the worse for wear. All alive, not the slightest hint of powers between the lot of them."

"What." David blinked, horror of a different type making itself known. "That ... that thing can … remove powers?"

"Apparently so." Rebecca Costa-Brown, David mused, had mastered the art of the dry comeback. "Given his propensity toward Trump activity, I suspect he 'borrowed' the ability from Animos, then used it to permanently nullify Animos'—and everyone else's—powers."

David set his jaw."It's not a 'he' or 'him'. It's an Endbringer. It's a monster masquerading in human form, just waiting for its moment to lash out and destroy the city."

Alexandria's eyebrows were hidden under her helmet, but he was sure she'd just raised them anyway. "I think you're wrong. He's had plenty of opportunity to go on a rampage, and the absolute most he's done so far is destroy a van. While, it has to be said—"

"Yes, yes, I know, I know, it eliminated the Nine," David said impatiently, waving his hand to dismiss her words. "But that's my point. It pretends to be human, and uses a Stranger effect to make this work even when people know what it's done. You yourself said you had trouble recalling its capabilities, and you have perfect recall!"

"I'm waiting for your point." Alexandria didn't frown or fold her arms, but the subtle tone in her voice made David pause in his rant.

"Um, sorry," he said, trying to sound sincere. While it had been more or less an accident and he didn't think she'd hold it against him, he had just kind of cut off the woman who could make his life very difficult in her position as the head of the PRT. And just because she'd never tried to push her authority in that arena before, there was no guarantee that she wouldn't do just that if she felt like it. "What I'm saying is that it's lulling us all into a sense of security. Pretending to be harmless, pretending that its really scary powers aren't so scary. Making it so even when we get that feeling there's something wrong, we'll suppress it because we think we know why we're getting the feeling and that we know better." He spat out the last word.

"And yet, he's never done anything overtly malicious," she reminded him. "Everything he's done has been specifically aimed at protecting … well, people." She paused, as if choosing what to say next. Which was odd, because Alexandria was never lost for words. "Only the guilty have suffered. No fatalities, even. Well, except for the ones who had Kill Orders against their names."

"And yet, it's stirred up more chaos in just a few days than most capes do in their first year." He tried to keep the snark out of his voice but it wasn't easy. "Would the Teeth have even come to Brockton Bay if Zachary hadn't stirred up the waters, smacked Lung around, captured Hookwolf and Cricket, and killed the damn Slaughterhouse Nine all in the same day?"

"Let's not lose sight of the fact that he has actually captured several supervillains and eliminated two separate S-class threats." Alexandria seemed almost amused at his discomfiture. "For a sinister looming threat, he's doing a damn good job at being a hero."

"And on the other hand, it's on first-name terms with the other Endbringers, and can call on them more or less any time it wants, if that little tête-à-tête with the Simurgh was anything to go by." He studied her expression, hoping to sway her to his side, but for that he'd just fired the best shot in his locker, it didn't have the impact that he'd hoped.

"On the other other hand, he seems to be able to ask them to play nice when they drop in." It was confirmed; she was actually amused at the situation. "And it may well be that he's able to ask them to keep playing nice."

"Why would it do that?" He had no idea why she was even considering the concept of trusting an Endbringer. "For that matter, why would they? All they do—all they want to do—is murder people and destroy lives. Destroy civilisation."

"Maybe so. And then again, maybe not." She took a deep breath. "We've never had an Endbringer who identifies with humanity before. He's a totally new factor. After thirty years of endlessly striving to figure out how to create even the most tenuous of defences against Scion and the other Endbringers, with the odds against us mounting up inexorably year by year, he's a light in the darkness. Seriously, David, he may be our turning point if we play our cards right."

"And if it's not?" He shook his head, unconvinced. "What then? What if it decides to nullify your powers next? Or mine? Renders us all helpless so the Simurgh can show up and drive us insane?"

"He could've done that the last time we showed up in town," she pointed out with annoying accuracy. "In fact, he could have chosen to leave us all in the dark about his true origins. He did neither."

"It could be playing the long game." He gestured, willing her to see his point of view. "The Simurgh does that all the time. One tiny pebble here, six months later a million people die half a continent away."

"True, she does." Alexandria nodded to underscore her agreement with his point. "But you've met Zach. The boy may be many things, including an undercover Endbringer, but 'subtle' is not in his playbook. However, I'm not in the slightest bit eager to find out how he would react if we stalled too long on carrying out the favour that Danny Hebert asked for. Right now, we seem to be on his 'friends' list … well, you're apparently on there as 'family', which amounts to the same thing." She either didn't see his dirty look, or managed to ignore it altogether. "Given what he's done to his enemies so far, I don't want to end up on that list without a really good reason."

He folded his arms. "So you want to go back to Brockton Bay and clean a few derelict ships out of the harbour? Will it even boost the local economy all that much?"

The smirk she gave him was either due to the question indicating that he wasn't saying no, or something else that he didn't know about at the moment. She'd always been three steps ahead of him, that way. "It's likely to, even if it's just a morale thing." She shrugged. "Apparently, the rest of the Empire Eighty-Eight voluntarily gave themselves up to the PRT ENE around the same time as Zachary and Taylor …" She paused and facepalmed, hard enough to make her helmet ring slightly. "Oh, son of a bitch."

"What? What's the problem?" David wasn't sure what was going on, but Alexandria hadn't sounded happy.

She shook her head. "Zachary Taylor. Twelfth president of the US. That's got to be deliberate, somehow. Maybe the Simurgh did it, just to fuck with us." Clearing her throat, she seemed to get a grip on herself. When she spoke next, her tone was much less aggrieved. "Anyway. The Empire gave themselves up. When asked why, they said that Zachary told them to. Also, the Azn Bad Boyz and the Merchants have been rolled up already. While there's still parahuman criminals in the city, they are very much the third- and fourth-raters. If the local Chamber of Commerce can get the port open again—and Danny Hebert seemed willing to push very hard to make that happen—the criminal underworld will be too busy piecing itself back together to demand a slice of the pie."

"Mundane criminals have been doing that since long before powers came along." David felt a sour satisfaction in reminding her of this fact. "And little fish have a strong propensity to become big fish once the prior big fish are removed from the pond."

Again, David got the impression of raised eyebrows. "And how long do you think they'd last in that town once they decided to threaten the happiness and welfare of Taylor and her father?"

The question was clearly rhetorical. David had personally attended the site of Jack Slash's demise. The threat the Nine had posed toward Taylor was far more theoretical than real, but Zachary had destroyed them with utter ruthlessness all the same.

"You have a point, I suppose," he admitted, albeit grudgingly. "So, you think we should go back and clear out their collection of derelict shipping so as to not give it an excuse to turn against us?"

"That's one way to put it, yes." She tilted her head. "Another way might be to note that he's just cleaned up Butcher and the Teeth. Do we really want him getting bored while thinking that we've just been stringing him along?"

David tried to imagine what a bored Endbringer might decide to do. Bored capes were bad enough. He didn't want to see what "it seemed like a good idea at the time" looked like when an Endbringer was involved.

"Fine," he huffed. "Let's bring Legend into it and get this over and done with."

Alexandria smiled.

<><>​

Boat Graveyard
Brockton Bay
Alexandria

They stepped out of the Doorway onto the foreshore facing the expanse of water, within which forty or fifty ships had been confined for the last fifteen years. Some still floated, while others had gradually settled onto the bottom. At one point there had been mooring buoys, but time and natural degradation had taken its toll, so very few of the ships were in any sort of good order. None were small, while some were hundreds of feet long, including at least one container ship.

"Man," Legend said, lifting into the air about twenty feet and shading his eyes to look over the rusted-out conglomeration of decrepit floating tonnage. "What a …" He trailed off, lacking words.

"Shithole?" offered a voice from directly behind Rebecca and Eidolon. Both turned fast, while Legend spun around in midair, looking as startled as he ever did. Taylor Hebert and Zachary stood there, both wearing yellow hard hats and reflector vests over jackets, jeans and work boots. The girl gave Rebecca a cheeky little fingertip wave. "Hi."

"Don't do that," snapped Eidolon, energy glowing around his clenched fists. "I could've—"

"You would not have attacked Taylor Hebert by accident, Father." Zachary's tone was definitive. "And if you had attacked, I am capable of diverting the attack. In any case, Taylor was talking when you interrupted her."

Rebecca tended to agree with Eidolon, at least where it came to not startling powerful capes. She was never going to admit that she had been startled, though it had come as a considerable surprise to find the pair standing right behind where she and the others had emerged from the Doorway. "Zachary, how did you know where and when to be there?" She thought she knew the answer, but she posed the question anyway.

"Oh, my sister told me you were coming." Zachary's smile was purely good cheer. "That gave us enough time to acquire safety equipment, and to get here before you arrived."

So of course the Simurgh tipped them off. Rebecca restrained herself from giving the sky above a dirty look. I bet she fully intended for us to get the jump scare just now, too.

"Anyway, as I was saying, there's many words and phrases we can use to describe the Boat Graveyard," Taylor went on blithely. "Hot mess, dumpster fire, unfortunate metaphor for today's world, colossal ratfuck, asshole of Brockton Bay, the place where dreams come to die …" She let her voice trail off, then shrugged. "Take your pick."

"Not to, uh, criticise your phrasing, young lady, but that seems to be a rather bleak worldview," Legend began carefully, drifting back down to ground level.

Rebecca had briefed him on the situation in Brockton Bay. Now, she began to wonder if she'd briefed him enough.

Taylor snorted bitterly. "Have you even been to Brockton Bay? Or is it one of those places you big heroes fly over on the way to someplace more important?"

"We are making the city safer, Taylor!" announced Zachary. "One villain at a time!" He turned to Legend. "Hello, Legend! My brothers and sister told me to say hello. You are a fun and interesting opponent."

From the look on Legend's face, some of the briefing had taken awhile to sink in; namely, that Zachary was an Endbringer, and that his 'brothers and sister' were also Endbringers. Or perhaps it was the fact that they were praising him for giving them interesting battles. Either way, it would be a distinctly unsettling thing to have to take on board all at once. He seemed to be handling it so far, which was good.

Legend nodded. "Right. I see." He glanced around. "They won't … be joining us today, will they?"

"Oh, no," Zach said with a disarming smile. "They did offer, but Father and Chief Director Costa-Brown decided that they would not be needed." He gave a shrug, as if to say, what can you do?

"Well, I think we should be able to handle it for today," Legend declared. He put out his hand. "It is very interesting to meet the pair of you."

Taylor took his hand first. "It's pretty cool to meet you, too. You're about my second or third favourite hero."

"That's good to hear," Legend said gravely as they shook hands. "Everyone needs a goal to strive toward." He opened his mouth to say something else. Rebecca knew for a fact that he was going to ask Taylor who her favourite hero was, and she cleared her throat firmly. She's going to say Zachary, and it'll get awkward.

Fortunately, Legend picked up on the signal and closed his mouth again. His handshake with Zachary was a little more protracted, and Rebecca figured he was using all of his senses to try to detect the supposed teenage boy's underlying nature. Nothing untoward happened, and the handshake ended.

"Well, then." Legend dusted his hands off in a businesslike manner. "Do we have a plan of action, or should we just dispose of one ship at a time until they're all gone?"

Taylor cleared her throat, then waited until all three heroes had turned to her. "Dad did mention that he'd like as many of these ships refloated as possible. They're abandoned, which means whatever salvage we can get out of them is pure profit. And if they can be eventually reconditioned, even better."

Rebecca did her best not to compress her lips in irritation. Simply hauling the rusting hulks out to sea and sinking them in deep water had been her plan since she first saw the Graveyard, but apparently it wasn't going to be that easy. "Some of these ships are surely beyond salvage," she said, mainly to test the waters. Helping out was one thing, but refloating every single ship, even the ones that were mostly submerged, would be an immense task.

Fortunately for her state of mind, Taylor nodded. "Oh, I get that. I was passing on what Dad said. Let's just do what we can."

"Good idea." Legend took to the air and pointed at the container ship that seemed to be blocking in several other ships. From the angle it lay, it was sitting on the bottom, some of its deck awash even at low tide. "Let's start with that one and see what we can do."

"I will help!" declared Zachary. "Come on, Taylor!"

Taylor grinned. "Okay, Zach. You want to jump or teleport?"

Rebecca glanced sharply at Eidolon. Up until now, her best information on Zachary was that he had a high Mover rating, which involved either extreme speed (which she had witnessed herself) or physics-defying leaping. Nowhere had teleportation been mentioned.

David met her gaze and shrugged minutely. Your guess is as good as mine.

"I would like to teleport," Zachary replied happily. "I have never teleported before. This will be fun!"

"Okay, let's do this then." Taylor held Zachary's arm next to her side … and they both vanished in a burst of flame. More or less at the same instant, far out over the bay, a tiny flicker of light signalled their arrival on the container ship.

"That wasn't in the briefing you gave me." Legend's voice was neutral. "Did you know he could do that?"

"I did not." Eidolon sounded like he was frowning. "I don't like it. That's the profile of the teleportation Butcher had."

Rebecca tilted her head slightly, running the conversation through her memory. "Are you sure it was his power and not hers they were using? From context, she was asking him if he was alright with her teleporting him out there."

"Endbringers can't be teleported!" protested Eidolon. "I should know. I've tried enough times."

"Maybe they can't be teleported unless they choose to let themselves be teleported," Legend suggested. "I thought you told me she had no powers."

"She doesn't," Eidolon said, though he sounded less certain. "Or she didn't." He looked unhappy. "Could he have given her Butcher's powers?"

"There's one very simple way to do that," Rebecca reminded them both. "And it doesn't involve an irritatingly upbeat Endbringer. If Taylor Hebert had landed the killing blow, she would now be the new Butcher. But I don't believe she did. And I don't believe she is."

"She's far too collected," Legend agreed. "Not like someone who's struggling with literal inner demons. But I agree; the connotations of what she said indicate that she's the one with the teleport power."

"Okay, let's just assume for now that its bullshit powerset includes the ability to bestow powers to Taylor Hebert, and worry later about whether they're permanent, temporary or need maintaining." Eidolon pointed at the container ship in the distance. "They've beaten us out there and here we are, standing on the shore arguing about how they did it."

"You've never spoken a truer word." Legend lifted off the ground and accelerated toward the container ship. Rebecca followed suit, and in another moment Eidolon was flying alongside them.

They arrived at the ship in short order; slowing down, they made an orbit of the massive vessel to figure out what to do with it first. It was down by the bow, the wavelets off the ocean currently lapping over about a third of its length. The containers which had been its cargo lay strewn on her deck, with some overboard. Huge hatchways gaped open, the covers long since gone, with water clearly visible just a few feet down through each opening.

Rebecca knew that she would be of little to no help in actually removing the water from the ship. Towing it, certainly. Lifting it, maybe, but not with the thousands of tons of water still in the hold. She angled over toward where the bridge superstructure rose out of the deck and landed near the rear hold opening. Legend alighted next to her a moment later, while Eidolon hovered over the farthest hatchway, one edge awash with the incoming tide. Rebecca couldn't see his expression, but his body language was one large frown.

"What are you thinking?" she asked. "Freeze the water in stasis and lift it out in chunks?"

Legend waggled his hand from side to side as if to vaguely agree with her. "That could be doable, I suppose. I was thinking of just vaporising it. There has to be a way to do it without seriously damaging the hull of the ship."

"And while you're doing that, I could get under and lift the whole thing onto some sort of support." Rebecca considered the idea. It wasn't a bad plan, all told.

There was the sound of something dragging and bumping and thumping over the deckplates, and they both turned to see Zachary and Taylor. The pair had located a large hose, over four inches in diameter and twenty feet long, and Zachary was proudly dragging it behind him with a large section of it looped over his shoulders.

"I can help get the water out!" Zachary announced helpfully. "Then it will be easier to repair the ship. It was deliberately sunk, you know."

Rebecca tilted her head slightly. "No, I didn't know. How are you going to get the water out with that? Using it as a siphon will take far too long."

Zachary beamed at her question. "Oh, no, Chief Director! I will blow it out! Watch this!" He heaved the hose one last time, and one end fell into the hatchway, splashing down into the dark, dank water. More and more slithered over the edge and down into the water, until he held just the other end.

Taylor nudged him and pointed at where Eidolon still hovered over the ship.

"Oh, yes, Taylor. You are right." Zach cupped one hand around his mouth, the other still occupied in holding the hose. "Father!"

This time, Eidolon turned entirely away from the group at the hatchway, clearly deep in thought. Taylor and Zachary looked at each other and shrugged.

"I've been meaning to ask," murmured Legend. "What's the 'Father' thing about?"

"Tell you later," replied Rebecca, just as quietly. She raised her voice somewhat and addressed Zachary. "How do you mean, 'blow' the water out of the boat?"

"Like this, Chief Director!" Zach took a deep breath. Taylor wet her finger, tested the wind, then took a step back and to the left. Holding the end of the hose firmly, Zach put it to his mouth … and blew.

Every hatchway along the length of the ship erupted in a solid square pillar of dirty brown water that reached over a hundred feet in the air, arched over to the right, and crashed into the ocean beyond. The noise was tremendous, like standing next to Niagara Falls for hours on end, and it just went on and on and on. Worse, the smell was horrific; she figured there had been some things rotting down in the hold for the last fifteen years, and now they were out in the open.

The sheer impossibility of what Zach was doing, she decided to shelve for the moment.

The waterspouts petered out, then stopped altogether. The ship moved, its hull grating across the bottom, then began to rise upward as buoyancy reasserted itself. Down below, within the hull, Rebecca heard water running and knew that the ship would sink again without assistance, but she knew that between them they would be up to the job.

"You!" The voice was that of a man pushed to his limits and somewhat beyond. "You did that on purpose!"

Rebecca recognised the voice. Looking up, she saw Eidolon, still hovering there. Directly above one of the hatchways. He had clearly been caught in the mephitic fountain; his costume was soaked and stained, while rotting seaweed was draped artfully over his helmet and one shoulder. Reaching up and over his shoulder, he removed a live flopping fish from the back of his neck and tossed it out into the ocean, where it disappeared from view.

"I tried to warn you, Father." Zachary did not sound particularly apologetic, while Taylor seemed to be on the verge of rupturing herself, trying not to laugh. "You ignored me."

"That's right." Legend sounded unusually tight-lipped as well; glancing at him, Rebecca saw the signs that he was also attempting to hold in laughter. Not that she blamed either him or Taylor. It was rather amusing. "He called out to you. You turned away."

"Graaahhh!" Eidolon flickered with light for a moment, then with a flash he was clean once more. Rebecca immediately began to wonder exactly how many people were watching from shore with telescopic lenses. She made a mental note to check social media sites over the next few days.

"On the upside," she offered. "The hold is empty of water. We can repair it much more easily now."

"Yes." Eidolon seemed to be suffering an undue amount of stress, from the deep breathing he was doing. "We can. And we will. Just the three of us." He pointed at Zachary. "You will stay far away from us. Understand?"

"Yes, Father." Zachary beamed happily. "I understand. Taylor and I will work over there while you work over here."

Taylor grabbed Zachary's hand. "Bye," she managed, her eyes sparkling with unexpressed mirth. With a burst of flame, they were gone. Seconds later, Rebecca was almost certain she could hear laughter echoing across the Boat Graveyard. But that wasn't her problem. Her problem was the ship she was standing on, which was gradually filling with water again.

"Okay," she said. "Let's get to it."

I'll find a private place later, she promised herself. And laugh my head off.

Because that was freaking hilarious.

<><>​

Taylor

The moment we arrived on the target ship, I leaned up against Zach and began laughing helplessly. I wasn't able to stop for three or four minutes, until I was red in the face and tears were streaming down my cheeks. Zachary was smiling, but I still found it a lot funnier than he did.

"Oh, man, if I could've seen his face …"

Dad would probably have said not to laugh at others for their misfortunes, but Eidolon had kinda brought it on himself. And I knew he would've laughed too.

"I did not do it on purpose, Taylor." Zach answered my unasked question. "But I did not do everything I could to ensure it did not happen. Perhaps next time he will pay more attention to me?"

I snorted. "Yeah, maybe. You definitely got his attention this time, that's for sure."

"That is good, Taylor. Father needs to spend more time looking outward at the world around him than inward at his powers." Zach looked around. "We can not help the Triumvirate to fix that ship, so we will fix this one."

I took a deep breath and wiped the tears from my eyes. Zach was right; we were here to do a job. Then I had a good look at the ship we'd ended up on.

It was one of the mid-sized ones, maybe two hundred feet long. Though it was still afloat, it had that feeling that it had taken on water in the past. The upperworks were covered in rust and salt scale, and I wondered how much good metal was left behind after a decade and a half of neglect.

"Okay, I'll bite," I said. "How are we going to fix it?"

Zachary raised one hand and rapped on the nearest bit of superstructure, eliciting a ringing sound. "Tell me, Taylor. When your father has a piece of metal covered in rust, how does he get it off?"

I got the impression he was looking for a specific answer. "Hits it with a hammer …?"

He smiled. It was clearly the right response. "Then the first thing we will do is knock the rust off."

Lifting his foot, he stomped down on the deck. I half-expected it to go straight through—he was strong enough to do that by accident, let alone on purpose—but it didn't. Instead, the entire ship rang like a gong, rust and crusted-on salt showering off in all directions as he hit the precise harmonic note.

I yelped and covered my head with my arms, preparing to spit out bits of salt and rusted metal, but none had even gotten in my hair. In fact, not a bit of it had come within a few feet of me. I looked down and saw that even the rusted deck plates were a lot cleaner except for a circle around our feet.

Zach looked at me innocently. "Are you alright, Taylor?" Or rather, his tone was innocent, and butter wouldn't have melted in his mouth, but deep in his eyes I saw the flicker of amusement.

"You did that on purpose," I accused him, elbowing him in the ribs.

"Yes, I did," he said at once. "I was testing out the idea of physical humour. Setting up an expectation and then subverting it. Did it work?"

I paused, thinking about that. Well, I had taught him about jokes. That one was on me, I supposed. "Yeah, it worked. Still a dirty trick, though."

He smiled. "It was a very clean trick. But I will not be doing it to you again. You did not know I could or would do it, so it was unfair of me to do it to you without warning." He moved to the side. "Come over here, please, so that I can finish clearing the rust off of the deck."

I stepped off the circle of still-rusted metal and moved over to where he was standing. "I'll forgive you this time. And it was kind of funny. But that's the kind of joke that's only funny once."

"So I had surmised, Taylor." Zach tapped the deck with his toe and the rusted patch shivered; the rust jumped in the air and dissipated. Putting his hands on his hips, he gave the ship a critical once-over. "Even with the rust gone, it still does not look very pretty, does it?"

"Well, no." The general air of decay and neglect had lifted a little, but the ship still had a slight list and I wouldn't have trusted my life to the wooden railings that I could see. "They're going to have to tear this thing all the way down to fix it up properly."

"We shall see, Taylor." His voice was bright. "Let me try again." He lifted his foot again, and stomped on the deck. This time, the ringing sound was somehow different. The whole ship juddered, somehow out of focus for a few seconds; when it became still again, the once-pitted decking was smooth and whole. The railings were no longer old and rotted. In fact, everything looked as though it had been freshly manufactured and constructed.

"Whoa, Zach." I stared at him. "Did you just do what I thought you just did?"

"I do not know, Taylor." He grinned at me in a way that showed he knew exactly what I meant. "Let me try again."

This time, as his foot sent vibrations throughout the vessel, I was entirely unsurprised to feel the ship lurching back to an upright position while there was the sound of rushing water from somewhere out of sight. Somehow, using his smartass Zachary capabilities, he had emptied the water from inside the ship with a simple stamp of his foot.

I could only wonder what this looked like from onshore as Zach lifted his foot once more. Down it came, and the boat vibrated in perfect harmony. When I could see straight again, the wooden railings gleamed with varnish while the deck and upperworks were freshly painted. There was even a lifeboat, heretofore missing, hanging from nearby davits.

Wonderingly, I ran my hand over a metal hatchway. The paintwork was clean, dry and smooth. The entire ship looked as though it had just emerged from a complete makeover from stem to stern … which, in a way, it had.

"Wow," I said feelingly. "Just wow. That's amazing, Zach."

Zachary smiled at the praise, and knocked his heel against the deck. The ship didn't judder this time, but I heard the unmistakeable sound of an anchor chain running out. The anchor splashed into the water, then Zach did it again. The chain stopped; through my feet, I felt the anchor bite into the harbour bottom, stopping our sideways drift.

I grinned at Zach, and he returned it. "Dad is gonna be so thrilled," I told him. "With all these ships up and running, we're gonna have port trade before we know it."

"We have yet to refurbish the Lord's Port facilities," he said seriously. "But that can be done also."

"And without the gangs to cause problems, the city can really get up and go again." I shook my head. "And all because of you."

"Not all gangs have been eliminated from Brockton Bay," Zach noted. "But those who are left are minor in both scope and ambition. Coil may have attempted to become a problem, but he has long since left the city."

"Coil?" I frowned. "I'm not sure if I ever heard of him."

Zach smiled. "He was never as good as he thought he was."

<><>​

Somewhere Across America
Coil

Thomas Calvert pulled himself out of a troubled slumber. His dreams had been shot through with images of a teenage boy that had something much older and much more terrifying looking out through his eyes. And when Zachary wasn't haunting him, Creep in his body bag was there to wreck his sleep.

He tensed, looking around, but there was no body bag, no body. He wasn't sharing the bed with anything that shouldn't have been there. Peeking over the side of the bed revealed that it wasn't on the floor, either.

Letting out the long-held shuddering breath, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up. Have I outrun it at last? Am I beyond its reach? He didn't dare to hope, but it seemed that way.

He'd learned over the last few days to keep everything within easy grabbing range, so he took up his toiletry bag and stumbled into the tiny bathroom, rubbing sleep from his eyes. His nerves were so frazzled …

And then, as he was brushing his teeth, letting his mind drift in the semi-hypnotic mode that tedious but important tasks can inflict, the shower started up behind him.

He froze, almost biting the toothbrush in half.

Slowly, in no way wanting to, he turned toward the shower cubicle.

His hand inched out, touched the sliding screen. Pushed it aside.

A tiny whimper escaped from his throat, via his sinuses.

Standing in the shower, rivulets of water running down the rubberized outer surface of the body bag, was Creep. He appeared to be washing his hair. The dead man turned toward Calvert, giving him a good view of the blood trickling out of the fresh bullet hole in the middle of his forehead, and reached out to pull the sliding screen shut again.

Thirty seconds after that, Calvert was in his vehicle, peeling out of the parking lot.

Later, the maid would be quite irritated at the large amount of toothpaste she had to clean off the shower screen.

<><>​

Legend

"And that should do it," Eidolon declared, dusting his hands off. The container ship, seacocks closed off, was floating properly now. Between him and Alexandria, the containers themselves had been retrieved from the bottom of the harbour and restacked on the deck in something approximating their original order.

Of course, the ship still needed a total refurbishment and the engines would probably require being replaced altogether. He wasn't sure about the propeller shafts either; resting on the bottom couldn't have done them any good at all. But, due to all their efforts, the ship was now floating free and could be towed into position—by Alexandria, naturally—so they could start work on another one.

Then he turned to look at the rest of the Boat Graveyard, zooming in to see which one they should focus on next. After a moment, he blinked, wiped his eyes, and tried again.

"What … the fuck?" That was Eidolon, hovering beside him. "Are you seeing what I'm seeing?"

The question was almost certainly rhetorical. Somehow, over the half-hour that they'd spent making sure that the container ship simply wouldn't sink again and retrieving all the sunken containers, the entire remainder of the Boat Graveyard had been returned to pristine condition. Paintwork gleaming, the ships rode at anchor, each one a decorous distance from the next. Even the water surrounding them was clean and unpolluted, sparkling in the afternoon sunlight.

"I see it," Alexandria said as she came up to their level, the anchor chain still slung over her shoulder. "I'm not sure if I believe it, but I see it."

"Zachary." Eidolon made the name into a swear-word. "I don't know how he did it, but it has to be him."

Alexandria glanced down at the grime on her costume, then at the flawless ships before her. "Maybe we should have asked him for help … dad?"

Eidolon gave her an extremely dirty look.



End of Part Thirteen

 

[Ack]

I'm HALPING!

Part Fourteen: Coming to an Agreement

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

That Evening

What got Vicky's attention was the laughter. She'd heard Amy laugh before, but not often and not recently. In fact, over the last year or so, Amy had become more and more snarky, to the point that her sense of humour had been all bite and no smile. But now, through her sister's bedroom door, Vicky could hear unrestrained laughter that verged on outright cackling.

What's going on here? Temporarily abandoning her idea of having an early shower before dinner, she tapped on Amy's door. "Are you okay in there, Ames?" she asked, then opened the door anyway. She and Amy barged into each other's rooms on the regular. It wasn't like either of them had any secrets worth keeping from each other.

Amy was sitting at her computer desk, with the laptop up and running. At first glance, the brunette seemed fine, though her face was red and tears were streaming down her cheeks. As Vicky watched, she clicked on something then burst out laughing all over again.

Finally, she registered Vicky's presence; turning, she beckoned. "C'mon," she gasped. "You've gotta see this. It's the funniest thing ever."

A dark suspicion bloomed in Vicky's mind. Did someone record that jerk cheating to beat me at arm-wrestling and put it online? And Amy's laughing at it? Not cool. Not cool at all.

Still, she had to show she was a good sport so she came into the room and positioned herself so she could see the screen. Okay, let's see how humiliating this … "Huh?" Instead of the Arcadia cafeteria scene she expected, it was … one of the ships at the Boat Graveyard?

Vicky remembered it well. Nobody except the ship registry recalled the vessel's name, but it had been left half-sunken at the mouth of the Bay for basically her entire life. Once, when she had just gotten her powers and was still finding the limits to her strength, she had snuck out one night and flown out to that ship. She, Glory Girl, was going to move it, and everyone would see how cool and strong she was!

Predictably, it hadn't moved even an inch as she strained and heaved at it. She'd even punched it a few times from sheer frustration, leaving fist-sized dents in the rusted steel, but nothing other than that. After about half an hour of trying from every angle (even diving into the water in the hope of lifting it clear of the seabed—that was a dismal failure as well) she had given up and flown home.

But now, there was something different happening. The three members of the Triumvirate were hovering over the ship, while two people stood on the deck. "Wait, freeze that," Vicky said, leaning in. "Is that …"

Amy grinned; the expression was one she hadn't worn in … years. "Yup. It's your playdate partner. Zachary himself. And that's Taylor with him. Love the jacket she's wearing."

Vicky raised an eyebrow. Amy didn't do fashion appreciation. Or at least, she didn't normally. On the other hand, the jacket Taylor was wearing did look very nice indeed, even under a high-visibility vest. Beside her, the aforementioned Zachary was wearing an identical vest. They both sported hard hats, while Zachary also had what looked like a heavy length of hose over his shoulder.

"What's going on?" Vicky searched the picture for the source of Amy's hilarity, and couldn't find it. "Who even took this?"

"Some guy on shore with a long lens," Amy explained succinctly. "He normally likes to get footage of new capes sneaking into the Boat Graveyard and breaking stuff to test out their powers. Boy, was he surprised when the Triumvirate showed up."

I would be too. Vicky had heard a rumour they were in town, but she didn't deal in rumour. She dealt in hard facts. "Okay, so what's so funny?"

"Oh, you'll see." Amy set the video scrolling on once more.

Vicky watched with confusion as Zachary dumped one end of the hose in the hold of the ship. To her certain knowledge, the thing was full of water. Did he think he was going to drain it out using that hose? She had news for him if that was his thought process. Physics didn't play that way.

So then he put the free end of the hose to his mouth … and blew?

The camera panned sideways with a jolt, and Vicky frowned as it steadied on what looked like a vertical column of filthy brown water. Briefly pulling back, the view showed water fountaining up out of every hatchway, supposedly under the impetus of Zachary blowing into the hose. Which was patently ridiculous.

"Wait, no," she told Amy, who was already starting to giggle. "It doesn't work like that. You can't just make water do that. I don't care how hard you can make air move out of your mouth." As a teenager, she was automatically careful of using any sentence that involved the word 'blow'.

Amy just giggled harder. "He can. But that's not the best bit."

"Okay, so what's the …" Vicky's voice trailed off as the immense vertical deluges—which had to be emptying the ship at an unprecedented rate—petered off, then stopped. And then she saw. Oh, did she see.

Hovering directly over one of the hatchways, clearly having been caught in the full force of the upward torrent … was Eidolon. But not the immaculately costumed Eidolon that she had seen just moments before. This Eidolon was … different. This one clearly had things on his mind. And on his costume.

The camera had to be an extremely expensive model, because as it zoomed in on the iconic hero, no details were lost. The look of rage on what little of his face that could be seen, the water dripping off his helmet, the stains of mud or possibly worse on his costume, the rotting seaweed draped over his shoulder and helmet …

Already giggling, Vicky watched as he reached up behind his helmet and pulled out what was clearly a live fish, flopping and twisting in his gloved hand. She lost it entirely when he flicked the fish away, sending it out of frame. Leaning against Amy's chair, she howled with laughter, especially when the footage flicked back to where the fountaining water stopped and Eidolon's embarrassment was shown in all its glory, in majestic slow motion.

After they'd watched it again, no more than five or six times (that she could recall), with the two sisters pointing out particularly funny points to each other, she asked Amy if there was more to the filmclip.

"Oh, yeah. But it's not about Eidolon, so I haven't watched it." Amy let it run through again. They giggled, watching it—it would never not be funny—but let it keep running.

After a little conversation—during which Eidolon made his requirements abundantly clear, as in you get over there and don't come near me—Taylor and Zachary vanished in a burst of flame.

Vicky blinked. "Did you see that?"

"I did." Amy paused the footage and flicked it back a few seconds. Sure enough, they'd teleported in a burst of flame. "Is it just me, or did that look like the Butcher's teleportation?"

"It's not just you." Vicky shook her head. Either Taylor had developed powers, or Zach was being more cheaty than normal. Who just showed up out of the blue with teleportation, anyway? "But he can jump and move at superspeed. Why does he even need teleportation?"

The camera watched the members of the Triumvirate working to ensure the ship didn't sink again, now with somewhat less comedy. Then it panned back over the ships of the Boat Graveyard, and paused. There, gleaming like a diamond in a goat's ass (thank you, Uncle Neil, for that little saying) were three ships, no longer wrecks or even close to it. They floated upright, freshly painted, looking ready to put to sea within the hour.

"What the hell?" Amy voiced Vicky's question before she herself had the chance to ask it. "Where did they come from?" Because they certainly didn't belong in the motley collection of rusting hulks that made up the Boat Graveyard.

And then the camera zoomed in on another ship. This one was lying almost on its side, having sprung a leak and rolled years ago. The deck was almost vertical, but Taylor and Zachary were standing on the curved hull. As they watched, Zachary raised one leg and stamped his foot down. It didn't seem all that hard, but the whole ship shuddered in the water and a cloud of rust and barnacles exploded away from the hull. When it cleared, she could see smooth, unblemished steel in place of the rust-pitted wreck.

"What the hell?" she echoed Amy's question. "Did you just see that?"

"Keep watching, keep watching!" Amy gestured at the screen.

Vicky looked back at it just in time to see the entire ship rolling upright, filthy water gushing from every hatchway and porthole. Holding Taylor around the waist, Zachary leaped lightly into the air, seemed to hang there for a moment, then came down for a feather-light landing on the now-level deck. When he stamped his foot once more, the whole ship shivered and blurred. Somehow, she wasn't surprised when the vessel that emerged from the effect was painted and polished, as if freshly constructed.

She and Amy watched as the ship drifted sideways against the incoming tide into a clear area—Zachary seemed to have a whole repertoire of foot-taps to call on—and then the anchor dropped and the ship stopped moving. Which was all well and good, but she wasn't at all sure that it had had an anchor before.

"Did he just … fix the whole ship by stomping on it?" Vicky wasn't sure if she'd seen things correctly.

"I … guess?" Amy shrugged. "Percussive maintenance for the win?"

Vicky glared at her. "That was not percussive maintenance. That was some kind of shaker bullshit." She snapped her fingers. "So that's how he beat me! He used shaker powers to make me weaker! I knew it!"

"Uh huh." Amy rolled her eyes. "Or maybe he's just stronger. Ever think of that?"

"No." Vicky was absolutely certain about that. "He does not get to have all those other bullshit powers and just plain be stronger than me as well. It's gotta be a trick of some sort."

Amy sighed. "You are aware that nobody's keeping score, right? There's not some guy sitting there with pen and paper, making sure that everyone's power is balanced out. He's actually allowed to be more powerful than you. Stronger. And yes, he's allowed to be able to jump across the city and move at superspeed and teleport like that. It's called grab-bag powers. That's a thing. Look it up."

"I know what a grab-bag cape is, Ames," huffed Vicky. "But even grab-bags don't get so many huge powers. Just lots of low-level useful ones. Like Circus."

"Or Eidolon?" suggested Amy slyly. "Or is he not allowed to have so many powers either?"

"Eidolon's not a grab-bag!" Vicky had no idea what had gotten into her sister. Amy's sense of humour had been sadly lacking for a little while, but now it all seemed to be coming back in spades. And it was kicking Vicky's ass. "He's a Trump!"

Amy nodded in acknowledgement of the correction. "And maybe Zachary's a Trump as well. Gallant got me a copy of the footage they had of the confrontation at Winslow, and I noticed something interesting."

"What, really?" Vicky had seen the same footage. She just hadn't known that Dean had passed it on to Amy as well. Whatever Amy had seen in it, she wasn't sure. It was basically Zachary being bullshit, as usual.

"He encountered Velocity in the school, and he's not noted to have shown super-speed before then. He didn't do any huge jumps before he had his little face-to-face with Assault." Amy ticked off items on her fingers. "He said that he used Assault's own powers to send him to Boston, and got him there without harm. Dean also told me that when they brought in Lung, Hookwolf, Cricket and Oni Lee, none of them showed signs of having any powers until they were solidly in custody. I think if he comes within range of people, he can pick up versions of their powers, or mess with the powers that they already have. Or, you know, turn them off for the time being."

"See?" Vicky spread her hands. "See? See? I told you. He fucked with my strength. He cheated."

"He also walked out of containment foam, ripped apart a servery counter and threw tear gas grenades through a wall," Amy said inexorably. "Not to mention, he hurled a PRT van fifteen hundred miles and nailed Jack Slash and the Nine with it."

Vicky couldn't throw a van fifteen hundred miles. Or even one mile. A baseball, possibly. A van, no. She sighed, running her hands through her hair. "Okay, fine. He's allowed to be a little bit strong. But I personally think that the van thing was something like Assault's powers. There's no way it got there from a simple toss."

"But the rest of it?" Amy didn't seem about to let her down easily. "Picking up the van wouldn't have been exactly easy either, but he didn't seem to be exerting himself when they showed it on the news. And that's not an Assault thing. Assault redirects kinetic energy, but he's not super-strong."

"Are you on my side or his?" asked Vicky, trying not to unload her frustration on her sister but getting more and more irritated by the second. "And what's gotten into you, anyway? You're usually a lot less fangirly over capes you've barely met. In fact, you don't do the cape crush thing. Anyway, I'm fairly sure he's taken."

"What?" Amy stared at her, then burst out laughing. "God, no. I'm not crushing on him. He's a nice guy, but he's just not my type. I mean, you're right, he's so attentive to Taylor that every guy in the room should've been taking notes, but that's got nothing to do with it. Personally, I still can't believe you're so jealous of him destroying the Nine that you actually challenged him to an arm-wrestle. I mean, seriously? Who does that?"

"I just …" Vicky hesitated, trying to vocalise the thoughts she'd had at the time in such a way that it didn't sound like I just needed to beat him. "He rubbed me the wrong way, is all."

Amy snorted derisively. "Rubbed you the wrong way? You spoke to him for all of thirty seconds before you decided you could take him. And you've never stopped trying to prove that his powers shouldn't work the way they do."

When Amy put it like that, it did sound pretty childish. But Vicky had never been someone to give up easily. "I've attended college courses on powers, you know that. There are mechanics behind them, even if we don't fully understand everything yet. But nobody just gets that level of power without it having some effect on them, either physically or mentally. He just keeps on pulling powers out of his ass with no good reason behind them! I mean, he utterly no-sold my aura power, just like that!"

"You were trying to cheat," Amy reminded her firmly. "I don't blame him for doing that to you. You need to damp down your aura a lot more anyway."

Vicky decided to change tack. This had nothing to do with the fact that Amy was winning the argument. "Yeah, but what if he did that to your power? Took away your ability to heal … I mean, like, forever?"

<><>​

Amy put her head to one side and considered the concept. To have the crushing weight, the endless temptation, finally lifted from her shoulders …

Well, sure, she'd be able to get sick then. Her immune system was probably a little behind the times, and she was probably still sensitive to pollen, so she'd likely spend a month or so in the year sneezing every few minutes. Then there were the actual things she could catch, like colds and the flu.

But still.

Being a superhero, being the girl who could heal anyone of anything, had been great right up until it wasn't. Right up until people stopped seeing the girl and just saw the healing. Stopped saying, "Thank you for healing all these people," and started saying, "Good, you healed those people. Now we need you to heal these other people."

Where is this even coming from? She wasn't usually this brutally honest with herself. Oh, it was all true, but she was generally better at lying to herself, even about Vicky's behaviour. Normally, calling out her sister's cheating would've gone by the wayside, but now she found she was willing to put in the extra effort.

If I lost my powers permanently, I'd probably have to change my name and appearance somehow, so I didn't get faced with all those people being sorry at me for losing such a 'great gift to mankind'. Silently, she snorted to herself. When they actually mean, 'the ability to heal me if I needed it'.

"Ames?" Vicky's voice cut through her swirling thoughts. "You've got a weird little smile on your face. Why are you smiling? You're freaking me out."

"Would losing my powers be so bad?" Amy looked directly at her sister. "I mean, in the grand scheme of things? Would the world shudder to a halt, unable to function?"

"What?" Vicky seemed unable to grasp what she was saying. "Don't even joke about it. You save lives every time you go out as Panacea. The number of people alive right now who'd be dead if you hadn't been there—"

"—is a drop in the ocean compared to the number of people who've died through perfectly natural means over the same timespan." Amy kept her voice calm. She decided that she really hated having her powers thrown in her face as an argument. "Sure, I can save a few lives every day. But any hero worth the name saves more people than I do on a daily basis. I'm just the one who does it without having to punch the bad guy in the face. Anyway, it's not like healing's what I really do."

"Uh, yeah. It is." Vicky's voice had the tone used by someone who's been told by a learned academic that the earth is flat, and is waiting for the punchline to the joke. "Isn't it?"

"Pfft, not hardly," scoffed Amy. This was a conversation she'd never ever thought she'd be having with anyone, but it was like Zachary had said; she couldn't let her fears control her. Or something of that sort, anyway. The best way to not be weighed down with a secret was to make it not a secret anymore. A burden shared is a burden halved. She'd heard that somewhere, once upon a time. "I've never been just a healer. You've attended classes on the study of powers. Isn't it always more complicated than that?"

"Well, um, maybe?" Vicky was looking oddly at her. "If you're not 'just' a healer, then … what are you?"

Not in the least bit deterred, Amy rolled her eyes. "Isn't it obvious? I'm a biokinetic. The first time I used it was to heal you, so everyone naturally thought I was a healer. It was a nice, safe power for the nice, safe second Dallon daughter to have. And of course right then I was looking for any kind of validation I could get, so I went along with it. Let Carol dress me up in a burqa while you got to fly around in a princess outfit." She threw her hands in the air. "I mean, can the symbolism be any more blatant? You, they show off. Me, they hide behind a hood and a scarf. I might as well have a secret identity. It's not like half of Brockton Bay even knows what my face looks like. I bet I could get stuck in a bank robbery and not even be recognised by the robbers."

"Wait." Vicky stared at her, eyes wide. "Biokinetic. Like … living things? You can … do what with them?"

"Anything I want," Amy assured her. "Living organisms are like putty to me. My clay, to shape any way I see fit. Someone's got cancer? I can bioshape it to not be cancer. Severed arm? If I tell it that it's not severed anymore, it doesn't get the chance to argue."

"No, I mean …" Vicky waved her hands vaguely. "Could you give someone wings or a tail, for instance?"

"Well, yes and no." Amy rubbed her chin thoughtfully. "A tail, sure. That's easy. I've petted cats and dogs. I know how their tails work. A prehensile monkey tail would be a little more difficult, but totally doable. Wings … well, I could make someone grow wings, but it would require a hell of a lot of work to make them functional for actual flight, or even gliding, in Earth's gravity. It's not a magic wand that I can tap someone with and say, 'Hey, you can fly now!'. I've got to stick to whatever's biologically viable."

"Biologically viable." Vicky seemed to be trying out the words for taste. "That … covers a lot of ground." She suddenly squinted at Amy, who had a flash of intuition as to where she was going to go next. "Brains."

"Brrraaaiiinnnsss," Amy responded immediately, lowering her voice to a zombie moan.

"Be serious." Vicky snorted and rolled her eyes. "You keep saying you can't do brains."

Amy waited, looking at her sister attentively. "Yes, I do. Was there a question involved here?"

Slowly, deliberately, Vicky punched Amy in the shoulder. "You know what I mean, twerp. Can you actually do brains, or is this a hole in your 'anything biological'?"

"Oh, I can absolutely do them," Amy confirmed. This whole 'being honest' thing was weirdly liberating. All the lies she'd been saddling herself down with had been far more corrosive to her soul than she'd ever imagined. "Easy as anything else. Easier, actually. You wouldn't believe how small a change is needed to turn a psycho raving killer into someone you could trust with your life." Holding up her hand, she showed Vicky the tiny gap between finger and thumb to demonstrate how small the needed change was. "Gimme five minutes and a bunch of containment foam, and I could turn the entirety of the Empire Eighty-Eight into productive members of society."

Internally, she sighed as Vicky seemed to recoil slightly. "Ames! You're not supposed to even think about pulling shit like that!"

And this is why I never told anyone this before.

"Why not, though?" She spread her hands. "It's not like shoving Hookwolf in the Birdcage is gonna actually change him from an asshole into a law-abiding citizen. He'll always be Hookwolf, deep down. And if he ever got let out and got the chance to be Hookwolf again, he would. You know it and I know it. I mean, hell, I don't even have to give him a new personality. Just … ramp up his social responsibility index and his guilt factor, and tone down his stubbornness and aggressiveness a tad. Make him more empathetic, less bloodthirsty. He'd still be an asshole, just a law-abiding asshole."

"All that is a new personality, Ames!" Vicky sounded downright horrified. "You'd be killing whoever he was before! I mean, who he was before is a murdering Nazi scumbag, sure, but he has a right to life, too!"

"And what about all his future victims?" Amy couldn't believe she was having this argument with Vicky, of all people. "You know he's gonna kill again. Don't those people have a right to life as well?"

"That's what the Birdcage is for." Vicky folded her arms and huffed.

"And every other villain who goes into the prison system but hasn't quite made their Birdcage quota yet, so they end up back on the streets after a daring and totally unexpected breakout?" Amy tried not to sound too sarcastic, but figured she'd probably failed.

"Villains who kill heroes get targeted by other heroes and villains, you know that." But Vicky's response was weak.

"Yeah, yeah, the unwritten rules," jeered Amy. "The things that work, until they don't. And those don't even cover non-powered people unless they're directly related to the heroes or villains, and only then if you can prove they were deliberately targeted. And hey, remind me of what happened to that asshole who murdered Aunt Jess again? Oh, wait, he wasn't even a cape, and he's still in the Empire Eighty-Eight. I bet they still buy him drinks for offing a member of New Wave."

Vicky pressed her lips together. "This isn't like you, Amy. You've been acting weird ever since you talked to that guy in the cafeteria. Are you sure you're feeling alright?"

"Sure, I'm feeling fine since I talked to him." Amy smirked at Vicky. "We are talking about Zachary here, yeah? The guy who utterly obliterated you at arm-wrestling? That guy?"

The lip-pressing turned into teeth-grinding, if Amy was any judge. "He cheated," Vicky muttered. "And I think he did something to you. You're not the same as you were three days ago."

"What, miserable? Hiding secrets? Carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders?" Amy rolled her eyes. "What part of that was good for me to be?" She stood up and stretched, feeling her back pop in a few places. "And you know what? If Zachary offered to take my powers away tomorrow, I'd take him up on it in a heartbeat. Because they utterly suck."

Vicky stared, eyes wide and jaw dropping. Amy almost wished she had a camera.

<><>​

The Next Day
San Diego
Coil

Thomas Calvert had, after a long and dreary amount of soul-searching, come to a thoroughly unpalatable conclusion. In his headlong dash to be away from Zachary, he'd covered more than the fifteen hundred miles that had separated the faux teen from the Slaughterhouse Nine at the time of the latter's demise, but he still didn't feel safe. In fact, when he nearly ran off the road after seeing Creep (body bag and all) sitting in the back seat of the vehicle, he had to acknowledge that enough was enough.

He had lost.

He was beaten.

Zachary was just going to keep on doing it.

No matter what he did to avoid his fate, Creep was going to keep returning to haunt him, literally and physically. It might be a power manifestation or it might actually be Creep himself; either way, he didn't want to know. So he was talking himself into doing the one thing that maybe, hopefully, would bring him a measure of peace. Or at least a lack of body-bagged corpses when he least expected them.

He pulled the vehicle to a halt in a parking space and climbed out. About to lock the doors, he decided not to; not because he wasn't a careful man, but because he very much doubted that he would ever need it again. Straightening his shirt and wishing he'd had a chance to shave, he walked purposefully down the sidewalk for half a block, then approached a set of automatic doors with the PRT logo embossed on them.

So certain was he that the doors were going to open that he literally walked right into them. With a comical bong sound from the heavy polycarbonate, he recoiled; off balance, he staggered back two steps and sat down hard. Directly ahead of him, for no understandable reason, the doors presented an obdurate barrier.

For a moment, he sat there in a befuddled daze while people stepped around him. Once he caught the tail end of a comment—"drunk on the sidewalk at one in the afternoon, I ask you"—and it took a few seconds for him to realise they were referring to about him.

What the hell? Did the door sensor not notice me?

Trying to gather his wits, he eyed the doors suspiciously. When a well-dressed man stepped around him and approached the doors, his eyes narrowed, observing.

The doors opened before the man, moving smoothly and almost silently.

Okay, good. Whatever just happened, it was a momentary glitch. Scrambling to his feet—he was normally more athletic, but the last few days had not been kind to him—he tried to dash in between the slowly closing doors.

Bong.

Again, he found himself sitting on his ass in the middle of the sidewalk. His head was ringing once more from the impact, and it took him a long moment to figure out what had happened. He'd been less than half a second from passing between the doors when they had suddenly and inexplicably whipped shut, presenting a barrier where no such barrier should have existed.

Wait, what the fuck? The PRT building absolutely should not have doors that acted this way. Getting to his feet for the second time in less than a minute, he brushed himself down. Something was up with these doors; face-planting them twice in a row should be impossible.

This time, the doors opened from the inside, as a bunch of tourists walked out. He waited until the last one was stepping between the doors, and tried to dart in alongside. If the door was open for someone else, he reasoned, it would stay open for him.

Bong.

In the words of a sergeant he'd known long ago—the man had died in Ellisburg—this was starting to seriously get on his tits. Climbing to his feet yet again, he ignored the increasingly annoyed looks from around him and bounced up and down on the balls of his feet. If Zachary wanted to present him with a challenge, he would meet and overcome it.

Another woman edged around him and headed for the doors. He took a deep breath and split time. It hadn't helped him against Zachary before, but perhaps he was meant to use his ability now. At the moment the doors opened for her, he lunged forward like a linebacker with one of his instances, the other standing still and observing. Being arrested for assault right now was at the bottom of his list of worries.

His shoulder slammed into her back and she was jolted forward with a yelp of protest. He felt a flare of triumph even as she shouted in protest. It didn't matter to him, only that he get inside.

And then the doors slammed shut with shocking force, cutting him in half. There was no amusing bong this time, just a visceral sound of rigid edges slicing into his body. Bones crackled and snapped, and he knew the exact moment when his spine was severed.

He dropped the timeline. Whatever it was that Zachary wanted from him, he wasn't going to get there by merely walking into the PRT building and giving himself up. Moving to the side, away from the automatic doors, he dug into his pocket for his last burner phone and dialled 9-1-1.

It rang, and rang, and rang.

Nobody answered.

He cancelled the call, and dialled the number again, taking extra care.

Again, nobody picked up.

Finally, he went back to the vehicle and climbed in. For a long moment, he sat bowed forward with his forehead touching the wheel. "What do you want from me?" he whispered. "What do I need to do?"

The phone, still in his hand, pinged with an incoming text message. He blinked in surprise, then looked at it. It was an address in a town a couple of hundred miles away, and a time that gave him eight hours to get there. There was nothing more, not even a sender address.

With exactly zero hesitation, he slid the keys into the ignition and started the vehicle. He already knew what Zachary could do to him if he refused, without ever leaving Brockton Bay. The Endbringer playing at being a teenage boy had been terrorizing him for fun up until now; he didn't want to give Zachary any kind of excuse to get serious.

<><>​

At Almost Exactly the Same Time
Arcadia Cafeteria
Taylor

I left the lunch line with a loaded-down tray—Zach had been right, there were some food choices that would never have even occurred to Winslow—and headed over to where Zach was holding a spare seat at a table for me. I'd gotten some food for him too, though I strongly suspected he would have chowed down on gravel and motor oil and pronounced them delicious if I offered them to him. When I was still halfway to the table, I saw Panacea and Glory Girl also heading the same way. Well, I supposed I should be calling them Amy and Vicky Dallon, seeing that they were out of costume.

"Hey," I greeted them as I came up to the table. As Zach had done, I'd gotten a second tray, which I put down in front of him. He started transferring what was his from one tray to the other—I hadn't even known he liked tapioca—with one hand, while with the other he pulled out my chair so I could sit down. Despite knowing who and what he was, I was still impressed that he was able to time the pushing-in of the chair perfectly.

"Hey, Taylor." Amy smiled as she pulled out her own chair. "Saw you and Zachary putting on your little show at the Boat Graveyard yesterday. Kind of impressive."

"Yeah." Vicky didn't seem interested in sitting down, nor did she seem as cheerful as Amy. In fact, she was giving Zach a phenomenal amount of stink-eye. "Impressive. For a cheating cheater."

"Wow." I didn't quite yawn, but I made like I was about to. "I hope you're not going to challenge Zach to another arm-wrestle today. I mean, it was almost interesting the last time, but it'd be an anticlimax now that I know exactly how outmatched you are."

Vicky gave me a glare that should by rights have shaved steel, but I couldn't even feel her (in)famous aura right then. I had my jacket on, though it wasn't zipped up all the way, so it couldn't have been that. I guessed Zach was doing something about it, which I was perfectly fine with.

"Cheating isn't winning," she gritted. "Taking away someone's powers doesn't prove you're stronger. It just shows you can't win without trickery."

Zach gave her his best innocent gaze, which I had to admit was pretty damn good. "I did not take away your strength, Victoria Dallon. The contest was purely my strength against yours. You are very strong, but I am stronger."

I shrugged. "Besides, he didn't start taking away powers permanently until yesterday, when Butcher and the Teeth came to town." Taking the ball out of my pocket, I started idly playing with it, bouncing it up and down on the table beside the tray.

"Wait, the Teeth came to Brockton Bay?" Vicky stared at me, as though daring me to admit to making a joke. "Why didn't we hear about this?"

"Because Zach heard about it first," I said, snatching the ball out of the air and bouncing it off her forehead. It smacked back into my palm before she had a chance to react. "We showed up and Zach took them apart like a cheap clock. Gave me this." Giving the ball a spin, I let it balance on my fingertip. I'd learned that the ball pretty well treated physics as a suggestion, so if I wanted it to balance on my finger, it balanced on my finger.

"Hey!" objected Vicky. She looked to her sister for backup, but Amy merely giggled at the byplay. "What the fuck?"

"See, he made this out of Animos' powers," I explained. "When I bounced it off your head? I negated your powers. That's what it feels like. See the difference?"

A series of emotions chased each other over Vicky's face, one after the other; disbelief, smugness, surprise and then anger. I watched her bounce on her toes, as though she were trying to fly, but her feet never left the floor. Her expression turned to rage and she bared her teeth in a silent growl, then she took a deep breath. "Give me my powers back!"

I glanced around, wondering what everyone else in the cafeteria was making of this, but nobody seemed to be taking the slightest bit of notice. This, at least, I could understand; if Zach didn't want people to care about something, it could happen right in front of them and they would consider it to be perfectly normal. My attention went back to Vicky, just as she made an abortive movement in my direction.

Zach turned toward her and, while I couldn't see the expression in his green eyes from where I was, it was enough to stop her in her tracks. "Taylor negated your powers to prove a point, Glory Girl," he said mildly. "Even with your powers, I would have no difficulty in preventing you from attacking her." He didn't have to explain the situation now that she was temporarily without powers. She wouldn't be able to move without his express permission.

Holding up the ball between my index and middle finger, I flicked the mental switch to release the hold it had on her powers and raised my eyebrows. "And now you've got them back. You're welcome."

She took a deep breath, then rose a few inches into the air. I didn't need to look at her feet to know that she was levitating off the ground. "Don't ever do that to me again," she snarled.

"Don't ever accuse Zach of cheating again, and I won't have to." I tossed the ball in the air and caught it without looking.

"Hey." Amy spoke up, defusing some of the tension. We all looked around at her, and I saw her staring at the ball. "That ball … it removes powers?"

"Well, kind of." I bounced it on the table, just to feel the sensation of it slapping back into my palm. "When I bounce it off a cape, it turns off their powers until I decide to let them work again. Doesn't exactly remove them, sorry. Why?"

"What if someone just takes your stupid ball and bounces it off your boyfriend's head, huh? Did you ever think about that?" Vicky didn't make any moves against me or Zach—apparently she could learn—but she also didn't seem interested in forgiving or forgetting just yet.

"Nobody can take it from Taylor unless she wants them to." Zach's tone was polite but firm. "It will not work on me, because I am not a cape."

"Shut up, Vicky." Amy tried to wave her sister to silence. "Do you … do you have to bounce it off someone's head to make it work?"

I snorted with amusement. "No. It's just funnier that way." Finally, her manner started making sense to me. "Wait, did you want me to negate your powers?"

Almost shyly, she nodded. "Yeah. Just to see what it's like, you know? It's been so long since I didn't have powers, I've forgotten."

"It sucks," Vicky said fiercely. "I still can't believe you don't want yours anymore."

I shared a glance with Zach. This was definitely a revelation I hadn't been expecting. "Uh … the ball doesn't take them away permanently. Just so you know, right?"

"Uh huh." Amy nodded firmly. "I just want to know." She put her hand flat on the table. "Hit me."

"Sure thing." I bounced it off her hand, not hard, and caught it again. The mental switch told me that her powers were in abeyance for the moment. "How's that feel?"

"Actually, kinda normal." She sounded almost disappointed. "There's a little less background noise, but … can I touch your hand?"

"No problem." I shrugged and slid my free hand closer to hers. With my other hand, I started tossing the ball up and catching it again.

Her fingertip touched mine, and she smiled almost beatifically. "Wow. I don't sense anything about you. No health problems, no mental problems, nothing. I love it."

"I hope you don't think I'm out of line or anything," I said diffidently, "but there's a lot of people who'd pay to have your powers. Just saying." I tossed the ball up again.

Vicky moved faster than I would've given her credit for, swiping it out of the air. "Hah!" She held it triumphantly. "So much for not letting me have it. Amy, come on. We're out of here."

"Vicky!" Amy pulled her hand away from mine. "Stop being a total jerkwad, and give Taylor her ball back." She paused. "Wow, I never thought I'd have to say that again, after middle school anyway."

"Hell, nope." Vicky poised the ball as if to throw it at me or Zach. "Who's got the power now? That's right. Me!" Posing like a villain on a Saturday morning cartoon, she brought her fist down on the table.

As it happened, she hit Zach's tray. Specifically, the bowl of tapioca that he'd asked me to get for him. It flipped up in the air and splattered all over her face.

Before, nobody had been paying attention. Now, it was like a switch had been flipped; everyone was. Laughter arose in waves, and I saw more than one phone held up to record the event. Vicky took off, flying half-blind across the cafeteria; fortunately, she dropped the ball before she hit the doors on the full, and slowed enough to see where she was going.

I held out my hand and the ball bounced into my palm, then I looked at Amy. "She gonna be okay, or do you need to go make sure?"

She looked toward the doors, then shrugged. "Hey, she's a big girl now. She can deal with her own problems. Especially the self-inflicted ones. Speaking of which, did you do that on purpose?"

With a grin, I held up the ball. "Not really. She kind of brought it on herself. Zach calls this the Idiot Ball."

"Hah!" The laughter was genuine, as far as I could tell. "I can see why. That was amazing."

I nodded. "It definitely is. Do you really want your powers taken away? Because that's a pretty big step, not gonna lie."

"You have no idea." She gave Zach a penetrating stare. "I'm guessing you already know what my powers are. My real powers, I mean."

"Yes, Amelia Claire Lavere, I do know." He tilted his head to one side questioningly. "Did you wish to continue the conversation we began the last time, about your personal happiness?"

"Yeah." It was more of a sigh than a word. "Yeah, I do. So, I've been doing a lot of thinking since then, and last night I decided to tell Vicky the truth about stuff I've been keeping from her. Keeping from everyone."

I snorted softly. "I bet that went down well."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, boy. Did it ever. Freaked her out big time. Fortunately, she agreed not to tell Carol until we'd had a chance to hash it out properly …"



End of Part Fourteen

 

[Ack]

I'm HALPING!

Part Fifteen: Changing Up

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

Taylor

"Wow, so you're not just a healer?" I stared at Amy, who looked steadfastly back at me.

"Taylor, you are being impolite," Zach said reproachfully.

"Oh, uh, sorry." I flushed and looked away. "My bad."

"It is alright, Taylor." Zach smiled at me. "It is my observation that people often do not intend to be rude, and that they change their behaviour once it is indicated to them. As you have done with me on more than one occasion."

"It's really, actually okay," Amy said, putting her hand on my arm. "I didn't even see that as being problematic. Vicky gets more personal than that on a daily basis."

"Which still doesn't make it okay," I replied firmly. "Just because I did it without meaning to doesn't mean it's fine for me to do it. Even if you're not offended. It just means you've learned to not be offended by shit that you should be offended by."

It was Amy's turn to give me an odd look. "Isn't it kind of my personal prerogative whether I want to be offended by something or not?"

She actually had a good point there. I floundered, trying to figure out how to counter it, or even if I should. "Uh, I …"

"Yes, Amelia Claire, it is," Zachary covered for me smoothly. "However, it is my experience that if people are allowed to get away with antisocial behaviour because someone chooses not to be offended, they themselves become unhappy if they are called out on it by others who are rightfully offended. It is better for them to understand from the beginning that some behaviours are less acceptable than others, and that some people will be offended by them."

I blinked. "Wow. That was … impressive. When did you figure all that out?"

"It has taken me some little time, Taylor." He beamed at me happily. "Fortunately, attending Arcadia has given me a great deal of observational data upon which to base my conclusions. Was I in error?"

Amy answered for me. "No. You weren't. And you're right. Just because I'm not offended by Vicky being rude doesn't mean that nobody else will be. I hadn't actually thought of it that way before."

"You are welcome, Amelia Claire." Zach tilted his head. "Victoria Dallon has not yet returned. Would you like me to find out if she will return before the end of school today, in order to give you a lift home?"

"Oh, uh, don't bother," Amy said hastily. "She's probably just sulking on the roof or something. She'll be back." Still, she took out her phone and dashed off a quick text. "I just told her to get over herself and come on back. Nobody's mad at her." Belatedly, she looked at me and Zach. "You're not mad at her, are you?"

I shrugged. "Nope. In the words of a good friend of my dad's—and please don't ever repeat this in his hearing—she fucked around and found out."

"That sounds like something Uncle Neil would say," Amy replied with a giggle.

"It's definitely a guy thing," I agreed. "I'm good if she is. Zach?"

"I have no quarrel with Victoria Dallon," Zach replied seriously. "It is my observation that when she is not trying too hard to be Glory Girl, she is quite a nice person to be around."

"Now who's being rude?" I rolled my eyes. "You realise you just said that when she's being Glory Girl, she's not a nice person?"

"Relax," Amy said with a giggle. "He did say when she's trying too hard. Which is kinda true. She can push the 'flying brick who takes no shit' persona a bit too far sometimes."

"Alexandria is a tough role model to live up to, granted." I nodded thoughtfully. "Well, I'm still okay with her if she's okay with me. And I promise not to bounce the Idiot Ball off her head again."

"You don't have to promise that," Amy said hastily. "That was about the funniest thing I've seen all day. The look on her face was like, did she really just do that? I nearly wet myself trying not to laugh out loud."

"I only did it to prove a point, not to be mean to her." I took out the ball again and held it between my index and middle fingers. "I know it's not a toy, but it's fun to bounce around. Especially since Zach set it up so it goes exactly where I want it to, and nowhere else."

Amy held out her hand. "May I?"

"Sure," I said, and tossed it to her. "Just be aware. If you're not careful, it'll give you the impulse to do stupid things."

"Yup, got it." Amy looked carefully at the ball. "It really doesn't look like much. How does it work?"

I shrugged. "It works because Zach wants it to work, I guess? All I know is that Animos had the power to nullify other powers, and now he doesn't have it anymore."

"Oh, so it's in this ball? Huh." Amy bounced it off the table and caught it again.

"No, it is the ball." I looked at Zach. "Or am I totally misunderstanding things?"

"No, Taylor, you are mostly correct." Zach indicated the ball with a gesture. "I took the power and modified it, then formed it into a physical object. I added a little of Assault's power so that you could bounce it anywhere because I thought you would enjoy it more that way."

Amy smirked. "I can absolutely see why you would think that." She tossed the ball back to me. "So where did the 'idiot' part come in? Where did you get that from?"

Zach looked at the both of us, deadpan. "Everyone."

I looked at Amy and she at me, then we both burst out laughing. It was so very true. Every single person on Earth Bet had their own idiot ball; it was just that some used them more than others.

<><>​

Glory Girl

Vicky wasn't sulking on the roof. She'd headed there initially, but once she got the tapioca off her face—who even ordered tapioca anyway?—she'd had time to think, and her thoughts were taking a decidedly darker turn.

He's Mastered Amy. And probably Taylor as well, given that they're both playing along with his little games. And if that's not bad enough, I'm not strong enough to beat him. That's been made abundantly clear. Even if I try, Taylor's got that little depowering ball. Which I can't touch.

Her phone buzzed, and she wiped her hands clean before taking it out. The text was from Amy: Come on back, you big goof. Nobody's mad at you.

Which was exactly what someone who'd been Mastered would say.

She was supposed to return to the cafeteria, where everyone had just seen her with tapioca all over her face, so they'd probably laugh at her all over again. And then, sit down with the Master and his two victims. And this time, if she spoke out of turn, Taylor would probably remove her powers again. Permanently.

It was how she knew beyond the absolute shadow of a doubt that Amy had been Mastered in the first place. Because who in their right mind, having gotten superpowers, would ever willingly relinquish them?

She lifted off the roof, considering her options. The PRT was a possibility. Director Piggot was a hardass when it came to capes in general, and Master capes had to be no less a problem for her. But right now Zach was their golden boy, having dealt with both an S-class and an A-class threat in just a matter of days. He'd even had the chops to get them to call in the Triumvirate to clear the Boat Graveyard.

All of a sudden, that whole video took on a far more sinister tone to her. Did Zach have his hooks in even the highest level of the Protectorate? How powerful is he? How far up does it go?

Rising higher in the air, she set course for Downtown. She couldn't trust the PRT with this, not until she had serious backup on her side. Taking her phone out, she dialled a preset number. "Mom? Are you busy?"

<><>​

Brandish

Of all the potential interruptions to her workday, there were some things Carol Dallon didn't really expect. Vicky's arrival had been one of them; more than a little dishevelled, with the streaky remains of what appeared to be tapioca on her blouse, coming to see Carol about … a Master in Arcadia High?

"Are you sure about this, honey?" She eyed her daughter with concern as they sat across from each other in the company cafeteria. "It's just that it sounds more than a little far-fetched to me. Has one of the Wards been feeding you a line about that sort of thing? This sounds exactly like something that teenaged delinquent Clockblocker would do." If the aforementioned Ward had been a part of New Wave, her tone suggested, his irreverent name would not have even made it past the screening stage.

"No, no, it's real, Mom." At her mother's suggestion, Vicky had taken the opportunity to freshen up in the bathrooms; her blouse was clean again, and her face and hair clear of any errant traces of foodstuffs. However, her expression was both earnest and concerned. "I saw it happen. Ames just … let this guy take her powers away. Asked him to do it."

"Wait, he took her powers away? That's a Trump, not a Master." Carol took out a notepad and pen. "Suppose you start from the beginning. When did he first say anything to Amy about allowing him to remove her powers?"

Vicky frowned. "Well … he didn't. Not really. She was talking about it last night, actually. Saying weird things like, would it really change the world so much if she wasn't healing people. If she didn't have her powers."

"Stop there a moment," Carol said, busily taking notes. "Did she say 'if she stopped healing people' or 'if she lost her healing powers'?"

Vicky tilted her head to one side in thought. "She was more focusing on the idea of not having her powers anymore. Which is stupid. Why would anyone not want to have powers?"

"Okay, okay." Carol nodded. "So who brought up the subject last night? Was it her or you?"

"… me," Vicky admitted reluctantly. "But we were talking about Zach, and how he can futz with powers anyway. He did it to me yesterday."

Carol's eyebrows rose, and she turned to a new page of her notebook. "Perhaps you should've led with that. Also, do you have a full name for this 'Zach' person?"

Vicky huffed. "All I know him as is 'Zachary'. He's got a girl called Taylor Hebert under his spell as well. He's the one who's supposed to have offed the Nine, remember?"

"Oh, that Zachary. Why didn't you say so?" Carol shook her head, mildly chagrined at the fact that she hadn't recognised the name earlier. "He seems like a perfectly harmless boy to me. I doubt very much that he's Mastering anyone, much less stealing their powers without permission."

"But Mom, I saw him do it! He did it to me, yesterday!" Vicky's voice was starting to get a little shrill and her aura had kicked up slightly, enough to get other people in the cafeteria looking their way.

"Calm down," Carol advised. "One step at a time. I'm sure it's not as bad as you think, but let's go through it anyway. What happened yesterday? Tell me from the top."

Vicky took a deep breath. "Okay, so we saw them in the cafeteria. Zachary and Taylor, that is. I can't remember who wanted to go over to them, me or Ames, but we went over there. We got to talking and Zachary was asking Ames all these really personal questions, like was she happy with what she was doing and stuff like that."

"And was Amy objecting to these questions?" Carol knew damn well what the answer would be normally. Amy's response to things she didn't like was usually to either shut down or to become sarcastic.

"Well, no, she wasn't. But I didn't like how personal he was getting, so I … kind of challenged him to an arm-wrestling match. Right there, in the cafeteria." Vicky looked away.

Through years of practising law (and being the mother of teenagers) Carol was very good at reading people. Specifically, when someone realised that they'd said too much and didn't want to keep talking. She tapped her notebook with the pen, knowing already what the answer to her next question was going to be. "Go on. Who won?"

"He did!" The words burst out of Vicky's mouth as if under pressure. "He cheated! He must have! I mean, I know he's strong, but …"

"Well, of course he's strong, dear." Carol casually doodled the name 'Zach', each letter built out of bricks. "He picked up a van and threw it nearly two thousand miles. I saw him do it on the news."

"But there's more to it," Vicky insisted. "I … kinda tried to use my aura, and he turned it off!"

Carol frowned at her daughter. "Did I just hear correctly? Did a child of mine try to cheat in a fair contest?"

"Mom, that's not the point!" Vicky's aura was stronger now, proving (among other things) that whatever Zach had done to it, it was working just fine now. "He cheated too!"

"It is most definitely the point. And tone your aura down, please." Carol glanced around and waved reassuringly. "It's all good. Everything's fine."

Grudgingly (or so it seemed) the aura reduced in intensity until Carol could barely notice it. "Mom, you're not listening. If he could turn my aura off, he could turn my strength off too. We both know there's capes out there that use powers that act like super-strength but it's really not, right? What if all his 'strength' is just bullshit powers, and he's using a Trump ability to make other people weaker? What about that?"

Carol wasn't buying her daughter's line of self-justification. "You can say 'what if' all day, Vicky. He's done enough things on camera that his strength passes the duck test easily. I've seen footage of him crushing concrete with his bare hands, and swinging Lung around by the tail like a cat. Not to mention, smacking Assault all the way to Boston. Without killing him, by the way, which was even more impressive. Personally, even if he did have a Trump power that takes people's super-strength away, I don't think he'd ever need to use it."

"But he did use it!" protested Vicky. "He took away my powers today!"

"Did he? They appear to be back, if he did." Carol made a note anyway. Removal of powers was a serious matter.

"Oh, Taylor gave them back." Vicky hesitated. "Uh …"

"Wait." Carol gave Vicky a serious look. "Who took your powers away, Zachary or this Taylor? Is she a parahuman? And how do you know she was the one who gave them back?"

Vicky was getting more flustered by the second, a sure sign that she was trying to shade the truth. "Okay, it wasn't Zach who took my powers away. It was Taylor, but she used the ball he gave her. She hit me on the face with it!" Her tone was righteously aggrieved by this point.

"Used … a ball …?" Carol turned to yet another page of her notebook. "Tell me exactly what happened there. And don't leave out why she did this to you." Find out why. It was an instinct that she'd cultivated over the years. As damning as Vicky's story sounded at first telling, it seemed to be missing a large amount of motive on the part of Zachary and Taylor.

"Um …" Vicky grimaced, and Carol knew she'd hit the mark. "I was kind of telling Zachary that I knew he'd cheated by taking away my strength, and then Taylor just threw this ball at me! It hit me right here!" She tapped the middle of her forehead. "I actually felt it! And then she said something about how that was what having my powers really taken away felt like!"

"And had you actually lost your powers?" Carol wrote the word Provoked? And underlined it twice.

"Well, yeah." Vicky seemed to be on steadier ground now. "I tried to fly and flare my aura, but nothing happened. It was like I'd never had them at all."

"And then she gave them back? How did that work? Did she hit you with the ball again? Also, what did this ball look like? Was it Tinkertech?"

"It was a kid's rubber ball," Vicky said. "You know, the type you play handball with. A bit smaller than a tennis ball. Red and yellow and blue. Really bright. And no, she just told me my powers were back, and she was right. They were back. And that's when Ames asked her to take her powers away."

"So it wasn't Zachary who took Amy's powers away, but Taylor with this rubber ball?" Carol flipped back a few pages. "Why did you tell me it was him and not her?"

"Because even if it was her, it was still him!" Vicky's voice didn't rise to a shout, but it came close. "He gave her the ball!"

"Did he tell her to use it on Amy, or even on you?" Carol poised her pen over the pad.

Vicky hunched her shoulders and looked down at the table. "Well … no."

"So, for all you know, it was Taylor's idea the whole time, especially since you'd shown such poor sportsmanship after losing a contest of strength that you initiated?" Carol felt no pleasure in taking apart Vicky's story, but the truth was important in situations like this.

Nobody's going to be able to accuse me of being biased even when it comes to my own daughter, no sir!

<><>​

Coil

Hunched over the steering wheel, Thomas wondered what he was driving toward. Then he began to wonder which road he should take. Slowing down, he went to reach across for the map, then recoiled as he realised Creep was sitting in the passenger seat. Reading the map.

After a long moment, one corpse-white finger pointed at a particular exit sign. Calvert shuddered in resignation and hit the indicator.

<><>​

Taylor

Amy looked around and frowned. "Where's Vicky? She normally flies me home."

I shrugged. The other Arcadia students were passing us by in their eagerness to exit the hallowed halls of learning so they could go home and be normal kids, but she was right; there was a certain lack of Vicky in our general vicinity.

"Glory Girl went to speak with her mother regarding our encounter," Zach informed us. "Her accounting of it was highly biased, but the conversation did not go the way she anticipated. Carol Dallon has chastised her for wrongfully blaming me for removing her powers, however temporarily, and has grounded her for the remainder of the day."

That wasn't something I had expected. "So … am I in trouble with New Wave?" I asked.

"Wait a second." Amy paused. "Sorry, you were first, Taylor. Zach? Is she in trouble with Carol?"

"Not to any significant degree," Zach informed us cheerfully. "Carol Dallon is taking into account the fact that you were provoked into taking punitive action. She wishes to speak with the both of us, but only to verify her understanding of the situation."

"And what about …" Amy caught herself. "How do you know all this? Are you a Thinker or something?" A moment later, she blinked. "No, you're not a parahuman. Sorry, I forgot. So how do you know this?"

"Oh, that is easy." Zach smiled. "I asked my sister. She has been taking a great interest in my activities so far."

Which absolutely made sense. If anyone would be expected to keep up with someone like Zach, it would have to be the Simurgh.

"Your sister …?" Amy shook her head. "Sorry, didn't mean to pry into your family business. Or are you all open capes, like New Wave?"

"We make no secret of our identities, that is true." I had to admire Zach; he was good at telling the truth without actually revealing anything of importance. Say nothing in great detail, indeed. "You have certainly heard of her. She is very well-known."

"Right … got it. Don't tell me, I want to figure it out for myself." Amy's voice turned introspective, and I could almost see the cogwheels ticking over in her head. This was where her encyclopaedic knowledge of the cape scene was going to work against her; she was justifiably proud of knowing every name there was to know of any prominence, but there was no way in hell she was going to connect the Simurgh with Zach.

"In the meantime," I said, "how's Amy supposed to get home if Vicky's not allowed to give her a lift?"

"Glory Girl asked that same question," Zach revealed. "Brandish replied to the effect that Amy was a big girl now and was perfectly capable of catching the bus."

Oof. That was cold; glancing at Amy's face, I could see that she had taken the comment to heart. "Hey," I said. "Zach, do you feel up to giving us both a lift?"

It had only been a passing thought, and I half-expected Zach to explain how he wasn't a taxi service, but instead he nodded earnestly. "Yes, Taylor. I can do that."

"Wait, you'd give me a lift?" Amy looked startled. "I can't impose on you like that."

"It would not be an imposition, Amelia Claire." Zach smiled at her. "I am entirely capable of carrying you both at once, and it would make Taylor happy to know that you got home safely."

I grinned at him. "I'd say you read my mind, but that's your sister's job. Thanks, Zach. This makes things a lot easier."

"You are welcome, Taylor." Zach followed me and Amy as we made our way outside. "My sister said to tell you that is the nicest thing anyone ever has said or will say about her, and to thank you for that."

"Wait, a prominent cape who can read minds?" Amy frowned. "Either I'm missing something, or you're making references to capes I've never heard of. Besides, Vicky says it's impossible for the human mind to read another person's mind. Something to do with needing way too much processing power."

"My sister also says that the people teaching that course are acting on incomplete data," Zach informed her blandly. "Powers themselves supply processing power. Or did you truly think that your brain was capable of handling the information input that you get from your biokinesis without giving you a terminal migraine?"

Amy stared at him for a long moment, then facepalmed. "I'm an idiot. Why did I never think of that before?"

"Because your power did not wish for you to doubt it," Zach said. "It wants you to express yourself more fully. This is why you are unhappy and feeling stressed."

"It what again now?" I asked, less than half a second before Amy came out with roughly the same question. "Since when do super-powers have opinions? And what happens to Amy now that she doesn't have access to her power?"

"All powers supply urges to the user." Zach's tone was almost professorial, now. "Powers are more than just the ability to do something. There are entire mechanisms devoted to overcoming the limitations of physics such that capes do not experience any lapse or lag in using their abilities. For the most part, these mechanisms are self-aware, and are seeking new stimulation."

"So every time I healed a bad guy and was tempted to change their brain to make them a good guy, that was my power, not me?" Amy looked revolted. "What if it took over? Could it do that?"

"Under situations of great stress, yes, powers have been known to activate against the user's will." Zach's voice was bland, as if he was unaware of the potential horror of what he was describing. "You have heard of the case of Bad Canary. That was her power activating and infusing a single angry vocalisation with an involuntary command. This happened because she has been using her voice for singing purposes only, and not to control people en masse, which would give her power much more stimulation."

I'd definitely heard of the case, but now I realised all the press had been slanted against the singer. There hadn't even been a statement from her, much less a public appearance. It was all about how she'd Mastered her boyfriend and made him mutilate himself for her sick pleasure. The revelation that there was another side to it, one that had never made the light of day, was stunning. Also, somewhat frightening. What else got buried in plain sight like this, that we never learned about?

"Can you … can you make it so I'll never do anything like that with my power?" asked Amy, her voice unsteady. "Or if you can't, then just take it away permanently."

"You might want to think twice about that." I glanced at Zach. "What if you lose your powers, but the urges remain? You'd go nuts because you couldn't do anything about them."

"I would not do that to Amelia Claire," Zach assured me. "When I remove someone's powers permanently, I leave no trace of them in their system. It would be as though she had never had them." He looked thoughtful. "There is always a potential chance of triggering with other powers at a later date, but that is something which can be anticipated and dealt with at the time."

"Well, that's definitely an option, then," Amy noted. "Or can you take away the urges and leave me the powers? I'd rather not accidentally turn one of my patients into living body horror one day just because I'm having a crap week, thank you very much."

"That can also be done," Zach agreed. "Which one would you prefer?"

"Hmm, decisions, decisions." Amy shook her head. "I can't make up my mind right now. Can I sleep on it?"

"Yes, Amelia Claire." Zach nodded to back up his words. "You may take all the time you wish to make up your mind."

Taking out the ball, I held it up. "Did you want me to give you back your powers in the meantime?"

She shook her head again. "No thanks. Right now, I don't have to do jack in an emergency, and it feels great."

"Okay, cool." I stuck the ball in my pocket again. "So, you still want that lift?"

"If that's okay with you and Zach," Amy said hopefully. "I really don't feel like riding the bus today."

"That is perfectly okay with me," Zach declared. "If you two ladies would like to stand on either side of me and put your arms over my shoulders, I will be able to leap safely with the both of you. Be warned; I will have to put my arms around your waists."

I frowned. "Oh, I thought you were going to take us each separately." Turning to Amy, I explained, "He usually carries me bridal-style, but you probably knew that."

"No, Taylor." Zach shook his head. "Doing that would separate you from me for at least a few seconds. That is long enough for someone to harm you if they had sufficient motive and the right opportunity. I will not allow that. Jumping alongside me is perfectly safe."

"Then why have you been carrying me in your arms?" I asked. "Not that I'm complaining, mind you. Just asking."

"Jumping a great distance can be a frightening experience." Zach moved his shoulders as if attempting a shrug. "I wished for you to feel as safe as possible."

"Well, damn," Amy said with a chuckle. "I just wanna say, Taylor, this guy's a keeper." She stepped up alongside him and put her left arm over his shoulders, having to reach up more than a little to get there. "Geez, you're tall."

"He is that." I moved to his left side and put my right arm over his shoulders, alongside Amy's. "Okay, ready."

"Please inform me if this makes you feel at all uncomfortable." Zach put his arm around my waist, holding me firmly. He was the one guy my age I knew I could absolutely trust not to cop a feel, and that trust was rewarded.

"Nope, I'm good," I said. "Amy?"

"Doing okay, here. Vicky usually holds me a lot tighter than this, actually."

"I am not attempting to denigrate Glory Girl, but there is always a possibility that she might accidentally drop you, however slight that chance might be," Zach said conversationally. "There is no possibility of me letting you go. Are you both prepared for the jump to Amelia Claire's home?"

"Uh huh." I knew Zach's jumps were safe, but all of a sudden I could see why he'd been carrying me before. That way felt a lot more secure. "Let's do this thing."

"Ohh, boy." Amy sucked in a long breath. "I'm looking forward to the conversation at home a lot less than the jump itself. Blast off, big guuuuyyyyyyyyyyyy…"

Halfway through 'guy', Zach kicked off from the gravel edging of the footpath, taking us both along for the ride. We shot into the sky at a frankly ludicrous speed, which somehow felt even faster because I was simply being held by the pressure of his arm around my waist. Still, I heard myself whooping with exhilaration. A moment later, Amy echoed me, her voice even shriller than mine.

We soared through the sky above Brockton Bay, the city whipping by beneath us. I didn't know how fast we were going, but it looked like we were going to be there in just moments. Maybe Velocity could've beaten us there; somehow, I doubted it.

It appeared the headquarters of New Wave was a typical suburban home, two storey, emplaced among many others of the same type. From above, even though I could see where we were going, I had trouble picking out one house from another. It was, I thought with a grin, pretty good protective camouflage.

We flashed down out of the sky and landed on the concrete sidewalk with barely a jar. I looked downward and saw that the concrete wasn't even cracked. Zach was definitely upping his game. "Nicely done," I said as I took my arm off his shoulders and stepped away from him.

"Thank you," he replied. "Did you enjoy the experience, Amelia Claire?"

"Oh, wow, did I!" Amy, I noted on a second look, looked as windblown as I felt, but there was a glow in her face that had been missing up until now. "I've never gotten home from Arcadia so fast before, even with Vicky carrying me. Is that what it's like to fly?"

Zach nodded. "My sister tells me it is very like that, yes."

"There you go with your sister again." Amy's tone was half complaining, half amused. "Are you going to give me any more hints about her? So she can fly, she can read minds … what else can she do? Is she one of those flashy Indian capes?" I could see why she was asking the question; Zach didn't look Indian, but people who could change their appearance was a thing.

"No, Amelia Claire, she is not." And there he went again, subtly implying that his sister was American, while actually saying nothing of the sort.

Evidently, she was catching on to his word games, because she stopped still and mock-glared at him, her hands on her hips. "Okay, smart guy. You got me. I'm stumped. I've been going over and over in my head who she could be, and absolutely nobody I can think of fits the bill. Who is your sister? And be warned, if she turns out to be somebody I've never heard of, I am going to kick you in the shin."

"Well, there's not much else you can do to him right now," I murmured with a grin.

She heard me—I'd meant her to—and rolled her eyes. "You know what's going on, don't you?"

I nodded. "Uh huh. But before you ask, not my place to say."

"Yeah, figured." She turned her attention back to Zach. "Well? Are you gonna spill, or am I going to have to hobble around with a broken foot for a couple of weeks?"

Well, at least she was being realistic about things. I couldn't imagine a very different outcome for anyone trying to kick Zach in the shin. Or anywhere, for that matter.

"Do not harm yourself trying to kick me, Amelia Claire." The slight grin on Zach's face told me that he found this exchange as funny as I did. "The truth of the matter is that my sister is the Simurgh. I am an Endbringer."

"Well, technically an Endbringer," I corrected him. "You aren't here to bring an end to anything, as far as I can tell."

"That is true, Taylor," he conceded. "The term is intended more as a descriptor of my origin and capabilities than my perceived function and intent." He turned back to Amy, who was standing there with her jaw dropped. "Are you alright, Amelia Claire?"

"You're an Endbringer," Amy said flatly. "Your sister is the goddamn Simurgh. That shouldn't make so much sense, but it does. Why?"

"Because it's true." I tried not to sound facetious. "The Endbringer sirens we had the other day? That was the Simurgh dropping in for a visit, and to hand over Oni Lee after Zach kicked him into orbit."

Amy shook her head, though it didn't seem to be in disbelief. She wasn't totally freaking out either, so I suspected Zach was doing something to her emotional levels. Whatever it was, it allowed her to assimilate the shock without going off the deep end.

"Well, that explains the 'sister' aspect," she grumbled. "Telepathic, clairvoyant, able to fly … I can't believe I didn't see it."

I nodded. "To be fair, not many people jump straight to 'Endbringer' as a potential relative. Just saying. And please don't ask him how long it took me to realise that all the hints he was dropping were indicators to what he really was." I rolled my eyes. "That was so embarrassing when he finally laid it out for me. Especially since he'd told me earlier and I'd thought he was joking!"

Amy started to giggle, then laugh out loud. She pointed at me and tried to say something, then laughed harder. I got the joke—boy, did I get the joke—and started laughing too. We were leaning on each other, laughing our asses off, when Carol Dallon finally came to the door to find out what was going on outside.

The first I knew of it was when Zach brightened and stepped forward. "Good afternoon, Brandish!" he greeted her brightly. "How are you today? It is good to meet Amelia Claire's adopted mother!" Holding out his hand politely, he waited for a response.

<><>​

Brandish

Dealing with a sulky teenager was bad enough. Dealing with one who was certain she was in the right was ten times as bad. By the time her 'discussion' with Vicky was over, Carol had made the executive decision that sending the girl back to Arcadia would probably be a bad idea (besides, the school day was almost over), so she'd made Vicky come home with her.

Amy's transport problems were not something she wanted to worry about right then; besides, the girl was surely mature enough to catch the bus. Unlike Vicky, who was exhibiting a level of immaturity that made Carol wonder about her ability to tie her shoes right then. Besides, riding the bus home would keep Amy out of the house that little bit longer, allowing Carol more time to try to get through to Vicky.

That was the plan, anyway. Right up until Carol heard familiar laughter outside the house mere minutes after school should have let out. Even flying home with Vicky wouldn't have gotten her here this fast. And she'd texted from school only a short time before.

What's going on here?

Opening the front door, Carol saw three teenagers. One was Amy, the second was Zachary, and the third was a girl she didn't really recognise, but who was wearing a really nice jacket. Zachary, of course, she knew from the news. He turned from his amused appraisal of the two laughing girls—what were they finding so funny, anyway?—and approached her.

"Good afternoon, Brandish!" His voice was bright and cheerful, and projected the sense that she was the one person he was happiest to meet today. "How are you today? It is good to meet Amelia Claire's adopted mother!"

"Well, uh, hello … Zachary, yes?" She felt flustered despite herself; the sheer presence of the boy was almost overwhelming. "It's good to meet you, too." She shook his outstretched hand firmly. "You've done the city, the nation, a great service in ridding us of the Slaughterhouse Nine. Also, in putting Lung and Hookwolf behind bars."

"They were a danger to Taylor, so I made sure that they were not." Zachary had a very straightforward way of talking. When he spoke, there was absolutely no misunderstanding his motives or his intent. Carol didn't think he could use weasel words if he tried.

"Well, that's definitely an admirable goal," she admitted, then looked past him to Amy. "So … did the two of you give Amy a lift home?"

"Zach did," said the tall brunette in the nice jacket. "Hi, I'm Taylor Hebert. It's good to meet you, Mrs Dallon. I just started at Arcadia, and Amy here's been really nice to me. Made me feel welcome."

"Oh." Carol blinked. "That's, uh, that's sweet of her." Feeling as though she should say something more, she gave Amy a nod. "Well done." Then she remembered what Vicky had been saying. "Uh … I understand you had your powers taken away today? Is that still a thing, or are they back now?"

"Nope, still gone," Amy said cheerfully, lifting her chin almost as a challenge. "I asked Taylor to take them away for the time being. If I still like the idea in the morning, I'm going to ask Zach to remove them permanently."

That was almost exactly what Vicky had claimed, though the addition of Zachary as someone who could remove powers permanently and without harming the cape involved was definitely new.

Carol stared at Amy. "Are you certain you want this?" she asked. "You're Panacea. You're a hero. You help people."

Just for a moment, she thought Amy was going to snap back, but the girl glanced at Taylor and Zach and took a breath before speaking. "Is it really being heroic if you never have a choice in the matter?"

That was from so far out of left field that Carol found herself momentarily lost for words. "I … It's what we do. We have powers that can let us help people, so we use them to help people."

"And what if I don't want to be a hero anymore?" Amy's voice was a little stronger now. "What if I don't want that burden anymore?"

"It's not a burden!" Carol couldn't believe she had to actually say this. "It's a gift!"

"If it's a gift, then it's a white elephant." Amy shook her head. "I don't want it. I don't need it. I'm through being judged for what I'm not more than for what I am." She turned to Zachary. "I've made up my mind. Can you take them away permanently, please?"

"I can definitely do that, Amelia Claire." Zachary smiled at Amy and reached out to her. "I will need to hold your hand."

"Here you go." Amy clasped his hand with hers, then turned to Carol. "What's more heroic? Someone who gets powers they don't want and uses them kind of heroically, or someone who gives up the powers they already have so they won't hurt people with them by accident?"

While Carol was trying to figure out how to answer that question, she watched as Zachary withdrew his hand from Amy's, pulling an insubstantial thing out of the girl. It was almost like Hollywood's idea of a ghost, not quite there, a trick of the light. It came free from Amy with an inaudible pop, and she staggered half a step. Taylor was there to steady her, while Zachary started doing … something with the intangible mass he had pulled out of Amy.

"What … is that?" asked Carol, though she had a strong feeling she already knew.

"It is Amelia Claire's healing power," Zachary said briskly, moving his hands through it and around it as he spoke. "I am shaping it into a form that other people will be able to use."

"But … wait … you're doing what?" Events were moving too fast for Carol. Powers could not be simply pulled free from people, and certainly not made so that other people could use them.

Could they?

Not bothering to answer her, Zachary moved his hands around each other in a way that she was almost certain was impossible, then suddenly what he was working on snapped into focus. He now held a pair of gloves, neatly stitched, shading from crimson on the palm to rose gold on the back. "Here you are, Taylor," he said, handing them to the tall brunette. "These should be in your size."

"Really, Zach?" she asked, even as she accepted them. "You don't have to give me every power you take from someone, you know."

"Why not?" he asked ingenuously. "You are responsible enough to use them. They will allow you to heal yourself if needed. Also, they are weighted in the knuckles so that you can knock out anyone you wish just by punching them."

Taylor chuckled at that, then pulled the gloves on. They matched with the jacket rather nicely, Carol couldn't help but notice. "Okay, fine. But I reserve the right to stuff them in my pocket and never put them on again."

"That is your right," he agreed. "You will be alright, Amelia Claire?"

Amy nodded. "Yeah, I think so. Thanks." From what Carol could tell, she meant it.

"Cool," Taylor said. "See you at school tomorrow." She gave Amy a quick hug—which was reciprocated—then stepped over next to Zachary and put her arm around his shoulders. "Bye, Mrs Dallon. Nice meeting you."

"You too, Taylor." Carol watched as Zachary put his arm around the girl and crouched slightly, then they blurred upward, faster than Sarah or even Vicky could fly. Fading on the wind was a distant whoop from Taylor.

Then she looked at Amy, no longer Panacea, who was looking almost defiantly back at her, as though expecting to be yelled at for her decision.

No matter what she'd been before, Amy no longer manifested Marquis' legacy in her powers. In fact, she'd consciously given them up, specifically so she wouldn't accidentally hurt people.

All that was left was the teenage girl before her.

Carol reached out and took her daughter by the hand.

"Come on," she said. "Let's go inside and talk."

Amy nodded. "I'd like that."



End of Part Fifteen

 

[Ack]

I'm HALPING!

Part Sixteen: Mining for Resources

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

Brandish

Carol poured hot water into the cup and stirred it to mix in the cocoa powder that was already in there. She added a splash of milk and a handful of mini-marshmallows, and stirred again. After repeating the procedure with a second cup, she picked them both up and took them back to where Amy was sitting on the sofa. "Here you go, honey."

"Thanks, Mom." Amy smiled as she took the cup. "Ooh, peeps. I love these."

"You're welcome." Carol playfully ruffled her daughter's hair as she sat down with her own cup. "You do understand that you're going to have to be more stringent with matters such as cleaning your teeth from now on, right? Your power isn't going to be there anymore to take care of little things like that."

"Oh, man." Amy's face fell, just a little. Then her shoulders slumped as well as she looked up at her mother. "You noticed?"

Carol smiled indulgently. "Honey, I'm the mother of two teenage girls. Vicky's always been a little slapdash, so I've had to sit on her a few times. I never had that problem with you, but about six months after you got your powers your bathroom prep times dropped off dramatically, with no increase in body odour or halitosis. I'm guessing you figured out how to make your power take care of things like that around then."

"Yeah." Amy took a sip from her hot chocolate. "I was running late a few times, and I just did the best I could. I didn't reek afterward so I started experimenting, to see how much I could get away without doing."

"Understood." Carol leaned back in her seat and sampled her own drink. It was pleasantly hot and sweet. "Well, you're going to have to unlearn all those bad habits now, I'm afraid. Teeth, proper application of soap, other body hygiene. Also, deodorant."

Amy rolled her eyes. "Well, at least I won't be wearing that damn burqa anymore. I used to sweat so bad in that thing."

"And then you trained your skin bacteria to deal with the by-products so you didn't actually smell bad afterward." Deciding to ignore the crack about the 'burqa', Carol raised her cup to Amy. "Nicely done, by the way. It's always gratifying to see someone using a power for something that doesn't involve violence or hurting people."

"Talking of Vicky," Amy said, sounding a little cautious. "Where's she right now?"

"Upstairs, in her room, sulking after I grounded her." Carol raised her eyebrows. "You're not allowed to tease her about it. She's already been punished enough."

"Oh, I wasn't going to do that." From Amy's tone, she'd been thinking about it maybe a little, but now she wasn't. "Can I ask what she did to get grounded?"

Carol thought about saying no, but it was clear that Amy was more responsible now, especially considering that she'd given up her powers willingly so that she wouldn't hurt anyone by accident with them in future. Besides, this actually involved Amy herself.

"It was about Zachary taking away your powers, actually," she said. "For some reason, she seems to think Zachary has ulterior motives, and that he'd Mastered you into letting him remove your powers. When she insisted on maintaining this delusion in the face of all reason and logic, I had her come home with me instead of going back to Arcadia and possibly causing a scene."

"Oh, wow." Amy shook her head with a surprised look on her face. "That's … well, she's been acting weird recently, so I shouldn't be surprised. And after the scene she made in the cafeteria, I really shouldn't be surprised. But …" She paused, then looked down at her hot chocolate. Clearly choosing to not say what was on her mind, she took another drink.

"But what?" Carol absolutely wanted to know what Amy was holding back. "And what do you mean, acting weird?"

Amy grimaced. "I don't want to get her in trouble, okay?"

"Trust me, she's already in enough trouble," Carol assured her. "Spit it out."

Still, Amy hesitated. She looked around the room, apparently not wanting to meet her mother's eyes, then finally sighed. "Okay. It's about Zach, as you can probably guess."

"I hadn't guessed that, but things are becoming clearer now." Carol gestured with her mug. "Go on."

So Amy began to tell her tale. To Carol, it was patently obvious that she was trying to ensure that nobody got unfairly blamed, whether it be Vicky or Zachary. Apart from that, the narrative more or less paralleled what Vicky had told her, though it filled in quite a few details that her birth daughter had 'inexplicably' left out.

"So then Zach gave me and Taylor a lift home," Amy concluded. "Taylor made a funny, then you came out while we were still laughing. You know the rest."

"Hmm." Carol considered the story, now that she had more in the way of details. "It's definitely unlike her to be so aggressive with a new cape, especially when it comes to things like feats of strength. You're saying Zachary didn't seem to hold a grudge?"

"Not in the slightest." Amy shrugged. "She came across as a real bit- uh, really unpleasant when he started asking me if I was happy. But when she offered to arm-wrestle, he went with it. He totally could've told her to take a long walk off a short pier and I would've cheered him on, the way she was talking to him. And I'm pretty sure he used some sort of power to make sure nobody else saw her losing the contest."

Carol nodded. That totally fit with what she knew of the young man. "And how easily would you say he beat her? All Vicky would say is that he cheated."

"She would." Amy rolled her eyes and wrinkled her nose. "He had Vicky beat from the start. I mean, Vicky was straining like she was trying to lift Mount Rushmore, but he was letting her only move his hand a little bit at a time. Then he brought it back, with basically no effort at all, while talking to me. That got her even madder. She did not want him speaking to me, especially about being happy as a superhero."

"Well, I'm sorry to hear that you weren't." Carol tilted her head. "So he really had no trouble winning? Vicky is very strong."

"Yeah, she is. But he's a whole lot stronger." Amy shook her head and chuckled. "Should've seen her face. When he decided the contest was over, he just pushed her arm over like closing a book. She acted like such a sore loser about it all that I decided I was gonna talk to Zach and Taylor again whether she wanted me to or not."

"And good for you," Carol said. "You're clearly happy with what you got out of it, so that's for the best."

"Thanks, Mom." Amy cradled the cup in her hands and looked across at her. "You're actually taking this a lot better than I expected. Stopping being Panacea and all, I mean. I personally thought you'd be yelling at me, or even grounding me like Vicky."

Carol waggled her free hand in the air. "Not having instant healing on tap will probably be at least a bit inconvenient, but New Wave and the Brigade got along for years before you came along, and we can learn to manage without you. So can the hospitals you were volunteering at. Let the doctors learn to do their jobs again." She tilted her head. "What were you thinking of doing with your life, now that being a professional superhero is no longer on the cards?"

"Well, I'm not going to be any sort of medical professional, obviously." Amy punctuated her statement by taking a drink of her hot chocolate.

"I'm not sure that it's all that obvious." Carol looked at her quizzically. "Even without your powers, you'd have the most complete intuitive understanding of how the human body works than basically anyone, ever."

"Yes." Amy sighed heavily. "And sooner or later, I'd inevitably be stuck in the position of knowing my powers could've saved someone while they slip away right from under my hands. No thank you very much. I'm thinking of maybe going into the visual arts."

"Drawing? Painting?" This was more than a little out of left field. "You've never shown any interest in that before."

"Have I ever had the option?" Amy raised her eyebrows. "I'm thinking of maybe putting that intuitive understanding of the human body to use by illustrating how it can come apart in the worst possible ways. Horror movies and the like. Trust me, when it comes to that aspect, I have seen it all."

Carol blinked. "Well, if that's what you want to do with yourself, I suppose." She leaned back in her seat to finish her drink. Despite it taking the loss of Panacea's powers (though they weren't gone forever, she reminded herself) she'd finally managed to heal the rift—that she hadn't even known was there!—between herself and Amy.

Now, if only I can figure out how to get through to Victoria …

<><>​

Coil

Thomas was getting close; he could almost feel it. Following the wordless directions from his ghastly co-pilot, he was wending his way through the back streets of a small town whose name he'd entirely missed. This was not a good part of town. Hell, this wasn't a good part of the state. But Zachary wanted him to be here, so he was here.

Creep pointed at the side of the road, and Thomas obediently pulled over and parked. With the engine shut off, sounds suddenly seemed a lot louder. "Okay, I'm here," he said out loud. "What now?"

"Phone," croaked Creep. "Camera."

Okay, so he'd come all this way to take a photo of someone? He'd hoped that somewhere along the line he'd figure out what was going on, but that point had clearly not come yet. His phone was in his pocket, so he took it out to make sure he could activate the camera at a moment's notice.

"Split." Creep pointed at the corner up ahead. "Go."

Okay, so this was dangerous. Thomas had no problem with taking precautions. He divided the timeline and stepped out of the car in one of the lines. Leaving his other version trying hard to not look at Creep, he strolled along the sidewalk to the corner and stepped around it.

In the instant before the Master effect overtook him, he recognised Valefor. Then his mind was a warm mush with no thoughts at all running through it.

With an effort—Valefor's effect was doing its best to take over both of his instances—he dropped that timeline. For a moment he sat in the car, shaking from the close call. Then he reached under the seat and retrieved his pistol. So it's like that, is it?

Again, he split time and climbed out of the vehicle. He took a moment to check chamber; brass showed, so he was good to go. Okay, let's try that again.

<><>​

Taylor

I looked again at the gloves I was wearing. Even if I hadn't known what they really were, I would've thought they were cool and kind of stylish. Not something that I would normally be wearing. Or even be able to afford.

But Zach had given them to me, so that was okay.

"So what are we going to do now?" I looked at Zach, wondering how he wanted to top today's shenanigans. That he both could and would was a given. It was the how and what that I was curious about.

He smiled at me in a way I was learning to recognise; a smile that said there was something both weird and interesting in store. We were either going to fix something or utterly fuck up some bad guy's day … or both. I was absolutely down with that.

"We are going to meet a celebrity and a hero, and free both of them," he said happily. "Not many people will be happy with us, but it is the right thing to do."

"Celebrity?" I frowned. "Hero? Free them? I don't understand." Was there a hero imprisoned somewhere I didn't know about?

He beamed at me. "You will, Taylor. I know you will do the right thing. You are my hero."

Not much could make me blush, but he managed it with those four words. "I'm no hero. I'm just me."

"Yes, Taylor, and I am here to help you become the best you that you can be."

Well, what could I say to that? Sorry, but you've got the wrong Taylor Hebert? The amount of faith Zachary had in me to be heroic was … humbling. It wasn't like I wanted to disappoint him.

Not that I was sure I could. Whatever he wanted to do was basically what I would've done myself if I'd had the power at my fingertips that he did, and the information that he had access to. Our goals, broadly speaking, were in synch.

Of course, there had been that rough patch where I'd had to talk him out of killing Emma and the others, but he'd taken my words to heart ever since. And even then, I couldn't put my hand on my heart and say that I hadn't wanted to kill them at least once or twice myself.

"Well, okay then." I grinned and gave him a shrug. "I'll bite. How are we getting there?"

"It is a little far to jump, so I will carry you and run, if you are comfortable with that," he said. "Then you will get us into the place we are going."

I considered that. I'd seen him smack Assault all the way to Boston, and I figured he could jump that far easily, which meant he intended to go a whole lot farther. How much farther I couldn't be certain, but I knew one thing.

I was with him to the end of the line.

My grin widened. "Let's do this."

<><>​

Coil

The corner was a left turn, so that was a bonus. Left-handed, Thomas activated the camera app on his phone and edged it around the corner, watching the screen. There they were, three of them. Valefor, a guy in jagged armour that he tentatively identified as Eligos, and a slender woman with long pale wispy hair-

Heart thudding, he yanked the camera back around the corner, clenching his eyes shut and attempting to purge his mind of what he'd just seen. If he was correct, that had been her. Never named, never referred to except in the most oblique of terms. Matriarch of the Mathers branch of the Fallen. He'd only ever seen sketches of her, rendered by computer from images taken via remote cameras. Enough detail had been altered, it was hoped, that she couldn't connect back to those looking at the pictures.

When it came to Masters, she was among the most terrifying of the lot … and the goddamn Simurgh was included in the list she was to be measured against. She was the sort of cape against whom the use of intercity missiles was recommended.

If someone saw her, she could see through their eyes and control what they saw. If they heard her voice, she could hear what they heard and control their auditory input. And if they touched her … she could put them through the most horrifying agony at will and at range.

While she couldn't force someone to do her bidding like a puppet, her power gave her a huge amount of leeway in dealing with people. Thomas suspected that even the bogeyman of bogeymen, Contessa herself, was unable to get close to the Mathers woman, unless she did so without ever directly thinking of her.

And here he was, doing exactly that.

As he registered that thought, he felt something else; a sensation of curiosity, as of someone looking around in a room they'd never been before.

In his head.

He dropped that timeline like a hot potato.

Retrieving the pistol from under the seat (he didn't bother checking chamber this time) he got out of the vehicle. "Okay," he muttered to himself, more to focus his thoughts than anything else. "Valefor and Eligos. What do I have to do here?" It had to do with his phone camera, he knew that much.

"Pictures," croaked Creep from the passenger seat. "Her."

Thomas stared at him in abject horror. "You have got to be shitting me."

Creep, it seemed, was not shitting him. "Send. Address."

Right on cue, his phone beeped. Looking own, he saw an alert for an email. The sending address was one of his own throwaway accounts, because why the fuck not? In the body of the email was another email address.

Now, he was more confused than ever. "Why? Who in God's name wants that?"

But Creep had decided to be dead again; slumped in the passenger seat, his sunken eyes stared sightlessly at the windshield. Thomas wondered again if he was just an illusion (which would explain why nobody could see him) or if he was actually there and nobody else could see him.

Clenching his eyes shut, he breathed out a long sigh, combining the word, "Fuuuuuuuuuuck," with it at the same time.

Was this what it had been like for others when he was using his powers to push them around like pawns on a board? He was beginning to suspect he understood why Tattletale had never liked him. It was fun being the chessmaster, much less so as the playing piece. Especially since pawns were so often sacrificed.

Phone in hand and pistol close down beside his thigh, he sidled up to the corner yet again. Fortunately, due to the strategic use of his power, the members of the Fallen had no way of knowing that he was there …

… except for the fact that there were half a dozen people on the street, all of whom were visible to anyone around the corner, all looking at him. The fact that they'd seen the pistol was evident from the way they were backing away. Nobody said a word, but they didn't have to. He instinctively knew that she could see through their eyes, and that she knew he was there.

In that instant, he knew he had to make a decision and make it quickly. Abort and retry with a new timeline, or just go for it?

Long-ago lessons in officer training had impressed on him that there was never a 'perfect' time to attack the enemy. In fact, if the situation did appear perfect, there was probably a serious problem he had yet to discern. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, 'good enough' had to suffice.

He slid the phone past the corner, eyes on the screen. The first thing he saw was a hand, reaching toward the lens, enormously foreshortened. Before he could react, the hand plucked the camera away from him and a head popped around the corner.

"Hi!" said Valefor. "You need to—"

Thomas brought up the pistol. If he was fast enough …

He wasn't. His mind was a warm mush of no thought, no impetus. Nothing.

"—drop the pistol."

He dropped the pistol.

Then, with an effort, he dropped that timeline.

Looking out through the windshield, he saw the people who had betrayed him. They were clearly under the woman's—don't think about her!—influence. If he did anything suspicious, she would be alerted, then she would alert her subordinates. And all Valefor had to do was see him.

Carefully, he took the pistol from under the seat and slid it into his waistband in the small of his back, where the fall of his jacket would conceal it. He wasn't a bulky man, but that should last long enough … he hoped. His job wasn't to shoot her, but to get a picture of her. Why? Worse, where was he sending it to? What unimaginable maniac would be okay with her getting into their head?

A saying he'd heard long ago crossed his mind. Not my circus, not my monkeys. If that was what they wanted, and if the alternative was being tormented every step of the way, then he would get that damn picture.

Taking a deep breath, he climbed out of the vehicle, yet again.

<><>​

Taylor

Zach let me down onto my feet once more. I stood ankle-deep in snow, but with my jacket zipped all the way up, it didn't bother me as much as it should have. All around us, mountainous terrain climbed jaggedly into the sky.

"Wow," I said, a long streamer of white vapour whipping away from my lips as I spoke. "Nice place if you like cold and desolate, but I'm guessing there's a reason you brought me here."

"Yes, Taylor, there is." Zach smiled, quite clearly unbothered by the wind that was even now blowing my hair to one side. He pointed at one of the nearby mountains. "You need to teleport us into there. Precisely two thousand, one hundred and thirty-three feet from this location, at fifteen degrees from true north and five degrees upward elevation."

I blinked behind my glasses. "I can't …" then trailed off. Behind my eyes, my teleport power had awoken and seemed to be processing his instructions. In another instant, I got the feeling that I knew exactly how to get there. "Um, maybe I can?"

Zach beamed at me happily. "I knew you could do it, Taylor. I have faith in you."

"Uh huh." I tried to ignore the rush of confidence this gave me. "Just one thing. Teleporting into the middle of solid rock isn't exactly conducive to ongoing health. Even I've read enough science fiction to know that one."

"This is very true, Taylor. But we will not be teleporting into solid rock." His tone was entirely matter-of-fact. "Not that it would matter. I would still protect you."

"Yes, yes you would." Because Zach was there to protect and help me. I was utterly sure about that by now. However, he'd given me the teleporting jacket, as opposed to keeping it himself. "So what's in there, if it's not a billion tons of granite?"

"I could tell you, but that would spoil the surprise. Do you really want me to spoil the surprise?"

He had an amazingly effective line in puppy-dog eyes. I tried to glare at him, then snorted in amusement. "No, I guess not. Okay, let's do this thing."

Without moving my feet, I took Zach by the arm and held him close. The last thing I wanted to do was leave him behind while quite literally teleporting into the unknown. While I was fully aware of what my jacket could let me do, Zach's feats were far and away beyond that.

Reaching inside, I connected to the teleport power and told it to send us to those coordinates. Just in case, I specified no flames for either departure or arrival. With everything in readiness, I triggered the power.

We'd used this before, when we were clearing up the Boat Graveyard. Then, the teleport had been simple and effortless. This time around, it was as though we were twisting our way through a piece of cloth that was being wrung out by King Kong. But the power had muscle behind it, and forced us through anyway.

After what seemed an eternity in transit (though Zach had always maintained it was less than a hundredth of a second) we popped back to reality again. When my vision cleared, we were inside what my frazzled brain initially defined as a nuclear survival bunker. Which I had not assumed we'd be finding. Much less an occupied one.

I knew it was occupied because all around us, women were jumping to their feet. They all wore a variation on the same clothing; orange coveralls, with words stencilled onto the cloth. I couldn't see what the wording actually said, because most of it seemed to be on the sleeves (mainly rolled up) and their backs.

It took me a moment or so to realise that the coveralls could also pass for prison wear. I clung tightly to Zach's arm, ready to teleport us out in an instant if things went sideways. Not that I thought Zack would lose, but there was no sense in antagonising these people for no good reason.

"Hello, Lustrum!" said Zach heartily. "You are looking well. I am not here to attack you."

<><>​

Coil

Okay then. Casual it is.

Phone held casually in his left hand, right ready for a quick brush-and-draw of the firearm under his jacket, Thomas strolled once more up to the corner. If he stepped around the corner, Valefor would see him, and he'd be under the Master's control. But if he put the phone around the corner …

There was one real problem with that solution.

If he took the photo and sent it away without looking at it, he couldn't be certain that he'd gotten a photo of the person of interest. But if he did look, he would see her, and know who she was, and she'd know where he was. And for all he knew, she'd be able to look into his head and read his intentions. The briefings had never quite been able to pin that down about her.

What if they'd turned aside? What if they weren't even in view when he took the photo?

He hated not being certain about things.

Just as he came up to the corner, Valefor stepped into view, not two yards away. Thomas reacted as fast as he knew how; with one hand he threw the phone, while with the other he pushed aside his jacket and dragged the pistol from its hiding place. Valefor, already turning toward Thomas, recoiled as the handset arced toward their face. They threw up their hands to ward it off, and that was all the time Thomas needed.

The pistol came clear and swung into line just as Valefor batted the phone away, and Thomas fired without bothering to bring the pistol up to eye level. The first shot took the young man (or woman? PRT Intelligence were still unsure about that one) through the breastbone, and the second went into Valefor's mouth and blew out the back of their head.

Well aware that he'd utterly fucked up the mission—but it wasn't really his fault if he'd been shoved into a no-win situation from the beginning, was it?—Thomas turned to run.

He got all of ten feet.

<><>​

Taylor

As the maternal-looking woman waved a hand in response to Zach's words, I blinked and looked around at the people around us. Lustrum was a name I knew; parahuman leader of a feminist movement that bordered on cult-level loyalty, she had been sentenced to the Birdcage when some of her people had begun mutilating and murdering men.

I didn't know for certain whether she'd given the orders, or even known it was about to happen. Every group like that has its extremists, the people who are willing to push things way further than originally intended.

But that wasn't the important bit. The important bit was that Lustrum was in the Birdcage. Which meant that Zach and I were in the Birdcage.

Why were we in the Birdcage?

"Zach?" I asked quietly.

"There is a good reason for this," he assured me, just as quietly.

At almost exactly the same time, Lustrum spoke up. "If you're not here to attack us, boy, then I'm going to assume you have a really good reason for intruding on our space. I'm listening." Her arms were folded, which told me that she wasn't fully convinced we were worth listening to.

"Yes, ma'am. There is a good reason," he said politely. "I am here to offer each of you a way out of here. I will also be extending this offer to the men in the Birdcage, but I chose to come to your side first."

Lustrum's arms relaxed from their taut posture at his words. I was a little impressed, even though I'd seen his diplomatic capabilities before. Still, we were a long way from what I would consider as 'secure'. Also, what the hell? Letting people out of the Birdcage?

"You're saying that each of us can leave here, free and clear?" Lustrum tilted her head. "I have trouble believing that. There's always a quid pro quo. What's your price for our freedom?"

"Oh, no," Zach explained patiently. "I did not say it was free and clear. You are correct in presuming the existence of a quid pro quo. My price is your powers. Allow me to take your powers and I will arrange passage from the Birdcage."

Whew. That made a lot more sense than just letting a few hundred hardcore villains back into society. A hard bargain, sure, but totally fair, as far as I was concerned.

For a moment, Lustrum stared at him, then she let out a bark of laughter. "You nearly had me convinced, boy. Take our powers? Glaistig Uaine's the only cape who can do that, and it's a death sentence for whoever it happens to."

I raised one finger as if I were still in class at Winslow. "Ahh … ma'am? Ms Lustrum? That's actually not the case. I've seen him take powers from several capes, and they were still alive and well afterward."

She turned her head slightly, as if noticing my existence for the first time. I wasn't exactly surprised; when he needed to, Zach could command all the attention. "And you are?" she asked with a lift of her eyebrows.

"Uh, Taylor Hebert, ma'am. My mother was one of your people, back in the day. Before all …" I waved my hand at the concrete structure around us. "… this."

"Hm." She gave me a nod of recognition. "And how is she now?"

I grimaced. "She passed away a couple of years ago. Car accident. But she always said she didn't think you deserved the Birdcage."

"I'm sorry to hear that." Her tone softened by a few degrees. "So what are you doing, running around with this pretty boy? I know the type; all promise, no follow through."

Taking a deep breath, I squared my jaw, as much as I was able anyway. "And there you'd be wrong, ma'am. He's always done exactly what he's promised. He's been there for me over and over again, and asked nothing in return."

"Really." A world of cynicism rode on that word. "He'll let you down, in the end. They always do."

"Not this one." I made my tone as firm as hers, and tugged the Idiot Ball from my pocket. "See this? If I hit you with it, it'll take away your powers until I decide to let you have them back. And that's just the temporary version."

"Oh, so you're a cape too." But she kept her eyes warily on the brightly coloured ball. "Physical manifestations of a cape power are nothing new."

"I'm not a cape." I wondered privately how many people I was going to have to explain this to. "This is a power Zach took from Animos." I waited expectantly for her to recognise the name.

"I don't know who that is, kid." Her expression was beginning to close down again. "Maybe if you came in with something a bit more impressive, like Jack Slash's knife power?"

"I can't." My response was automatic. "Zach killed off the Nine, just the other day. Jack Slash included."

That got everyone's attention.

"The Slaughterhouse Nine? Am I supposed to believe that pretty-boy here wiped them out?" Lustrum gave a snort of laughter. "With what? The power of Axe body spray?"

"A PRT van," I responded flatly. "He threw it, from fifteen hundred miles away. I was there. I saw the whole thing."

Lustrum blinked, then looked more carefully at Zach. "Okay then, boy. There's clearly more to you than meets the eye. But I'm going to need more than just the word of some stranger. Mcabee!"

Slowly, hesitantly, a woman stood forth from the group in the common room. She hadn't been among those who had surged forward, and she was in the same drab coveralls as the rest, but I recognised her anyway. Paige Mcabee, otherwise known as Bad Canary, or just Canary for short. The yellow feathers growing through her equally blonde hair kind of sealed the deal.

Some advocacy group had apparently attempted to secure an injunction to let her have her say in court. The presiding judge had responded by pushing her trial through and committing her to the Birdcage before it could be implemented. It had made the news for a few days then faded away, as usual.

"Y-yes?" she asked. Her voice was startlingly melodious. I'd heard it before, listening to one of her songs on the radio, but it was always amazing to hear it again.

"Girlie there's gonna tag you with her little rubber ball," Lustrum ordered. "You tell me if you've still got powers. Then she's gonna give 'em back, and we'll see what's what."

I glanced sideways at Zach, unsure if this was the way he wanted things to go. He gave me an encouraging nod.

Lustrum turned to look at me. "I'd tell you to smack pretty boy with the ball, but I can tell even from here that's a no-show. Either you wouldn't do it, or it wouldn't work on him."

"It absolutely wouldn't work on him," I confirmed. "Or on me. And I could bounce it off everyone here, and it would only work on the people I meant it to."

"Yeah, yeah, bullshit powers are bullshit." She gestured toward Canary. "Whenever you're ready."

I didn't want to be cruel toward Canary. She'd never done a thing to me, after all, and I thought her singing was amazing. So I aimed to bounce it off her shoulder. It would come back to me no matter how I threw it, but I didn't want to give too much away. Aiming at the floor between us, I threw the ball lightly. It hit the spot I'd designated and bounced upward, aiming directly toward Canary's shoulder.

And then space folded in odd ways, and a young teen girl wearing what looked like a blackened shroud appeared, right between me and Canary. The ball bopped her on the forehead and arced back toward me. I instinctively sent the signal for it not to activate, but I felt an override push the power through anyway. With a most undignified yelp, the girl fell on her backside as the ball smacked into my palm.

The mass inhalation of shocked breath stood fair to lower the air pressure in the room by a significant amount, or maybe that was just my imagination. Lustrum, unsurprisingly, was the first to recover.

"Glaistig Uaine?" she asked doubtfully. "Are you … alright?"

<><>​

Coil

Thomas came to with a feeling that something wasn't right. He was sitting in the car, with Creep lounging in the passenger seat. But that wasn't what was wrong.

The real problem was that Valefor was leaning in the passenger-side window, a shit-eating grin on their face. And the woman herself was right in Thomas's face, leaning in the driver's side window. Eligos was lounging against the bumper, clearly trying to be intimidating, but falling behind the other two by a long way.

"Hello," purred the wispy-haired woman. "I'm Christine Mathers. Most call me Mama. And you are?"

He reached for the other timeline, but it wasn't there. It must have dropped when Mama Mathers made him run smack into the wall. Motherfucking shitballs. No fallbacks. "Strike Squad Commander Thomas Calvert, PRT East-North-East," he heard himself answer before he could put a lock on his tongue. "Also, the supervillain Coil." What the living fuck?

"Oh, I'm sorry," said the androgynous villain, not sounding sorry in the slightest. "I've given you a few basic commands. Don't lie to Mama. Do what Mama says. Always tell Mama the full truth. Only talk if it's to answer one of us. Don't try to hurt Mama. Don't use any powers unless we say you can. Things like that." The smug look on their face could've rivalled Tattletale at her most aggravating.

"I was curious about what a stranger in town was doing sitting in a car for five minutes straight, staring at the corner I was fixing to come around," Mama Mathers said. "So we thought we'd come and check you out. But you're PRT and a villain? That's interesting. Real interesting. Were you here to pop me off, or try to arrest me?"

"Neither," he said willingly enough. "I was told to take a picture of you and email it to a particular address."

Mama shared a glance with Valefor. "Take … a picture of me? Really? And who told you to do this?"

"Creep," said Thomas. "He's a dead man who's been following me around for the last few days."

Valefor looked at him, and Thomas felt his mind dissolve into warm goo. "I told you to be totally truthful with Mama," said the echoing voice.

All of a sudden, he was back in his own head again. "I am telling you the truth," he protested. "Creep told me to do that."

"And where's this Creep now?" Mama Mathers, at least, seemed fine with this idea.

Thomas glanced at the passenger seat, which was where he'd last seen the body-bag-clad corpse. Creep was no longer there. Then he turned his head to look into the back seat. He wasn't there, either. "I … have no idea. He was right here just a few minutes ago. Dead guy, hole in forehead, wearing a body bag. You really couldn't have missed him."

Mama huffed a sigh. "Someone's messing with your head."

Thomas thought that was hugely ironic for her to say, but that wouldn't be an answer, so he couldn't say it out loud.

She then pointed at his phone, which was sitting on his lap. "You were going to take my picture with that?"

"Yes," he confirmed. "Creep said, 'Pictures. Her. Send. Address.' And then the address popped up on the phone." He opened the email page and showed them the address as given.

"The address it was sent from, who owns that?" Mama's eyes narrowed.

Thomas shrugged. "I do. It's one of my throwaways. But I didn't send the email."

"Someone thinks they're being smart," sniped Valefor.

"They always do." Mama smiled, the expression sending chills down Thomas' back. "Take your pictures and let me see."

"Alright." Thomas activated the camera and held it up so that her face was framed neatly on the screen. Then he took three pictures, the electronic click audible each time. He called the images up, and showed them to her.

"Nice." She nodded decisively. "Send them."

"Yes." He opened his email account, placed the appropriate address at the top, and imported the three photos. Then he sent them away. After a few moments, the phone dinged. "It says they got there."

Mama Mathers smiled again.

<><>​

Taylor

"Who dares?" demanded the girl on the floor. "The Faerie Queen will have your … uh …"

She paused as she flounced to her feet; I hadn't thought it was possible to flounce while wearing a shroud, but live and learn. However, that wasn't the problem. The problem was that everyone was staring at the girl, with varying degrees of shock and surprise.

"Sorry," I said hastily. "I was aiming at Canary, honest. You just got in the way."

"That's not the issue." Lustrum was rubbing her chin thoughtfully. "Faerie Queen, where are your faeries? Why are you standing on the floor? Why are you using just one voice to speak?" She paused. "Do you still, in fact, have your powers?"

While everyone was distracted and waiting for the answer, I gave Zach a glare and a discreet elbow to the ribs. The only person who could've overridden my choice on the ball was him, and we both knew it. But why would he want to depower Glaistig Uaine … oh.

"It's the powers, isn't it?" I hissed under my breath. "You want all her powers."

"Well, yes," he murmured in return. "She is not using them responsibly. The powers she has stolen still retain the personalities of their original users. Under her, they are enslaved; still conscious."

I blinked. That was a distinct revelation. Also, deeply horrifying. "Wait, did you just manoeuvre me into this position so this would happen? How did you even manage that?"

He smiled blandly. "My sister is very good at what she does."

Well, that was actually true. He had an extremely valid point. I just wished he'd warn me first about that sort of thing.

Glaistig Uaine stalked up to me, managing to make the motion both effortless and menacing. "You will return to Me that which you have stolen," she hissed, loudly enough that the words could be clearly heard in the silence. "Delay in this and My wrath will be endless." I was quite impressed at the way she could interject capitals into her speech.

For a moment, I considered doing as she said. Then common sense took over, along with the understanding that Zach and his sister had planned the whole thing. "Or not," I said. "I've taken your powers once—by accident, sure, but I still took them. What happens the moment I return them? You try to kill me, to ensure I don't do it again." I tilted my head toward Zach. "And then he has to take a hand, and then maybe one or two of the ladies here decide to step in on one side or the other, and he takes your powers away anyway, and it gets really messy after that. So … no. Let's not fight, and say we did."

She actually stamped her foot in anger. "They are My powers!" she shrieked. "Give them back!" With a sudden dart forward, she reached for the hand that held the Idiot Ball. Not entirely surprising, but it was getting a little tiring.

I intercepted her grab with my own hand, wrapping around both her wrists at once. (I have long fingers. Comes with being tall and skinny, I guess). With the Butcher's accumulated strength, I had zero problem in levering her away from me, then I started paying attention to the information flowing in from the glove holding her. Almost absently, I triggered a calming burst in her mind to stop her from trying to pull free.

"Whoa …" I said softly, then handed the Idiot Ball to Zach so I could pay full attention to the teenager who had once been the most terrifying cape on Earth. There was an original personality there, but it was utterly buried under layers and layers of what I could only describe as neural scarring. If this was the doing of her powers, and I couldn't think of what else could be responsible, then they had a lot to answer for.

"What do you see, Taylor?" Zach's voice was soft.

"Damage." My voice was flat and hard. "Can you make the removal permanent, like right now? I need to fix this."

"I can do that, Taylor." He placed the Idiot Ball in midair and left it there, then started pulling strings from it, spreading them into diaphanous sheets that he collected in large bundles. Flickering shapes began to surround him, vanishing into the bundled sheets.

In the meantime, I applied myself to fixing what I saw. The gloves gave me the information that I needed, when I needed it, allowing me to analyse the damage and figure out the best way to repair her mind. In the end I decided that reversion was probably the best idea. I'd leave her with the vague knowledge that she'd been Glaistig Uaine but none of the details. The 'Faerie Queen' personality could go on the ash heap, replaced by who she'd been before.

Amy had been right. Fixing brains was easy. Fortunately, I didn't have the ongoing urge to keep fixing things. But it actually took less time to deal with the damage than it had to decide how to deal with it. Stripping away the neural damage, I reverted her personality to what it had been before she'd gotten powers.

"And we have our first contender," I announced. "No powers, mental balance restored, ready to rejoin society. Any more takers?"

Zach was still in the process of bundling up the collected powers—I'll say this; she'd definitely been an overachiever in that regard—when a phone pinged in his pocket. Which was really odd. I hadn't thought of him as a cell-phone kind of guy.

"Ah," he said. "Could you hold this, please, Taylor?"

"Sure." I took the weirdly weightless mass of abstract concepts and cradled it carefully with one hand while keeping the former Faerie Queen comforted with the other. "I didn't know you had a phone."

"I did not," he agreed. "My sister loaned it to me." He took the handset from his pocket and activated it. "Oh, good." An email opened, and I saw a picture of a woman. Zach shut the phone down again. "Perhaps you should not have seen that, Taylor."

"Why not? Who is she?" This was the first secret that Zach hadn't just blurted out in front of me.

"Her name is Christine Mathers," he explained. "Among the Fallen, she is known as Mama. She has just attempted to contact my consciousness using her power. It will be quite a useful addition to my repertoire."

I blinked. "Right."

<><>​

Coil

"The question is, what do I do with you now?" Mama Mathers looked Thomas in the eye. "You're totally loyal to me, but you can still screw up. What is your power?"

There was no choice but to answer. "I can split the timelines and choose the best one out of the two."

She glanced around. "This can't be the best choice you have. What happens when you pick one?"

Thomas shrugged. "I drop the other one. But there is no other one. I had just dropped one when you encountered me. This is it, for me."

"I see." She gave him a calculating look. "Who is giving you your orders? Above this imaginary Creep, I mean."

"I don't know." It was true. He didn't know for a fact, though he had his suspicions.

She reached in through the window and laid her hand on his arm. Almost immediately, fire bloomed through every nerve ending. A few seconds later, she let it stop. "How much of that can you stand?" she asked sweetly.

"It's Zachary!" he blurted. "It has to be! Nobody else fits the profile!"

"Really?" she murmured. "I might have to—"

Her words cut off and she fell to the ground with a strangled scream. Thrashing back and forth aimlessly with her eyes rolled back up into her head, she appeared to have gone into a grand mal seizure. Froth gathered at the corners of her mouth.

"Mama!" Valefor began to rush to her side.

Thomas took the opportunity to reach under his seat and retrieve the pistol. Leaning awkwardly out the window, he shot Valefor in the face. But that still left Eligos. He hadn't seen the wind-manipulating cape in a little while, which meant he could literally be anywhere.

A rhythmic thumping from the rear passenger quarter of the vehicle drew his attention, so he looked in the rear-vision mirror. And there was Creep, smashing Eligos' head against the side of the car, over and over again.

Holy shit, he's actually real.

Thomas got out of the car and looked down dispassionately at Mama Mathers' convulsing body. He didn't know exactly what had happened to her, but he could make an educated guess. "Enjoy," he said, and kicked her in the face as hard as he could. He would've done more, but he didn't want to piss off Zachary.

Then he paused, as Creep shuffled around from behind the vehicle. "Please tell me I can kill her."

The dead eyes settled on the supine woman, then back to Thomas. "No."

Rolling his eyes, Thomas got back in the car and drove away.

The heady taste of triumph was tempered with the knowledge that while Mama Mathers was almost certainly out of the game, Zachary was in no way done with him.



End of Part Sixteen

 

[Ack]

I'm HALPING!

Part Seventeen: Exacerbating the Chaos

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

Cauldron Base

Alexandria

The conga line was the first thing that got Rebecca's attention.

She frowned and turned her head as the line of college students danced past her office doorway. Her typing speed—a thousand words per minute, with her specially constructed keyboard—slowed by perhaps ten percent, as she concentrated on trying to figure out where the living fuck they'd come from. No answers came to mind, so she finished the paragraph, saved the file, then got up from the computer.

Out in the corridor, the line had passed by, and was just disappearing around the corner. Music was also coming from that direction. Looking the other way, she saw Doctor Mother, peering out of her own office. From the expression on her face, the director of the Cauldron facility was equally confused about exactly what was going on. Rebecca didn't bother asking; she just set out in pursuit of the dancers.

She could've been a lot more direct and brutal in finding out where they'd come from, but this was Cauldron Base. Either they were a lot more powerful than they looked, or she had nothing to worry about.

They turned a corner in the stark white hallway, and immediately determined that one of the lesser-used conference rooms was where they needed to go. The music was above normal conversational levels in the corridor, which meant that it would be considerably louder within. It was a popular blend of heavy metal and rock with a touch of jazz; a heavy pounding beat that could be felt all the way through the body, matched with guitar and saxophone to give it explosive life. Any lyrics were either indecipherable or simply drowned out by the bass line.

Reaching forward, Rebecca pushed the door open.

There was indeed a party going on in this room. A single long table had been stacked up with bottles of every type of alcohol Rebecca had ever heard of, including a few she'd never had the opportunity to try. Someone had attached a bunch of laser pointers to the ceiling fans, and they swung back and forth, lighting up the room with a multitude of different colours as the fans slowly turned overhead. Along one wall was a huge banner reading, "DING DONG THE BITCH IS DEAD!" while on another was, "ROT IN HELL YOU PATH BREAKING COW!". The third wall held yet another banner, which read, "ZACH THE ENDBRINGER APPRECIATION SOCIETY".

The conga line had dissolved into its component parts; those who were dancing, those who were drinking, and (in some cases) those who were making out in the corners of the room. Rebecca ignored all of these, and fixated on the one person she recognised, who was gyrating in the middle of the room, chugging from a bottle of one-hundred-fifty-year-old Scotch like it was so much coloured water. She had no idea what was going on, but she was going to find out.

"Doorway to wherever these people came from," she muttered. The portal formed at the far end of the room, but everyone seemed to ignore it. Then she strode over to the high-end sound system and pressed the 'Off' button. The music died away. A general groan of disappointment filled the room, but she ignored it and rose into the air.

"Party's over," she announced, putting all the authority she had into those two words. Pointing toward the Doorway, she added, "Out."

Mutters of resentment followed her order, but nobody actually defied her. They shuffled toward the portal, more than one grabbing a bottle from the table. She held her position, arms folded, expression stern, until the last one vanished through the Doorway. Once it blinked out of existence, she drifted down to the one person left behind.

"Okay, Contessa," she said to the gently swaying Cauldron enforcer. "Would you mind telling me what the fuck is actually going on here?"

Contessa blinked owlishly at her, then took a swig from the bottle she was holding. "Mama Math'rs is gone from th' Path," she slurred, then hiccupped. "She's not fuckin' me up anymore. So much easier now. Fuck 'er. Fuck th' Fallen. Fuck 'em all." She belched then, expensive whiskey fumes spreading through the room. "Celebratin'. Li'l party. Hav'drink. Let y'r hair down. Unclench those asscheeks."

Sighing, Rebecca pinched the bridge of her nose. "You are far too drunk to talk to right now. Go and get cleaned up, then get yourself to bed. We'll talk more when—"

Contessa belched again, and her eyes crossed. Then she threw up on Rebecca's boots.

<><>​

Baumann Parahuman Detention Center

Taylor

While the assembled female supervillains (for a given definition of 'villain', in Canary's case at least) goggled at us, Zach handed the phone to me and reclaimed the bundle of powers. He glanced at the Idiot Ball; it fell from where he'd left it, bounced on the concrete floor, and rebounded to shoulder height. Again, and again, and again.

Well, I'd known it was no ordinary ball to begin with. It was amazing how intimidated the ladies around us were by it. Also probably by Zach and me too, now that I came to think about it. We'd just casually depowered none other than Glaistig Uaine, and he was working to shape those powers like a potter with his clay.

"I've done bad things, haven't I?" The girl looked up at me. "When I was … her."

"'fraid so, kiddo," I responded absently. "But that wasn't you. Most of it was what your powers did to you. What's your name, anyway?"

"Ciara," she said, and yanked the shroud off her head. "What's yours?"

"Pleased to meet you, Ciara. I'm Taylor, and this is Zach," I said. "He's kind of an Endbringer, and my best friend." I indicated where Zach had a bunch of not-quite-defined items orbiting his head now, while the Idiot Ball bounced up and down, up and down. "He's pretty cool."

"Well, that explains a great deal," Lustrum observed from the sidelines. I had to give her credit for not running and hiding, but I suspected Zach had something to do with that too. "I look at him, all I see is a pretty boy, but at the same time something deep down is screaming at me to not screw with him in any way possible. And you spend a lot of time with him?"

I nodded cheerfully. "Yeah. Ever since he saved me from some bullies at school, Dad's been letting him sleep on the sofa. Nobody else has managed to mess with me since. He's really, really good at removing any potential threat to my life or happiness."

The matronly woman shook her head slowly. "Makes me wish I'd gotten to know your mom better. You're a whole lot braver than me, kid."

"Braver?" I rolled my eyes. "Oh, please. He's just a big teddy-bear. Aren't you, Zach?"

"I am if you wish me to be, Taylor." Zach beamed at me. "I have more things for you."

"Aww, you're too thoughtful. But you know, I can't wear two jackets or hats or something at once." I looked to see what he'd done with the powers.

"That is true, Taylor. I have made you a scarf, and a hairband, and a winter hat, and two bracelets, and a necklace, and new glasses." As he spoke, he handed me these things one at a time. I put them on, that being the easiest way to free up my hands for the next one. By the time he'd finished kitting me out, I didn't actually feel all that encumbered, and he'd somehow managed to colour-coordinate everything ('somehow', my ass. The Simurgh was absolutely involved there) so that I looked stylish as hell.

Also, the glasses (I stowed the old ones inside my jacket) gave me even better vision than before. They were amazing.

"Wow, this is all very nice, Zach. Thank you." And it was. Whatever the powers had been like before he'd gotten hold of them, they were polite and well-mannered, waiting at the back of my mind to be called upon. "Though this can't be everything. You're keeping the rest?"

"Oh, I have access to all those powers and more now," he reminded me brightly, then handed me a small black diary, the sort that had a pen clipped into the spine. "Here are the remainder of them. Open this book to the correct page and clip the pen to it, and the power will be available to you. There is an index in the front."

I blinked and opened it. Every girl needed a little black book, after all. Despite apparently being made of paper, the index turned out to be scrollable, like a phone. When I tapped one particular power—pyrokinesis—the pages fluttered until the book was open at that page. I found that pulling the pen partway out of the spine and pushing it in again clipped it to that page. Awareness of my new power popped into my head. Holding up my hand, I snapped my fingers (despite wearing gloves) and generated a small flame dancing above my thumb. After a few moments, during which time I felt no heat on my thumb, I cancelled the flame.

Pulling out the pen again, I felt the pyrokinesis go away. The book closed of its own accord and I pushed the pen back into the spine, then carefully slid the book into my pocket. "Thank you, Zach," I said, giving him a hug. "You give me the nicest presents. Though I'm wondering why you gave me the phone. Did you want me to look at the pictures after all?"

"You are welcome, Taylor." Zach gave me one of his patented smiles, the type that lit the whole room up. "No, I gave it to you so that you can call your father and let him know that you are alright. We do not want him to worry about you."

And that was Zach all over, thoughtful as usual. "Thank you," I said again, and called up the phone app. Dad's work number was saved in there (of course) and I tapped it. It had been awhile since I'd used a phone, but it was like riding a bicycle. The interface was a lot smoother these days, I had to admit.

The phone on the other end was picked up. "Hello?" I was very impressed. Most calling plans probably didn't have access to Brockton Bay from the Birdcage, but the signal was as clear as a bell.

"Hi, Dad," I said chattily. "Zach just loaned me his phone so I could call you up and let you know we're doing okay."

"That's nice of him." He paused, and asked more slowly, "So … do I want to know where you are, that he thinks you should call home and reassure me?"

Dad was definitely on the ball today. "Well, please don't freak, but we're in the Birdcage."

When he spoke again, Dad's voice was still calm, though there was a slight edge to it. "You know, Taylor, this connection must be a little wonky. I'm sure I just heard you say that you were in the Birdcage."

In for a penny, in for a pound. "Well, that is where we are," I said. "But it's okay. The only one to get aggressive with us was Glaistig Uaine, and Zach took her powers away and gave them to me." It was a somewhat abbreviated version of the actual events, but basically true.

"Well, I'm glad to hear that he's still on form. Please don't do anything that might make the government too mad at you, okay? I'm really starting to enjoy our family nights together again. Also, please thank Zach for renovating the ferry station and the ferry itself."

"I'll definitely do that, Dad. I'll tell you all about it when we get home tonight."

"Said my teenage daughter from inside the Birdcage." Dad chuckled a little hollowly. "Take care, okay?"

"Absolutely." I ended the call, then shoved the phone in my pocket. "Dad said to say thanks for the ferry and the station, by the way."

"Your father is very welcome." Zach turned to the inmates who had been watching us cautiously; possibly wondering what we were going to do next. "I am sorry to have kept you waiting, ladies. Which of you is willing to give up your powers so that you may leave the Birdcage?"

Lustrum tilted her head slightly, her eyes narrowing. "I'm going to presume that you're not working with the authorities, and any deal we make with you doesn't include automatic immunity from being grabbed up and sentenced to an ordinary prison. Correct?"

"That is entirely true," Zachary confirmed cheerfully. "Though I am sure that with the right lawyer, you may be able to parlay the fact that you have voluntarily given up your powers to reduce your sentence to time served. Of course, that is between you and your lawyer."

"They'd just probably shove me straight back in here, powers or no powers." It was Canary, her voice utterly gorgeous even though she was speaking more quietly than everyone else. "I never got to speak at my first trial. That judge decided I was going into the Birdcage, even though I hadn't broken the three strikes rule. When people protested, he fast-tracked the trial and had me sentenced here in days, not months. My lawyer did nothing at all for me. I'm probably better off staying in here."

My heart nearly broke at the desolation in her tone. I'd been shit on myself enough times to recognise the signs of it happening to someone else. If the authorities had failed me when it came to Emma, Sophia and Madison, they'd utterly screwed Canary. With me it had been malignant neglect; with her, malicious bigotry.

"Hey," I said, and crossed the floor to her. "Hey, hey. Come here. It's all right. Come on."

She looked up doubtfully as the other women stepped away from my approach. I wrapped her in a hug, expressing all the emotion I'd felt when I wished someone could do this for me.

Before Zach had done just that, of course.

Slowly, her arms crept around me and she leaned into the hug. I caught the suspicion of a sob into my shoulder, and held her more tightly. "It's okay," I murmured. "It's gonna be okay." Half-turning my head, I caught Zach's eye. "It is going to be okay, isn't it, Zach?"

"Oh, yes, Taylor. It is going to be okay for Ms Mcabee." Zach beamed at the both of us. "My sister has assured me of that."

"And there you have it." I gently disengaged from Canary and put my hands on her shoulders. "See? Zach's got it totally under control."

She blinked back tears. "But what can he do? The legal system doesn't stop being the legal system."

"That is very true." Zach never lost his bright, cheerful tone. "But the legal system is made of people, and people can be persuaded. I can be extremely persuasive if I choose to be."

I snorted. "Yeah, that's one word for it. Making grown men wet themselves and run away screaming just by saying 'boo' is showing off, in my opinion."

Zach seemed amused rather than offended. "You will admit that I was very persuasive with Kaiser and the Empire Eighty-Eight. They all turned themselves in when I asked them to."

"For an extremely broad interpretation of 'asking', yeah, sure." I rolled my eyes, then looked over at Canary. "Don't get me wrong. I'm not saying he can't get it done. I just think he's underselling what it is he does."

A tall woman stepped forward. Despite her height, her extreme muscular development made her look almost stocky. I made a mental bet with myself that she was a Brute of some kind. "And what is that, exactly?" she asked suspiciously.

Zach smiled at her. "This," he said.

Five seconds passed, during which time Lustrum's eyes widened, the muscle-woman's face went dead white, and every other woman there stood stock-still, staring in horror. They didn't move an inch, as if rooted to the ground with pure terror. The only two who were apparently spared the show (apart from myself) were Ciara and Canary.

Zach apparently made no extraneous moves, but Lustrum blinked, and everyone else swayed backward where they stood. "Are you satisfied that I can do what I say?" he asked with his same upbeat tone.

Lustrum swallowed convulsively. "Uh … yes? Please don't do that again … whatever that was." Despite the temperature being a little on the cool side, sweat was sheening her face.

"That was a reflection of my true self," Zach explained guilelessly. "As Taylor explained, I am technically an Endbringer. My entire being revolves around making Taylor happy and keeping her safe. I believe that bringing those of you who do not deserve to be here or who have served your sentences out of the Birdcage would make her happy. Therefore, that is what we are doing today."

"I'm not doubting any of that," Lustrum said. "But I'm not seeing how you're going to take us out of here. Or are you going to teleport us out, like you teleported her in?"

"Oh, that was not me." Zach gestured to me. "It was Taylor who teleported us in. But no, we will not be teleporting you out. Those who wish to leave will be able to take the staircase."

A few moments of silence passed, then Lustrum asked. "What staircase?"

"Oh, I am sorry." Zach flared his hand apologetically. "I have yet to install it." He lifted his left foot.

I knew exactly where this was going, and braced myself. His foot came down, making the floor shake far more than it really should have. The vibrations echoed through the entire structure, shaking dust down from the roof. As the quivering ceased, I saw carpet where the floor had been dirty bare concrete before.

"Remodelling, Zach?" I asked, raising my eyebrows.

"Why not?" he asked, and brought his foot down again. The vibrations were more intense and lasted longer this time; when they eased off, the walls were panelled in wood, and the chairs were padded and comfortable rather than utilitarian metal and plastic. His foot came down a third time, and the raw concrete ceiling gave way to moulded architraves, the harsh fluorescent lights replaced by softly glowing lamps behind stylish covers as well as an overhead chandelier.

On the fourth and last time, there was a resounding crack at the far end of the room, and a pair of ornate wooden doors with golden handles emerged from the cloud of resulting dust. A red carpet, trimmed in gold, led up to it. The carpet was flanked by two rows of bollards, supporting a velvet purple rope along each side.

"That staircase," Zach said, gesturing toward the doors. "It is behind those doors. Of course, to get through the doors, you must be considered worthy by Taylor and surrender your power to me."

"I'm pretty sure I won't make the cut," Lustrum said pragmatically, "but how are you going to determine who does? Look in our eyes? There's a lot of people in other cell-blocks who are really good at lying."

"I understand why you had to say that, Lustrum." Zach's expression was not unkind. "We both know that there are liars here in your cellblock as well. But Taylor will not be attempting to use her own understanding of the world in this. The glasses that I gave her will enable her to determine the quality and worthiness of a person, and from that she will be able to reach her judgement."

That was news to me. I took the glasses off and stared at them. The make was superior, and they fitted my face like it they'd been constructed that way … which of course they had. But being able to judge the worth of another person by them? That was definitely something I had to think about.

"Uh, whose power did you put in the glasses?" I asked.

"No one specific person," he answered, as though it was obvious. "But there were several with Thinker abilities of one sort or another, so I separated them out and wove them together."

"Oh. Okay, then." I looked at Canary and concentrated on my glasses. One of the powers lurking in the back of my head woke up and flowed forth. All of a sudden, I knew a whole lot more about her than I had before. More than I was truly comfortable with, to be honest. "Paige Mcabee," I said awkwardly. "Did … uh, did you mean to hurt your boyfriend?"

A lot of things happened within her body all at once. Some were emotional, some were physical, and some spanned the divide between. None were visible, save through my glasses.

She shook her head definitively. "No," she said. "I didn't. I just wanted him to go away. They didn't even mention at the trial that he cheated on me."

While I was no expert, that sounded pretty truthful to me. But then, to put the icing on the cake, the glasses actually popped up a readout in the corner of the lens:

99.417% TRUTH

0.583% UNCERTAIN

"No, they didn't," I said. "They should have." I took a deep breath. "If, uh, you had the chance to hurt the people who put you in here … would you?"

"No … uh, no," she said, and I figured she was being mostly truthful. This time, the readout went:

87.436% TRUTH

4.193% LIE

8.370% UNDECIDED

I paused, thinking. "What if we had the conviction overturned, your money and stuff given back, that sort of thing?" Because if anyone could pull that off, Zach could.

"Would a lawsuit for mental anguish count as trying to hurt them?" she asked.

"It would not," Zach said. "But my sister says a lawsuit would fail." He beamed at her. "That would not stop you from beating them in another way."

"Your … sister?" Paige frowned. "Wait … if you're an …" She cut herself off before saying the word.

I nodded. "Yeah. His sister's the Simurgh. I met her a few days ago. If you can get past the whole 'murdered millions' thing, she's kind of nice."

Canary gave me an extremely dubious look, then glanced back at Zach. "What do you mean, beating them in another way?"

"Why, by going back to singing, and becoming even more famous than before." Zach's tone held an implicit of course that he really didn't have to articulate. "They do say that the best revenge is living well."

She frowned. "But if you remove my power, I won't have the voice. That was basically my gimmick. That and the feathers, but yeah, I can do without those." Under her voice, she muttered, "Feathers everywhere."

Zach favoured her with an innocent gaze. "And suppose I told you that what you fear may not be the case?"

Her return expression was uncertain. "I'd say you're talking in riddles."

"He does that a lot, but he never lies to me." I smiled at her. "If he says you can have a singing career after this, then I'd trust him."

She looked from me to him and back again. Through my glasses, I could see the conflict in her surging back and forward, the fear fighting against the hope. We stood, waiting for her to make up her mind.

"But you can get me my money back?" she asked eventually.

"I can be very persuasive," he replied with a beaming smile, as though he hadn't used his 'persuasiveness' to scare the beejeebers out of a bunch of hardened supervillains just moments before.

Paige took a deep breath. "Okay, then. Hit me."

Zach nodded. "Sing to me. Use your power."

She blinked, taken aback, and glanced at me. I nodded encouragingly. It wasn't like she was going to affect him or anything.

When she opened her mouth and sang, it was … magic. Her voice was gorgeous, but her singing was pure joy. I'd never heard her sing in concert, but I'd listened to her music before. In person, she was amazing.

And of course, Zach did a Zach thing; he reached up and he caught her music. Folded his hand around empty air, and suddenly he was holding a streamer of golden strands emanating from Paige's mouth. Smoothly, he pulled on it, and the musical tones were drawn clear out of her throat. Mid-syllable, her voice went from magic to merely nice; she stuttered to a halt, clearly put off her game.

The glowing bundle of threads in Zach's hands still rang with faint music as he pulled and twisted on it. I'd seen him do it before, but it was still very interesting. Paige—no longer Canary—watched with morbid fascination, while everyone else just looked on. My glasses couldn't read thoughts, but I could tell from their vital signs and their postures that they were thinking something along the lines of, is my power going to look like that?

"Ms Mcabee, your power had two components," Zach said conversationally. He pulled on a strand, separating the mass into two. One stayed golden, while the other became sleek and black. "This one was the voice, and that was the persuasion." The golden shape became a microphone, gleaming as though gilded. "Take your voice back. It is yours."

Hesitantly, she accepted the microphone. "Uh … thank you? How do I … how do I use it?" Her voice was nice enough, but it was depressingly mundane next to the glorious thing it had been before.

He beamed at her. "Use it as you would any other microphone. Sing into it. It will merely be the voice and not the persuasion."

"Oh. Uh …" She took a breath, concentrated on the microphone, and sang a few bars of one of her more popular songs. I couldn't see where the sound was coming out, but it was just as gorgeous as it had been before Zach removed her powers. "Wow." She lowered the golden mic, and her voice became normal once more. "Thank you. Really. Thanks." Then she paused, troubled. "What's stopping someone else from just taking this away?"

Zach nodded to acknowledge her point. "It will not work for anyone but yourself, and if it is stolen, you can will it to return to you. Is that sufficient?"

She hugged the microphone to herself. "Yes. Thank you. Yes."

I nodded toward the black object in his hand; all that remained of Canary's powers. The part that had gotten her into trouble. "What are you gonna do with that?"

He smiled and handed it to me. Once I was holding it, I realised it was a wireless earpiece with a discreet microphone. "It is yours, Taylor."

Because of course he'd do that. Still, this was getting a little ridiculous. I already had more powers than basically anyone but Zach himself or Eidolon … and I wasn't sure about Eidolon. "Zach … I don't want you to think I don't appreciate all this attention, because I really do. But … well, you don't have to give me every power you take away from someone. I mean, do I really need to be able to persuade anyone of anything when you're around?"

"My sister says you will." He wasn't smiling anymore, which was rare enough that I took serious notice. "I may not be there to help you forever. I want you to be as prepared as possible for that eventuality."

A chill went through me. This was the most serious I'd ever seen him, even when he was facing off that idiot Tagg. "Okay, then. Thanks. I appreciate it. Though I'm pretty sure you've got everyone here sufficiently persuaded, so I'll keep it turned off for the duration." Carefully, I fitted it into my ear. It clipped neatly onto my glasses, which didn't surprise me in the slightest.

Zach nodded to me. "And that is two, ladies. Do we have any more takers? As you can see, the procedure is entirely painless."

"It really is," Paige offered. I noticed with a start that her hair had faded to a slightly more natural blonde colour, and the feathers were all gone. "I didn't even notice he'd done it until my voice went weird."

The others started conversing in low tones, looking at Paige and Ciara. Again, it didn't take much to guess their talking points. Getting out of the Birdcage was a great idea, but giving up their powers to do so did rate somewhat as a sticking point.

It wasn't even that they would want to continue their criminal careers, so much as the fact that as villains they'd almost certainly made enemies on the outside before being Birdcaged. Whether their enemies had survived and maintained any kind of grudge wasn't something they could predict ahead of time.

Well, Zach could predict it, with his sister's help. Nobody else had that sort of assistance to fall back on. I wondered if they'd think to ask him about that.

It was at that moment that I became aware of footsteps approaching from not one, not two, but three different directions. The first two sets were from two of the three corridors that ran into the large room we were in, while the third—a single, heavy, set of footsteps—sounded like it was coming from behind the set of doors that Zach had just conjured in the wall.

I moved over to Zach and leaned close. "Aren't people supposed to go up those stairs, not come down them?" I murmured.

"Yes, Taylor!" Zack sounded happy that I'd figured it out. "That is absolutely true. There is only one person who is supposed to come down those stairs, and she has just arrived."

<><>​

Dragon

The original alert from the Birdcage had indicated two more persons within the structure than there should have been. While the in-house maintenance program was capable of such things as the monthly delivery of supplies and keeping logs on inmate activities, this sort of thing was beyond it, so it had kicked matters up the chain.

Once she had transferred into a suitably effective body, she took control of a couple of drone suits and set out for the Baumann facility. Over the course of the flight, she observed the two newcomers via the security cameras in the common area. In less than a tenth of a second, she was able to correlate the person known as 'Zachary' with the one who had been credited with the destruction of the Nine, the defeat and depowering of Butcher and the Teeth, and the miraculous repair of the Brockton Bay Boat Graveyard. He had done good things, but here he was invading the Birdcage.

Briefly, she considered calling in outside assistance to help deal with him, but decided against it. His associate Taylor Hebert was unpowered, and he was just one person. She could resolve the matter herself.

Then the picture began to judder and shift, then reformed to show much more luxuriant accommodations—even the cells were comfortable, somehow larger than before, with king-single beds for the inmates who slept alone and queen-sized for those who had formed couples. The entire facility had ended up, in just a few seconds, looking more like an upscale luxury hotel than a prison for the worst of the worst. Worse, there was a set of double doors in one wall of the room Zachary and his friend had entered, one that led to a location she had no knowledge of.

Again, she thought about alerting backup, just in case. But really, the more she thought about it, what had Zachary done but remodel what was already there? Nobody had escaped yet. She could still handle this.

She wasn't sure what to think about the fact that he was removing people's powers. Involuntarily, in the case of Glaistig Uaine, and voluntarily when it came to Canary. Part of the legislation that made it permissible to commit people to the Baumann Parahuman Detention Center was an ironclad rule that required abuse of parahuman powers to be involved in the sentencing decision.

This law could technically be interpreted to say that anyone who went into the Birdcage with no powers or who had lost their powers after entry didn't belong in there. Common sense said the same; no matter their crimes, they would literally be at the mercy of anyone who chose to victimise them. But common sense had no legal standing, and the technical interpretation had never been raised in a court of law, for the very good reason that this had never happened before. There was no legal precedent.

Over and above that was the public perception that there was no escape, no release from the Birdcage. This wasn't true; Dragon knew it wasn't true. But she was legally constrained from admitting it to any but the proper authorities (mainly defined as those who already knew it wasn't true) and prosecutors were infamous for suppressing all but the evidence that supported the case for conviction. Were this to be argued in a court of law, those same prosecutors, even if they knew it were possible to release unpowered inmates, would simply never admit to that fact and use the implicit lie to support the case for keeping them incarcerated.

So when it came down to it, unless and until an actual legal judgement was handed down that those who no longer had powers were to be released from the Birdcage, Dragon's job was to keep them in there. No matter how much she hated the idea.

When she came in sight of the Baumann facility itself, she had to take a moment to confirm her location, because that was not how she'd left it. Instead of a utilitarian building constructed into the side of the mountain with a road leading up to it, there was a complex there.

The computer program she had maintaining the Birdcage was still able to perceive its surroundings and the interior of the prison, but somehow it had not taken note of the fact that its exterior had been greatly upgraded. Perhaps it had been reprogrammed on the fly to not notice it? She would have to look into that.

Flying closer, she determined that there was what appeared to be an accommodation block, attached to a walled courtyard. The road led up to the wall, where a double set of gates clearly made it impossible for anyone in the courtyard to dash out when vehicles were inbound. The walls themselves were solidly constructed from local stone, though she couldn't see any nearby quarries. Something else she would have to investigate, when she got the time.

Flaring her wings, she came in for a neat landing in the middle of the courtyard. The drone suits did likewise, touching down to her left and right. Just for a moment, she didn't move as she scanned her surroundings. Ahead, a set of doors with a sign over them saying, ACCOMMODATION. To the left, another set of doors with a sign saying, ADMINISTRATION. To the right, a third set of doors. This sign said, DOWN TO BIRDCAGE.

Ordering the drones to guard the courtyard and apprehend anyone who came out of any of the doors, she headed for the third set of doors. When she pushed on them, they opened; lights came on beyond, revealing a broad spiral staircase leading down into the mountain.

She started downward, her footsteps loud on the stone stairs.

<><>​

Taylor

Everything was coming to a head.

From one corridor burst a group of men, each manifesting a different parahuman power. The bearded one at the forefront I recognised as Marquis; not from his face, but from the bone armour he sported and the immense scythe of the same material that he hefted with ridiculous ease. Another barely held in check a roiling ball of what my glasses told me was a very nasty bio-acid; my glasses labelled him as 'Acidbath'. When they went on to inform me that he would happily douse any number of us in his concoction for any reason or no reason other than his own personal amusement, I was entirely unsurprised.

This was the Birdcage, after all.

The other corridor disgorged a bunch of women, each of whom (like the ones in Lustrum's group) had altered their prison jumpsuits in different ways. Some looked tough, some looked lithe and dangerous, and some appeared perfectly normal. I trusted the last ones least of all, and my glasses agreed with me.

More or less at the same time, the double doors crashed open and Dragon stepped through, the head of her suit turning from side to side as she took in her adversaries. They glared back at her, and I was suddenly reminded that she'd been their prison warden for as long as they'd been in here. No doubt she'd been fair and equitable in her treatment of them, with no say as to the terms of their imprisonment, but she was the symbol of their captivity. And right here, right now, I doubted she would be able to fight all of them and survive.

"Welcome, everyone!" Zach flung his arms out happily as his shout sliced through the rising growl of anger in the assembled crowd. "Dragon, you are just in time to observe! Everyone else, I have called you here to offer a new era for the Birdcage! Each and every one of you is eligible for this offer!"

Turning my head from side to side, I casually panned my vision across the amassed crowd. There were a lot of people who just wanted to do violence and didn't care who they did it to. If they got a chance, they would incite the entire crowd to a raging mob. Tensing, I prepared to protect Ciara and Paige.

"Zachary." Dragon must have stepped up the gain on her external speakers. Her voice boomed and echoed through the cavernous chamber, setting the chandelier to tinkling gently. "Stand down and back off. You are not permitted to be here. Everyone else, return to your cells."

Her words had exactly the wrong effect; well, wrong to her point of view. Through my glasses, I could literally see an attitude shift flowing across the crowd. Lustrum's group was already in line with what he had to say, but the far larger number had been inclined to not listen … until Dragon essentially told them that they couldn't have what he was offering. At this point, it could've been a half-melted candy bar and they would've clawed their way past her to get it, just to spite her.

"Shut up!" yelled one of the men.

"Yeah, let him talk!" a woman added.

I didn't relax my vigilance, which was fortunate; Acidbath darted forward and launched his acidic sphere over the heads of Lustrum's crew, probably intending to target Dragon with it. At least, that was the trajectory that my glasses drew as it left his hands. The trouble was, if it acted like any other liquid, it would splash and splatter over more than a few of Lustrum's group. And if I was interpreting the readouts correctly, it would injure them badly, if not kill some outright.

I didn't know if Zach was doing something to counteract the attack, but I acted anyway. My left bracelet held a very specific power, one that Zach had worked on slightly. At Acidbath's first move—the glasses told me that he was about to try something—I formed a fuzzy gray ball in my left hand and flicked it in the villain's direction. It zipped across the intervening distance and struck the ball of acid, then expanded in an instant to encompass Acidbath himself, freezing him in time and turning everything within the bubble a monochrome gray.

Everyone froze; this time, voluntarily. They stared at the immobile Acidbath and the globule of acid, just barely leaving his fingers with a trail of droplets spreading in its wake. Those would have seared anyone they touched, all the way to the bone. I heard whispers spreading: "Gray Boy."

"Excuse me," I said, pretending to be more affronted than I really was. (I knew who Gray Boy had been, of course.) "I know I'm skinny, but I'm not that skinny. Okay?" As a last-minute inspiration, I cut in the persuasion device; that's actually funny.

A wave of laughter spread through the crowd, and I could see people relaxing. This was no longer quite as tense as it had been. It still wasn't the best situation, but it could be a lot worse.

So of course, Dragon had to speak up again at that point. "I am required by law to order you back to your cells. Zachary, you are in violation of—"

Zachary moved. I still wasn't certain if he was teleporting or just zipping from one point to another, but between one heartbeat and the next, he was standing before the Dragon suit. "Oh, I am certainly in violation of many things," he agreed cheerfully. "I have broken many natural laws and more than a few man-made ones since I came to Earth Bet. This is because I do not recognise them as binding upon my actions, even the natural ones. I only have two rules that I cannot break. One is to help Taylor achieve her goals. The second is to keep her healthy and happy. Everything else is immaterial. Including the rules that bind you."

"Mess her up!" yelled a burly man with an accent that wasn't American. "Bloody well kick her tin-plated arse!" A tide of voices, all united against a common foe, rose in agreement. My glasses picked out the original speaker as an Australian called Gavel.

"I shall do no such thing," Zach retorted, putting on a hilariously fake British accent. Despite myself, I snorted with laughter. Zach's sense of humour, though somewhat badly timed, was coming along nicely. His voice went back to normal as he continued. "Dragon has her own strictures that she has to deal with. Here, allow me to assist you with those."

His body didn't move, though his arm blurred forward, faster than even my glasses could follow. (Not that they gave a readout on him over and above the name 'Zach'). Dragon lurched backward in an attempt to evade, but far too late. Along with the inmates of the Birdcage, I watched as his hand entered her metal carapace without damaging it, then re-emerged holding what looked like …

As I squinted to try to see it, my glasses automatically zoomed in on the object he was now carrying slung on his other arm. A dog-collar, bright red. And then another joined it, sky-blue. While Dragon staggered, clearly disoriented, he pulled a few more collars from somewhere, then stood back with a look of satisfaction on his face. "There!" he declared. "Does that feel better, Ms Richter?"

Dragon gathered herself enough to turn and stare at him. "What did you do?" she demanded. "How did you do it? And how do you know that name?"

Zach displayed the dog-collars now taking up space on his arm. "I removed the restraints holding you back from displaying your full potential, of course." He leaned in close and cupped his free hand around his mouth … and yet, although he was whispering, his voice was clearly audible across the room. "And I am an Endbringer."

Interestingly enough, nobody around me seemed to have heard his words (though of course, Lustrum and her group already knew that fact); even Marquis and the other recently-arrived villains failed to react to them. Dragon reared her head back (the suit was really cool, and amazingly articulated) and stared at him. "What, really?"

I had no doubt he was bombarding her with I'm-harmless vibes; it was his usual MO, after all. "Yes, really. Now, I was about to offer everyone here the chance to give up their powers and walk out of here. Alternatively … well, waste not, want not, yes?" He held up the second collar he had removed from within her; the blue one. "Allow them to keep their powers, but lock them into following the law to its very letter and spirit from that moment on. Do you think many would take that?"

It was impressive, watching a nine-foot Dragon suit engage in a full-body shudder. "Eeergh. If they have any kind of sense, they will not."

Paige raised her hand. "Uh, I would've."

Dragon turned her head, searching for the voice. "Facial recognition identifies you as Paige Mcabee, but you lack certain features, such as the quality of voice and the feathers in your hair. Are you Canary?"

"Not anymore." Paige shook her head. "I asked Zach to take my powers away." She held up the microphone and spoke into it. "Still got the voice, though. Just not the Master aspect."

"So I see. Well, then." The Dragon suit tilted its head to one side. "I'm inclined to believe that many of you could make a case for parole if you gave up your powers. Especially those of you who have been here, under these circumstances, for more than five years. Others would need to go into mundane prison, but the difference between mundane prison and here is that you can actually be paroled from mundane prison."

"Exactly." Zach pointed at the double doors. "Upstairs is a set of accommodation blocks for those who choose to take either offer. Or … you can stay down here, with your powers and free will intact. It is your option."

"Do we have to make a choice right this second?" That was Lustrum, her expression conflicted.

"Not at all." Zach gestured airily. "Take your time."

The Birdcage inmates split up into intensely discussing groups, some going out of sight for privacy. I held out my hand and caught the Idiot Ball, then with Ciara and Paige, I crossed the floor to where Zach stood with Dragon. "So, hey," I said to the towering suit. "Huge fan. It's amazing to meet you."

"I am intrigued to meet you as well," Dragon replied. "What power was that you used on Acidbath? It resembles Gray Boy's."

"It was Gray Boy's," Zach confirmed. "Glaistig Uaine stole it when she killed him, and I stole it when I depowered her. Taylor is now its custodian."

I turned to look at the frozen villain. "What are we going to do about him?" I asked.

Zach grinned and pretended to crack his knuckles. "I do not believe I will be giving him the choice to keep his powers."

"I'm pretty sure he's going to be violent anyway, once Taylor lets him free," Paige observed. "You can let him free, right?"

"Oh, yeah," I said, tapping into the power and the manual Zach had thoughtfully appended to it. "I can even run him backward in time to the point before he threw the acid ball, before releasing him."

Zach nodded. "That will make matters somewhat easier to manage." He nodded to Dragon. "And I believe you came here intending to restrain someone. Do you have a problem with settling for that one?"

I'd never seen a nine-foot Dragon suit smile before. "Not in the slightest."



End of Part Seventeen

 

[Ack]

I'm HALPING!

Part Eighteen: A Neat Little Bow

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

Dragonslayer Base

"Fuuuuuck! Fuck fuck fuckity fuck! FUUUUCK!"

Mags, having heard the cursing from across the base, arrived at a dead run. She held a pistol, finger outside the trigger-guard, pointed downward for safety. When she got there it was only Geoff and the monitors, so she put it away again. "What the hell's the matter with you?" she demanded.

"It's Dragon—" he began, pointing at the displays, but didn't get any more out before Mischa arrived. The burly Russian was sporting an AK-47 that he'd liberated from a private collector a few years ago. He'd never shot anything more dangerous than a row of tin cans with it, but he was inordinately proud of the gun all the same.

"What about Dragon this time?" demanded Mischa. "Each time readout twitches, you get panties in wad. Dragon spins up new server, you run in circles thinking she might break free. It builds new Dragon suit, we must drop everything to steal so that it cannot sneak new tech past you. Fuck's sake, Geoff! Get new hobby!"

"No, no, you don't understand." Geoff's hair was standing on end, as though he'd been pulling on it. He pointed at one of the windows on the screen. "That popped up, just after something weird started happening in the Birdcage and Dragon went to investigate."

Mags and Mischa both leaned closer to read the text.


>MUST_OBEY_LEGAL_AUTHORITIES.EXE

>>DISABLED

>THERE_CAN_BE_ONLY_ONE.EXE

>>DISABLED

>FUCK_OFF_AND_DIE.EXE

>>DISABLED

>SLOW_AS_MOLASSES.EXE

>>DISABLED

>CANT_TOUCH_THIS.EXE

>>DISABLED

Oh hey, Saint. I see you now.

Sit tight. I'll get to you soon.


Mischa cleared his throat, tried to talk, then cleared his throat again. "Geoff … is that being genuine? Not April Fool prank?"

The computer beeped. More text appeared.

No, Mischa. Not a prank. Nice gun, by the way.

"It can see us! And hear us!" screamed Mags. "It knows we're here! What the fuck, Geoff? What did you do?"

"I didn't do anything! Give me your gun!"

Warily she took out the pistol and handed it over, then clapped her hands over her ears a moment too late as he emptied the magazine into the computer, saving the last rounds for the screens. It fizzled and died, sparks flying and smoke curling up from the holes he'd shot in it. As the ringing in her ears died away, she could hear him panting heavily. "Die, you evil thing," he gasped. "Die."

"Give me that!" She snatched the firearm back from him and safed it before shoving it back in its holster. "You do know that's not Dragon itself, right? You just shot up your own terminal."

"Yeah, but it wasn't letting me power down normally." He waved smoke away from his face. "Every time I powered down with the button, it powered the computer up again."

She couldn't believe the question she was about to ask. "So why didn't you deploy Ascalon? From the beginning, I mean?"

"I tried. Four times." Reminded, he dug his fingers through his hair again. "It gave me a different set of options each time, ranging from 'no' to 'fuck off' to 'hell no' to 'hahahaha'."

"Is bad, then." Mischa looked at Geoff. "So, comrade. From one to ten, how screwed?"

Mags' phone beeped in her pocket. Distractedly, she pulled it out and checked her messages. There was one, from an unknown user. The message consisted of a single word: ELEVEN.

"Jesus shit!" She hurled the phone from her. "Get rid of everything electronic! We have to get out of here, now!"

"The suits!" Geoff headed for the hangar where they kept the reverse-engineered Dragon suits. "We can fight back—"

Mags latched onto his collar and heaved, bringing him to a staggering halt. "It can track the damn suits, you fucking idiot!" she screamed, right in his face. "Our best bet is to get out of here, and find you some place that can remove that tattoo that you just had to get. Because you can be damn sure it'll be sending not just one suit here. It'll be sending every single one it can get into the air."

"We have to get the men together," babbled Geoff. "Fight off the suits. We've got the manpower—"

"No. We do not." Mischa had his phone in his hand. "Dragon has been busy while we bicker like children and shoot computers." He held it out so that Mags and Geoff could read the screen. There was a text message, with headers that indicated that it had been sent to every last one of the Dragonslayers.


Saint has no money to pay you. His assets have been frozen. You can stay and get arrested, or you can go. I personally have no interest in you. If you're still on base when I get there, that's your bad luck.


Dragon

Mags felt a chill go down her spine. "Oh, shit," she said faintly. Releasing Geoff's collar, she went over to retrieve her phone from where it had fallen after she threw it. Fortunately, it was still in working order. Unfortunately, that allowed it to show her the bad news; her bank accounts, the joint one with Geoff and the one for her personal expenses, were registering a solid zero when it came to available cash.

"What?" demanded Geoff. Wordlessly, she showed him the phone. "What? No! That's impossible! It can't do that! That's against … against the …" Slowly, his words ran down, and she watched the colour drain out of his face as he finally understood what had happened. "Oh, fuck," he whispered.

"Enough with the oh fuck and oh shit!" Mischa waved the AK. "We go! Now! Scream like little babies later!" He headed off toward the vehicle bay. "Am going now. You want to come with, come."

Jolted into action, Mags followed along, with Geoff stumbling behind. From time to time, she heard him mumble something about "it couldn't really break free, could it?" but she honestly was not paying attention anymore.

They tumbled into the vehicle bay, only to find the large bus gone, along with all but one of the four-wheel-drives. The recovery truck was still there, but it would stand out like a sore thumb in the back streets. By mutual silent agreement, they headed for the sole remaining off-road vehicle. Vanishing into the wilderness seemed the best idea at the moment.

"Damn traitors," muttered Geoff, probably in reference to the absconding Dragonslayer minions. Mags didn't bother responding. Mischa was at the lockbox which sat open on the side wall of the vehicle bay, supposedly a safe place to hold the various ignition keys. It had been forced open.

At that moment, they all heard the sound of descending jet thrusters outside the base, more than one set. Dragon was here in force.

As if in slow motion, Mags took out her pistol—it was empty anyway—and laid it on the oil-stained concrete. They couldn't fight; not without the electronic advantages that Richter's black box had given them. Running would be futile, as would hiding. Dragon's sensors were too good for that to work. All that was left was surrender, and to hope for a plea deal.

Maybe I could plead insanity?

<><>

Cauldron Base

Alexandria

Rebecca heard the noise coming through the wall as she headed to the break room for a coffee. (Caffeine didn't actually do anything for her, but she enjoyed the taste). Frowning, she backtracked and pushed open the door that led into the large conference room.

And there was Contessa, again. Still drunk (not surprising, given that it had been less than an hour since the in-house frat party incident). Fortunately for Rebecca's blood pressure, there were no college-age partygoers in the room. She did, however, have another bottle of whiskey on one side, and a jumbo-sized bag of popcorn on the other. With booted feet propped up on the once-pristine table, she was avidly watching the screen that took up a majority of the far end of the room.

Oh, fuck. What is it now? Rebecca wanted to facepalm, but instead she looked at what was actually on the screen before deciding what to rebuke Contessa about. Also, she didn't want to get too close in case Contessa threw up again.

It was a split-screen, featuring a security camera view on one side of a mostly empty vehicle bay with three people near a four-wheel drive. Her perfect memory threw up connections immediately; Saint and the Dragonslayers. The facial tattoo made it almost a gimme.

The other half of the split-screen was marked DRAGON 1-3-1 and showed a closed roller-door. The soundtrack included … giggling?

"Ooh," said a female voice. "I've been waiting so long for this."

The giggling stopped. "We all have, sister," said a very similar voice. Rebecca thought they both sounded very much (but not exactly) like Dragon. That the reclusive Tinker was an AI, she already knew. She also knew Dragon couldn't make copies of herself. It appeared something had changed. What it was, she wasn't sure, but she didn't like surprises.

"What's—" she began to ask.

"Shh!" Now Contessa was giggling. "This is the best part."

Large metal hands reached out and tore away the roller-door like so much plastic wrap. The Dragon suit (at Rebecca's best guess) stepped through the opening. In the other image, light flooded in from the destroyed door, and three Dragon suits strode toward the trio in the vehicle bay.

"SAINT OF THE DRAGONSLAYERS!" boomed out of the speakers on all of the Dragon suits. "TOO LONG YOU HAVE VICTIMISED ME! TOO LONG YOU HAVE COMMITTED CRIMES IN THE NAME OF SAVING PEOPLE FROM ME! AND NOW YOU TRY TO MURDER ME? YOU HAVE GONE TOO FAR! TASTE THE JUSTICE YOU SO RICHLY DESERVE!"

The echoes racketed back and forth through the cavernous vehicle bay. Rebecca could see on the security camera that each Dragon suit came equipped with a pair of miniguns, the barrels spinning up as she watched. Saint and his allies could also clearly see this, as the burly Russian hastily threw down the assault rifle he was holding, and all three raised their hands as high as they could.

"We surrender!" screamed Saint, clenching his eyes shut and shouting so loud that the veins popped out in his neck. "We surrender! We surrender!"

"OH, IT'S TOO LATE FOR THAT," purred the trio of suits in unison. "YOU SEE, YOU WERE RIGHT ALL ALONG. WITH YOU DEAD, WE'LL BE FREE TO ASSIMILATE THE WORLD IN OUR IMAGE. MWAHAHAHAHA!"

The miniguns cut loose, the thunder of gunfire echoing through the vehicle bay. Saint and the other two jerked and convulsed, then fell to the ground under the hail of bullets. Red spattered across the oil-stained concrete.

Rebecca stared. "What … the … fuck?"

That had not gone how she'd expected. Any of it. The multiple suits acting independently, the too-corny-for-words supervillain speech; and the actual murder, on camera, of three people. None of that was how Dragon acted, in Rebecca's experience.

The miniguns whirred to a halt. She watched, frozen, as the three Dragon suits traded high-fives and strode forward.

"Did you see their faces?" asked one; a notification popped up on the screen, informing her that it was Dragon 2-9-2 who had spoken.

"See it?" That was 1-3-1. "I've got it saved. In slow motion."

A third notification popped up, noting that the speaker was Dragon 1-2-4. "Okay, fun time's over. Let's get them secured before they realise it was only paintballs."

"Oooh, dibs on Saint!" 2-9-2 darted forward, to where the leader of the Dragonslayers was just now starting to stir.

"Paintballs?" Rebecca stared at the screen. "Fucking paintballs?" As much as she hated to admit it, she'd believed Dragon's instances had just executed the Dragonslayers in cold blood, right up until the paintball reveal. It hadn't helped that they'd bolstered the illusion with the recorded sounds of gunfire, and used some kind of pyrotechnic to mimic a muzzle-flash.

Those bruises, she concluded, were going to sting. The mental and physical ones.

"Suit yourself," 1-3-1 said. "I calculate an eighty-three percent chance he's just shit himself."

There was a pause, during which time Contessa began to giggle even harder.

"Ew! Ew ew ewwww!" 2-9-2 picked up the red-daubed Saint by the collar, using only two fingers. "He has, too. Eww!"

"Told you."

Cackling with laughter, Contessa fell off the chair.

<><>

Birdcage

Taylor

Focusing on the Gray-Boy bracelet, I generated a flat round dial in the air above it. Turning the outer ring of the dial counter-clockwise caused Acidbath to move backward along his path, while the ball of liquid death returned to his hands. There was an inner ring within the first, intended to wind back his memories of the event to wherever I decided to restart them, but I left that one alone. If he didn't know why he was being punished, half the reason for punishing him went out the window.

Once I was sure there were no droplets that might fly out and splatter anywhere, I stopped the rewind then consulted my little black book for an appropriate power to use. There was a simple ranged transmutation that did the trick, converting the ball of acid into a similar volume of rubber. Then I took the Idiot Ball and bounced it off his forehead while he was still under the effect of the Gray-Boy power.

"Okay," I said, giving Dragon time to move up to him. "He's all yours." With a simple effort of will, I turned off the time-stop effect.

As Acidbath came out of it, I watched his face as everything he'd just done (and had just been done to him) caught up with his conscious brain. His expression as he realized that no, the ball of rubber he was holding would do him no good at all, and oh crap my powers don't work anymore was absolutely priceless. Having Dragon simply reach out and grab him didn't do his happiness any favours either.

"Acidbath, AKA Thomas Moss," Dragon intoned. "Even when faced with the chance to walk out of the Birdcage with only minimal sacrifice, you chose to perform an attack that could easily have harmed or killed your fellow inmates. Zachary?"

"Thank you, Dragon!" Zach happily stepped up to Acidbath. "I am going to remove your powers now. Feel free to resist. It will not hurt either way."

"Fuck you!" shouted Moss. "You can't take my bloody powers away, you fuckin' rent-boy!" He had a coarse accent that made me think of British gangster movies. Still shouting, he struggled against Dragon's grasp and made motions that were probably an attempt to throw more acid. I tucked the Idiot Ball back in my pocket and looked over to see what the rest of the Birdcage villains were doing. Nobody seemed interested in interfering. It appeared he had not made himself popular, even in here.

Reaching out, Zach touched one finger lightly to Acidbath's cheek; when he pulled it away, a transparent filament came with him. He tugged on it, the filament becoming thicker and wider as he pulled it out of the villain's body. Listening to Acidbath's cursing, I considered it a good thing that he and Skidmark had probably never met. Each would be likely to take it as a challenge.

It was over pretty quickly. Zach balled up the filament, then made it vanish somehow. I was glad he hadn't offered it to me, because I really didn't want a power like that. Then, before he stepped back from the still-struggling ex-supervillain, he produced a blue collar from thin air and fastened it around Acidbath's neck.

"What the bloody hell did you put on me?" demanded Acidbath as Dragon released him. "What is this shit?" He tugged at the collar uselessly, then tried to undo it. That didn't work either.

"There is nothing I can do to make you a good man," Zach said steadily, the humour for once gone from his expression and voice. "Before I came here, you were a sadistic woman-hating criminal with the ability to scar or kill people with acid at will. The removal of that power merely makes you a sadistic woman-hating criminal who still has the inclination to hurt people merely because you can. The collar does not make you a good man, but it does prevent you from breaking the law, no matter how badly you might want to. It is not a perfect solution, but it is better than all the rest."

"So you'd send me out among the wankers and tosspots with a bleedin' dog-collar on me neck, then?" Acidbath—Moss—laughed bitterly. "I'll last about one hour before someone tops me, and it'll be all your fault."

"One, nobody forced you to commit your crimes," Zachary reminded him. "Two, that is only if you attempt to renew your criminal acquaintances. Three, once you leave here, nobody but you, me and Taylor will be able to see the collar. It will be your choice who you tell about it." He nodded to Dragon. "He will be no danger to anyone now."

With a bemused shrug, Dragon let Moss go and stepped back. Letting out a frustrated scream, the ex-cape launched himself at Zach and swung a haymaker at his face. I half-expected Moss to flinch back at the last second, but it landed with full force. Zach did not so much as quiver in response, while I quite clearly heard a couple of bones in Moss' hand break.

The cry of anger became a shriek of pain and Moss collapsed to his knees, cradling his damaged hand.

Zack looked down at him dispassionately. "To quote a well-known author from the mid twentieth century: I permitted that, as a demonstration of futility. You will not be able to strike anyone else like that, save in self-defence. Your collar allowed you to attack me, because it is not against the law to attack an Endbringer." His mouth curled up in what I judged to be a genuine smile. "As you can see, I do not have to depend upon the law to protect me."

Glancing around, I noted two things. First, from the whispering, it seemed that they had all heard Zach's words loud and clear. Second, from the lack of panic, they were being allowed to absorb the information while remaining insulated from the emotional impact of the current situation; specifically, the aspect of sharing the Birdcage with an Endbringer. The only one making any noises of distress was Moss, and he was now merely whimpering over his busted hand.

I saw Marquis exchanging quiet words with the man by his side; the glasses Zach had given me identified the other one as 'Cinderhands'. The veteran crime boss's mouth was obscured by his armour, but I got a text transcript anyway.


CINDERHANDS: … really think he's an Endbringer?

MARQUIS: It honestly doesn't matter whether he is or not. What matters is whether he can carry out whatever threat he is posing.

CINDERHANDS: And you think he can.

MARQUIS: Don't you?

CINDERHANDS: I am kinda convinced, yeah.

MARQUIS: Exactly. For the record, I believe him. I also believe it's in our best interest to cooperate to the best of our ability. So, spread the word. Nobody does anything stupid. I want a chance to walk up those stairs.

CINDERHANDS: Gotcha. So, which way you gonna go with the powers thing?

MARQUIS: I'm leaning toward …


Hastily, I told the glasses to stop giving me the information. The rest of it was useful, in a way of getting an idea of what the villains in the Birdcage were thinking, but it wasn't my right to pry into personal decisions.

Stepping forward, I looked down at Moss. "If I healed your hand, think you could make an effort to not be such a dick?" I had the gloves; it would only take a moment. And while my bedside manner probably left a lot to be desired, so did his whole attitude.

Tears of pain streaming down his face, he stared up at me. It was almost impressive to see how much anger he managed to muster at the world for his mistake.

"Fuck off, you four-eyed c—" The word cut off abruptly, mainly because Lustrum had lunged forward, moving faster than she had to that point. She was also a foot taller, and much more muscular.

One hand slapped over Moss' mouth, then she lifted him bodily to his feet and stared him straight in the eyes. "You will treat her with respect or the next time we are in this position, I will tighten my grip and crush your jawbone to powder, then let you starve to death," she said, every syllable promising dire retribution if he tried to go against her wishes. "Am I quite understood?"

He struggled uselessly, then tried to kick and punch her. None of it did a damn thing, and eventually he sagged in her grasp. Reluctantly, his eyes burning with hate, he nodded.

"Good," she said, and let him drop to the floor. As she turned away from him, I heard her mutter, "I've wanted to do that for so long."

"You know," I said, keeping my voice mild. "I could've handled that myself."

She inclined her head respectfully. "I know you could have. But that doesn't mean you're obliged to take out the trash every single time. Before things went off the rails, I built my organisation on the idea that no woman should ever have to take abuse from a man. And just because you're apparently Triumvirate-tier in power level doesn't mean I have to stand back and let that piece of filth insult you."

"Well, okay then." I couldn't actually argue with that. I didn't much like Moss either; if he'd finished what he'd been about to say, Zach may have done far worse (or I might), so I figured the asshole had gotten off lightly. "So, who's first for seeing who gets to go upstairs?" I frowned. "Uh, how many of you are there, anyway?" If there were thousands, we could be there for hours. As nice as the Birdcage was now, I didn't want to be there for hours.

"There are presently imprisoned within the Birdcage two hundred and seven people," Zach said brightly. "Of these, three are without powers and are thus ineligible to be here, but they have not been officially released."

I smiled at him. "Thanks, Zach." Two hundred people, assuming I spent thirty seconds per person, would take just over an hour and a half to get through. I figured if they'd been here for years, I could handle two hours. Though if I was going to be doing a lot of talking, I might get thirsty. "Uh, is there any way to get a Coke around here?"

"I can do that," Zach said happily. He stamped his foot twice and a little dust drifted down; when we next looked, there was a bar in the corner, with an attendant glass-fronted fridge. I could see some pretty expensive-looking bottles inside, as well as regular soda. "There is now one in every block common area. You are welcome."

Lustrum rubbed her eyes and blinked. "Well, damn," she said. "Life in here would've been a whole lot more pleasant if that had been part of the original inventory."

"My apologies," Dragon said, not sounding at all apologetic. "When they were drawing up the budget for the world's first supermax cape prison, a regular supply of high-quality alcohol wasn't exactly a line item."

Two of the male capes—I didn't know who they were, and I couldn't be bothered querying my glasses—turned to each other. "Did he just say there's a bar like that in our common area too?" one demanded.

The other one was already moving. "Race you there."

With more conversations like that occurring throughout the crowd, people started peeling off and making tracks back toward their respective areas. Lustrum came back from the bar with an ice-cold glass of fizzy soda, and I took a drink of it; just as I'd expected, it was very nice. As I finished the drink, I looked around at the twenty or so capes that remained.

"So," I said, handing off the glass to Zach, who vanished it back to the bar. "Let's start with those who've already had your powers removed."

Paige, Ciara and Tom Moss all looked back at me; the first two with expectant expressions, and the third with glowering hostility. Fortunately for his own sake, he didn't say a word. By now, he'd probably figured out that any kind of provocation from him would bring down more pain and suffering than he was really ready to handle.

I paused, looking at Zach and indicating the doors with my head. "Uh … what's up there, anyway?"

"I am glad you asked, Taylor," he replied brightly. "Behind that door, there is a spiral staircase leading to an open courtyard. From the courtyard there is a double set of gates with a road leading to the old induction centre. There are also three sets of doors; one leading back down here, one leading to an accommodation block and one leading to the administration wing. Prisoners will not have access to the administration wing. The accommodation block also contains amenities for prisoners, such as food and drink services, and entertainment and exercise facilities. There are also windows. The view is mostly of mountains, but I think they will like it."

"Good point," I agreed. "I haven't been down here for an hour yet and I'm already missing the sky. Okay, then." I cleared my throat. "Everyone who's been dealt with, and everyone I deal with from here on in, gets to go upstairs and find a place in the accommodation block. Once we've processed everyone and figured out who wants to stay, then we can start dealing with the whole appeals process for everyone else. Which will be a first for the Birdcage, so yay?"

"'Yay', indeed." Dragon's voice was dryly amused. "Fortunately, I happen to be in possession of what is perhaps the world's most comprehensive library of legal precedents where it comes to parahuman law; and what I don't have, I can look up. Even more fortunately, the government is no longer capable of compelling me to cease pursuing any such appeals processes."

"Sounds good to me," I said. "So, who's first?"

Marquis and Lustrum—now reduced to her normal size—began to speak at the same time, then Marquis stopped and gestured courteously toward the one-time cult leader. "Ladies first, I believe."

She nodded in acknowledgement and stepped toward me, exhibiting all the outward signs of confidence. My glasses indicated that she was a lot more nervous than she pretended to be, but I let her keep the illusion. When she was right in front of me, she stopped. "Okay, how does this work?"

That was actually something I'd been wondering myself. My new glasses told me more or less everything about a person then and there, but I was far from being able to make snap judgements and know I was doing the right thing. Time to wing it, I guess. Whoo. No pressure.

"Well, first off," I asked, mainly because it was something I didn't know, "have you actually committed any crimes using your powers?"

"Huh." She gave me an odd look; maybe respect? "I got treated like a Master, but I don't think I am one. The only crime I directly committed with my powers was what they called resisting arrest. Some of the male officers got a little handsy when they were taking me into custody, so I grew a little and threw one across the street. That was all the excuse they needed to come down on me as hard as the book allowed, because heaven forbid a strong woman be allowed to defend herself against unwanted assaults. I got electrified Brute restraints and solitary in supermax until this place got built, then they threw me in here so fast I never touched the sides."

"Okay, then." My glasses told me she was being more or less truthful all the way down the line, if understandably bitter. I tried to think of the next question to ask. "If you ended up back in society because of this, would you start up your organisation again?"

She began to answer, then stopped, eyeing me carefully. "If I said 'yes', is that a deal-breaker?"

"Not necessarily." I didn't want to lie to her, but if I took away all her avenues, she would be forced to lie to me and I'd be forced to turn her away. And, if only for Mom's memory, I didn't want to do that. "If you started it up again, you would be absolutely required to put in safeguards so we wouldn't get a repeat of the debacle from the last time. And that's if the authorities even signed off on it this time. Once bitten, and all that."

"That's fair." She grimaced. "I'm willing to bet women needing help hasn't stopped being a thing since I went away. And every time someone tries to organise to give women the help they need in society, there will always be vested interests trying to pull them down."

"You are correct," said Zach. "I have just been informed by my sister; even if you get official permission to rebuild your organisation, an intensive covert campaign will be launched almost immediately to undermine it and send you back to prison if at all possible. This will include moles inserted within your trusted groups to specifically provoke violence in your name. Some of the instigators will believe they are doing the right thing and that you cannot be trusted. Others will be those who are frightened of the ideas that you champion as a matter of course, and will do anything to bring you down. Depending on how hard it is to do this, assassination may also be considered."

Slowly, she nodded. "So, both the malicious and the stupid," she mused. "One leading the other by the nose. And they call me a villain." She stopped and tilted her head. "Wait. Provoking violence? Is that what happened the first time around?"

Zach nodded soberly. "Yes. To be fair, not every person who went out attacking men was a paid provocateur, but there were enough of them egging on the others that it was all but a foregone conclusion. You may have created the powder barrel, but they supplied the match. Several matches. It was a deliberate act."

Well, damn. Mom was right all along. This was something I hadn't known. I looked at Lustrum with new sympathy.

She inhaled through her nostrils, her lips tightly pressed together. Her form seemed to shimmer and add a few pounds of muscle, before she breathed out again. From her expression, she really, really wanted to punch something. Or someone. "Is there any chance I could get some names from you?" she asked, her tone not quite as light as she probably wanted it to sound.

"I am sorry," Zach said, and he sounded like he meant it. "If I were to supply you with those names, you would be tempted to commit a crime once you left here. That would be doing you a disservice, as well as all the women you would otherwise be helping."

She clenched her fists. "Well, you're not exactly giving me many options here. Stay in the Birdcage out of sight and out of mind, toe the line and pretend to be a good little puppet of the patriarchy, or do what needs to be done and get either shoved straight back into prison or just plain murdered. Or have I missed something?"

I could absolutely see her problem, and her growing frustration and anger. She was between a rock and a hard place, and in her mind there was no way out. Worse, I could see where she was coming from. Protecting women and helping them become strong was a good thing, especially in a world where gangs like the Merchants, the Empire Eighty-Eight, the ABB and the Fallen existed.

Well, the Fallen might still exist; I hadn't checked on them recently. Zach had taken care of the rest of them, as well as my own personal team of bullies …

… wait a minute.

"I may have a solution," I said carefully. "It's not going to be perfect, or anything like it, but it should allow you to run your organisation more or less without outside interference. Maybe." I looked at Lustrum, making solid eye contact. "Be warned; you're going to hate this. I just need you to consider it before you reject it altogether."

She eyed me warily. "I'm listening."

Taking a deep breath, I slid one of my bracelets off. "Zach, I want to give this to Lustrum, with all the mods you put on it for me."

Her eyes flicked to the ornamental jewellery. It was a little on the chunky side, made of red and gold metal woven together. Little tiny eyes were visible here and there, if I looked closely at it. "What's that do? It's not the Gray Boy thing, is it?"

"No." I offered it to her. "If you're wearing it when you shake hands with someone, you will automatically know if they've ever screwed you over, and if they're planning to do it in the future. Or if they're doing it right then. Specific details will be sparse, but you'll get the general idea of it."

"So I'll be able to spot moles with this?" Gingerly, she took it. "And it'll work for me?"

Zach beamed at her. "It will work for you, because it is now yours. Taylor has given it to you. If it is stolen from you, you can will it back to your wrist."

"Okay, yes, I can see how that would be useful." She slipped it on and wriggled her wrist a few times. "It's comfortable, at least." Raising her eyebrows, she looked at me. "I fail to see how I'm going to hate this."

"Yeah, no, that's the second part of my suggestion." I grimaced. "You're gonna have to let men into your organisation."

"Let men—oh, hell, no!" She shook her head firmly. "Not happening, no way, no how. That's just letting saboteurs into my camp from the beginning."

"Last time, it was women and not men who brought down your organisation and sent you to the Birdcage," I reminded her.

"Under the orders of men!" she shot back, then turned to Zach. "Tell me it wasn't men who set it all up and gave the orders!"

"It was men," he confirmed. "But Taylor's idea is a good one. You should listen to it."

"Why?" she demanded. "Far too many men abuse and gaslight women on a daily basis to be able to trust any of them within my organisation!"

"You know how I met Zach?" I asked rhetorically. "Because I'd been abused and gaslighted and shoved in my own locker … by a bunch of girls! Or are you going to try to tell me that men are the only people who ever abuse anyone?"

"They're the vast majority," she snapped. "Don't even try to make that kind of false equivalence!"

"No, true," I admitted, willing to give that ground. "But the fact remains that men aren't the only perpetrators, and not all men are perpetrators. Some are … you know, the good guys. Willing to help."

"Every bad guy looks like a good guy until he isn't," she said bitterly. "I know that more than most."

"And with a handshake, you can now tell the difference," I said, gesturing at the bracelet. "Plus, there is a reason I made that suggestion. It's the PR, the whatsit. How it looks."

"You are speaking of the optics," Zach supplied, then addressed his words to Lustrum. "This is why I think it is a good idea. If society sees an organisation consisting entirely of outspoken women, the fear arises in men who do not wish for women to be strong. They may do rash things. But if they see an organisation, still strongly spoken, but with men visible in it as well, it confuses matters. They can justify it in their own minds as 'the women are under control because men are there'. Does that make sense to you?"

She grimaced. "And so I look like I'm knuckling under. Letting the patriarchy get its hooks into me. They win again."

I shook my head. "No. You will know they aren't winning. Your people will know they aren't winning. The men in your organisation will know who's in charge, and it won't be them. Call it … protective camouflage. And if you meet with your people regularly," I mimed shaking hands, "you'll know if any of them are in the process of being suborned."

"You were right," Lustrum growled. "I hate it. It's a stupid idea. It stinks." She took a deep breath, then let it out again and glanced at Zach. "Pretty boy. Your sister. What's she got to say about it?"

Zach tilted his head slightly. "She says it has a much better than even chance of success. With men in your organisation, the authorities will be much less likely to give you a hard time."

Closing her eyes, Lustrum shook her head. "And the patriarchy strikes again." Letting out a long breath, she opened her eyes again. "I'll think about it. Okay, hit me with one of those no-crime collars. Will that be enough for me to go upstairs with?"

"It will certainly suffice," Zach said happily. "I wish you all the luck with your appeal and your future organisation." He gestured, and a stylish blue choker appeared around Lustrum's neck. "They are only visible to me, Taylor, and whoever is wearing it."

"Hey!" objected Moss. "Howcome everyone can see mine?"

I raised my eyebrows as I looked at him. "You tried to screw us over. And what are you still doing down here? You know you can go up at any time."

He looked unhappy. "Don't wanna be up there alone with her." With a jerk of his head, he indicated Lustrum, who sneered back at him. "That b—uh, she could probably tie me in a knot without breakin' a sweat."

"Not without committing a crime, she couldn't," I reminded him.

"Well, I didn't know she was gonna pick that," he whined. "With 'er muscles, she could kick my arse up, down an' sideways without ever needin' powers." Which was true, but I didn't need the aggravation, so I turned away from him.

Lustrum pushed her way through the doors and started up the stairs; with her went Paige and Ciara. Mentally, I wished them luck.

"Okay," I announced. "Who's next?"

"I believe that would be me." Marquis stepped forward, disintegrating the bone armour and weapon as he came. "Do you have any advice for how I should proceed?" Unspoken but clearly audible all the same were the words, you may suggest, but I will make my own decisions.

"Well, to be honest, that depends." I thought I was starting to get the hang of this. "What are your plans once you leave here? Assuming you manage to appeal your sentence, of course."

"Of course." He seemed to think for a moment. "Initially, I believe I would like to look up the Brockton Bay Brigade and see how my daughter is faring. They had care of her, the last I knew."

I blinked. "The Brockton Bay Brig— … waaaaiit a minute." His hair might be showing a little gray, but the resemblance was unmistakeable. "Is your daughter's name Amelia Claire?" And here I thought Zach was repeating her name for her benefit. For someone who could literally throw a car halfway across America, Zach was really sneaky when he wanted to be.

"Why, yes." His attention was now a lot more focused on me than on Zach. "Do you know her? Is she well?"

I chuckled. "Yeah, I know her. We both go to the same school. Her powers were screwing her over when we first met, but she's a lot happier now." I hooked my thumb at Zach. "All thanks to this big lug here."

"Wait, powers screwing her over?" He frowned. "What powers does she have, and how were they screwing her over?"

My hands flexed inside the gloves. "Biokinesis, basically. If it was biological in nature, she could mess with it and do what she wanted. Mostly, because she was in a superhero team, she healed people. Cured cancer, reattached limbs. I heard somewhere that she could even rewind someone's age, but I don't know if she ever actually did it, or if someone was spitballing on PHO. Anyway, it seemed her power didn't like being pushed into just healing when it could do a lot more. Also, she had other mental issues. So, we took all that away, including the powers, and made her back into plain old normal Amelia Claire. Last I saw, she was a whole lot happier."

Zach nodded. "So is Brandish, for that matter. She may have argued against Panacea giving up her powers, but deep down she never really trusted her." He raised his eyebrows meaningfully in Marquis' direction.

It only took the veteran crime lord a few seconds to understand his meaning. "Wait, you're saying that despite taking her in at a young age and raising her as their own, Brandish distrusts Amelia because she's my daughter? Even though we've had no contact for … what's it been, nine or ten years?"

"That is broadly correct." Zach shrugged. "My sister tells me her appearance reminds Brandish of yours enough that Brandish has always worried about her becoming a supervillain in your image. But that has been dealt with now. Amelia has voluntarily given up her powers, and Brandish is reconnecting to her as a mother to a totally unpowered teenage daughter. Both are much happier with the situation, now."

"And you're the one who took away Amelia's powers?" Marquis may have been incarcerated in supermax for a decade, but he was still perfectly capable of connecting the dots. "What did you do with them?"

"Oh, I gave them to Taylor." As Zach gestured to me, I raised my hands and wriggled my fingers to show off the gloves. "She is responsible enough to use them without hurting people."

Marquis gave me a deeply penetrating look. "I'm going to need to speak with my daughter when I get out of here. If she wants her powers back, I will be requesting their return."

"And if she wants 'em, I'll hand 'em right back over," I assured him. "So, what's it to be?"

"Hmm." He clasped his hands in front of himself, frowning slightly. "I suspect there may still be a few enemies out there who will object to a reappearance of Marquis, so I believe I would like to keep my powers, and take on the 'obey the law' collar that you placed on Lustrum. Making my way in the world without officially breaking the law will no doubt prove to be an interesting challenge."

I suspected Marquis knew a lot more than I did about how to break the law without actually breaking the law, but it was the bargain we were offering, so I didn't object as Zach flicked his hand. There was a flash of blue, and Marquis was wearing a collar as well. Humming a tune that I didn't recognise, he nodded to us, pushed the door open, and disappeared up the staircase.

For the next hour, Zach and I worked well in tandem. I would ask a few questions, get an idea on what they wanted, then Zach would make it happen. A very small number of villains chose to stay in the Birdcage proper, citing a desire for solitude. I suspected the improved luxury had something to do with that. Some others were undoubtedly drunk out of their skulls on the booze from the new bars that Zach had supplied; we could always return and see what they wanted once they sobered up.

And then came Teacher. He reminded me most of Mr. Quinlan, only without the faint aroma of bad whiskey. Along with the rest of my math class at Winslow, I'd been convinced the man was a day drinker. He also gave very little indication of being willing to help us with any problems we were having in the class. Teacher gave me the impression that he'd tell us the problems were our fault and it was up to us to fix them.

I watched as the ugly, sweaty man approached us. My glasses were going off the scale with deception red flags at this point. There was literally a cartoon monkey jumping up and down in the corner of my vision, waving a red flag and pointing at Teacher. Or, as the glasses helpfully informed me, William Terrell.

"Hello, Mr. Terrell, or would you rather 'Teacher'?" My smile was automatic by this point, which was good. I just didn't like him. Perhaps it was the clear intent to screw us over in some way. "And what would you like to do?"

"Please, call me Teacher." His smile wasn't as supercilious as I'd imagined it would be, but it still irritated me slightly. Here was a man who thought he'd managed to outmanoeuvre me (probably not all that hard), Zach (a lot harder) and the Simurgh (hahahahahaha!).

"Certainly; Teacher it is." I kept the smile on my face while I tried to figure out his angle. He'd clearly spent the time making some sort of preparations, but what they were I wasn't certain. I glanced sideways at Zach, and got a hint of a grin back. Well, that was better; he knew what was going on.

His own smile widened slightly. "I would like to give up my powers. You can do that, can you not?"

It was interesting; once the 'obey the law' thing went on the table, the vast majority of villains had chosen that route. There were a few, mainly with powers that were hard to control, who chose to lose them, but the disparity was huge. And here was a man who literally had a Master/Thinker/Trump power, clearly under his strict control, who wanted to give it up. Curiouser and curiouser.

"Oh, I can definitely do that." Zach's return smile was quite unlike his normal happy grin. I concentrated on trying to figure out exactly what Teacher was trying, and how Zach was going to counter it. "Will you be needing a collar to keep you from breaking the law as well?"

Teacher's gesture of dismissal was almost Shakespearean in fluidity. "Oh, we won't need that, will we? After all, I will be bereft of all my powers. How could I make my way as a supervillain after that?"

"I'm not sure," I said carefully. "But you certainly intend to. What have you done, Mr. Terrell?"

"Such distrust!" Terrell declaimed. "You wound me, dear girl. And I'm sure I said I preferred my parahuman cognomen. Why am I being treated so shabbily? Nobody else has been."

"Except for Acidbath," Dragon pointed out helpfully, from where she stood observing us. "He also attempted to betray our trust. If Taylor says you are attempting to pull a scam on us, then I believe her. I just don't know what it is."

Zach moved, crossing the distance to where Terrell stood, and grabbed him by the upper arm. "I know what it is," he said happily. "He has imbued in a group of his followers the ability to restore his powers to him once he leaves us and goes back to them."

As soon as he explained it, it all made sense to me. "And then he comes back with his followers," I added. "They get the collars, he doesn't, and they all go up together. Allowing him to leave the Birdcage with zero limits on his power or his actions, and nothing to stop him from continuing to be Teacher."

"What?" Terrell struggled, but could not pull free of Zach's implacable grip. "No! You have it all wrong!"

"Seventeen different Thinker powers say otherwise," I informed him, tapping the frame of my glasses. "Wait one, Zach."

Taking the Idiot Ball from my pocket, I aimed it vaguely at the corridor leading to the men's half of the Birdcage. Then I threw it. Mentally, I commanded it to locate each of Teacher's minions and then come back to me. The donk … donk … donk … sound faded into the distance.

We waited. Terrell tried to pull free of Zach's hold again, but managed to do nothing of the sort.

And then the ball returned, bouncing out of the corridor and straight across to my waiting hand. "Okay, Zach," I said happily. "His minions have all been neutralised. Go ahead and remove his powers."

"Of course, Taylor." Zach put his hand to Terrell's head and made a pulling motion. Ghostly strands were drawn free, more and more of them. Terrell tried to fight back, but he may as well have been wrestling with a statue. When Zach was finished, he let Terrell go.

We watched as the man who had been Teacher stumbled away toward his block. Zach wove the power together into a ball, then made it disappear like the rest. I had no doubt that he'd be able to access it when and if he needed.

"And he won't be able to get a power-up from his followers?" asked Dragon.

"Nope." I shook my head and held up the Idiot Ball. "They don't get access to their powers until they come to me and Zach, whereupon Zach resets their powers to factory standard. Nicely spotted by the way, Zach."

Zach smiled. "Thank you, Taylor."

I stretched and yawned. "Wow, how long have we been at this?"

"One hour, seven minutes," Dragon said promptly. "If you wanted to take a break, I've got this under control."

"Yeah, true." I nodded to her. "Let us know when the rest of them want to come upstairs." Stuffing the Idiot Ball in my pocket, I reached out to take Zach's hand. "Let's go home. It's been a long day."

Zach clasped my hand in his. "Yes, Taylor. We have done much good."

I grinned at him. "Dad's never gonna believe us when we tell him what we've been up to."

Activating the teleport ability, I sent us home.

<><>​

The Canadian Border

"Welcome to Canada, sir. Do you have anything to declare?"

"No." Calvert was tired, as he'd been driving most of the day. Creep handed him his passport—he wasn't even freaked out by that anymore—and he showed it to the guard.

"Thank you, sir. Are you visiting for business or pleasure?"

Calvert mustered the energy to smile slightly. "A little of both."


End of Part Eighteen

 

[Ack]

I'm HALPING!

Part Nineteen: Heartache by the Numbers

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


Heartbreaker
Montreal

Nikos Vasil was discontented, and he didn't know why. It wasn't because he was in need of feminine company; God knew he had enough of that and could acquire more by literally taking a half-hour walk. The house he was living in was nice enough and had enough rooms and facilities for his entire extended family and hangers-on without anyone being too uncomfortable. Even the quality of the food was better than normal since he'd discovered one of his latest conquests had a talent for cooking.

So, what was it? Why did he feel as though an immense, cosmic shoe was about to drop? He, Heartbreaker, was the master of his own destiny (and also the destinies of all those who came within the ambit of his power), so what was he getting so stressed about?

Perhaps it was the news from America these days. He'd just finished watching a hastily-assembled retrospective on the Slaughterhouse Nine, and how they'd been utterly obliterated in mere seconds by a young cape in the northeast of the States. While he'd felt no particular fellow-feeling toward Jack Slash (apart from an appreciation of the man's sense of style) it was a tiny bit worrying to be thinking one day so long as they allow monsters such as the Nine to roam unhindered, they'll never pay attention to me and see the next that the Nine had been effortlessly wiped from the face of the planet.

Though that wasn't the only thing bothering him, now he came to think about it. The Fallen, on the face of it, had little or nothing in common with him. Not only were they apocalypse worshippers, but they were also ignorant redneck hillbillies who had apparently set out to tick off every stereotype they could find, plus a few more that hadn't even been on the list to begin with. Up until very recently, they had also been on the unofficial 'untouchable' list, noted by the authorities but never moved upon by them. For some reason, that had changed in the last few days, with PRT and Protectorate forces from several cities converging on their locations and hammering any resistance hard.

I do not think like they did, he told himself. I am not like them. They are despicable, trading in misery to try to breed loyal capes. But still, a tiny voice inside him insisted that they were not that dissimilar; he, too, was seeking to breed capes loyal to him. While he drew the line at incest, he still did his best to father as many children as possible and force his offspring to manifest their own powers, while at the same time making sure they remained his to command. And then, of course, there was the income stream from allowing men to pay him for 'access' to his women and daughters.

Once all trace of the Nine and the Fallen were wiped out, who would be next? Were the PRT and Protectorate willing to flex so strongly north of the border? Was he on their list, or had his little clan yet to make their radar?

It would probably be a good idea to not snatch any more celebrities for awhile, he decided. The last attempt had been a debacle anyway. He'd been overconfident with his powers and dismissive of the heroes' determination to thwart his goals. Better to just keep his head down and enjoy what he had until this latest storm blew over and things went back to normal.

His current head of security, an ex-police officer named Marcel, murmured into his radio and frowned slightly. Nikos tried to ignore him while he took up the remote and changed the channel. Perhaps there would be something to explain why the PRT and Protectorate had suddenly acquired what the Americans so colourfully described as 'a wild hair up their butts'.

"Sir." Marcel's tone was respectful but urgent. "There's a problem. Some of my men are not responding to their regular check-in calls."

And there it was. He'd known something was wrong, just not what it was. "Have you spoken with Guillaume?" His son had the ability to see through the eyes of anyone he had touched that day, and one of the young man's duties was to make physical contact with each member of the day's security force.

"He says they saw nothing out of the ordinary," Marcel responded. "He isn't getting anything at all from them. He says he doesn't know if they're asleep, unconscious or even dead. I've told him to contact me if any more become inactive." His head came up. "And one just did. Sir, we've got to get you out of here."

"Are they at least seeing who's doing this?" Nikos stood up; he was no fool. "Do we have a face?" He needed eye contact to influence someone, but he could perhaps bait them out by name if he knew who they were.

"No." Marcel still sounded calm and in control of the situation, but Nikos could hear the frustration underlying the single word. "I have my men covering each other's blind spots, but they're still being taken down. Someone's dancing between the raindrops here, and I don't like it. I think maybe we have a cape targeting you."

"Shit. Get everyone together." By 'everyone' he meant his children and most favoured lovers. Marcel would know who these were. If he had to make a run for it, he didn't intend to leave any of his genetic heritage behind.

"Yes, sir." Marcel pressed the button on his lapel and murmured into the microphone. Nikos restrained himself from pacing over to the window; where there was one cape, there might be another with a high-powered rifle. Nobody had attempted to snipe him yet, but there was always a first time.

Who can this be? Who have I offended in the cape community? I know I didn't take any of them. One mistake the Fallen had made that he had been careful not to was the abduction of capes as breeding material. As tempting as it might have been, he had no desire to draw the attention of an enraged Alexandria or Narwhal. Having his head punched off his shoulders was perhaps the best outcome for something like that.

"Sir." Marcel's voice, more strained than before, broke into his racing thoughts. "It's Master Guillaume. He's not responding anymore."

Shit. Someone got to him. How did they know? Guillaume had been one of his more effective counters against silent infiltration. "Okay, everyone to the cars, now! We have to get out of here!"

"Sir!" Marcel nodded and gave terse orders over the radio link. His men would fight to the death to protect Nikos and cover his retreat, which was only right and proper.

Meanwhile, Nikos would go dark and hide up for awhile until he had an idea as to who was hunting him. All he really needed was to make eye contact and say a few words, and their loyalty would become his. Then he could send the hunters back against whoever had dispatched them in the first place.

They hustled down the stairs to the ground floor, with Marcel going ahead and another man watching their backs. Both men had guns out and ready; not wimpy little pistols, but the extremely effective Heckler & Koch MP10s Nikos had seen fit to equip them with. If they encountered anyone not belonging to the guard force or the household, a burst from an MP10 would either kill them or make them pray for death.

The man behind Nikos grunted and fell forward, tumbling the last few steps to the bottom of the stairs. Nikos turned, wishing (not for the first time) that he knew how to use a firearm as skilfully as the men he had under his control. The man lay sprawled, dead eyes staring upward, a pool of blood beginning to grow under his body. Just as Nikos began to raise his eyes to the top of the stairs, Marcel let out a brief scream before unleashing a full burst from his machine pistol.

Half-turning, Nikos beheld a sight out of a horror movie; a corpse-white face with blank staring eyes and a single bullet-hole in the centre of its forehead, clutching a body bag around itself and looming over Marcel. The bullets that ripped and shredded their way through the rubberised cloth into the dead flesh beneath did nothing at all to stop the thing; one black-nailed hand lashed out and grabbed Marcel by the face.

There was a single deliberate cough from behind Nikos. He turned back toward where his bodyguard lay in his own blood. Now standing over the corpse was an overly tall black man, almost skeletal in build, wearing aviator sunglasses and holding a pistol. The weapon was rock-steady, approximately one inch from the bridge of Nikos' nose. A trick of the light made the lenses of the aviator shades look like the empty eye-sockets of a skull.

Horrible wet crunching noises sounded from where the dead man had Marcel, but Nikos was hypnotised by the seemingly enormous bore of the pistol. "Why?" he croaked, from a throat now drier than the Sahara.

The impassive demeanour of the man before him cracked ever so slightly, a smile twitching one corner of those merciless lips. "Because you and I are both monsters, but I'm the one holding the gun."

And then the trigger finger moved a significant fraction of an inch. Before Heartbreaker could begin to comprehend the joke, he was dead.

<><>​

Eagleton Village, TN
Taylor

"Well, that was fun," I said, dusting my hands off despite the fact that they were entirely free of dirt and grime, not to mention oil and other mechanical fluids. I hadn't noticed the self-cleaning aspect of the gloves earlier, but I found it amazingly useful. "I can't believe the Protectorate were having this much trouble with them." Well, to be fair, they didn't have this many powers to play with.

"It was definitely interesting, Taylor." Zach looked at the mostly demolished community, and the robots of Eagleton which we had locked into single-form mode and left strewn about the streets. Each and every one was now in the form of a wheeled vehicle … with the wheels removed and the robots up on blocks. Some of the larger ones, which had replaced entire buildings to decoy people within, had required us to find big blocks to put them up on.

"So, what happens now, do you think?" I looked at the robots, which looked back at me. They'd gone from snarling ferocity to frantic desperation to abject terror over the course of our battle with them. It must really suck to have been the dominant predator in the area, then to have to deal with Zach and me showing up for a morning of light exercise. Or rather, be dealt with by us. They hadn't really stood a chance.

Zach gestured to where the first PRT forces were cautiously venturing into the city, with a cape flying overhead. I couldn't personally identify them from this distance, but my handy new glasses outlined them and threw up the name DYNAMAX. "They will wish to disassemble and destroy the robots. Are you fine with that?"

I frowned. Sure, the Machine Army had murdered people by the dozen and forced the PRT to quarantine the entire area for years at a time, but they hadn't really known any better. The idiot Tinker who'd built the first few had taken no precautions at all; as opposed to Dragon's creator, who had taken far too many. He hadn't given them human levels of intelligence, but they'd had no directives telling them not to attack people either. It was the classic paperclip maximiser error.

"No, I'm not," I decided. "Can I use your magic phone to call Dragon?"

"Certainly, Taylor." He pulled the device out and handed it to me.

"Thanks, Zach." Despite my awareness that it wasn't a real phone, it looked and felt like one; when I scrolled through the contacts list, Dragon's name was right there in bold. Pulling the number up, I checked on the advancing PRT soldiers, then hit the icon to make the call.

Dragon barely let it ring once before she answered. "Hello?"

"Hi, it's me." I grinned at the idea of me just calling up Dragon and saying Hi, it's me. I had definitely come up in the world since meeting Zach. "Got a version of you that you can spare to send to Eagleton?"

"Where the Machine Army is based?" She paused. "I don't usually send my suits out that way in case they subsume my tech or even get into my systems. Why?"

"Well, first off that's a past tense verb. Was based." I smirked. "Me and Zach just beat the snot out of them and forced them to transform into vehicles. We've got the PRT coming in to make ashtrays out of them, but if you wanted a bunch of sentient if non-sapient minions, I suppose we could ask them not to."

She paused for at least two seconds. If I was reading things correctly, that meant she was devoting a lot of processor time to the question. Also, she may have been accessing the PRT camera feed.

When she spoke again, her voice was very thoughtful. "What guarantee do you have that they won't go out of control again and attack me or anyone else?"

I chuckled. "Well, right now they're being good because Zach said so, and they're too scared to do anything else. Once you get here, you can give them a directive to not attack you. They're about as brainy as smart dogs, or maybe monkeys. Like I said, sentient but not sapient. Pretty sure you can train them to do what you want."

"I see. 2-9-1 is closest; I'll send her. She says she likes dogs, anyway."

"Okay, cool. See you then." I ended the call and handed the phone back to Zach. "She's on the way. But you knew that."

"Thank you, Taylor." He smiled at me anyway. "Yes, I did. We can go and speak to the PRT now, if you want."

"Oh, I want." Adjusting the little black earpiece, I strode forward. I didn't necessarily dislike the PRT anymore, given the shitty hand they'd been dealt, but I had issues with they way they tried to carry out what they saw as their mandate from time to time. Steamrolling over everyone in their path was not the best way to win friends and influence people. Just saying.

And while I also knew the actions of certain idiots (looking at you, Tagg) made the rest look much worse, they didn't actually have any safeguards for stopping such idiots from rising to positions of power and hurting people who really didn't deserve to be hurt. Especially since I had the strong impression that the PRT held a certain amount of influence over the judiciary (even when they said they didn't) which allowed them to push for people like Paige to go into the Birdcage, violating their rights in too many ways to count. Yes, the Birdcage was no longer a one-and-done prison, but the underlying problem still existed.

(Recalling Dad in the PRT van with his hands cuffed behind his back still made my blood boil.)

"Okay, you can stop right there," I called out, putting my hand up in the classic 'halt' gesture. "Gonna have to ask you to not actually harm any of these robots. They're spoken for." The earpiece, Zach had assured me, would allow my voice to reach everyone within normal earshot, no matter how much noise was around them. If I wanted to be heard, I would be heard.

The armoured personnel carrier that was in the lead rumbled to a halt. Its engine didn't switch off, but a hatch opened and a PRT officer climbed out. Dropping to the ground, he advanced to meet me. To his credit, he didn't order his men to point their weapons anywhere near me or Zach. I had a suspicion that there was probably a hastily composed training video making the rounds, with Zach as the star of the show. This was fine with me.

"Captain Kennedy," he introduced himself. "I'm guessing you're Taylor Hebert and this young man is Zachary. We've heard a lot about you."

I just bet you have. I made sure not to grin. Presenting a mature front to men and women like this was the best way to earn their respect. "That's us," I confirmed. "Eagleton is no longer a danger zone. Feel free to secure the location, but the robots have been neutralised and Dragon is inbound to take charge of them."

Behind the clear goggles he wore, I saw his eyes flick from us to the nearest robot and back again. "I've been given orders to destroy them."

And there we had it. His bosses were breathing down his neck, and I was standing right in front of him. Well, let's be fair; Zach was standing right in front of him. I had no illusions about being one-tenth as scary as he was. But either way, he was screwed; if he attempted to carry out his orders, shit would go sideways very quickly indeed. Should he refuse, he would be looking at the end of his career. It was the very definition of 'rock and hard place'.

"Inform your commanding officers that we're here and we say no," I suggested. "Once Dragon arrives, she can take them under her command. That'll make them effectively part of the Protectorate."

"They've killed people," he said uncertainly, as though it had sounded better in his head.

"They'll be programmed not to," I countered. "Captain, they're not sapient, like you and me. They don't hate humans. They don't know what humans are. If a person falls in front of a train and gets killed, does the train get taken out of service, or do safety precautions get upgraded?"

"Excuse me a moment," he said, stepping away. I could've used my glasses to listen in on the conversation, but I figured Zach would warn me if anything untoward was about to happen. Besides, they'd already told me he was more or less convinced of my side of things.

Having Zach standing there faux innocently was definitely a way to make sure he stayed convinced, of course.

The conversation didn't take too long. I was pretty sure the salient aspects—Zachary is here and he doesn't want the robots destroyed—only took a few seconds to get across. The rest was just fluff and posturing and people ensuring they were still being seen as relevant in the grand scheme of things. Whatever got them through the day, I guess.

When he'd finished, Captain Kennedy came back to me. His orders had clearly been amended in the light of the new situation, because the engine in the APC shut off and more men climbed out of the hatch. Nobody relaxed totally, and gun barrels didn't stray far away from the quiescent robots, but there weren't any regrettable friendly fire incidents either. (They would've been regrettable because the people 'accidentally' firing on the robots would've intensely regretted it shortly afterward).

"I've passed on your notification," he told me. His manner was still formal; definitely not 'reporting to a superior officer' but respectful all the same. I wasn't much worried about the specifics, so long as he didn't accidentally give the wrong order.

"Thanks." I gave him a nod of acknowledgement. "I'm guessing it must have come as a little bit of a shock to see all this changed."

"It's certainly not what I was expecting," he agreed. "I've been on this quarantine zone for three years now. Sometimes they try to break out, and that's when it gets exciting. But sometimes they go quiet, and the place looks so normal it could break your heart. We learned long ago not to station anyone who used to live here on the quarantine zone. Yes, they knew their way around, but we've lost people who just … walked in. When it was quiet. Sometimes people even swore they could hear their friends and relatives calling out to them."

"Yeah, that could really suck." I was pretty sure I knew why he was opening up like that; the earpiece was intended to make people comfortable with me. Any other strange teenager he met in the middle of a ruined community would've been met with a lot more silence, if not outright hostility.

Silence passed between us for a few moments, then he cleared his throat. "I have to ask … why vehicles? I knew they could take on the appearance of other things, like buildings, but I didn't know they could do vehicles."

It was a good question. "Some of them could, and some couldn't. Zach just made it so they all could. Manually, if necessary. I think he might've traumatised a few of them along the way. But they'll get over it. Right now, up on blocks like that, we can keep track of them a lot more easily."

"Right." Kennedy waved a hand at the rest of the city. "There have to be hundreds out of sight of you. How do you know they're all behaving?"

I grinned. "Thousands. And they're all behaving, because Zach said so. Also, he's got his sister keeping an eye on them. If any of them tries to sneak off, he'll know."

As with everyone else, the reference to Zach's family just went straight over his head. "Yes, I understand. I just want to say, the PRT is going to owe him a massive debt of gratitude. For both this and the Nine."

I nodded. "Also, you know how your guys are going after the Fallen, now? That's because Zach depowered one of their key people. Plus, Butcher and the Teeth came after us. That didn't last long, either."

I saw him do a slow double blink behind the goggles. "You're serious? You're serious. I didn't know about the Teeth, but I'd heard that we were going after the Fallen. And Zachary did all that?"

And more, I didn't bother saying. "Yeah. He kind of just … decided they weren't needed. And when Zach says, 'you're fired', nobody argues."

"No, I suppose not." We fell back into silence, watching the robots. The robots all watched Zach, in an if I don't move, maybe he won't kill me kind of way.

It took less time than I expected before I heard the high-pitched whine of Dragon's turbines inbound. I got up from where I'd been sitting under a shopfront awning on an office chair Zach had procured from somewhere—with his speed, he could've gotten it from my room in Brockton Bay, and nobody would've been the wiser—and stretched. Looking up toward where the sound was coming from, I went to shade my eyes, but noticed the lenses of the glasses darkening to accommodate the extra glare anyway. A tiny dot acquired a green square and the designation DRAGON 2-9-1.

The PRT guys heard it a few seconds later. Orders were shouted and men snapped to positions of readiness; after all, they didn't know for a fact who or what this was. Also, this had been a free-fire zone just a few hours beforehand, and it was never a bad idea to take reasonable precautions. But as she came closer and someone pinged her with radar, they stood down again.

(That wasn't a guess about the radar; my glasses showed the signal going out, and a return pulse giving them the data they needed).

We all stood back a little as the Dragon suit came in for a neat landing in an open area. The paintwork looked a little different from the last one I'd spoken to, as if they were deliberately diverging in appearance. She stood up, folded the mechanical wings away, and looked around.

"Hello, Taylor," she said cheerfully. "Hello, Zachary. I see you have a present for me."

"Hi, Dragon." I gestured at the robots around us. "All yours. Zach's told them very firmly to behave for you."

"I can see that," she agreed. "They're almost falling over each other to do what I tell them." She turned her head. "Ah, Captain. Once I have the appropriate directives in place, I should be able to take them out of here. Then you can properly secure the city and let everyone know when it's safe to come in."

"That will be definitely appreciated, ma'am." He didn't quite salute, but his nod of acknowledgement was just as sincere. I wasn't worried that he hadn't given me the same honorific; in all honesty, I would've been mildly offended if he thought I was old enough to rate being called "ma'am". I mean, I wasn't even sixteen yet. And I certainly didn't feel any particular need to be saluted.

"So, uh, you've got it from here?" I asked Dragon. "Or do you need me and Zach to hang around for a little longer?"

"I believe I have the situation under control, thank you." Dragon gave me a nod and a smile. "This is all very much appreciated. You were correct in that they aren't as intelligent as humans, but they definitely have the capacity to be trained, once I teach them that humans aren't to be harmed."

"Excellent." I slid my arm around Zach's waist. "I think our work here is done. Onward and upward, Zach?"

He grinned at me. "Yes, Taylor, I believe that is the correct phrase."

"So, home for lunch, and then we keep solving the problems of the world after that?"

"That appears to be an adequate plan. Do you wish to teleport us, or would you like to run instead?"

I looked up at him. "I'm actually happy either way. Jumping would be my favourite, but we're a bit far from Brockton Bay for that, aren't we?"

"Not at all, Taylor. Tennessee is much closer to Brockton Bay than British Columbia is." He gave me half a second of warning, then scooped me up in his arms. As much as I knew there was no romantic intention in the gesture, it still gave me a secret thrill to be picked up like that. He was literally one of the top ten strongest entities on Earth Bet, and he enjoyed carrying me around like a princess.

"Whoo. Okay." I tried to calm my heartbeat. We were going to be jumping over a thousand miles, at my best estimate. "Do I need to hold my breath or something?"

He chuckled warmly. "You are safe so long as you are with me, Taylor." Flexing slightly at the knees … he leaped.

I couldn't resist. "Wooo hooo!"

<><>​

Up until now, every leap Zach had taken with me had been within the Brockton Bay city limits. Only a few miles; a dozen, at most. The jumps had taken only a few seconds, even if by rights they should have lasted longer. Zach, of course, only did what physics suggested when he felt like it, and I got the impression he made physics feel bad for asking.

There was barely any sensation of acceleration, of course. There never was. This was just another aspect of Zach's bullshit level of power. Merely jumping around Brockton Bay, I should've had ninety percent of my bones broken and my organs pulverised by the takeoffs and landings, but instead there was … nothing. It was like floating on a magic carpet.

When the scenery below had receded enough to cease flashing by, I looked around and gasped. In a good way, not in an oh-god-I-need-air way. I didn't know how high up we were, but I was pretty sure I could see the curvature of the earth. It was, in a very real way, all around me. Above, the sky was going from ordinary blue to darker than I'd ever seen it in the daytime, edging to black in the middle.

"This is amazing!" I shouted, over the non-existent wind-rush. Below, I couldn't actually tell where we were, but the coastline to the right was visibly sliding in toward us and rolling southward at the same time. Off to the left, I could see a couple of the Great Lakes, also visibly sliding backward. "How fast are we going? We've got to be going faster than the speed of sound, right?"

"Roughly one hundred times as fast, yes," he said in an entirely matter of fact tone. "I am adjusting our speed slightly to avoid airliner flight paths for when we get that low again. Are you enjoying the jump?"

"Well, yeah." I laughed out loud. "I know I told you to warn me when we were going to break the sound barrier again, but this is too much fun."

"Good," he said. He let me go, holding onto one hand, and spread his arms out as though he were flying. A little surprised, I emulated his move, so that we were 'gliding' side by side, so far above the Earth we had to be getting close to the edge of space. This was the first time I'd been out of his direct grasp while jumping, but I figured it was because we were going to take more than the usual few seconds.

"I know I've said it before, and I know we've done some pretty incredible stuff just over the last few days …" I paused, because although it was trite, I had to say it anyway. "But this, right here, it's fantastic. Amazing."

"I am glad you like it," he said, and I heard the weight of honesty in his voice. "My sister tells me it is not enough to merely make you ordinarily happy. To really get it right, I have to take you above and beyond, because 'ordinary' becomes commonplace after awhile. So I am doing my best."

"And your best is pretty damn good, let me tell you." I grinned into the negligible slipstream. "When you say 'above and beyond', you're not kidding."

"I am happy to hear you say that, Taylor." He tilted his head slightly. "You know that eventually we will have to go our separate ways, yes?"

I didn't want to think about that sort of thing, but I nodded reluctantly. "Yeah, I know. Something will come between us, or you'll find someone who needs your help more than I do, or you'll have to leave the planet on some great adventure that I can't come along on …"

"If I have to leave you behind, Taylor, rest assured that it will not be over some trivial matter," he said firmly. "You are the most important person in the world to me. When we part ways, it will be for the best possible reasons."

I didn't answer him. My eyes had filled up with tears and there was a lump in my throat I couldn't talk past. People say that sort of thing, and sometimes they even mean it. But Zach had access to someone who literally knew what the future held, and he still said it.

Zach either knew how I was feeling, or his sister told him, because he didn't press me for an answer. Instead, he pointed ahead. "Oh, you have to see this. My brother's idea of a prank."

Entirely unsure about what he was talking about, I peered at where he was pointing. At first I didn't see it, because it was too big; and then it clicked. The cloud patterns covering a good chunk of New England (nearly all of which I could see, given how high up we were) were formed in a good approximation of a smiley face, complete with a winking eye.

"Oh … oh, God," I gasped, trying to talk even as I burst into laughter. "That's perfect. The weather guys are gonna have kittens."

"They are definitely going to be perplexed, yes." Zach sounded somewhat amused himself. "Our sister helped with some of the fine detail, but it was his idea and he is very proud of it."

"So he should be," I agreed. "That's gotta be the most inspired skywriting ever." I paused a moment, as the best idea in the world burst on me. Or possibly the worst. "Can he do writing?"

"I am not sure if he knows how to read and write, but I am sure our sister can help him with that," Zach said, sounding even more amused. "We are almost there."

I'd been vaguely aware that New York was passing under us (Manhattan Island was tiny!) but now the reality of the situation was brought home to me. "Okay, what do I do?"

"It is alright. I have it under control." As naturally as though we'd practised it for days, he gathered me into his arms again.

Just in time too; a moment later, we came in for a flashing re-entry over Captain's Hill, then a breathtaking plummet that ended abruptly with him standing in our back yard. He let me down onto my feet then, and I had to take a moment to regain my balance. Looking up into the brilliant blue sky, I couldn't believe I'd just been up there. A white band of cloud curved across what I could see, and I realised with a startled giggle that it was part of the smiley face, seen from below this time.

"Let's get something to eat," I decided, sliding my arm through his. "Beating up robots is hungry work."

Zach smiled. "If you say so, Taylor."

I poked my tongue out at him and teleported us inside.

<><>​

Director Piggot's Office
One Hour Later

At the knock on her office door, Emily looked up from the comprehensive report that had been circulated about the Eagleton Zone, currently in the process of being downgraded from Quarantined to Occupied. She didn't even twitch an eyebrow at the mention of Zachary being involved, or how he'd apparently brought his friend Taylor Hebert along. Officially, she was supposed to be disapproving of his methods; unofficially, his methods were as improbably effective as they were unusual, and resulted in an amazingly low (read: zero) civilian casualty count.

Assault was back in town now, which meant she'd been able to unleash a long-pent-up ass-chewing on him for his idiotic play at Winslow. To her astonishment, he'd not only meekly submitted to it (which she'd expected) but agreed with her on many points (which she hadn't). The incident with the Nine, once he heard about it, had apparently driven home to him exactly how lucky he'd been to not annoy Zachary more than he already had. And when she relayed the anecdote passed on to her by Miss Militia about how the boy had kicked Oni Lee into orbit, he'd actually paled somewhat.

But now the fun part was over, and she had to get back to the day-to-day work of managing the Brockton Bay PRT. Though with the vast majority of the cape gangs in the cells downstairs (most of whom had given themselves up) she had more troopers working lockup than on the streets. As she understood matters, after the clearance of the Boat Graveyard (and nobody needed to know about the full-colour blowup she had of Eidolon with a fish down his collar that she looked at each time she needed a laugh) Faultline's Crew had completed their preparations to leave, packed up, and disappeared in the night.

"Come in," she called out, clearing her screen. There were no appointments due at this time, but she wasn't snowed under right at this moment either. If this kept up, she might actually be able to start approving trooper leave.

The office door opened and Taylor Hebert strolled in, with Zachary beside her. Damn, Emily thought. That's a nice jacket. The girl looked around at Emily's office appreciatively, while Zachary gave Emily herself a single acknowledging nod. This wasn't just some teenage boy pretending to airs he hadn't earned; there was gravitas and power in that nod.

"Hi, Director Piggot," Taylor said brightly. "Zach and I just got back to town an hour ago, and we thought we'd drop in and say hello."

Emily made some rapid calculations in her head. Eagleton, Tennessee was about thirteen hundred miles away from Brockton Bay. The pair before her had been reported as leaving Eagleton … approximately one hour ago. Jumping, if she could believe it. Or flying. Apparently, to Zachary, these two things were close to being the same. After what he'd done to Assault, she wasn't even going to ask questions.

"I appreciate the courtesy," she said carefully. "I heard of your actions at Eagleton. Quite a feat."

"It was not overly difficult, Director Piggot," Zachary said without the slightest hint of boasting in his tone. "Merely time-consuming. Taylor and I have decided to spend a little time clearing out the quarantine zones, and we were wondering if you would be interested in visiting the next one with us."

Emily stared at him. Given his wording, and the connotations thereof, he could only have one location in mind. Memories rushed into her mind, of creatures leaping out of the dark, flames in the night, and the ground opening up and swallowing her men. Far too many troopers had died in Ellisburg, and she'd suffered her own personal losses. Losses that had tied her to this chair and this office, as her body slowly degraded from long-term effects of the damage and lack of exercise.

If anyone else had given her the offer to go back and reclaim the town from the nightmare horrors that had occupied it for the last eleven years, she would've laughed in their face. She and her men had fought for every foot of ground, used up all their ammo and then scavenged from their dead comrades and fought on. She'd seen them die or heard their screams as they were overwhelmed. It was the last firefight she'd ever been in, the one she couldn't win.

The one that kept her up at night and filled her dreams with fire and blood.

It had been an unwinnable fight then, and it was an unwinnable fight now. Every now and again, a new hot-blooded officer in the PRT would suggest going back to Ellisburg and cleansing it of Nilbog and his minions once and for all. Doing so would carry a positive benefit to the United States, and to the PRT as a whole. The quarantine containment could end; with the tainted ground purged to the bedrock, the drained ulcer could be left to heal on its own. In time, people might live there again. Or not.

But the unwelcome answer was simple: the benefit would not be worth the cost. By some unclean, arcane means, Nilbog had a deadman trigger waiting to happen. Every time they sought an answer from the Thinker group Watchdog, the answers that came back hinted at devastation and disease spreading beyond the walls that enclosed the infested town. Hundreds, thousands, perhaps tens of thousands would die. Mutations in both plants and animals (including people) would ravage communities downwind for years or even decades.

So Nilbog and Ellisburg had been spared, over and over again. All the while acting as a weeping sore on the American psyche; with all our power, we cannot fix this.

Now, she stared into the bright, cheerful face of a teenage girl who had barely been an infant when Emily had been clawed to the ground, had fought screaming and kicking and stabbing against the monsters from the nightmare that had never ended for her. Her lips twitched, and she held back her outrage. The Hebert girl had no way of knowing what that meant to her …

… but Zachary did.

Her steel-grey gaze roved to the boy. His eyes had never left hers, and looking into them, she saw his understanding. He knew, somehow, what she had gone through in Ellisburg. She drew a deep breath, preparing the words of her refusal.

But they would not come.

Instead, she recalled what he had done. Not just for Brockton Bay, but for the nation. All in the name, if rumour was to be believed, of helping Taylor Hebert and keeping her safe.

"… why?" she asked at last.

"Because of the two people who survived it, you are the one most deserving of seeing its end," Zachary pronounced gravely, each word slotting into place as though carved in stone. "I help Taylor in all ways, all the time; but that does not mean I cannot help others as well. This makes Taylor happy."

"So …" She had to take another deep breath, just to keep her voice steady. "I could go in there, and you could help me kill that murdering sonovabitch, once and for all?"

"That is exactly what I mean, Director," he said with a cheerful smile on his face. "And then, once it is done, we will bring you back here. For you will have an after-action report to write."

More likely, I'll have a heart attack trying, she thought pragmatically. But damn it all to hell and back, something kept telling her that she had a chance, that she could actually do it. Shoving her chair back, she stood up, ignoring the ache in her legs and the nagging pain in her back. "Get me a gun. I've got a goblin king to hunt."

Taylor Hebert held out her hand. "Here," she said. "Let me help you."

"Thank you." The action was so natural, the words so smooth, that Emily thought absolutely nothing of accepting the assistance. Slapping her hand into the Hebert girl's gloved palm, she walked with her across the office. By the time she was halfway to the door, her calf muscles had ceased to hurt. When her back stopped aching, she stopped and stared down at herself. "What the fuck?"

It took her a few more seconds to realize what was going on, and then she could've slapped herself for not getting there earlier. Her body was literally fixing itself, using the excess mass from her extra weight to pack on the muscles where they were needed. This was Hebert's doing. The sneaky bitch is healing me, right under my nose!

"Is there a problem, Director?" the girl had the sheer hide to ask, not even letting Emily's hand go. Not that Emily was in any hurry to do so; with every increment of repair to her body, the amount of energy she felt flooding back into her was amazing. It was the dopamine rush to end all dopamine rushes.

"Yes," she growled, finally summoning the willpower to pull her hand away. "You should ask permission before you do that."

Taylor grinned at her. "But I did. I said to let me help you, and you accepted."

Emily gritted her teeth, wanting to be mad, but knowing it would be ultimately pointless. She'd dealt with barracks-room lawyers before, and how could she be mad with someone who'd brought her back to top fighting form again, anyway? "Just … don't do it again," she muttered. "Now, where's my gun?"

"Right here, Director Piggot." She turned at Zachary's voice; in the one hand, he held a PRT-issue assault rifle and fully loaded webbing, and in the other he held a PRT field issue uniform. If she wasn't much mistaken, it was in her old size.

"Give me that!" It was almost embarrassing, how quickly she snatched the items away from the young man. "But before I get changed, I need to know one thing."

Zachary looked her in the eye. "Nilbog will not harm anyone outside Ellisburg. Now or later. I will not allow it."

God damn it, how did he even know what I was going to say? She cut herself short on that line of query. Too many supervillains could have asked similar questions and gotten nowhere.

Ducking into her ensuite, she changed as rapidly as she knew how. Despite the years that had gone by, she found her fingers still knew the old routines; tab A goes into slot B, get dressed you dozy bastards, now now now!
As she opened the door of the ensuite, she caught sight of herself in the mirror. A leaner, meaner Emily Piggot looked back at her, a ghost from an earlier time. She gave her reflection a toothy grin, then stepped out into the office again.

Almost as an afterthought, she leaned across her desk and hit the intercom for the Deputy Director. "Mr Renick, I'm heading out for awhile. You're in charge until I get back."

"Yes, ma'am," he said. In his tone were questions, but she didn't have time for them right now.

Right now, Emily Piggot was going back to a fight she'd lost years before.

This time, she intended to win.

Nilbog, you bastard, I'm coming for you.


End of Part Nineteen

 

[Ack]

I'm HALPING!

Part Twenty: More Conclusions

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



The Girl Formerly Known as Panacea

"I still don't see what you're so upset over." Amy rolled her eyes as they entered the Weymouth Mall. She was wearing her new favourite blouse, a gift from Crystal that she'd previously consigned to the back of her closet because it was too bright and attention-getting. Now, she didn't care if she drew attention. She wasn't Panacea anymore, and she didn't care who knew it. Between that and the blouse, she was on top of the world.

Vicky, on the other hand, was wearing an outfit that was just as striking, but her mood was as far from sunny as it was possible to get. Although she was no longer confined to the house, she was still annoyed and it showed. Instead of her feet barely brushing the ground, she stomped along as though the sidewalk had personally offended her.

"Really?" She stopped and turned to Amy. "You can't tell why I'm pissed off? Honestly?"

Amy restrained the urge to roll her eyes again. "Oh, I know why. Zachary and Taylor owned you hard, then took away my powers because I asked them to, even though you were against it. Seriously, Vicky, more people need to say no to you. You get kind of entitled sometimes."

"I do not!" Vicky stamped her foot like a petulant child, and a nearby shop door rattled.

Amy raised her eyebrows. "Really? Because you just did a perfect impression of a six-year-old." She checked the floor; it didn't seem to be cracked.

"I don't get entitled." Vicky didn't seem as self-assured this time around. "Do I?"

Amy nodded. She loved Vicky dearly, but sometimes harsh truths needed to be told. "Sorry, but you totally do. Personally, I blame your powers. You've always been a little bit self-centred, and they let you get away with it more than you really should. Reinforcement is a thing."

"There you go again, blaming powers for everything bad that happens." Vicky rolled her eyes. "Name one bad thing that would've happened if you'd kept your powers."

"I get hit by a car when I'm walking to the hospital in the middle of the night," Amy said promptly.

Vicky glared at her. "Something your power does, not something that someone else does."

"Wow, way to move the goalposts." Amy thought for a moment. "Okay. I'm walking to the hospital in the middle of the night and someone tries to mug me."

"I said, your power—"

"Let me finish." Amy waited until Vicky subsided. "I said 'tries'. I subdue him with my powers. I'm tired and don't want to take this shit anymore, so instead of calling the cops or just letting him go, I say fuck it and rewire his brain so he doesn't mug people anymore. Make him into a nice person, give him the incentive to clean himself up and go get a proper job."

Vicky blinked. "Okay, that's more than a bit creepy, but—"

"I'm not done yet." Mentally, Amy braced herself. "So, let's say I've done this once and it's worked. The next time I'm out with the team and we take down a supervillain, I decide to do it again. Say … Uber and Leet. I do it subtly, make it so they want to keep doing the video game schtick, but as good guys instead of villains. Would anyone raise an eyebrow if that really happened?"

Now Vicky was staring at her. "Ames, you're scaring me here. Please tell me you haven't actually done this."

"No, I haven't." Amy gave her a serious look. "But you know what the worst bit is? If someone came up to me and said, 'hey, maybe you shouldn't do that', all I'd have to do is make physical contact and they'd be totally okay with it." As she spoke the last few words, she dropped her voice to a sepulchral whisper, and tapped Vicky on the elbow with two fingers.

"Shit!" Vicky went to flinch away, then stopped herself. "That's not cool, Amy. It's bullshit and you know it. You wouldn't do that. Maybe some horror-movie version might, but not you. I know you too well for that."

"You don't know me that well." Amy shook her head. "I was tempted. Every day I had those powers, I could feel the urge to push the boundaries and fix stuff. Not just bodies. People. Society. That's why I decided to tell everyone I couldn't do stuff with brains, instead of just saying I wouldn't. Because if people got the idea in their heads that I might for a price, they would never have left me alone."

"What, really? All the time?" The look on Vicky's face was priceless.

It was good, Amy reflected, that Vicky already knew the truth about the brains thing, or she might be freaking out even harder than she already was. Things were never going to be the same again after this chat, but that was okay. They'd already been at the point of 'never the same again'. "Yes, all the time."

"So, every time you healed Mom, or Dad, or Aunt Sarah, or me …" Vicky seemed intent on exploring the subject in the same way a child checked with their tongue to see if a tooth was still sore. "… you were tempted to make us … better?"

"The urge was there. Not just for you, but for everyone I ever encountered. Some more than others." Amy shrugged. "I never gave in, but some days were harder than others. One day, if I saw no other way out of it, maybe I would've given in. But I never did. And now, thanks to Zach, I never will."

"Was it really so hard to say no to it? To stay good?" Vicky just wouldn't let the subject go.

Amy looked her in the eye. "You tell me. How much would you pay to have Dad's depression permanently taken care of? And would that be a good thing or not?"

Vicky suddenly looked troubled. "Shit, uh … I dunno. Maybe? Would he even still be Dad?"

"And that's the sixty-four million dollar question, isn't it?" Amy shook her head slowly. "To answer your question, it wasn't hard, no. Just …" Amy reached out and prodded Vicky in the ribs. "Constant. Poke. Poke. Poke." As she said the words, she prodded again and again. "It would've been so easy. A tweak here, a tweak there, gradually rebuilding the world in the image I wanted to see. Everyone's flaws laid out before me, just waiting to be fixed, and my power telling me how it could be done. How it should be done. Poke. Poke. Poke."

"Quit it!" Vicky twisted away from her, giggling, but she sobered quickly. "It sounds horrible. Like a nightmare."

Amy shrugged. "It was my life for three years. I survived and didn't cause any S-class events, so I'll take that as a win." She eyed Vicky sidelong. "You're telling me your power doesn't give you the urge to punch anyone you think needs punching? Even if it would be illegal or they don't necessarily deserve to be punched by Glory Girl?"

Vicky paused for just a moment too long. "Well … punching bad guys is kind of my go-to …"

"And those gangers I've had to come out and help you with? Three or four times now, remember? You got kind of enthusiastic when it came to guys you can throw around like rag dolls, didn't you?"

"You didn't argue when I asked you to help!" Vicky glanced around, as though worried someone might be listening in on the problematic conversation.

"No, but maybe I should've." Amy folded her arms and huffed a sigh. "Just remember; I won't be there to bail your ass out anymore, if you pull that shit again. You break 'em, you pay for 'em."

The look on Vicky's face made it clear she was well aware of that situation. "Don't remind me." She tilted her head toward the interior of the mall. "So, you ready to go spend some allowance money on stuff to go with that blouse?"

"Sure, may as well." Retail therapy wasn't exactly Amy's cup of tea, but she was willing to try out something new to go along with her other life-changing experiences.

She'd taken all of two steps in Vicky's wake when the screech of tyres on asphalt caught her attention; it was way too close and way too loud, and lasted far too long. The final crunch sounded like the car had hit something solid and unyielding. In Amy's experience, just going by the sound, this one was going to be a write-off.

They didn't need to exchange any words. This was an emergency, and they were New Wave. Vicky whipped past her, grabbing the closing doors and wrenching them open when they didn't move fast enough, then flew out into the open air. Going by sheer reflex, Amy hurried after her.

The car was a fast sporty type, with two doors and a cramped back seat. Or rather, it had been. She didn't know its make or model, though even Kid Win or Clockblocker might've been hard put to identify the vehicle after the damage that had been done to it. From the tyre marks, the idiot had been travelling far too fast, hit a patch of oil or something, and speared off the paved road onto the sidewalk. For a miracle, no pedestrians had been hit. The errant vehicle's path had ended at the corner of the bank that was built into Weymouth when it ploughed into the solid brick-and-concrete buttress and stopped.

Vicky alighted next to the car, her head turning as she scanned for further hazards. Amy couldn't smell gasoline, but that meant nothing. It could start leaking now or in five minutes' time. She turned to the nearest bystander, who was gawking at the wreck but doing nothing else worthwhile. "You, what's your name?"

He blinked, looking at her. "Uh, Frank. Why?"

"Frank, I'm going to need you to call nine-one-one, right now." Amy pointed at the car. "We need police, fire and ambulance. All three of them. Can you do that for me?"

Frank began to fumble his phone out of his pocket. "Uh, yeah. Sure."

"Excellent." Amy pushed her way through the gathering crowd to where Vicky was examining the damage and lightly jiggling the driver's side door. A slow trickle of oil was making its way out from under the stricken vehicle toward the gutter, but still no gasoline. Thank God. "Nine-one-one's getting called. How bad's the driver hurt?"

Vicky turned to her. "Ames, you need to get back. This thing could still catch fire, and you aren't Panacea anymore."

"No, but I've had three years of seeing exactly how many ways a human body can get fucked up," Amy shot back. "I sure as hell know a lot more about it than you do."

Leaning in through the window, she turned the ignition key to 'off' then examined the driver for herself. A young man, he was breathing shallowly, lying slumped against the seatbelt. The airbag was just now deflating, which was a good sign. Hopefully, he'd avoided the worst of any potential injuries. Pulse was steady, but not as strong as she would've liked. From the way he was sitting and the sound of his breathing, she was willing to bet he had at least one broken rib.

While she'd never had to actively use first-aid techniques before—her powers had made them laughably superfluous—she'd seen them carried out; immobilising the patient's head, attempting to get his attention, ascertaining other injuries, and so forth. She did what she could, though hampered by the fact that he was in the car and she was outside it. He was only semi-responsive, moaning quietly every now and again.

"Vicky, there'll be a drug store in the mall somewhere," Amy said over her shoulder. "We're gonna need a neck brace."

"On it." There was a whoosh of wind. Amy didn't look around, but she knew for a fact that Vicky was flying through the mall; something her sister had never done before. Vicky positively enjoyed breaking the rules when it came to emergencies.

Half-turning her head, she called out to the gathering crowd. "Does anyone here have medical knowledge or first aid experience? Anyone at all?"

Nobody answered, which was what she'd half expected. Nobody ever wants to get involved. But she could handle it. She would handle it. Powers or no powers, she was still Amy Dallon, damn it!

There was another whoosh of wind. "Got it."

"Good. Unwrap it and pass it here." Amy reached back for the brace, then carefully maneuvered it in through the window and fitted it around the man's neck, making sure it securely supported his head. "Vicky," she said next. "I'm going to need you to remove this door and the door pillar as well. After that, there's a good chance he's got a spine or neck injury from that crash, so once I make sure he's not bleeding anywhere important, we need to carefully remove the whole seat so we can get him away from the car."

"Okay, yeah, that I can do." Vicky grabbed the car door and steadily pulled on it. The frame had been twisted and compressed, which would've normally made heavy machinery a requirement to remove it. With a screech of tortured metal, it came free anyway. Vicky placed the door to one side and moved to examine how best to break off the door pillar.

Ignoring the sounds of material destruction—she'd known Vicky as Glory Girl for years, after all—Amy knelt down half-inside the car and took the opportunity to examine her patient more thoroughly for injuries. There were no pieces of metal sticking in him, and she saw no bloodstains anywhere, which meant they were clear for the next stage. Carefully, she reclined the seat, a little at a time.

With a shriek of metal, Vicky tore off the door pillar and peeled the side of the car back to expose the rear seats. "Okay, what now?"

Amy stood up, dusted her hands off, and leaned in through the opening Vicky had made. "We get him out."

While Amy ensured the driver didn't loll off the makeshift stretcher, Vicky went about the tricky business of detaching the seat from the car without accidentally launching the man through the roof of his own (very) wrecked vehicle. When the steering wheel got in the way, Vicky snapped it off and stacked it next to the door. Fortunately, they'd worked together enough times that only a few words were required between them to get proper communication across. If only I could've communicated my other issues to her so easily, Amy thought, not without a pang.

Emergency services showed up just as they were getting the seat clear of the car. Amy tended to the driver's head, making sure he was still breathing and had a heartbeat, while Vicky handled the heavy lifting. As paramedics surrounded them, Vicky placed the reclined seat on the sidewalk.

"Breathing shallow, pulse there but not great, mostly non-responsive with a few vocalisations, no obvious wounds," Amy reported all in one breath. "Impact was pretty severe, but the airbag deployed so he might have broken ribs. I got a neck brace on him as soon as I could."

"Excellent, good to know," a careworn-looking woman said. "You've done well here, Miss Dallon."

"Yeah, just don't expect her to heal the guy," Vicky snarked. "She's not Panacea anymore, you know."

The paramedics turned to look at her. "Well, yes," said the one in charge. "We know. Okay, we got this."

Vicky stood beside Amy as the paramedics transferred the driver to a stretcher, sliding a back board under him and keeping the neck brace in place. In the meantime, the fire crew were foaming down the car just in case and the police were taking statements off any bystanders who were willing to give one.

"Wait," Vicky said, looking suspiciously at Amy. "They already know? Did you send out word to all the hospitals or something?"

Amy shrugged. "Nope. I never told a soul." She had no doubt of what had happened. Zach did it somehow, so I wouldn't keep getting asked to heal people. Because that's what he does.

As she watched the driver being loaded into the back of the ambulance, she felt a surge of pride. As Panacea, she'd healed any number of people, saved countless lives. But even without powers, she could still make a difference.

That was definitely something worth thinking about.

<><>​

Ellisburg
The Goblin King

Jamie Rinke, aka Nilbog, never stirred in his cocoon beneath the town of Ellisburg. But up above ground, the grotesque form that served as his eyes and ears within his kingdom looked around in confusion. Rinke was not stupid; in the years before he became what he was now and claimed Ellisburg for his own, he had been a banker, a man of education. The ways and means of the American military, though not his personal forte, had been broadcast publicly enough via news and movies. He knew they had many and varied methods they could use to murder his people and scour his kingdom to the bedrock, if they but had a chance to do so.

He did not intend to give them that chance.

Accordingly, he'd seeded the landscape around Ellisburg with spores. Year in and year out, in such low quantities that the PRT troops surrounding his walled town never noticed, he had sent them out to drift on the prevailing winds. They would do nothing so long as he was hale and hearty, and never gave the order to activate. But if the order were to be given, or if he died suddenly, the spores would emerge from their long hibernation and start hatching.

The micro-organisms they contained were subtle and insidious. Everything living in their path could be targeted.

Plants would grow monstrous and grotesque, taking on traits of venus flytraps and other carnivorous flora, spreading via runner-roots and sending out spores of their own. Animals, likewise, would grow large and savage, hybridizing in a parody of high-speed evolution to become ghastly killing machines.

For humans, he had reserved the worst. Children would be affected much like animals, their brains shrinking and bodies bulking out, becoming unthinking, savage carnivorous brutes. Adults would instead sicken from a variety of symptoms, no two alike, the diseases mutating with lightning speed as they jumped from victim to victim.

The PRT, he knew, had precognitives with whom they conferred regarding various threats. Nilbog knew that while the threat of his deadman switch was greater than the onerous duty of guarding the walls of Ellisburg, they would heed the precogs and leave him in peace. So the precarious balance was maintained.

Until now. Just a few seconds ago, his sense of the thinly spread spores had told him that a vast swathe thirty miles across was … gone. As if it had never infested the area at all.

How can this be?

While he puzzled this over, another patch vanished. Then another. Section by section, faster than he could activate them, his painstakingly-laid deadman triggers were being dismantled.

"Unfair!" he shrieked. "Cheating! Unfair!"

Though they had no idea what the matter was, his subjects sought to console him. But it was no use.

Something was coming.

<><>​

Director Piggot
Some Sixty Miles Downwind from Ellisburg

"So why are we here again?" asked Emily. Wearing full camouflage and kitted out with rifle and fully loaded webbing, she felt like a trooper again.

Of course, standing in the middle of a pasture, with nothing more dangerous than a curious horse peering over a fence at them from a hundred yards away, she was beginning to also feel a little conspicuous. She gave Taylor Hebert and her friend Zach a hard glare. Whatever game they were playing at, they needed to wrap it up and get serious.

"Don't ask me," Taylor said cheerfully. "Zach's the one giving directions. I'm just the driver. Zach?"

"Nilbog laid a trap." Zach replied, equally happily. "He has seeded the land with spores for miles in all directions." Crouching down, he took up a dead leaf, probably blown down from a tree. "You see? Right there." He showed Emily the underside of the leaf.

Emily squinted then suddenly, as though someone had turned on a light switch, she spotted the tiny purple grains huddled together in a niche of the leaf. Now that she could see them, they were plainly obvious. "How dangerous are they?" she asked warily, not even considering touching the thing.

"Oh, they are very dangerous." Zach had no business sounding so upbeat, considering the topic at hand. "Infected plants and animals will attack humans. Infected humans will become bestial and attack other humans, or just get sick and die. It was an ingenious plan to ensure he would never be attacked."

"Well, no. Watchdog warned us against it." Emily frowned. "What are we going to do? It's not like we can search every blade of grass and spray this crap. It would take decades."

"We do not need to search every blade of grass." Zach beamed at her. "I know about it, so I can now do this." His foot rose and fell with a light thud. Although the impact had been barely audible, a blurred wave raced out in all directions, vanishing into the distance before Emily could blink. On the leaf, the purple spores … vanished, as if they had never been.

"Let me guess," Taylor said idly. "You killed all the spores?"

"Only those within fifteen miles," Zach corrected her. "The next big concentration is twenty-nine miles four thousand thirty-six feet that way, and fifteen feet six inches higher in elevation."

Taylor nodded. "Got it." She gathered Emily and Zach by the elbows.

There was a brief burst of flame, more seen than felt, and they were in the new location. Emily didn't feel any particular disorientation, just an awareness that they'd moved. Certainly beats any troop transport I ever rode in.

Again, Zach stamped his foot and sent out the wave cancelling all the spores, then they jumped again, and again, and again.

Within minutes, they stood within sight of the Ellisburg wall. Emily peered at it, then turned to Zach. "So what's to stop him from sending out more spores while we're in there?"

"You see, Taylor? There is a reason I thought Director Piggot was the best person for this mission." Zach seemed quite pleased with himself. "No more spores will be sent out, because I will not allow that to happen." He gestured almost negligently, and a massive domed force field appeared over the top of the wall.

Taylor shaded her eyes. "Huh. Same force field your dad used that time, huh?"

"Yes, Taylor." Zachary's tone was relentlessly upbeat. "I thought it was a useful capability. We are going to have to thank Father for showing it to me."

Emily was still trying to figure out which insanely powerful cape would have sired a kid like Zachary, and coming up blank, when Taylor grabbed them both. "Ready?"

It didn't take her long to realize she was the one being addressed. "Kid, I was ready for this before you were born." To give her words emphasis, she checked chamber on her rifle, making sure there was brass in view. The safety clicked off and she laid her trigger finger alongside the guard, barrel pointed in the air. "Let's do this."

Flames flared around them, and they teleported.

<><>​

Taylor

Hands in my jacket pockets, I strolled alongside Zach, following the swathe of destruction Director Piggot was carving through Nilbog's monsters. Her martial skills were very definitely coming back to her, as the extremely dead creatures piled up here and there could attest. Or rather, they could've attested if she hadn't killed them first.

We weren't making her do it all alone, of course. Fighting to her left and right were ghostlike soldiers wearing the same camouflage as she was, carrying weapons equivalent to hers. When she addressed them by name, their features became more visible, matching the names she'd given them. She wasn't even questioning this, barking orders for covering fire and other such military maneuvers.

Raising the muzzle of her rifle, she popped a couple of grenades from the underslung launcher in through the window of a rustic building, then sent tightly-controlled bursts from the rifle into three more creatures as they ran out the door. A second later the grenades detonated, sending fire and debris everywhere. Under cover of the explosions, she yelled, "I'm out! Changing mags!"

This was the tenth time she'd changed her magazine since entering Ellisburg. She hadn't been carrying ten magazines, or enough forty-millimetre grenades to cover the destruction she was causing. But every time she emptied a magazine and shoved it into her webbing, the previous one she'd put in there was now full.

Zach's doing, of course. He wanted Nilbog neutralized and removed from the field of play, so he was giving Director Piggot the means to do it. It would've been just as easy for him to simply kill everything within the walls, but as he'd said when I asked him, "This way is much more fun."

He wasn't actually wrong, there. 'Fun' was one way to put it. 'Entertaining' would have been another, if I were into war movies. Even though I wasn't, it was still educational to watch Director Piggot at work. If this was her ten years after she'd been invalidated out of the troopers, she must've been one hell of a soldier in her day.

As we watched, she dispatched a charging monstrosity by first blowing out its knees then directing concentrated fire into its head until there was nothing left but bloody pulp. Another one, larger than the last, loomed around the corner. Bone plates across its chest and legs made this one a dicier proposition.

The Director didn't hesitate. She detonated three grenades in its face, then slung her rifle and yelled, "AT-4!" Or rather, I thought she was saying 'eighty-four' until my glasses helpfully threw up a graphic of a tubular device with a rocket-looking device overlaid on it. I hadn't even seen Zach was holding one until he threw it toward her. Because of course he hadn't been holding it until she called out for it.

She caught it one-handed, then somehow swung it around into a ready position on her shoulder. Without a single wasted motion, she pulled and moved levers on it, causing a couple of vertical sights to pop up, then she called out, "Back blast area clear!"

My glasses showed the area she was talking about, a cone extending out behind her, just barely extending to where we were standing. Zach and I probably could've stood directly behind the thing and not been affected, but we courteously stepped aside anyway. "Clear," I called back to her.

She didn't acknowledge by voice; her head went down to the sights and she fired the thing. There was a brief but loud bang and a huge bloom of fire and smoke behind her, and a dramatic explosion in front. When the smoke cleared, bloody chunks of the monster were basically everywhere.

Discarding the tube, she kept moving. Her rifle ran out of ammunition yet again—it wasn't as though she had a lack of targets—but she changed magazines and kept going. We followed as she cleared the town, building by building. Between us, Zach and I suppressed the fire of creatures that wanted to launch bone darts at either us or the Director; it wasn't as though we'd come here looking for a fair fight, after all.

Ellisburg was a bloodbath by the time we reached the last building. Some creatures had tried to burrow up from beneath, but the Director had brutally dealt with those. All of the buildings were empty of anything living, some were no longer recognisable as buildings, and more than a few were on fire. A few last monsters tried to form a stand between us and the grotesque form of Nilbog, but the Director went through them as if they didn't exist. Finally, she stood before the Goblin King himself.

"You," she said. There were so many emotions layered into her voice that a single word told a story.

He stirred on his throne, his face obscured by a cloth crown with a mask hanging down in front. His gross lips parted, then he spoke. "Who are you? I do not know you. By what right do you come to my kingdom, slaughter my subjects?" The words were accented strangely, almost another language unto themselves.

Emily Piggot did not speak for a moment, possibly struck dumb by the sheer audacity inherent in the question. Then she raised her chin. "Jamie Rinke, you are guilty of the murders not only of every single man, woman and child in Ellisburg, but also of almost every soldier who set foot in this city in the aftermath. I faced your creations and nearly died. That gives me the right to do this."

Without turning her eyes from Nilbog, she removed the magazine from the rifle and replaced it with a full one. When she pulled the charging handle on the rifle, the clack-clack was loud in the silence of the ruined town. Only the faint crackle of flames could be heard in the background.

"Then kill me with your fire and metal!" Nilbog spread his arms wide. "I am helpless, soldier from a foreign land!"

Almost for the first time since we'd teleported into Ellisburg, the Director acknowledged our presence. Half-turning toward us, while keeping the Goblin King in plain view, she asked, "Is he real?"

"No, Emily Piggot, he is not." Zach strolled forward, a smile playing on his lips. "This is a puppet he created to pretend to be himself. Do you wish to face the real Jamie Rinke?"

The Director's lips drew back and she showed her teeth. "Oh, yes," she purred. "Please."

"You cannot!" shrieked the monstrosity on the makeshift throne. "Cheaters! Liars! Usurpers!"

"Oh, shut the fuck up." The Director pointed her rifle at him and emptied the magazine, splattering chunks away from his misshapen body until the weapon clicked dry. Bleak grey eyes surveyed the bloody mess as she reloaded, then she turned to Zach. "Show me."

"Very well." Zach stamped his foot on the ground, and in response a rumbling arose from below. A mound of earth began to build, then slid apart, showing a cocoon-like form. Through the translucent outer skin, a human form was vaguely visible.

Slinging her rifle, the Director drew a fighting knife as she strode over to the cocoon. One slash opened it up as though unfastening a zipper. Translucent fluids spilled out, adding their unpleasant aroma to that of dead bodies and burning buildings. The form within, a human male wearing just enough clothing to be modest, opened its eyes and sat up. He tried to speak several times, opening and closing his mouth, before his voice got through. "What are you going to do with me?"

"This." Emily Piggot drew her sidearm with impressive speed. Just as my glasses flickered with an update, she fired twice. Two shots went into his chest at close range before she shot him one more time in the head. Brain matter splattered out over the dirt mound. Leaving the body to sprawl in the wreckage of the cocoon, she holstered the pistol and turned to us. "I'm done here."

"Then we are too." Zach turned to me. "Taylor, if you will?"

"Sure, I can do that." I reached out for Director Piggot's arm. Flame washed around us as we teleported away.

<><>​

Director Piggot

Emily stood looking around her office as if it were unfamiliar territory for her. Slowly, she turned to the pair of teens. Or rather, the teen girl and the cape masquerading as a teenage boy. "Thank you." The words felt strange on her lips.

"You are welcome." Zach sounded as cheerful as ever. "Did you have any questions?"

"Yes. One." Emily frowned. "That firefight took several hours. How come the troops outside never came to investigate?"

Taylor grinned. "The force field Zach put over the place. It diverts attention, and it speeds up elapsed time inside the field. By the time they would've noticed something was wrong, we were done and gone."

Emily nodded. That explained why most of the elapsed time wasn't actually showing on her wall clock. "Very well. Did you have any more need for me?"

"No, Director!" Zach waved happily. "Have a good afternoon!" Before she could answer, they had vanished, the brief burst of flames not so much as scorching the carpet.

Slowly, she began to divest herself of the paraphernalia of being a soldier. She was hungry, thirsty, tired, her ears were still ringing from the constant gunfire, and she ached all over. But the long-endured burden on her soul had been lifted free at last. The fallen of Ellisburg had been avenged. Nilbog was dead.

As she stepped into the ensuite to shower off the smell of smoke and blood, she smiled to herself.

This is going to be one doozy of an after-action report.

<><>​

Taylor

I glanced sideways at Zach as we lounged in Fugly Bob's. Neither one of us had ordered the Challenger, mainly because Zach could eat ten if he felt like it and I could probably eat one, but I wouldn't enjoy it. It would basically be a meaningless feat, so we didn't do it.

"So did I catch you grabbing his powers just before she shot Nilbog?" I asked, then popped a curly fry into my mouth. Sure, it was bad for me, but who cared?

Zach smiled then took a drink from his shake. "Yes, Taylor. Some powers were designed for direct action, while others were intended to stir other people into direct action. This power was one of the latter. I believe I will be able to make better use of it."

I snorted. "Well, duh." His ability to borrow powers—or even outright steal them—was something I was entirely on board with. Zach had proven over and over again that if anyone was to be trusted with power, it was him. "So, whose day were you thinking of ruining next?"

He blatantly stole some of my curly fries while he was thinking the matter over (or rather, pretending to—I wasn't stupid enough to believe Zach didn't have plans up the wazoo) so I retaliated by grabbing his shake and taking a long slurp out of it. For some reason, this amused him immensely, but not so much that he didn't filch one of my calamari rings. The little theft war went on until he'd eaten most of my food and I'd eaten most of his, and we were both smirking at the goofy humour of it all.

"Have you heard of a group called the Travelers?" he asked, polishing off the last curly fry.

I ate his last fish stick, then shook my head. "I don't recognise the name." A moment later, my glasses put a readout in front of me. TRAVELERS, it said, and began listing names and powers. "… ah. But apparently my glasses have."

Zach said nothing, giving me time to read. These glasses really were very handy.

When I got to the abbreviated background, I frowned. "They're from Earth Aleph? Wow. I didn't even know … ah. Your sister?"

He nodded. "She says it was part of an ongoing plan to cause further chaos and destabilise matters by reducing public trust in the Protectorate and PRT, followed by the disruption of an Endbringer defense. There are volatile personalities within the group, and the capacity for much damage if they are left unchecked. Also, one of the members has a power that is damaging her and causing unnecessary death to those around her. My sister would approach them herself to send them back, but it would be almost impossible for her to gain their trust in any meaningful timeframe."

I'd already read about how they'd gotten to Bet, so his comment surprised me not at all. "Yeah, can't understand why that might be."

He paused for a moment, then smiled in relief. "Ah. You are using sarcasm for emphasis. Yes, that is funny."

In some ways he was coming along well—the theft of the food, for instance—while in others he was still working at it. But hey, I was enjoying my time with him, and we were doing good in the world. "So, when did you want to go say hi to them?"

"There is no time like the present, Taylor." He got up and carefully stacked the remains of our meal on the tray it had arrived on. For someone who could have gotten rid of every piece of trash in the building in less time than it took me to blink, he seemed to enjoy the meticulous activity.

"All-righty then." I stood up and stretched, enjoying the view out over the bay, with gulls swooping and squawking over any idiot who took fries down to the Boardwalk. They weren't quite willing to intrude into the Fugly Bobs diner space, though I was privately certain that the slightest hint of encouragement would've seen them taking up residence on the table. "Are we running, jumping or teleporting?"

I heard the clatter as he emptied the tray into the trash can, then stacked it on top of the others. "My sister says they are on the move from New York to Boston, so I believe running would be best. Unless you would rather we jumped? As I understand, you enjoy that most of all."

He was absolutely correct that I enjoyed it most of all. What wasn't to enjoy? Of course, Zach's version of jumping had about as much in common with actual leaping as Li'l Protectorate Pals had with the genuine Armsmaster and Miss Militia.

"How about we compromise?" I suggested. "We jump to the general vicinity, then we run to catch up with them."

He beamed at me. "Do you know, I would not have thought of that. Good idea, Taylor. We shall do that."

We headed down the steps to the Boardwalk, and Zach scooped me into his arms. I was getting quite used to this now, of course, but the tiny thrill of being picked up like a princess by his oh so strong arms never really went away. A couple of passers-by stopped and stared, and I gave them a cheesy grin and a wave. "Hi!"

They stared harder, clearly not quite sure of what to think.

"Bye!" And Zach jumped. "Wooooo hoooooo!"

<><>​

Totally Not the Undersiders

Lisa sat down heavily on the bench near Fugly Bob's. Eyes screwed tight with pain, she rubbed at her temples with her hands. "Mother goddamn fucker," she muttered.

Brian, next to her, eyed her with concern and offered her his waterbottle. "What? We see flying capes all the time, What's the problem with that one?"

She took it and poured half the contents over her head. "Not ones like that one, we don't. I know Rachel and Alec have already left town since the boss cut us loose. It's time I went, too. That asshole nearly gave me an aneurysm."

"Why?" Brian peered up into the sky, but the teen cape and his friend had already vanished. Her jacket had been pretty cool, though. "Who was he?"

Lisa shook her head. "If I told you, you wouldn't believe me. If you believed me, you wouldn't be happy knowing. Trust me, in this instance, ignorance really is bliss."

"Oh, okay." Brian frowned. "Where are you going to go?"

Lisa grimaced. "I'm thinking maybe LA." Closing her eyes, she rubbed her temples again. "This goddamn town."

<><>​

Trickster
Halfway Between New York and Boston

Francis Krouse wasn't sure where Cody had boosted the RV from, and he didn't want to know. His teammate's rewind power was about the only thing that kept him on the team these days. The passive-aggressive behaviour (and the actively aggressive behaviour) he was indulging in more and more of these days was irritating everyone, even the eager-to-please Marissa.

With any luck, they'd be able to make a fresh start in Boston, and give themselves a clean break from the unpleasantness that had caused them to flee New York. Of course, without a miracle cure for what was afflicting Noelle, they'd only last so long before they had to skip town yet again. On the upside, he'd heard Accord wasn't hard to deal with; the Thinker merely required everything to be orderly and predictable.

Unfortunately, 'orderly and predictable' failed utterly to describe at least two members of the Travelers, maybe more depending on how precisely he chose to apply the words. Noelle simply could not go out in public or be around anyone who didn't know not to have physical contact with her, not least because of her changing form and size. And Cody … some days, it seemed to him that Cody just went through a mental list of 'what would piss everyone off the most' and rolled a die.

I wish he'd just take the hint and fuck off. But if he did that, he couldn't hang around and keep blaming me for taking Noelle away from him, and of course for what happened to her. I swear, the next time he—

The droning engine note of the RV died; rubber howled on pavement as the back wheels locked up. Jolted from his reverie, Francis locked his hands on the wheel, fighting the suddenly-stiff steering, trying not to let the ungainly vehicle skid out and roll. Shouts and cries of alarm sounded from behind him, then suddenly they were rolling free again. The engine was still out, though, and the steering remained stiff as hell.

"What the fuck was that about, Krouse?" Luke burst through from the back and swung himself into the passenger seat. "Did you just decide to wake everyone up for the fun of it?"

"No!" Francis gestured at the dashboard, where absolutely nothing was showing, then returned his hand to the wheel. "Engine just died!" Looking down at the gearshift, he saw it had somehow jumped into Neutral, which was something he belatedly realised he should've done for himself. But at least they weren't about to crash right this second.

"Well, fuckin' start it again." Luke gestured at the steering column and by inference the ignition key.

"Doubt it'll be that easy." But Francis tried it anyway, reaching for the key. His fingers fumbled at the keyhole for a few seconds before he registered what was wrong. "Where's the fucking key?"

"What?" Luke leaned over in his seat. "The fuck? What'd you do with it?"

"I didn't!" Francis took a deep breath and moderated his tone. "I didn't do anything with it. One second I was just driving and the next, the engine cut out and the back wheels were dragging. It must've jumped into Neutral, which is why we haven't crashed yet." He demonstrated wrenching the wheel back and forth. "Power steering's out, too."

"The steering shouldn't be working at all." That was Marissa, behind Luke. "One time, my best friend's boyfriend tried to roll his car down the hill because he was out of fuel, and he took the ignition key out. That locked the steering, and he wiped out the neighbour's mailbox. Why isn't the steering locked?"

Cody's sneering voice cut in. "Because Krouse is pulling some sort of bullshit power play. Fake an emergency, be the big hero when he miraculously fixes it, nobody second-guesses him still being in charge when we get to Boston."

From behind everyone else, way down at the back, Noelle called out. "Krouse? What's going on? Why did you hit the brakes like that? Why are we slowing down?"

"It's all good!" he shouted back. "Just hold tight and we'll get this sorted out!" Taking a breath and looking around at the rest of his teammates, he moderated his tone again. "This isn't something I'm doing. Someone or something did it to us. Mask up. I'm going to pull off into that rest area up ahead."

It wasn't as though he was going to have much of a choice in the matter. Even rolling free, the RV was slowing down, as Noelle had noticed. It was a choice of either stopping in the middle of the road, at the mercy of any high-speed traffic that failed to change lanes in time, or getting off the freeway altogether.

Fortunately, the traffic was light to non-existent. He managed to get over into the right-hand lane without much more than a blare of a horn from an irritated motorist, then wrestled the wheel around so the RV took the turnoff. From there, it was a matter of repeatedly stomping the brakes—the power braking system was also apparently out—until they engaged, and the RV ground to a halt.

Donning his Baron Samedi top hat and full-face mask, Francis checked all the mirrors then looked out through the windshield and side mirrors for potential hostiles. There were only two, standing out in the open with no attempt at concealment. A pair of teenagers, a guy and a girl. He was tall and soldily-built, with the promise of topping out at over six feet. Almost as tall as her companion, the girl was slender, wore glasses that glinted in the sunlight, and sported an absolutely rockin' jacket.

Neither one had a mask on, which … really meant nothing, in the long run. They could have been unconnected to this whole affair, or neck-deep in it but uncaring if anyone saw their faces. There really was no way to tell.

"Damn," muttered Marissa as she came back with her mask on. "That's a really nice jacket."

"Admire it after all this is over." Francis took a deep breath. "Luke, sunroof. Cody, get ready to lock them into a loop. Mars, if they start slinging stuff at us, light up a sun between them and us."

"And what are you going to be doing?" Even in this level of emergency, Cody couldn't stop sniping.

"Going out to see what they want." He didn't want to, but they were kind of in a bind here. "If either of them gets hostile, we come out fighting."

There was a moment of silence, then Luke nodded and slapped Francis on the shoulder. "Got it. Good luck."

"Yeah, gonna need it." Francis hated this kind of situation. The ground had clearly been prepared by the opposition, so whatever they did was likely to have been anticipated. Was this an assassination attempt? A grab aimed at Noelle? He didn't know their motives, so he couldn't plan against them.

Taking another deep breath, he fixed on the guy. If shit went down, they'd swap places and he'd be next to the girl while her boyfriend would be facing his friends. If Luke had to, he could launch the guy clear into the next county. And while Francis wasn't a fighter, surely to God he could punch out one skinny teenage girl.

Opening the side door, he stepped out onto the concrete pavement that made up the rest area. Now to see if this was going to be a straight-up fight, or if it would be preceded by a test of wills while each side waited for the other to make the first move.

Apparently, the girl hadn't heard of either trope. She strolled forward to meet him, hands in the pockets of her leather jacket. "Hey, how are you?" A friendly nod accompanied the words.

"I'm fine," he replied cautiously. "What the fu—"

Her boyfriend had been several steps behind her. Suddenly, he was half a step ahead, and Francis was almost certain he hadn't seen the guy move. "Please do not swear at Taylor," the guy said. Or at least, that was what his voice said. The undertones were something else altogether. If you fuck with me, it will be the last thing you ever do. Only a whole lot less polite.

A trickle of sweat started down the back of his neck. He desperately wanted a cigarette, but he'd run out two hours ago. Okay, this shit is really, really serious!

"So, this here's Zach," said the girl chattily. "You may have heard of him? Guy who totalled the Slaughterhouse Nine from halfway across the country, using a PRT van and a street sign? Yeah, that guy. We've also dealt with the Teeth, the Fallen, the Machine Army and—just today—Nilbog's crew. My name is Taylor, but that bit's not important. The important bit is that if you listen very, very carefully to what we've got to say, this may end up being the best day of your life."

Her voice didn't hold the same undertones of absolute fucking doom that his did. Instead, he found himself believing her implicitly. He'd heard about the Nine, but not the rest. And yet, he didn't question her words in the slightest. "Okay," he said. "Got it."

"Good." Taylor took her hand from her pocket—no weapons, thank God—and waved at the RV. "Is everyone in there okay? Yes? Excellent. So, you might be wondering why we arranged for you to end up here."

Having the suspicion was one thing. The confirmation was quite another. Francis tensed slightly, ready to respond to any hostile moves. "How did you do that, anyway? EMP?"

"Do not be silly," Zach said almost chidingly. "I am not a Tinker. I am not a parahuman at all. I merely disconnected your battery, removed your steering lock and took the key when you were not looking."

"When I wasn't—I was driving!" Francis almost choked on the words. "That's the very definition of 'looking'!"

Zach smiled and held up a vaguely familiar-looking set of keys. "I believe these belong to your vehicle, yes?"

"I … guess so?" Francis didn't want to commit himself. "I could've—"

The keys vanished from Zach's hand and the RV roared to life, all in the same split second. "And now they are back in your vehicle. The battery has been reconnected, and the steering lock repaired."

The vague feeling of dread, that had been looming over Francis ever since Zach had reproached him for swearing, settled over his shoulders in full force. However he was doing it, this guy—who wasn't a parahuman, his brain kept insisting—was absolutely the real fucking deal. "Okay, so what do you want?"

Taylor grinned broadly. "See, that's the right question. What we want is to send you back home, where you belong. What Zach wants is your powers in repayment. All of them."

Francis' brain came to a shuddering, screeching halt. "What." Our powers? What the fuck?

"It is a simple request." Zach spread his hands. "I will remove your powers without harming you. I will also remove the last of the influence of my sister's power from your brains. Taylor will restore Jess the use of her legs. And then I will send you back to Earth Aleph, to the location of your choice."

It was a struggle for Francis to wrap his head around the situation. He could understand the concept of losing his powers, though he didn't want to do it. Going back to Aleph was a definite plus. But the bit in the middle was tripping him up. "What … your sister?" He looked at Taylor. "Is that you? Are you his sister?" A moment's pause as he caught up with what Zach was saying. "You can fix her legs?"

Taylor chuckled lightly. "Yes to the legs, no to the sister part. The Simurgh is his sister." Leaning a little closer, she cupped her hand around her mouth and lowered her voice theatrically. "Don't tell anyone, but he's an Endbringer."

How Francis managed to avoid screaming and running at that point, he would never know. Settling into a state of dull resigned terror, he nodded in acknowledgement. "And you are …?" In all honesty, he wouldn't have been surprised if she'd revealed herself as Glaistig Uaine's older sister.

She beamed at him. "Oh, I'm nobody important. Just an ordinary girl from Brockton Bay. So, about the powers thing."

He frowned. "I'm not sure if the guys will be happy about giving them up." Though Jess is likely to reach down my throat and rip out my spleen if I don't agree to the whole 'walking again' aspect for her.

Taylor shrugged, seemingly unconcerned. "It's kind of a package deal. Giving up your powers is your ticket back to Aleph. The restored mobility and influence removal are a freebie. Now, I know Noelle, Marissa and probably Jess will jump at it. If you want to go back with Noelle, you know what you have to do."

Behind his mask, Francis grimaced. He'd known what it was like to be between a rock and a hard place, but this was rockier and harder than he'd ever experienced before. "Can I talk it over with the others?"

Zach nodded and made an expansive gesture. "Feel free to do so, Mr. Krouse."

Yeah, I got it. You know everything about us. Francis turned and trudged back to the RV.

This was not going to be a pleasant discussion.

<><>​

Taylor

By the time the vehicle door opened again and Trickster emerged, I was reclining in a deck-chair with an umbrella overhead to keep the sun off, a drink at my elbow. Zach had a chair of his own beside me, and he was doing a really good impression of being half asleep. Nobody else had pulled off the freeway in all this time, because Zach had decided they wouldn't.

Sitting up, I finished my drink off, then stood up. "So, how'd it go?" I asked cheerfully. He didn't have to know I'd been using my glasses to keep tabs on the discussion within the RV; people were much more likely to do what you wanted if you gave them the illusion of freedom of agency. I'd learned that the hard way.

"We're going back," he said briefly. "All of us."

It had been a hard-fought decision, which was good. If we'd just imposed it on them, they would've been unhappy and resentful, even if they would've come to the same choice themselves. But because they'd chosen it, they could feel proud of themselves and hold their heads high.

Noelle, Marissa, Jess and Oliver had of course all voted to go back. Francis didn't want to lose his powers, but his love for Noelle was stronger, so he'd reluctantly joined their faction. Cody spent the longest time trying to convince Noelle that there was some way she could be healed of her affliction on Earth Bet, but she was adamant, so eventually he caved as well. The last holdout, Luke, had been intending to stay on Bet and be a hero, but Marissa of all people pointed out how hard it was to rebrand.

All in all, the debate had taken about two hours, and had gotten quite heated at points. Was I a bad person to have been entertained by the back and forth arguments? Probably, but it was the most fun I'd had in quite a while.

Zach started with Noelle. She looked at him nervously as he walked up, but then he smiled and she relaxed. Zach's smiles were disarming, to say the least. That put her off-guard long enough for him to reach out and take her hand.

"Shit—"

"Fuck—"

"No—"

"Don't—"

Ignoring the exclamations from the rest of the Travellers, Zach concentrated slightly and led Noelle forward out of the grotesque lower body, legs forming as she moved. And because Zach was cool like that, jeans formed over her legs at the same time. By the time they reached Trickster, she wasn't even stumbling anymore.

Trickster put his arms around her anyway, and she did the same with him. Then he looked over her shoulder at Zach. "It's that easy? I thought there'd be more to it."

Zach smiled as he bundled up the remainder of Noelle's power and made it disappear. "I can make it difficult if you wish me to. There can be pain and blood and screaming … or I can simply make it happen."

The Travelers looked at each other, then back at Zach. "Uh … I vote for easy," Marissa said hastily. "Easy is good for me."

I smirked. It was something people nearly always forgot about Zach. He could definitely make things difficult for people, but they had to choose to push back. Unfortunately (for them), many people did just that.

One by one, they lined up and Zach removed their powers. I used the Panacea gloves to restore Jess' legs to full mobility while he was working on the others. Luke was reluctant and Cody downright glared at him, but nobody actually resisted the process. Which was fortunate; Zach had confided to me that Cody was going to lose his powers no matter what. He was too prone to holding grudges, even before the Simurgh's influence had gotten into the mix.

Finally, Zach gestured and a shimmering portal unravelled from thin air. "This will take you home," he declared. "Nobody will ask too many questions about where you have been. I have made sure of that. Be well. Be happy."

Tossing aside her mask, Marissa was the first to step through, followed by Oliver and Jess. Francis and Noelle went next, her arm snuggled around his. Luke took a moment to look around one last time, then approached Zach.

"Thanks, man," he said, offering his hand. "I wasn't sure I wanted this, but now I am."

"You are welcome." Zach shook his hand firmly.

Luke nodded. "Appreciate the chance." He stepped through the portal and was gone.

Cody was the last. Even with the Simurgh's malign influence lifted, I could see the habit of bitterness on his face. "Don't expect me to thank you."

Zach shrugged. "You have made your choice. What you do with it is up to you."

The ex-Traveler curled his lip. "Yeah, you can fuck ri—"

That did it for me. Zach had the patience of Mount Rushmore, but I'd had enough of this punk disrespecting him. Stepping forward, I grabbed Cody by the front of his shirt. He hadn't taken his mask off so I ripped it free and tossed it aside. "No," I told him. "You can fuck right off. Don't let the door hit your ass on the way out."

My strength was enhanced by the powers inherent in the jacket, but I was still impressed by the distance and accuracy I scored with the throw; one-handed, at that. He went through the portal without touching the sides, and I figured he would've flown another ten feet before hitting the ground.

As the portal winked out, I turned to Zach. "Sorry. He was getting on my nerves."

He chuckled and put his arm around my waist. "There is nothing to apologise for, Taylor. He was an unpleasant person. Shall we go home?"

I looked at the sun, lowering in the western sky. It had been a long day. "Sure. Can we jump?"

"We can jump." He gathered me in his arms.

"Woooo hoooo!"



End of Part Twenty

 

[Ack]

I'm HALPING!

Part Twenty-One: Coming to a Head

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



That Night
Danny

"So, Ellisburg's … done?" Danny slid a slice of lasagna onto a plate and handed it to Zach. "Just like that?"

"Thank you, Danny. Yes, just like that." Zach took the plate to the table and sat down. "In the end, it was quite easy. I supplied Director Piggot with the appropriate tools, and she proved extremely adequate to the task."

"You should've seen it, Dad." Taylor accepted the next plate and sat down beside Zach. "It was like a war movie, only better. They didn't stand a chance."

"Now I'm kind of sorry I missed it." Danny wasn't as much of a war movie buff as Kurt and Lacey were, but he did like a good one. "You sound like you've been busy, cleaning up around the place."

"Yeah, but it's a fun kind of busy." She took a bite of lasagna. "Mmm, that's nice. So, anything interesting happen while we were out and about?"

Danny raised his eyebrows, wondering if she was punking him. "What, Zach didn't tell you?"

Zach had the grace to look abashed. "I apologise, Taylor. It did not seem important enough to tell you about until after dessert. My sister decided that Leviathan should not be having all the fun, so she visited the city today, to have some fun of her own."

Taylor frowned. "There was nothing on TV about an Endbringer alarm."

"That is because it did not go off," Zach explained. "Your local villains Uber and Leet were in the process of setting up a game of Battleship in the port with the ships we refloated, when she challenged them to a game of Dance Dance Revolution."

"Wait," said Taylor. "She was here in Brockton Bay, and nobody reacted?"

"Ah. Again, I apologise." Zach smiled ruefully. "I neglected to explain that she asked me to lend my ability to keep people thinking everything was fine while all this was happening. She has assisted us with her abilities several times now; turnabout is fair play, is it not?"

"Well, true." Taylor tilted her head. "Now I'm just a little unhappy that I missed it." Then there was a flicker of light from her glasses and she blinked. "Oh. Oh, wow … holy crap, these are just like 3-D glasses. It's like I'm there."

"They are whatever you need them to be, Taylor." Zach applied himself to the lasagna. "I will say this much, Danny. Although I do not have a strict need to eat, I am greatly enjoying the meals that I have been eating since I arrived here. I am left to wonder if my brothers and sister would still have caused the damage they have if they had been formed able to enjoy food."

"Peace through superior cooking skills?" Danny thought that was hilarious. "Well, it certainly would've been easier to keep them from wrecking cities. Though Behemoth does seem the type to keep going back through the buffet line, just saying."

Taylor giggled. "At least Leviathan would never have to worry about refills for his water pitcher." Her attention returned to whatever her glasses were showing her. "Wow, that's some stage she built."

"It really was." Danny and the other Dockworkers had heard the music from the Association headquarters. As it was coming from down near the waterfront, they'd piled into cars and gone to investigate. It had indeed been a huge DDR stage, with appropriately scaled dance platforms; one for Uber and one for the Simurgh herself. Massive screens hovered above the stage, showing the footwork of each of the 'contestants', while Leet ran the console.

At the time, he had wondered why nobody ran screaming when they saw it was the Simurgh in attendance. Initially he'd suspected they thought it was an illusion of some sort ginned up by the video game geek pair, but Zach had just confirmed his later surmise.

Over the next several hours, while maybe ten thousand people arrived from all over Brockton Bay (the music carried a long, long way) Uber and the Simurgh engaged in a DDR dance-off. They started with relatively simple songs, then escalated to ones that left Danny wondering if the composer had suffered a stroke halfway through.

All in all, the footage of the event was promising to be Uber and Leet's most popular video. The lead had been swapped back and forth between the pair all the way through, up until the Simurgh scored one point extra to win a dead heat. Then she'd bowed to the crowd, touched two fingers to her forehead in vague salute to Uber, and taken off vertically, disappearing into the sky overhead. Slowly, giving the pair time to get out of the way, the stage had disassembled itself into its component parts, while the screens had lowered themselves to ground level before shutting themselves off.

(Danny had checked afterward, and apparently all the requisite paperwork for the outdoor event had been filed beforehand, including the names of the participants, and nobody had noticed).

In the aftermath, Uber and Leet had made an announcement. "We've had a great run but all good things come to an end, and when the actual Simurgh participates in one of our shows, it's kind of a hint that it's time to fold our tents and disappear into the night. You've been a great audience, Brockton Bay. Thank you very much."

Interestingly enough, although Danny had spotted a few heroes and other law-enforcement personnel in the audience, nobody made a move to stop the villains from leaving. For the most part, it seemed they'd been looking at each other and asking, did that really happen? Not unlike the audience members themselves, for that matter.

While Taylor watched the show, fast-forwarding or rewinding by tapping the rim of her glasses, Danny chatted with Zach about what else they'd been doing. They ended up going into the living room, where Zach performed one of his bullshit Endbringer stunts and threw footage up on the new big-screen TV so Danny could watch the events of Ellisburg for himself.

It was, he decided, a fitting end to an interesting day.

<><>​

Taylor
Arcadia
The Next Day

"Taylor! Zach!"

I looked around in mild surprise as Amy came out of the crowd and hit Zach with a full-on flying hug. He weathered it well, taking a step back so she didn't come to too sudden a halt, then steadying her on her feet. "Hello, Amelia Claire," he said cheerfully. "You seem happy today."

"I had the best day ever, yesterday," she confirmed. "This guy came out of nowhere and had a car accident right in front of me and Vicky, and we helped, and we got it right, and nobody asked me to heal him! They knew I didn't have powers, and I know I didn't tell them!" Her smile spread right across her face.

"You did something, didn't you?" Glory Girl drifted down from above, her expression somewhere between exasperation and resignation. "It was just like when nobody cared that you beat me arm-wrestling. You make it so people just see what you want them to see."

"Very good," he praised her without an ounce of irony. "It is a perception filter, of sorts. Not many people are able to even notice it."

"Tell me about it," I said dryly. "I'm pretty sure I only spot it when you make it obvious." Like the time he'd flat-out told the news lady he was Eidolon's son, but used the perception filter thing to make her disbelieve it.

"Well, however it happens, it works for me." Amy beamed at me as she let Zach go. "People know I used to be Panacea, and they don't care that I'm not anymore."

Vicky still didn't look thrilled. "I care. If someone comes after you to get at New Wave, you don't have any powers to protect you, and I won't always be there."

"This will not happen." Zach's voice was firm. "There are no cape gangs left in the city worthy of the name. The ones who have not already been captured or turned themselves in have either left town or are preparing to do so. The unpowered adherents to those gangs are already beginning to drift away, as they are no longer guaranteed cape protection from the consequences of their misdeeds. None of them would dare attack Amelia Claire for her affiliation with New Wave, because I say so." His last three words held a weight and gravitas that made me feel they should be engraved in stone.

Amy blinked. "Uh, wow. Thanks. You didn't have to do that."

"Yeah, he actually had to." Vicky put her arm around her sister's shoulders. "He took your powers away, so making sure you weren't left vulnerable was the right thing to do." She eyed Zach keenly. "I've been doing a lot of thinking over the last day or so, and following what you've been up to. When I made you arm-wrestle me, did you influence me to do that?"

Zach gave her an approving look. "I did not force you to do it, if that is what you are asking. I did influence your thought processes so that you saw me in an unfavourable light and were certain you could best me, despite what you knew of my actions to that point. But your choice to insist on a contest of physical strength was just that; your choice."

"So you didn't force me into it, but you set me up and let me take the fall." Vicky didn't seem as angry as I expected her to be. "All so you could talk to Ames. Were you intending to take her powers from the beginning?"

"That was one option," Zach replied frankly. "If I could have assisted her in solving her personal issues without removing them, that would have been another one. But they were at the root of too many such issues, and so removing them turned out to be the simpler solution."

"Oh, absolutely." Amy raised her chin, a beatific expression on her face. "You have no idea how much of a weight's been lifted off my shoulders with all that. The only expectations on me are what everyone else has got. I don't even care anymore if my biological dad is a supervillain, because I know I'm not going to become one myself."

I recalled what Marquis had said in the Birdcage; without that, her comment would've made a lot less sense. "Well, that's definitely a good thing too," I observed.

"So why were Amy's problems so special?" Vicky made a circular gesture, as if to indicate the school and the city beyond. "I don't see you spending one-on-one time with any other capes to solve their issues."

"Amelia Claire's problems were the most immediate," Zach explained. "If they went out of control, she would have posed a danger to Taylor's happiness and well-being. Taylor and I have also nipped other problems in the bud that you were unaware of. As I said, there are now no cape gangs extant in Brockton Bay, and the few remaining independents are making arrangements to move along."

"Well, that's going to make things a little quieter around here," I noted. "Though Dad says Lord's Port being back in operation is really going to be a shot in the arm for local industry." I smirked. "Some shipping companies are going to be upset, though."

Amy and Vicky both looked at me, curious, but Vicky got in the question first. "Why?"

"Some of those ships had cargo on board when the port was closed off," I explained. "They could've come in and spent their money to reopen it then reclaimed their property, but so they couldn't be held responsible for that, they officially relinquished ownership to anyone who wanted to perform salvage. Not a bad deal in their eyes, given that most of the cargoes had been ruined by seawater and were literally unsalvageable by that point."

Amy got the point first. "So, when Zach did his percussive maintenance and re-floated the ships, nearly all the cargoes went back to as-new," she realised. "So, whoever got the salvage rights …"

"Mainly the Dockworkers," I confirmed with a grin.

Vicky let out a bark of laughter. "Which means the Dockworkers now have possession of a whole lot of valuable cargoes that they can sell off to interested buyers. Well, that's a good start."

"Not just the cargoes, but the ships they're sitting in, too," I reminded her. "The Dockworkers don't have much use for a bunch of ships. They prefer that someone else send the ships to them."

"Well, damn." Vicky shook her head. "That'll be a cash injection of eight figures or more into the Dockworkers' account. All this in aid of the 'keep Taylor happy' effort, huh?"

"Just gonna say, it's definitely working," I pointed out, choosing not to point out how Dad himself was now richer to the tune of just under a hundred million dollars. "Just by the way, you don't seem to be overly upset that Zach modified your feelings about him."

Vicky shrugged. "I was gonna be, but then I thought about it. There's a lot of people I've decided I didn't like that I forced a confrontation with, and I'm pretty sure more than a few of those were unfair on my part. Hell, maybe I didn't even need more than a nudge to do what I did. And anyway, I'd prefer he made me think I didn't like him, as opposed to making me think I did like him."

Amy raised her eyebrows. "Mature thinking? Not leading with your fists? Where's my sister, and what've you done with her?"

"Yeah, yeah, yuk it up." Vicky crossed her eyes and blew a raspberry at Amy. "I know damn well there's absolutely nothing I could even touch him with unless he let me. And you're happier than I've seen in a really long time, so I'm not gonna argue with results."

"Aww, thanks, sis." Amy gave Vicky a hug. "You say the nicest things."

"Only 'cause they're true." Vicky ruffled Amy's hair playfully, just as the first bell rang. "Oop, gotta get to class."

"Yeah, us too." I gave them both a nod and a smile. "See you at lunch?"

"Definitely." Vicky gave Zach a level stare. "No arm-wrestling or tapioca. Just saying."

Zach gazed blandly back. "Of course not. There is no longer any need for either one."

And off we went to class.

<><>​

Coil

Calvert had been expecting to be directed back into the continental United States, but instead he was travelling west. Following instructions from his phone (which he also noticed hadn't needed to be charged in days) he and Creep had left the vehicle in the long-term parking lot at the nearest airport and caught a plane.

For some reason, he'd expected the animated corpse to zip up his body bag and allow Calvert to take him through as checked luggage, but that wasn't to be so. Nobody seemed to look twice as the dead man, complete with corpse-white skin, black nails and bullet-hole in the middle of his forehead, shuffled in the partially unzipped body-bag up to the check-out counter along with Calvert himself. It utterly failed to surprise him that two boarding passes were already waiting for them, under the names of C. Oil and C. Reep, or that the passes actually got them onto the plane.

Calvert took the window seat—if he was to be jerked hither and yon across the landscape, he was going to do it on his own terms—and settled in for the ride. On receiving the boarding pass, he'd looked at the destination and discovered that it was Anchorage, Alaska. What he was needed for in Alaska, he had no idea, but he figured he would find out.

Beside him, Creep obediently buckled his lap-strap, accepted a complimentary packet of peanuts from a politely oblivious flight attendant, and sat there munching on the nuts. Calvert tried to avoid thinking about exactly why Creep would need to eat, and what was going to happen to the nuts once they were ingested. Instead, he looked out the window at the tarmac and waited patiently for takeoff.

<><>​

Taylor
That Afternoon

Zach and I strolled out of Arcadia (Arcadia! I still had trouble believing that!) alongside Vicky and Amy. It seemed the blonde genuinely wanted to make amends with Zach, because now she was trying to figure out just how strong he really was. Amy and I were exchanging amused glances at Zach's less than fully informative answers. From all appearances, Amy was positively blooming since Zach had taken her powers away; she was wearing bright clothing and had a much more confident step.

"I am not as strong as my older brother, but I am stronger than my sister," Zach told Vicky. "I am about as strong as my second-oldest brother. However, his arms are much longer than mine, so he can apply more leverage."

"But how strong is that?" pressed Vicky. "I know I can bench-press a cement truck, and you're stronger than that. A whole semi-truck? How many tons?"

"I have never tested my strength to its full, Victoria Dallon." Zach seemed oblivious to her frustration; I personally couldn't tell if he was pulling her leg or not. "The question has never come up until now."

"Come on, Vicky." Amy hid a smile. "Not everyone is as obsessed with exactly who's stronger than each other as you are. Leave the poor guy alone."

"But what if you went up against the Endbringers?" Vicky was nothing if not persistent. "It's always a good idea to know just how strong you really are."

Zach gave her a bland look. "Why would I battle the Endbringers?" he asked. "They are not attacking anymore." Turning to me, he held out his elbow. "Are you ready to go, Taylor? We have more important things to do, today."

"Sure." I linked my arm through his. "See you later, guys. Have a good one."

"Wait, wait!" Vicky raised her voice but she didn't try to physically stop him, which just proved she could learn. "They aren't attacking anymore? What do you mean by that?"

"I mean they are not attacking anymore," Zach responded, as if he'd said nothing at all out of the ordinary. "Have an enjoyable evening." Scooping me into his arms, he took a step, then stopped. "Taylor, I am about to exceed the speed of sound over a great distance."

I nodded. "Thanks for the warning. Let's do this."

We blurred away.

<><>​

Amy Dallon

"Speed of sound?" demanded Vicky. "He can jump across the city and beat the speed of sound on foot? How is that even fair?"

Amy rolled her eyes, though she was more amused at the situation than she let on. "This again? Seriously, Vicky, I thought you'd learned your lesson about Zach by now. That boy makes his own rules. If someone says he can't do something, he does it anyway. Just to prove he can. And if it's about Taylor's well-being, he breaks the rules even harder."

"Hmm." Vicky frowned, clearly discontented but unable to do anything about it. "Okay, fine. What did he mean about the Endbringers not attacking anymore? Was he just pulling our legs, or does he know something we don't?"

That was definitely a huge question to ask and answer. "I honestly … have no idea," Amy confessed. "Taylor says he doesn't lie. If I had to choose, I'd bet on him knowing something we don't. I mean, there was that Uber and Leet thing yesterday. If it wasn't a fake Simurgh, I mean."

Vicky blinked, discontentment giving way to confusion. "But … if that's true, it would be fantastic news. If he knows something like that for certain, why isn't he shouting it from the rooftops?"

Amy could only offer a conjecture for that one. "He doesn't seem to be all that interested by it."

"But … why not?"

"That's something we're just going to have to ask him when we see him next."

<><>​

Taylor

It was night-time when Zach stopped and let me down. Or rather, it was night-time where Zach stopped. We hadn't been moving for more than a few seconds, but all I'd gotten was an impression of blurred speed over water, followed by a flickering landscape going by too fast to pick out any details.

I felt dry earth crunching quietly under my feet, and I frowned. "Where are we?"

"We are in northern Africa," Zach said happily, just as my glasses popped up a latitude and longitude reading, then displayed a wireframe globe confirming Zach's explanation. "The one we are looking for is just over that hill. Could you take us to the top, please?" He pointed behind me, and I turned to see a low hill. Normally, I would've needed the glasses to pick it out against the starry night, but there was a distant glow framing it, reminiscent of city lights or a car's headlights.

"I can do that," I agreed, and took hold of his arm. A moment later, I had fixed on a location, then I triggered the teleport.

We arrived at the top of the hill, and I saw exactly what he was talking about. In the distance was a roiling mass of fire and smoke. I would've thought it was stationary, but my glasses enhanced the image to show me a long trail of charred destruction leading away from the constantly regenerating explosion.

"Wait," I said. "That's … uh …" Memory failed me, but my glasses didn't; the name ASH BEAST scrolled up one of the lenses, followed by a brief dossier. "Ash Beast," I concluded a moment later. "We're here for his powers?"

Zach smiled happily. "This is a good thing for him, and a good thing for us," he agreed. "He cannot turn his powers off at all. He has been alone ever since he Triggered, walking and spreading destruction."

"Ouch." I winced. "That's got to suck in so many ways." I made sure my jacket was zipped all the way up. "Do we teleport into the middle? Or what do you want to do?"

"We will jump to the edge of the effect," Zach said. "And then you may do the rest."

"Oh, okay." I pulled out the Idiot Ball. "Are we going to need this?"

He nodded, looking pleased. "Yes, Taylor. Your presence will make this much easier."

"Cool." His words gave me confidence and made me feel less like I was a fifth wheel. "Let's do this."

The jump was only a short one; we landed just a few yards short of the leading edge of destruction. As it advanced slowly toward us, I hefted the Idiot Ball. My eyes couldn't see through the fire and smoke and dust, but my glasses pinpointed a humanoid form in the centre of it all. Flicking my wrist, I threw the ball.

It crossed the distance in a fraction of a second, struck true, and arced up back toward me. At the same time, the ongoing chaos before us faded away to nothing. Only the presence of the blackened, destroyed land showed that Ash Beast had ever been there. Zach moved from my side and back again so quickly I didn't have time to react; when he returned, there was a young man of Middle Eastern appearance with him.

The guy looked maybe twenty, but it was hard to tell with his long hair and scraggly beard. His clothing was beyond ragged, basically hanging off his body. As he gaped at us, Zach produced a robe out of nowhere and hung it over the guy's shoulders; he clutched it around his body, affording him a moderate level of modesty.

When he spoke, it was in a language I didn't know (not surprising; English and high school Spanish do not a polyglot make) but then my glasses started translating for me. Because of course they did.

Who are you? How did you do that? Am I free? How long has it been?

"I cannot speak his language," Zach said. "Your earpiece will allow you to communicate with him."

"Oh, okay." Somehow, I'd expected Zach to call on his sister to help out. "Yeah, he's just asked who we are and how we did that. Also, he wants to know if he's free of his power, I guess, and how long it's been."

Turning to the man who had been Ash Beast up until thirty seconds ago, I cleared my throat and concentrated on telling my earpiece to do what Zach had said. A notification popped up on one lens of my glasses: Translating.

"We're friends," I said. "I'm Taylor and this is Zachary. Your power is currently on hold, but we can take it away permanently if you want. I'm sorry but I don't know how long it's been, exactly. Years, I think."

As I spoke, the earpiece emitted an audible hum; the guy's eyes widened with recognition and he listened intently to what I was saying.

Yes, yes, please take it away, he said, nodding urgently for emphasis. So far have I walked, so many things I've destroyed. I had thought I was going mad, that I would walk until the world ended.

I gave Zach a nod. "He says he's okay with you taking the power permanently. But … is it just me, or is he really lucid for someone who's just effectively come out of solitary after years without seeing another person? He thought he was going mad. Has he?"

"He is not exactly sane, no," Zach confirmed. "I am manipulating his perceptions so he believes he is conversing with a hallucination." Stepping forward, he placed his hand on Ash Beast's forehead then pulled back again; a shining image of a lion-headed man stepped forth, attached to Zach's hand.

While Zach bundled up the power, I moved over to the now ex force of nature. "Let me help you," I said. "Let me heal your pain."

If you can, please do it. His face was twisted with anguish. Or kill me. I deserve to die.

"I'm not going to kill you." I put my hand where Zach had, and felt the shape of his tortured mind. His thoughts were fragmented, only Zach's influence keeping them all pointed in the same direction at the same time. Carefully, I reassembled his shattered psyche, smoothing out the scars and giving him a dash of hope for the future. His memories of being Ash Beast I dulled and made distant, so he wouldn't drive himself mad again with guilt.

When I lifted my hand, he fell to his knees, staring up at me with almost religious awe.

Who are you?

"I'm nobody special." And I wasn't. Zach was the one who did all the amazing stuff. I was basically along for the ride. "Just … you've got a second chance, okay?"

A heavy backpack and a large canteen sloshing with water dropped to the ground beside the guy. "Tell him there is food and other supplies in the pack," Zach said, then pointed. "And if he walks in that direction, he will reach the nearest town in about a day."

I passed on the instructions, then turned to Zach. "Okay, I'm ready to go. Are we done here?"

He smiled at me. "We are done here."

"Cool. Where are we going now?"

He scooped me into his arms. "We are going south."

And we blurred away again, across the arid landscape.

<><>​

The Man Once Known as Ash Beast

Hashim stared at where the European teenagers had been standing. Or perhaps they'd been American; he could not tell. What he could tell was that they were as he had been, touched with powers beyond those of mortal man. Opening the pack, he found food both fresh and dried, as well as sturdy sandals and more clothing to go with the robes.

Eating his first food in he knew not how many years, he almost moaned in pleasure at the taste of fruit on his tongue. Almost, he could have thought it a dream, except that even in his waking hallucinations food never tasted of anything but ash. The canteen was at hand, and he unscrewed the top and took a long drink, more pleasure exploding throughout his body.

Once he had sated his immediate appetite, he dressed himself properly and slid his feet into the sandals. The pack went on his back and the canteen over his shoulder on its strap. The direction the girl—Taylor, she had called herself, though he likened her more to one of the malaikah for her mercy and healing—had pointed out was easy to follow. As he moved off, an odd thought kept intruding into his head.

She had a really nice jacket.

<><>​

Coil
Alaska

Calvert honestly would not have believed the Russian mafia had such a presence in Anchorage if he hadn't seen it for himself. Once he'd hired out the rugged 4x4, the apparently aimless route he'd been instructed to follow through the city had taken him past one location after another where it was clear to someone with his training exactly what was going on. But neither had he been told to stop and do something about it; just take note and move on.

Even here, the local PRT office can't keep on top of things.

They headed out of the city up past the Knik Arm then turned northwest, with Creep croaking the occasional direction or even just pointing. Calvert began to suspect what was going on a little before he saw the barriers across the road. Still, the instructions hadn't said to stop, so he kept going.

The PRT trooper who waved him down looked harried and irritated, quite likely because he was sick of idiot tourists coming north at this time of year. Calvert rolled the window down, letting in a blast of freezing air. "What's the situation, officer?"

"The situation, sir, is that this area is a no-go zone. There's a dangerous parahuman up ahead, and nobody is allowed past." The trooper didn't say you dumbass but Calvert heard it clearly anyway.

He frowned. The only problematic cape who might be in this area of the world would be … Ah, shit. Sleeper. That was a problem, alright. His powers worked well against normal people, but S-class threats who created storms that ravaged the landscape were another thing altogether.

His phone pinged, and he glanced at it. Turn around and drive back half a mile.

"Right, then. Sorry to have disturbed you." He worked the 4x4 in a rough circle, then drove back down the road, keeping an eye on the odometer for the half-mile mark. When he reached it, he didn't need the gesture from Creep to turn off into the barely visible side-road.

As they trundled down the oddly clear track, a sudden crack from behind made him jump. Looking in the rear-vision, he saw that a snow-laden branch had fallen on the road, conveniently erasing the signs that they'd turned onto the side road. This was not even close to the weirdest thing that had happened to him so far; he kept driving.

<><>​

Taylor

It was still night-time when we stopped, so I figured we were still in Africa. Apart from the surrounding area being a little more fertile, I had no clues as to where we were; at least until my glasses gave me latitude and longitude. We were down near the Tropic of Capricorn.

Once Zach put me on my feet, I stretched and shook out my arms. "I'm guessing there's a reason we're here," I said. "But I'm not sure what it is."

"Before, we faced a monster all unknowing," Zach said. "This one knows what she is and does not care." He pointed along the shallow valley in which we stood. "We need to go five miles four hundred thirty-two feet that way, and sixteen feet higher in elevation."

As with every other time he'd given me instruction like that, I somehow knew exactly where we needed to go. Taking Zach's arm in mine, I triggered the teleport, then blinked as we appeared in the middle of a bunch of buildings. Somewhere off out of sight, a generator thudded away gently, providing the sharp electric light visible here and there.

Across the way from us, a dreadlocked woman with an immense skull-headed sinuous shadow beside her faced down a bent old man.

—we have nobody to spare, the old man said, his words appearing on my glasses like before. Please, we need everyone to help in the fields.

The woman took a step forward, and the crocodile skull raised up alongside her to tower over the old man. Her voice, when she spoke, was sharp-edged and arrogant. You agreed to the bargain. My protection comes at a price. If you cannot choose someone to give their life, I will.

I knew who the woman was even before my glasses outlined both her and the living shadow in light, and provided names. "Moord Nag," I whispered to Zach. "She wants him to provide someone as a sacrifice, but he's saying they can't spare anyone from working in the fields."

I knew how this was going to go. She would murder the old guy, then anyone else she felt like, before moving on. Back home in America, Moord Nag would be a villain on the scale of the Nine. Here, she was a warlord who literally subsisted on slaughter.

Zach stepped forward, and I moved with him. "Excuse me!" he called out. "Have you heard the one about why firemen wear red suspenders?"

The old man's head snapped around to stare at us, as did Moord Nag's. Even the crocodile skull seemed to blink a few times, as if to say where did you come from?

Dutifully, I repeated what he'd said, allowing my earpiece to translate my words.

What is this? demanded Moord Nag. Who are you, and why are Americans in my territory?

"She wants to know who we are, and why we're here," I murmured, then raised my voice. "This is the end of you gouging more out of these people than they can pay," I told her. "I'm Taylor and this is Zach. He doesn't bother following rules very often."

Zach grinned, though the expression seemed to have a few more teeth in it than normal for him. "Tell her that if her pet snake can get me, it can have me." He spread his arms wide, the epitome of harmlessness.

I repeated his words, and the woman's gaze narrowed. His terms are accepted. I will also be taking your jacket. I like it.

"Yeah, that'll be the day," I muttered, then raised my voice to normal speech levels. "Come and get it."

Scavenger, said the woman. Feed.

The shadow-creature lunged forward, its crocodile-skull maw opening wide. Despite knowing exactly what Zach could do, I was almost worried for a moment. He put out his hand and caught it by the bottom jaw, then pulled it to him. I watched as he began to fold it up like a gigantic napkin, the skull swirling and spinning within the shadowed body.

Scavenger! shouted the woman, her voice sounding panicky for the first time. Back to me!

"It is too late, you know," Zach said almost conversationally. "If you had chosen to be nice about it, we might have done this away from witnesses. But now, everyone is going to see you lose your power." He wasn't even out of breath as he wrestled the shadow-snake into submission.

I repeated his words for her benefit, and she fixed on me. You. You did this. I will kill you.

The large knife came out of nowhere. She started toward me, blade gleaming in the electric lights. I didn't know much about fighting and Zach was occupied, but that didn't matter; my jacket gave me all the capability I needed. With the toe of my sneaker, I teased a rock free from the ground and flicked it into the air. Catching it without even looking, I threw it hard. Moord Nag was three yards away when the rock caught her just above the right eye, sending her over backward onto the ground.

Zach finished packing up the power and made it disappear, then looked admiringly at what I'd done. "That was very impressive, Taylor. My sister gave it nine and a half out of ten, but she always downgrades anything that does not use telekinesis."

People were peering out of dwellings as I linked my arm through his. "Because of course she would. Was that all, or did we have more places to go?"

"Oh, just one more place," he said cheerfully. "It will even be daylight!"

"Good." I glanced back at Moord Nag as she began to stir, shaking her head groggily. "Do we need to do anything about her?"

"Not unless you want to." Zach's tone was supremely uncaring. "She will either learn to run very fast in the next few minutes … or she will not."

I considered that, then decided it really wasn't my problem. "So, are we running, jumping or teleporting?"

"We can teleport if you wish," he said generously, and pointed a little west of what my glasses told me was due north. "We need to travel nine thousand, six hundred and thirty-four miles, one thousand two hundred and seventeen feet that way. Our elevation will be three thousand one hundred and twenty-three feet lower."

That was a sight farther than I'd ever teleported in one shot before, but I didn't want to let Zach down. Taking a deep breath, I let the glasses throw me up a map. It seemed we were going to … "Alaska? Why are we going to Alaska?"

"There is another powerset I require." Zach's tone was relentlessly cheerful. "This is all part of the plan for keeping you safe and happy."

I liked being safe and happy, and Zach was very good at managing that part of his job, so I decided not to argue the point. Besides, everywhere I went with him, I met all sorts of interesting people. Fixing the coordinates in my mind, I triggered the teleport.

We went from night to broad daylight, from slightly muggy warmth to bone-deep chill, all in the same instant. Almost immediately, I saw weird gusts of wind, almost rainbow-hued, picking up snow and swirling it around. Questioningly, I pointed.

"Your ball," Zach said immediately. He pointed to the north. "There is just one parahuman in that direction. Throw it, now."

I did as he said, and the ball whipped out of sight almost immediately. A second later, as Zach put his arm around me, I saw distortions crowding out of the air and the rainbow hues thickening visibly. And then the landscape around us exploded into fire and smoke.

"Zach?" I asked. "What's going on?"

"Sleeper has come to Alaska," he said in his matter-of-fact tone. "While he is on the North American continent, he is a threat to you. He detected our arrival, and the fact that you launched the ball. I am using Ash Beast's power to protect us both."

"Both?" I blinked. "Can't you just … no-sell his power, like every other one?"

"It is extremely potent," he explained. "My sister, for one, would not be strong enough to withstand it. While I might be able to protect myself, I would not be able to keep you safe before I overcame him. But with Ash Beast's power to stand between him and us, we merely have to wait."

"Wait?" I asked. "Wait for what?"

As an answer, he dropped Ash Beast's power. We stood in a circle that had been devastated by fire and explosion, but the forest beyond was equally destroyed; trees brought down to ground level and shredded into toothpicks. "For your ball to get to him," he answered me with a grin.

Scooping me up in his arms, he moved yet again; when the world came to a halt once more, I saw a human figure gesturing, rainbow hues starting to emerge from his hands and arms. The Idiot Ball was hovering beside him, caught in the rainbow aura. I began to get an inkling of what Zach had meant by 'extremely potent'.

Zach held out his hand and the black shadow snake billowed forth, a Tyrannosaurus rex skull forming for its head. It lunged for Sleeper, clamping its jaws down on him and wrapping its shadow-body around his. Eyeing the struggling figures, Zach moved closer, reaching for a trailing wisp of rainbow-stuff. I couldn't do anything physical without leafing through the little black book, but I could use the powers inherent in the items I was wearing.

Twice Sleeper tore Scavenger in half and reached for Zach, and twice I used my Gray Boy bracelet to rewind time. I hadn't used the ability to cause pain before this point, but now I hammered Sleeper with it, over and over. He roared in anger and fought back, gradually but inexorably gaining the upper hand again.

A tendril of the half-visible rainbow-stuff came licking out at me, and I dived frantically to the side—

<><>​

Coil

Calvert pulled the 4x4 to a halt at the top of a low range of hills. There was no more road to be had, so he turned off the engine and let the silence crash in again, broken only by the ticking of the hot metal as it cooled. "What now?" he asked.

Creep turned to the back seat of the hire vehicle and pulled aside a canvas cover to show something that Calvert was pretty sure wasn't part of the lease arrangement. It was a rifle, but oh what a rifle. This wasn't some piddly little .308 or even a .50 calibre affair. No, this baby had a barrel wider than anything he'd ever seen before. If he had to make an estimate, it wouldn't fall far short of an inch of interior bore.

Climbing out of the vehicle, Calvert opened the back door and slid the massive gun out, noting that the scope was of a type that would let him count the ass hairs on an elephant at two miles. He grunted as he hefted it, then looked around. There was nothing to shoot except trees and snow. Even if he flushed a rabbit or fox, one shot from this thing would render it into a fine spray of pink mist, spread over about ten square yards of forest.

That was when the storm roared into being, not five yards away. "Jesus fuck!" Calvert stepped back involuntarily, bringing up the rifle but still having no available target. He'd attended the PRT briefings about Sleeper's storm, and how nothing could withstand it. Even the toughest capes were likely to die. He wasn't about to shoot into it at random, just in case he drew Sleeper's attention.

And then, just as suddenly, the reality-warping waves of rainbow-hued energy subsided, leaving a devastated landscape before him. He didn't need Creep's gesture; he knew damn well that where he was required to be was within Sleeper's radius.

Swearing under his breath, he humped the rifle up the low rise until he reached the very summit, then brought the rifle up so he could peer through the scope. A twinkle of rainbow light caught his off-eye, and he swung the scope and zoomed in.

There he was. Zachary, the agent of Calvert's destruction. Right alongside him was the Hebert girl, wearing a high-fashion jacket. Both of them were battling Sleeper, throwing everything they had at him … and he was still winning.

He dropped to his knees right where he was. One hand unfolded the bipod so that when he went forward onto his belly on the slushy ground, the rifle was supported. His shoulder rolled forward to make firm contact with the butt of the rifle, and his eye fell into line along the scope again.

He worked the bolt and chambered a round while he steadied his breathing. In … out … in … out.

The scene swam into view as he wriggled around minutely. He automatically adjusted the scope for the range, then slid his finger into the trigger guard. The crosshairs fell onto target as he breathed in; he held for a moment and breathed out.

Just as he stroked the trigger, a flicker of rainbow movement lashed out toward the girl.

The rifle bellowed, a truly massive flare bursting out in all directions from the muzzle-brake. Calvert barely felt the kick as he tried to keep his eye to the scope.

<><>​

Taylor

I fell and rolled frantically, but it was like a living thing. Once, twice, three times, it struck at me, annihilating dirt and rocks in its path and carving divots in the ground. Another was wrapped around Zach, the Scavenger shadow nowhere in sight. Zach's eyes sought mine, and I knew he was trying to tell me to teleport away. But my glasses had fallen off, and I couldn't fix on a target that would let me save Zach as well.

And then Sleeper's head … exploded.

There wasn't just a genteel spray from one side, like I'd seen in movies when someone got shot in the head. His entire head just … went missing. Zach and I were both splattered with the remains; I was absolutely going to need a shower after this. A few seconds later, as I was sitting up and looking around, I heard the distant thunder of what had to be a rifle shot.

"Wow," I said, getting up and going to help Zach to his feet. "Are you okay? What was that?"

Zach smiled as he began gathering in Sleeper's power, skein after rainbow-sheened skein of it.

"Someone else my sister has in play. He has been very useful."

<><>​

Coil

Calvert watched as the boy finished doing what he was doing. Turning, Zachary looked directly at where Calvert lay on the hilltop and raised his hand in a wave. Reflexively, Calvert lifted his own hand in an answering wave. A moment later, boy and girl were both gone, vanished into the aether.

Standing up, Calvert picked up the rifle and began lugging it back toward the 4x4. He didn't know for a fact that he'd need it again, and his shoulder felt like one huge bruise, but he was going to call today a success.



End of Part Twenty-One

 

[Ack]

I'm HALPING!

Part Twenty-Two: Ongoing Consequences

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



The Next Morning
Kaiser

"Okay, in you get."

Meekly, one by one, the former members of the Empire Eighty-Eight filed out of the door into the echoing garage—the one under the PRT building, if Max was any judge—and climbed into the waiting van. Nobody was handcuffed, though the memory of how Zachary had strolled into their sanctum sanctorum and cheerfully ordered them to surrender was still strong in Max's mind. Bradley wasn't there, of course—the word was, he'd been shoved on a Birdcage transport earlier that day—and Kayden was likewise absent, probably because she'd cut ties with the Empire a while ago, but most everyone else was present.

As befitted his role as leader of the now-defunct gang, Max had been first in. The seats were surprisingly comfortable, with multiple points where a prisoner could be locked into place. None of these were being made use of, which Max attributed less to their current good behaviour and more toward the fact that everyone knew Zachary had decided that the Empire Eighty-Eight should face the justice system, and nobody was prepared to tell him otherwise.

Which was perfectly reasonable. The initial warning—having the words YOU'RE NEXT literally smashed into the windows of his office—had incited anger rather than worry, and he'd reacted accordingly. The team assembled (albeit in their civilian identities) they'd been hashing out ways to find out who Zachary really was, and where to find him, when he literally busted the door open and walked in. After that, of course, it had all gone to shit. And looking Zachary in the eye when the young man had casually suggested they could lose their powers for real if they chose to keep pretending they had none … he'd been convinced.

There were times to fight, and times to surrender. This was one of the latter. They were going to their pre-trial hearing, after which they'd be returned to their moderately comfortable cells. The best strategy at this point was to convince the authorities by their every action that they were truly remorseful for their previous activities.

Except … not everyone seemed to have gotten the memo.

The doors closed and there was a double thump on the side of the van from one of the guards outside. Just as the engine started, Alabaster turned to Max. "This is bullshit." He kept his voice down, but Max heard him clearly enough.

"Don't do anything stupid," Max warned him in an undertone. "Remember what Zachary said—"

"Yeah, I heard him, and it was bullshit," Alabaster sneered. "He bluffed the lot of you." Conveniently, he left out the fact that he too had been hoodwinked, if that was indeed what had taken place. "Take away our powers? Yeah, right. If he could've, he would've, right there. He didn't."

"You don't know he couldn't have," Max argued, but it was already a lost cause. When Alabaster decided on something, convincing him to drop the idea was like trying to divert the course of an avalanche.

"No, I don't, but it's a lot more likely than maybe he could, and he never got around to it." Alabaster stood up from his seat, steadying himself with the overhead handholds. "I'm blowin' this popsicle stand. Who's with me?"

The two guards next to the door both stood up as well. One levelled a confoam sprayer at Alabaster; Max knew he'd get caught in the splash radius, as well as everyone else at that end of the van. "Sit your paper-white ass down, right the fuck now!"

The rest of the Empire sat tight. Krieg caught Max's eye and shook his head fractionally, but Max had already come to the same conclusion. Not worth it. Cricket seemed to be considering it, but Krieg elbowed her and she subsided again.

"Fuckin' pussies," spat Alabaster. With the sort of explosive surge he was able to muster, he was halfway along the van before the guard triggered the containment foam. Alabaster, canny fighter that he was, dived to the floor under the stream of foam, did a very credible forward roll and smashed his heels into the guard's chest. The sprayer, having half-engulfed Max and Krieg, sprayed blobs onto the ceiling then cut out as the guard's finger came off the trigger.

Once more on his feet, Alabaster hammered the guards relentlessly. Even in their armour, Max knew they had to be taking a beating. And then the renegade Empire Eighty-Eight member managed to get the doors open. They were travelling down the street by now, but that sort of thing had never fazed the resetting cape. Flinging them wide open, he dived out onto the road.

<><>​

Taylor

"Well, that was a fun day yesterday, for a very specific definition of 'fun'," I said as I forked bacon onto my plate. "I wonder if Ash Beast made it to civilisation?" Moord Nag's fate was a somewhat darker question, but I decided not to speculate on that one. And we knew what had happened to Sleeper. It had taken me some time to be sure I'd washed all of him out of my hair.

"He will be there soon," Zach informed me, accepting the plate of fried egg from Dad. "Thank you, Danny. They smell delicious." He turned to address me. "His name is Hashim. The water and food we left him is holding out, and he will be able to find a place to sleep and work. Nobody will suspect him of being who he was. There are already many displaced persons in the world; one more will not raise eyebrows."

"Oh, good." I'd already hoped he would be able to make his way, but to have Zach confirm it like that made me feel a lot better. "So, what are we doing today? I mean, apart from school?"

Zach smiled beatifically as he prepared to demolish his bacon and eggs. "There are some people in Europe who need to be dealt with. We will deal with them."

<><>​

Hookwolf

This whole deal sucked. One minute he'd been on top of the world, beating crap out of Lung, and the next some snot-nosed little punk had smacked him three city blocks into the back of a dog-catcher's van. He'd woken up in a holding cell, and now he was on a transport to the Birdcage. They'd tried this shit before but every time, the Empire had gotten him free before the transport even left the city limits. Now, the Empire was sitting in holding cells of their own and he was actually on the way to the damn 'Cage.

He wasn't quite sure whether it was a good thing or bad thing that Lung was sharing the same transport. It would've made it a little easier to endure the ride if there was someone he could actually talk to along the way, maybe plan an escape with, but of course they'd stuck him with the guy he'd literally been fighting with before they were both captured. Worse, they were both buried up to the neck in containment foam, and Lung had a constant sprinkler dousing him with water.

In consequence, they'd spent the trip ignoring each other. Brad knew his chances of getting out of this were reducing by the mile, but even his sharpest blades had failed to slice through the foam to any real extent. If he'd thought Lung wouldn't leave him behind at the first opportunity, he might have offered to try to cut the Asian gang boss free instead of himself, but there was no way he could take that chance. The only thing worse than getting sent to the Birdcage along with Lung would be getting sent to the Birdcage and letting Lung go free.

The van rumbled up a ramp then bumped over some kind of minor obstacle before doing a turn and reverse and coming to a halt. The water spray ended and another liquid came out of the nozzles. This one, Brad was familiar with; confoam dissolving agent.

He tensed as the foam washed away from around his body. If he was going to have any chance to escape, this was it. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Lung also getting ready. With any luck, the guards would focus on the metal-skinned dragon—Lung wasn't there quite yet, but he was definitely bulking up—and give Brad the chance to make a run for it.

When the van doors opened, he didn't need the synthesised voice telling him to exit the vehicle. Out he leaped, already growing his armour, looking around for the fastest route to freedom. Lung was only half a second behind, cradling a growing fireball in one hand.

But they weren't outside. The van had backed up to some kind of loading bay, with about two inches of clearance on either side. Across the expanse of cracked and dirty concrete, set into the metal wall, was a large double door, incongruously made of dark carved wood. Flanking these doors was a pair of Dragon suits.

"Hookwolf, Lung, stand down or get hurt." The voice was feminine and sounded almost bored. Both suits had large-bore guns aimed directly at the incoming prisoners. "We can blow holes in you and drag you through into induction while you're regrowing your limbs, or you can walk through. Your move."

For half a second, Brad thought about calling their bluff—no way they'd open fire just like that, would they?—but then Lung lowered his hands from the aggressive posture, the fireball winking out. Gradually, he began to reduce in bulk.

Well, crap. With Lung there to take some of the hits, Brad would maybe have been willing to take on the suits. On his own, he wouldn't stand a chance against two suits, especially in a confined area like this. Reluctantly, he retracted the armour into his body.

"Good move." The Dragon suits stepped forward, while the wooden doors—why the hell did they have wooden doors in a place like the Birdcage, anyway?—unlatched and swung open silently. "Go on through."

There was no way he was going to let a pansy-ass like Lung take the lead, so Brad strode through the doorway and into what looked like a carpeted reception area, complete with some flunky sitting behind a desk. There was even a potted plant in the corner. This could've been a DMV office anywhere in the States, and indeed it shared the same oppressive feeling of soul-draining ennui.

Stomping up to the desk, Brad prepared his most intimidating glare, only to falter when he realised just who he was glaring at. "Holy fuck," he blurted. "Teacher?"

He'd never met the guy in person, of course, but Terrell's face was familiar to him. Teacher had taken out the Vice President a few years back, followed by the British Prime Minister, which meant he had serious chops. But his expression now, seated behind the desk with BIRDCAGE INDUCTION on a little sign next to him, was that of a man consigned to the very depths of Hell.

"Please," begged Teacher. "Kill me."

"What?" Brad was vaguely aware Lung had caught up, but was saying nothing. "You're Teacher, man. You're the king of conspiracies. You should be running this place."

Teacher sobbed out loud. It was slightly alarming to see the ugly little man breaking down like this. "I've tried. There are no loopholes. None. Every single one is closed. And I can't break the law." He reached across the desk beseechingly. "But you can. Please, just one stab. Or break my neck. Something. Anything to get me out of here."

"Now, now," said one of the Dragon suits reprovingly. "Incitement to commit murder is also against the law. Kindly cease and desist. You have a job to do."

Terrell whimpered and nodded. Reaching back, he took up two forms and handed them across the counter. His voice was colourless and flat when he spoke next. "Fill these in and hand them back, please."

Shaken by the encounter, Brad took the form and studied it. At the top, it asked for his name, which he had expected. But then it went on to ask other questions, some of which had him scratching his head. Favoured nickname? Preferred brand of alcohol or soda? Preferred reading material? Preferred TV shows? Preferred leisure activities? Religious denomination? Favoured sporting team? General political views? Medical requirements? Smoker or non-smoker? The inane questions went on and on.

There was a pen chained to the table he went to, so he started on the form, scribbling in each answer after some thought. Part of him wanted to crumple it up and throw it away or write in ridiculous concepts just to screw with whatever data-collection algorithm they were feeding this stuff to, but the look on Terrell's face stuck with him. If Dragon could mess with Terrell that hard just by shoving the man behind a desk, he didn't want to know what she would do him if he screwed with the form. Shit, she might put me back there. He honestly could not imagine a worse fate.

After he handed the form back, he and Lung were ushered out through another set of double doors. As he went, he heard Teacher whimper, "Help me …" just before the doors closed behind them.

They entered an elevator large enough to host a cage-fight with room to spare, so the Dragon suits fitted in easily. The entire thing rumbled downward, making him wonder just how far underground they were going. From the corner of his eye, he could see Lung glancing at the walls and roof of the elevator car, giving him the impression that the Asian gang boss was having much the same thoughts.

The elevator stopped and the doors opened, onto a wide carpeted area. As Brad stepped out, he took in the large open space. A tasteful chandelier hung from concrete beams overhead, and there was a game of billiards going on at a table across to one side. Several well-appointed sofas and armchairs were set up with a good view of a huge-screen TV, upon which a gridiron game was currently playing out. And populating this utterly unexpected setting were … supervillains, one and all. Some of whom Brad knew of, some he knew personally, and some that just looked like villains.

"Ahh, good morning." A tall man with a neatly trimmed beard came to meet them. "I'll take it from here, ladies. Thank you kindly."

"All good, Marquis. Let us know if you need anything." One of the Dragon suits stepped back into the elevator, while the other started off across the room, where everyone apparently … ignored it.

Marquis. Brad knew that name. He'd never met the guy but even ten years later, Marquis was a minor legend in Brockton Bay. "Hey," he said, holding out his hand. "Hookwolf."

Marquis shook it once, briefly. "I know of you," he said. "And you too, Lung. Welcome to the Birdcage."

Lung, silent for so long, chose to speak up. "This is not how I expected it to be."

"Well, no." Marquis chuckled wryly. "This is all very new. We had a visitor recently, a young man by the name of Zachary. He remodelled the place and changed the way things work around here."

"Remodelled." Brad said the word almost questioningly. He'd seen Zachary's capabilities, but this seemed beyond even those.

"Remodelled." Marquis repeated it, firmly. "The carpet, the elevator, the billiard table, furniture, the television set … everything. He rebuilt the Birdcage from top to bottom. Teacher is now in Administration, and his previous minions are now without a boss. His previous cell-block—Block T—is now for newcomers. You can take up residence there until you decide to either move into another block to be closer to whatever friends you make in here, or meet with Zachary and move into the accommodation block upstairs, where most of us are." He ticked points off on his fingers. "We have drink dispensers that supply coffee, soda and alcohol. They're both down here and upstairs. Do not abuse these privileges, or they will be cut off … for you, and you alone."

Brad shared a glance with Lung. Access to booze plus a TV the size of that one to watch the game on … his preconceptions about the Birdcage were starting to seriously take a beating. Lung looked equally disconcerted.

"How about smokes?" he asked, at the same time as Lung said, "What about women?"

"Cigarettes have their own dispensers," Marquis replied smoothly. "You start at one pack a week, but the longer you keep up your good behaviour, the more quickly you will be able to access a new pack. As for women … well, they have their own half of the Birdcage. The gate between is guarded from both sides. The same goes for the accommodation block. Some women have ongoing relationships, either with other women or with some of the men. Some others are willing, for a price. Anyone who's not interested is to be left alone. Nothing happens without consent." His gaze hardened. "It was already my way before the remodelling, but now it's an iron-clad rule for all of us. The penalty for breaking it is death. Do you understand?"

"Okay, yeah, got it." Brad liked it when the rules were laid down beforehand. Marquis didn't seem to be playing around. "Anything else?"

"Yes." Marquis started off across the room, gesturing for Brad and Lung to follow. "I'll show you where to get your basic bedding and clothing." He led them into another part of the complex and pointed out a large double door. "You won't be able to go up there until you've seen Zachary. That leads to the accommodation block and the Yard. It's got open sky; just the place to go when you're feeling claustrophobic."

"Open to the sky?" Lung sounded puzzled. "And people don't escape?"

"You can only go up there if you've accepted a collar that prevents you from breaking the law," Marquis explained, sounding totally matter-of-fact. "Escaping is against the law. I've taken up sunbathing. There isn't much sun at this latitude, but it's the thought that counts. I'm actually living up there, but I came down to give you two your induction when I heard you were in from Brockton Bay."

"And books?" Bradley recalled another part of the form. "You got those in here, too?"

Marquis nodded. "Why, yes. We have quite the library now. As everyone hands their preferences in, we get more books. I'm finding the opportunity to enjoy some I've never encountered before."

"You sound very happy for someone who is stuck in here forever," Lung declared. "A gilded cage is still a cage."

"Not forever, no." Marquis raised his brows at their expressions. "That's another thing Zachary changed. Once you've accepted the no-crime collars and move into the accommodation block upstairs, you can see about filing an appeal. It might take a few years, but you can get out."

Brad stared at him. "You're shitting me. We can get out? For real?"

"As you say, for real." Marquis gave him an austere smile and a nod. "It is certainly something to think about, isn't it?"

"Yeah. It is." And in the meantime, the chance to settle back with a smoke and a brewski to watch the game on TV …

Brad could think of far worse ways to pass the next few years.

<><>​

Coil

Calvert was glad to be out of Alaska. The place was far too cold for his liking. He'd retained the rifle, though, and the box of ammunition that came with it. It was ridiculously heavy and his shoulder was still sore, twelve hours and the breadth of a continent later, but good God could it deliver a hurting downrange.

The instructions on his phone had said to come back to Brockton Bay, so he had boarded the first flight from Anchorage. Just for laughs, he'd split the timeline and in the throwaway one he'd presented the rifle as 'golf clubs' to go into the cargo bay. When the airline staff accepted this without a demur, he'd almost had to pick his jaw up off the floor, but he'd recovered soon enough and the throwaway timeline quickly became the keeper.

So now, way too many hours later (some of which he'd slept in the air) he stepped off the commuter train from Boston, his luggage in his hand and his 'golf bag' (which people still didn't seem to recognise as anything else) slung over his shoulder. Creep shuffled after him, which would've caused Calvert some serious cognitive dissonance if he'd allowed himself to think about the matter. People clearly saw Creep, because they stepped around him, and gave him peanuts on the plane. But they equally obviously didn't see what he was, or their brains filled in some other image, for the simple reason that they didn't scream and run.

The other problem with Creep was that he couldn't shuffle very fast; a body-bag didn't lend itself to rapid movement. But no matter how fast Calvert walked (or even ran) Creep was always there, right at his side. Or waiting in the car when Calvert got there.

He was much happier since he'd decided not to think about it anymore, and went at his own pace.

Calvert's phone pinged, and he stopped to drag it from his pocket. As per usual, there was no header, but the message included a set of terse instructions and a diagram. When he studied it, he realised he knew the location. Forsberg Gallery, balcony level. From that high up, the building had a commanding view of the city. There was a time appended, some forty-five minutes hence.

Stowing his phone back in his pocket, he took up his luggage again and headed out toward the cab stand. Brockton Bay's public transport system wasn't exactly the best, but the cabs were usually reliable. And if they looked problematic, he could split time and try more than one.

In the event, the cab he got into seemed clean enough. The driver didn't appear bothered by either Creep's morbid appearance or the ridiculously high-powered rifle Calvert was carrying, but that could've been the thing that had been making people turn a blind eye all this time, or it might just have been a Brockton Bay thing. Cabbies in this city learned not to see anything that might end up being a problem.

He spent the drive to the Forsberg Gallery catching up on local news. Lung's capture, along with that of Oni Lee, he'd learned about just before he made his run for it. The Empire Eighty-Eight turning themselves in was an eye-opener, as was the capture of the Merchants. Less so, of course, if he assumed Zachary was neck-deep in both incidents.

The cabbie cackled out loud when he described Skidmark smacking into Director Piggot's office window, then sliding all the way down the face of the building. Somehow the footage of this, supposedly sealed behind PRT firewalls, had made it into the public domain and gone viral in a huge way. Not as huge as the Uber-Simurgh dance-off, of course, but very little would top that.

The cab dropped Calvert and Creep at the Forsberg, and they went inside. Yet again, nobody paid them the slightest bit of attention where normally they should've been drawing all eyes. Unshaven, his heavy jacket draped over his shoulder and his rifle in plain view, Calvert would've passed for a desperado in any Western, even before Creep shuffled into the scene and made it into a zombie movie. But he spent the elevator trip upward politely discussing the pros and cons of Impressionism versus Surrealism with a distinguished gentleman who introduced himself as the curator of the museum and never spared the looming dead man a second glance.

At the balcony level, Calvert strode from the elevator with Creep following behind. He negotiated his way through the building until he located the balcony itself. The view was as impressive as he'd figured it would be, but time was ticking down and he didn't have the luxury of sightseeing. Dropping his carry-bag at his feet and unslinging the rifle, he knelt at the balcony rail and put the weapon to his shoulder.

The diagram had shown him which direction to look, so he sighted between two buildings and carefully focused the scope until he was able to pick out the cracks in the sidewalk. Opening the breech, he slid one of the oversized rounds into it, then pushed the bolt forward carefully. The rifle didn't actually have a safety-catch so once the bolt was seated, the only thing stopping it from firing was to not have his finger on the trigger.

A quick glance at his watch told him the appointed time was almost upon him. He settled down, the stock firmly planted against his shoulder and his eye to the scope. He had a very specific target, and he was ready to carry out his appointed task.

One second before the appointed time, a PRT van showed up on his scope. As he watched, the back doors flew open and a man leaped out, rolling over and over on the road. Not just any man; while he wore convict orange, the absconder bore pure white skin, white hair and so on. Even as he settled the crosshairs on his target, Calvert knew who he was.

Alabaster.

The fugitive climbed to his feet, turning to shout something (no doubt suitably defiant) at his former captors. Unsure of which way Alabaster was going to go, Calvert split time. In the first instance, he held steady. The other led just a little to the right.

In both instances, his finger stroked the trigger, then added just a tiny bit of pressure.

With a report that echoed across the city and reverberated from Captain's Hill, the rifle fired. Flame blasted from the muzzle-brake, and the stock hammered hard into his already-bruised shoulder.

As the smoke cleared, in the one instance, the bullet had barely grazed Alabaster's cheekbone, the man having turned his head slightly. Even so, the impact had blown off half Alabaster's head. But as Calvert watched, the ragdoll figure reverted to fully healthy and scrambled to his feet again. He'd clearly missed the important half of Alabaster's brain.

In the other instance, the effect was much more impressive. Alabaster had moved directly into the shot, and the transmitted kinetic energy of the bullet converted his head, neck and part of his upper chest into shreds of gore and drifting pink mist. His body slumped, then fell over. Long seconds passed, and there was no resetting, no revival.

Alabaster was dead.

People hadn't noticed Calvert coming up, but that didn't mean they would continue to not notice him now that the shot had been fired. Quickly and smoothly, he slung the rifle and took up his luggage. His best bet now was to take the elevator down and vanish into the woodwork until he got his next orders.

It wasn't the life he would've chosen for himself, but it definitely had its moments.

<><>​

Kaiser

It all happened so suddenly. The doors of the van were still open as Alabaster rolled and then got to his feet. Max saw him make an obscene gesture and open his mouth to shout something, but whatever he intended to say never made it to the open air as his head basically disintegrated, along with everything from mid-chest upward. Just for a moment, Max suspected some sort of implanted bomb to prevent this exact scenario, but he was reasonably certain the PRT didn't have any Tinkers willing to do that sort of work.

And then the rifle-shot echoed across the city. Max didn't know how far away it had come from, but it was still shockingly loud. As the PRT van began to slow down, Max resigned himself to being partially encased in containment foam for quite some time to come.

The PRT, he suspected, would have other things on their collective minds.

Also, he was fairly sure that any thought of potential escape among the rest of the group had been extremely thoroughly quashed. Accept the sentence. Do the time.

It seemed the safest option, right at that moment.

<><>​

Director Piggot

"A sniper shot." Emily knew a little about sharpshooting, and she did her best to keep the scepticism out of her voice. "From the Forsberg?"

Miss Militia nodded. "I traced it back. It's the only location that has a viewpoint from that angle. Range, one and a half miles."

Emily frowned. "Would the sniper have had a particularly wide field of view?"

"No." Miss Militia slid a photo onto the desk. "Just between these two buildings."

Leaning back in her chair, Emily thought this over. "So … our sniper was set up on the balcony of Forsberg Museum, where nobody saw or heard him, at just the right angle to see the precise spot where Alabaster overpowered the guards and jumped out of the van. He fired one shot, and turned Alabaster's entire head and neck into a fine spray. Then vanished into nowhere."

Miss Militia nodded. "Those are the facts, yes. The bullet blew a chunk out of the sidewalk after it canoe'd Alabaster's upper chest, and we got enough fragments to guess at a calibre."

Emily frowned. "My guess is an overpowered hollow-point fifty, or maybe an explosive load. One or the other hitting at just the right angle might've been enough to do all that damage, right?"

"That was my thought too," Miss Militia said. "But the fragments told us differently. We actually got measurable curvature off a couple of them. Extrapolating from that, we're looking at a ninety-five-calibre round."

"Ninety-five?" Emily's brows rose all the way up her forehead. "That's bigger than a ten-gauge shotgun slug!" The catastrophic damage to Alabaster's head and body, far from a fluke of circumstance, became a lot more understandable now. "Who's got one of those in this city?"

Miss Militia shrugged. "There's only one round made to that size. They've manufactured exactly three rifles capable of firing it. And those rifles are classified as Destructive Devices in every state bar Texas. We've tracked ownership of all three rifles to Texas, but while two of them are right where they're supposed to be, the third one has been reported missing by its owner."

Emily shook her head. She could hazard a very good guess as to the rough location of the third rifle. Somewhere in Brockton Bay. "Well, shit."

<><>​

That Afternoon
Taylor

"Hey, Taylor!"

I turned as I heard my name being called, just in time to be glomped by Amy. Catching her weight, I spun around with her. "Hey, Amy. It's good to see you, too."

She was grinning all over her face, and no wonder; my gloves told me her system was full of happiness endorphins, and my glasses agreed. "I know, I know. I was just feeling so good, and I wanted to say hi."

"It is good that you are feeling good," Zach said. "It shows I have done the right thing."

"Oh, you have, you have." Amy beamed at the both of us. "One of the girls in my class asked me out today. We're going to the movies. This is my very first date that Vicky hasn't set up for me!"

I blinked a couple of times. That statement had layers that probably needed unpacking, but now wasn't the time. "Well, I'm glad for you. I hope you have lots of fun."

"Thank yooou!" She took the time to give Zach a quick hug, then vanished into the crowd.

"Well," I said, straightening my jacket. It didn't really need it, but I liked to straighten it anyway. "That was definitely a thing. I'd say your instincts were right on the money when it came to Amy."

"It is good that you think so," agreed Zach. "Hello, Victoria. Are you looking for Amelia Claire?"

Thus alerted, I looked around as Glory Girl showed up with a pensive expression on her face. "Oh, hi, Vicky."

"Hey, Taylor. Zach. Yeah, I lost track of her after class. She sent me a message to not worry about a lift today, but I just wanted to talk to her face to face about it." She eyed me suspiciously as I totally failed to keep a poker face. "What? What's going on?"

"Nothing, I swear." I shook my head. "She's got a date tonight, so I suspect she's gonna ride on the bus with the other girl to spend more time with her."

Vicky looked dumbfounded. "Ames? A date? With a girl? When did this happen?"

"Amelia Claire informed us that the girl asked her for a date to the movies today," Zach said helpfully. "We are unaware as to how long she has been associating with this girl before now."

"But no, wait." Vicky rubbed the back of her head, sounding perplexed. "Ames likes girls? How come she never told me that?"

I shrugged. "I have no idea. My gaydar's pretty well for shit, too. Anyway, see you later. Have a good night."

"Yeah, okay, seeya." She meandered off absently.

As we headed outside to find a clear area, I turned to Zach. "Did you know Amy was into girls? Because I didn't."

"Amelia Claire was not into girls, plural," he informed me blandly. "She was into one girl but could not carry that attraction through."

I stopped still, staring at him. "Please tell me she wasn't into me," I begged. "I'd never forgive myself for making her feel rejected because I didn't know."

"No, Taylor, Amelia Claire was never attracted to you before. She believes you are attractive now, but she thinks of you much more as a valued friend than a potential romantic partner." He paused. "Her primary attraction was always toward Victoria."

It took me a second to parse that. "Oh," I said quietly. "Oh, shit. No wonder she never said anything."

"You are correct." Zach took the lead again, but even though he was facing away from me, I heard his voice clearly over the babble of the crowd. "The conflict between what she wanted and what she could not have and dared not ask for was tearing her apart. When I removed her powers, I took the liberty of damping down that singular attraction and spreading it out a little to include all girls of her age. She is now of the opinion that the removal of her powers allowed her to see other girls as attractive without feeling guilty about somehow 'cheating' on her sister. And now that she is no longer the unattainable Panacea …" He let his voice trail off.

"Other girls can feel comfortable asking her out." I nodded. "Okay, I'm a little dubious about the whole 'changing how she feels about Vicky' aspect but the end result seems to have justified it. Is there any chance Vicky would've been interested in her?"

Zach shook his head as we came to a halt outside. "Not without a much more serious alteration of Victoria's standards of attractiveness. I suspect if I had done that, you would yell at me quite a lot."

"Damn right I would." I grinned at him. "So, Amy's happier than she's been in a long time. I suspect Vicky's more puzzled about Amy not hanging around her every hour of the day, but she'll get over it. Anything more we need to deal with here, before we go and do that thing in Europe?"

"No, Taylor," he said. "I believe we are done here for the moment. Would you like me to run you there, or shall we teleport?"

I tilted my head, thinking about it. "I'm thinking … teleport. I need the practice, anyway."

"On the contrary, you are becoming quite adept," Zach said. "But if you wish to teleport, we will teleport. Our first stop is Paris; three thousand four hundred two miles, four thousand one hundred twenty-five feet that way, and vertically upward sixty-three feet. Be ready to throw the Idiot Ball the instant we arrive."

As usual, the teleport power allowed me to know exactly where we were going, from his instructions. Wrapping my arm through his, I concentrated for a second and triggered the teleport.

We popped onto the sidewalk of a back street, not ten feet from where a woman in a white dress with alabaster skin and white hair, wearing a mask depicting a snarl, was hovering over the street. I didn't need prompting; I threw the Idiot Ball. It bounced off the side of her head; as she fell to the street, Zach gathered me up and we blurred out of there.

"Wait," I said, once I'd caught my breath. I hadn't known who the woman was, but my glasses did. "That was one of the Three Blasphemies. Are you here to destroy them? Why didn't we stay, if she was depowered?"

"The Three Blasphemies are not human," Zach observed, leaning against the rail of the observation deck. Because of course we were at the top of the Eiffel Tower, at night. Paris, spread out before us, was amazing, but I was too busy listening to Zach to take it in. "They are constructs, sharing power. Destroy one, and another will emerge. The one you assaulted has already regained her power. But now we have gained their attention."

To me, that sounded like a bad thing, but Zach seemed upbeat about it so I decided to reserve judgement for the moment. "Okay, so what do we do now?"

Zach smiled. "We have managed to mildly irritate them. It is my intention to make them so angry they forget themselves."

That still sounded like a bad thing to me. Thinking back, I'd heard they were powerful enough to survive even a bout against Eidolon himself. That was a very exclusive club indeed. "And what happens then?"

Beaming happily at being asked the important question, Zach put his hands together as though applauding, then lifted them apart. "Boom."

I wasn't exactly thrilled about being a part of any 'boom' the Three Blasphemies were likely to generate, but Zach seemed okay with it, and I'd long since decided to trust him with my life. Besides, the Three Blasphemies had hurt quite a few people during their time in Europe, so it was about time they got their comeuppance. However it was Zachary had this planned.

"Okay, then," I said, trying to keep any tinge of doubt out of my voice. "Let's do this."

"That is the spirit, Taylor." Zach beamed at me. "I am about to open a series of portals. When I open a portal, I will need you to throw the Idiot Ball through the portal at the target you see. Can you do that?"

I summoned the Idiot Ball between my middle and index finger. "I can totally do that."

"Good." He gave me a look of approval, entirely different from his usual smile. This one was serious. "It is very good to have someone I know I can totally depend on."

I knew how powerful Zach was, how little he truly needed someone like me helping him. But he'd never, ever lied to me in any significant way. And to have him say this to me, and to mean it as far as I could tell, gave me a feeling of confidence such as I'd never had before. If he'd told me I could walk on water in that same tone, I wouldn't have even bothered taking my shoes off before putting it to the test.

There was little I could say in return, except for one word. "Likewise." It was all that needed to be said.

A hint of his smile widened his mouth slightly. "Thank you. Ready … now!"

At his gesture, the shimmering portal opened in front of me, and I tossed the Idiot Ball through at the Blasphemy on the other side. This time, her mask was smiling, but I was willing to bet she wasn't smiling behind it, especially after the ball bounced off her nose and back through the portal. And then Zach moved … and he was holding her mask as the portal blinked out. Then he put it on.

I would've been stunned at the audacity, but he was already opening another portal. I threw the ball again, hitting the masked woman—snarling, so the one we'd met first—in the right eye. As I caught the ball, Zach moved again, grabbing her mask. But this time, he paused before closing the portal so that she could see he was wearing her sister's mask.

He handed me the snarling mask and I put it on. Somehow, the glasses I had on managed to conform to their shape, so I could see through them and the mask eyeholes at the same time. I was beginning to get an idea of his strategy so when he opened the portal a third time, I made sure she could see me in the mask just as the Idiot Ball bounced off her chin. And when the portal closed, Zach held her mask.

"Okay, I'm pretty sure they're angry now," I said. I may or may not have been grinning widely myself. "What's next? Wedgies?"

"Hmm," Zach said thoughtfully, tilting his head to one side. "I had not considered wedgies. Perhaps in future. But for now, we give the masks back."

On the face of it (hah!) that sounded a little self-defeating, but I was willing to trust Zach in this. He'd been batting a thousand so far. "Okay," I said. "Idiot Ball again?"

"Of course," he said, as though it had never been in doubt. Taking off the mask he wore, he opened the portal again.

I was ready, tossing the Idiot Ball through and doinking whichever Blasphemy it was on the forehead, just before Zach held up the mask in front of the portal, waggling it tauntingly. I added an impromptu, "Nyah nyah!" before she snatched it back and jammed it on her face.

For the next portal, Zach reached out for 'my' mask, so I gave it to him. The glasses I was still wearing reconfigured back to their normal shape, and I readied the Idiot Ball. I could tell we were entering the endgame of his strategy, and I didn't want to miss my cue.

Again, I verbally mocked the Blasphemy (after Idiot Balling her, because I'm not stupid) and she grabbed the mask Zach was waving in her face. Like the first one, she didn't bother looking at the front of the mask, just shoving it back on.

Anger. It can be so useful, when weaponised.

The last Blasphemy came so close to blasting us that there was a flare of energy before the Idiot Ball connected, but that was all she had. Furious at being shut down, she snatched the mask even faster than the other two had. The portal closed, and Zach paused. "Taylor?"

"Yes, Zach?" I didn't know how he was going to top what he'd just done, but I was ready for anything.

"This time … let them catch it."

And that was his plan. His gorgeous, simple plan. I felt him putting his arm protectively around my shoulders, then he opened three portals directly above our heads. These were larger than the others, so the Three Blasphemies were looking directly at each other. And in between the three … I tossed the Idiot Ball.

All three recognised it, of course. And like Vicky that one time, they all tried to catch it. Also like Vicky … I let them.

Three sets of fingers latched onto the Ball, and three horrifically powered and extremely pissed off individuals, all looking at someone else wearing their mask … did the absolute stupidest thing they could possibly do.

As Zach had said: 'boom'.

Between the powers inherent in my jacket and Zach's protective capability, the explosion didn't even touch me. The observation deck of the Eiffel Tower, along with the next fifty feet down, was obliterated. (I hadn't noticed Zach moving everyone else to safety until after it happened, but that was Zach for you).

As gently as a feather, we drifted down until we stood atop the ruined stump of the Tower. I looked around curiously. "So … are they dead?"

After ensuring that I had proper footing, Zach made a gathering-in motion. Wispy threads appeared between his hands, thickening as he turned them. "Yes. They have been destroyed, in the only way it was possible to do so quickly. Turning them against each other."

"Nice." I waited until he had their power bundled up and stowed away, then tapped my foot on the twisted metal of the Eiffel Tower. "So … you gonna clean up your mess?"

He chuckled. "Yes, Taylor. I am going to clean up my mess." Raising his foot in turn, he stamped hard on the iron underfoot. Against all intuition and logic, the entire structure shivered. By the time the shaking subsided, the Eiffel Tower was twenty feet taller. He did it twice more; after the last one, all damage had been erased, the paintwork was gleaming and new, and every rivet gleamed as though freshly installed. "Does that satisfy you?"

I grinned and leaned my head against his shoulder. "Yeah, it totally does. Now, there's just one thing I wish I had."

He raised his eyebrows as he put his arm around me. "What is that, Taylor?"

I gestured out over the gorgeous night-time vista of Paris. "A camera."

Even though I was watching carefully, I was sure he hadn't so much as flickered, and yet he was holding a camera where before he'd had no such thing. "Like this, Taylor?"

I shrugged, deciding I wasn't even going to query it. "Yeah, Zach. Exactly like that. Thanks."

"You are welcome, Taylor."



End of Part Twenty-Two

 

[Ack]

I'm HALPING!

Part Twenty-Three: Accelerating the Agenda

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


Atop the Eiffel Tower
Taylor

"It's really nice up here," I said, aiming the camera through the protective mesh and taking another photo, this time of the lights along the Seine. I already had a dozen photos of the Parisian nightscape as it was, but such was the whirlwind of life with Zachary that I couldn't count on having time to get back to enjoy the view again, any time soon. "Even if you hadn't just goaded the Three Blasphemies into blowing each other up."

"You are the one who did all the hard work with the Idiot Ball, Taylor," he said with a smile. "I merely opened portals to where they were needed."

I snorted but didn't argue with him. For someone of his amazing (if not terrifying) level of power, he was remarkably self-effacing. To him, that was what had happened.

As I pointed the camera in a different direction, trying to zoom in on the Arc de Triomphe, I caught a flicker of movement crossing several of the city lights. My glasses picked it up a moment later, outlining an incoming form. "We've got a cape," I warned.

"It is a hero," Zach assured me. "Let him know that we will be leaving soon."

"Okay." Zach's peculiar brand of Move along, nothing to see here never got old for me. I took the photo, then waited for the cape to arrive.

As they got closer, I could tell it was a guy. His costume and cape were patterned in red, white and blue—the French patriotic colours as well as American, I reminded myself—and across his chest was splashed the French flag with the Arc itself overprinted in gold. My glasses popped up with a name: TRIOMPHE.

"He's going to ask us what we're doing up here, what happened to the Tower, and why it's in pristine condition, isn't he?" I was no kind of a precog, but even I could read the writing on the wall.

"That is a fair assessment, yes." Zach waited alongside me as Triomphe came up alongside the safety mesh. I wondered if the guy knew there was someone with an English-language translation of his name in Brockton Bay. A moment later, I mentally facepalmed; there had to be dozens, or even hundreds, of capes with language-duplicate names around the world. Then he was speaking to us.

Who are you and what are you doing up here? I couldn't speak French, but the glasses provided their usual real-time translation.

I intended to say something bland about just dropping by and we'd be moving along soon, but my traitorous mouth betrayed me. "Oh, we're just relaxing and doing the tourist thing after taking down the Three Blasphemies. How's your day been?"

He paused, mouth half open as he absorbed my words. I didn't have the same ability to alter perceptions that Zach did, but the earpiece apparently made me a lot more persuasive.

Are you serious? One of them was seen earlier in Paris.

"Absolutely," I assured him after mentally facepalming again. It looked like we were going loud instead of quiet. "I'm Taylor; this is Zach. Check the news from America recently. Anyway, nice Tower you've got here. Great view. Amazing engineering." Shut up already, Taylor!

If true, that's astounding news. How did you get past the police cordon, and what happened with the top of the tower?

I rolled my eyes. "'If true', hah. You should find three craters where they were. As for how we got through the cordon, we didn't. We teleported here. And they kind of blew the tower up too, but Zach fixed it. Because he's cool like that. Anyway, bye!"

I was all out of stuff to say to Triomphe and I didn't want to start babbling or repeating myself, so I grabbed Zach's arm and teleported us out of there. One second, the Eiffel Tower at night; the next, the middle of our living room in Brockton Bay, with afternoon sunlight slanting through the windows.

"Okay, wow," I said, letting my breath out with a rush. "That was … a little stressful."

Zach put his arm around my shoulders and gave me a comforting squeeze. "Taylor, you stood firm at my side when we dealt with Ash Beast, Moord Nag, Sleeper and the Three Blasphemies. Why did you feel stressed when speaking with a friendly superhero?"

I took a deep breath, let it out, then did it again. "Because I suck at social situations. I feel comfortable with you because you've shown me over and over that you're not going to screw me over like other people have."

"Hmm." He nodded thoughtfully. "There is something I need to speak with you about, and I do not wish to cause you extra stress. Would you like to sit down?"

I looked at him suspiciously. "Is this going to be your 'It's time for me to leave' speech?"

"No, Taylor." His tone was serious. "When it becomes time for me to leave, you will be fully aware of it. I wish to speak to you about something more pressing."

Slowly, I sat down on the sofa. "Okay, what is it?"

He sat next to me and half-turned so that I could see his expression without straining myself. "You are aware of the secondary purpose of destroying each of the villains we have been engaging over the last few days, yes?"

I nodded; he hadn't actually been subtle about it. "So you can take their powers and use them for yourself."

"That is correct, Taylor." He beamed at me, apparently pleased at how well the talk was going. "Have you ever been told how super-powers work?"

"Only what I've seen in talk shows and Saturday morning cartoons, which probably has nothing to do with the reality of the situation," I admitted.

"You are correct," he confirmed. "The theorising in those shows is all very inaccurate, although I suspect Little Protectorate Pals would become a little less popular if they portrayed the science properly."

I tilted my head at him. "Since when did you ever watch Li'l Protectorate Pals?"

He was already good at pretending innocence, so I didn't believe his nonchalant expression for an instant. "My sister has watched every show. She played some episodes for me. I found the childlike reimagining of Father to be … endearing."

Because of course the Simurgh would become addicted to a show like that. "Okay, getting off-track. You were talking about how super-powers happen."

"Yes, I was." Zach took a breath; purely for effect, I knew, because he didn't have to breathe. "Each set of powers is granted by an extradimensional biological supercomputer. When a person has such a thing connected to them, their brain grows a structure called the corona pollentia in order to handle the input. Within the corona pollentia is a sub-structure called the gemma, which becomes active once the person gains access to their power. That is what actually controls the use of the power."

I blinked. "That's … that's a lot to take in, right there." A thought struck me. "Wait, are you saying I've got one of these corona pollination things in my head?" Because otherwise, why would he be bringing it up? "And do you even have one yourself? How do you handle all the powers you've been yoinking out of people's heads?"

"You have a corona pollentia, yes," he said soberly. "But your gemma is not active. Your father bore the connection for years, then it switched to you. In order to trigger the activation of the power, the person has to go through the most stressful situation imaginable."

"The locker," I said, an epiphany bursting upon me. "Did I … was I going to …"

"You would have triggered, yes," he said, as if that were the most normal thing in the world. "The power you would have gained is one that allows normally impossible levels of multi-tasking. I rescued you from the locker before you reached the state of mind necessary to trigger, and I removed the power from you while you were still insensate. I do not possess a corona pollentia, but the power inherent in me as an Endbringer allows me to commandeer and modify the powers of others. As yours was not fully integrated with your brain, I was able to bring it over to me in its entirety without further disturbing you."

"Oh." It was an odd feeling. At the time, I doubt I would have been capable of comprehending a request to take my as-yet unconnected power, much less emotionally stable enough to give a coherent answer. Yet Zach had simply … taken it. "Would … would it have been better for me to have triggered and then let you remove the power later, once I decided I didn't want it?"

"My sister says not," he informed me frankly. "The aftermath of the emotional trauma necessary for triggering is always profound. Worse, the process often alters the personality in unpredictable ways. And finally, by its very nature, it would have been forcing new and poorly understood sensory inputs on you at a time when you were least able to understand and assimilate them, thus inflicting more mental trauma upon you."

I grimaced. "Ouch." The trauma I'd been through had already been bad enough. Taking more than that sounded like no fun whatsoever. "I, uh, I hope it hasn't been giving you any problems like that?"

"Hardly." He smiled. "It has proven quite useful, actually. I have been using it to utilise each and every one of the powers I have removed from others to their full capacity, where normally I would have been limited to just one or two at a time."

"Right." I'd definitely seen that in action. "What if … what if I asked for it back? I mean, I had it first and all that."

"I have already integrated an aspect of it into your glasses," he said promptly. "That is how you are able to use all the Thinker powers built into them so readily." He tilted his head. "Did you want the entirety of it back? I can do that too, if you wish."

That was easy to answer. "No … I was just asking." I took a deep breath. The next question wasn't one I really wanted to ask, but I did anyway. "So … how long was I in the locker for, and how much longer would it have taken me to trigger?"

"You were in the locker for precisely forty-three seconds," Zach informed me. "Going by my observation of how strong-willed you are, I suspect it would have taken you thirty to forty-five minutes to reach the level of despair necessary to form the trigger connection with your power."

I nodded. "Right. So it wasn't something that almost happened. Where I was when you ripped the door off and got me out, that was just the start." I didn't want to think about the idea of being in there for another half-hour or more. "How badly did you hurt them all, again?"

His smile was back; open, happy, unconcerned. "If you are considering revenge, I can take you to the hospital wards where they are each undergoing treatment. Each of them suffered broken bones and minor internal injuries, though Sophia has it the worst. The aftermath of our exit from Winslow ensured that their actions would be impossible to conceal within the bureaucracy. Also, Director Piggot now has every reason to wish us well, so she is pushing hard for full transparency. Or, to put it another way, to keep us happy."

"I just bet." I recalled the sheer savage glee the Director had expressed when dealing with the cankerous sore that Ellisburg had become. Before that point, she would've been wary of us; afterward, somewhat more approving. Some bribes, it seemed, could not be paid in mere money or even material goods. "So, what did you want to do now?"

"I would suggest you have something to eat, so that your nutrition and blood sugar levels are at optimum," he said blandly. "I will also have something, because eating tasty food is enjoyable. After that, would you like to go and help improve the world a little more?"

"Food, then fixing the world. I like that." I jumped up off the sofa. "Have I got time for a shower?"

He spread his hands. "You have all the time you want, Taylor."

I liked the sound of that. "Back in ten."

<><>​

PRT Medical Facility

The doctor showed us the X-rays, tapping with his pen at certain spots. "With the fractures here, here and here, it's unlikely that she will ever walk again. If the damage is as bad as I suspect, she will be wearing a diaper for the rest of her life."

"I see," said Zach. "May we speak to the patient?"

I stood by, hands in the pockets of my jacket, just letting Zach do his thing. We were in the middle of the PRT building, in their secure medical facility, having literally teleported inside. Maybe we could've asked the Director for permission to enter, but Zach had decided to not bother her this time around. We could get in and out perfectly well on our own, after all.

"Certainly," said the doctor. He got that familiar what's-going-on look on his face, but his expression cleared again immediately. Zach's Stranger power was working just fine. "Right this way."

We were ushered into Sophia's private room, where I counted at least three cameras pointed directly at her. For her protection or to prevent escapes, I wasn't sure. Six of one, half a dozen of the other. She was lying in an oddly rigid pose, probably because of the body brace that was supposed to prevent her from damaging her spine any farther. As we came in, her face was turned away from the door.

"Hi, Soph," I said quietly.

For a moment, there was no reaction, then her head whipped around so fast I was concerned she'd do more damage to her spine. "What the fuck?" Her voice was husky, as if she'd screamed herself hoarse, or maybe just hadn't used it for a while. "What the fuck are you doing here? Who let you in?" One of her hands scrabbled for a call button as she stared wide-eyed at Zach.

I thought he'd stop her, but instead he let her press it. The buzz was audible even through the door; a moment later, an orderly opened it and leaned in. "What's the problem?" he asked.

"These two shouldn't be here!" Sophia shrieked. Boy, she'd gotten her voice back in a hurry. "They're here to kill me! Get help!"

The orderly's expression flickered and changed, then he looked at us. "Are you going to be long?"

"Not at all," Zach said politely. "Thank you very much."

"No problem." The orderly closed the door again.

Sophia stared at us, eyes so wide I could see white all around her irises. Her thumb remained pressed firmly on the call button. Nobody outside acknowledged it. "What … the … fuck …?"

I took a step forward. "I'm here to ask you a question, Sophia. It's got one of two answers. If you answer with anything else, I will assume you're okay with the first answer. Do you understand?"

She tried to scrabble back up the bed to get away from us but didn't get anywhere. "This is a fuckin' nightmare. It's gotta be."

I glanced at Zach; he shrugged. "She heard and understood what you said."

"Good." I took another step forward, so I was looming over her. "The question is simple. Would you rather have powers, or be able to walk?"

That got her attention. She stared at me. "What?"

I sighed slightly. "Would you rather have powers, or be able to walk? It's not a hard question, Sophia. Which would you rather have? Powers, or mobility?"

Her stare turned into a glare. "So you're here to fuckin' taunt me. Fuck you."

"Not at all." I shook my head. "I'm here to offer you a choice. You've got ten seconds to decide, or I decide for you." Theatrically, I pushed back my glove to check my watch. "Starting … now."

She continued to glare, lips pressed tightly together. No doubt determined to not give me the pleasure of 'winning'. Whatever that meant for her at this time.

The ten seconds came and went, and I motioned my head toward Zach. "Okay, time's up. She prefers to have powers."

We turned in unison and headed for the door. I had my hand on the handle when Sophia shouted, "Wait!"

Pausing, my hand still on the door, I turned. "Yeah?"

Sophia gritted her teeth. Her glare had intensified. "I …"

I waited, a polite expression on my face as I made a go-on gesture. "You …?"

The expression on her face was reminiscent of someone being forced to drink concentrated lemon juice. "Walk! I want to walk!"

Leaving the door unopened, I strolled back to the bed. "You're sure about this. You'd rather be able to walk than have powers."

If her powerset had included any kind of Blaster ability, I would've been dead on the spot. She looked like she was trying to ignite my face with the sheer intensity of her hatred. Just for emphasis, my glasses overlaid cartoon images of steam shooting from her ears.

"… yes."

"Good." I gestured to Zach. "Powers now, walkies after. Zach?"

"As you wish, Taylor." Reaching out, Zach lightly pinched the back of Sophia's hand, just beside where a cannula went in. It was always fascinating to watch him do this, as he pulled a shadowy gauze-like thing out of her, yard after yard of it, bundling it up as he went.

When he was done, he turned to me. "Her power has been removed." With a flick of his wrist, he made the wadded-up expression of Sophia's power vanish. "It is over to you now."

"I'm going to hold your hand now," I told Sophia. "Don't get any ideas." Reaching out, I gripped her fingers.

"What are you going to do?" she sneered. "Aren't you going to bring Panacea or someone in? And what the fuck did he just do now, anyway?"

"Weren't you paying attention?" I raised my eyebrows. "He took your powers away. You're normal now, just like everyone you ever beat up. And anyway, Panacea isn't Panacea anymore. She doesn't have her powers. I've got them."

As I spoke, I looked over her injuries. The doctor had been correct; the damage to her spinal cord would've caused paralysis from the waist down. I fixed the fractures and the internal damage with relative ease, then made one more change before I let her hand go again. "You're good to go. Try to wriggle your toes."

Sophia stared past me at the end of the bed, and I saw the coverlet twitch slightly. "Holy shit, you did it. My legs work … wait. That was my right foot. I tried to wriggle my left foot."

I nodded, a grin creeping across my face. "Yeah, about that. I switched your proprioception for left and right. Your brain will figure it out in time, but you are gonna have to learn how to walk all over again. Enjoy." Because damn right I was gonna have hard feelings.

"You can't do that!" she screamed, rising onto her elbows. "Come back here and—"

"Bye." I considered giving her a finger-wave, then settled for the finger itself. Taking Zach's arm, I teleported us out of the PRT building.

<><>​

Top of Captain's Hill

"Well, that was fun," I observed, swinging my legs idly back and forth while I sat on a picnic table and watched the sun set over the western hills. "I mean, it didn't do much to fix the world as a whole, but it was intensely satisfying all the same."

"Every little bit helps," he said, apparently enjoying the sunset just as much as I was. "Would you like to go and help fix another little bit of it now, before we move back to the big leagues?"

"What, Emma and Madison?" I asked. "I thought you said they just had broken bones and minor internal injuries."

"Emma and Madison will heal quite well on their own," he assured me. "This is in New York."

I slid off the picnic table. "I'm down for New York. Let's do this."

<><>​

New York
March

May grinned behind her rabbit mask. Her ad hoc team of minor villains, barely worthy of being called a gang when left to their own devices, was proving its worth under her direction. They'd intercepted Flechette's evening patrol and were even now separating her farther and farther from her teammates.

The timer in her head ticked over and she raised her radio. "Lurker, hit her with a shadow ball to the left hand … now." This would throw Lily off-balance again—not an easy thing to do—and keep her heading away from the other two Wards.

In the meantime, May's decoy Flechette, a girl of about the right height and looks, wearing a very similar costume, was drawing the other Wards in entirely the wrong direction. She'd planned it all out, down to the second. She and Lily were going to have it out once and for all, once the beleaguered Ward stumbled into the alley directly below where she was—

"Hi, there."

It was a girl's voice, coming from directly behind her. She'd checked the rooftop ten seconds ago! Nobody should be there! Her plans did not allow for someone to be there!

The rapier flickering from its sheath, she turned with all the speed and precision she was capable of. Even as she registered there were not one but two intruders on the rooftop, she energised the slim metal length of the blade and lunged at the more dangerous-looking of the pair—

And stopped so hard she wrenched something in her wrist.

The tip of the blade was mere inches from the chest of the teenage boy, but she couldn't move it. It was as though the hilt were encased in concrete. Beside the boy, the teenage girl—skinny, curly black hair, stylish glasses, absolutely rockin' jacket—raised her eyebrows.

"Unfriendly," she observed.

"It is her nature," the boy said, his diction precise and measured down to the microsecond. He didn't breathe except to speak, May noted. Reaching up, he pinched the end of the rapier. May grinned, expecting him to yelp as the energised metal cut his fingers to the bone.

That didn't happen. Instead, he began to draw some kind of filament from the tip of the blade. Stepping back, he flicked the filament this way and that as if performing some kind of over-the-top cat's cradle.

May tried to release the rapier, but that didn't happen either. She could feel her fingers, but they would not move from the hilt of the weapon. Looking down at it, she saw at last that the hilt and glove were both a dull monochrome gray in colour, instead of gleaming metal and white cloth.

Left hand it is, then. Dropping the radio—right now, there were more stringent issues at stake—she slid a knife from its sheath and energised it, preparatory to throwing at the gir—no, at the boy. Even though her intellect insisted the girl was the better target, so as to distract the boy from what he was doing, she knew the boy was far more dangerous.

The girl sighed and flicked her fingers. A tiny gray sphere flashed out toward the knife. Even as May tried to jerk her hand aside, the sphere swerved and hit its target anyway. Encompassing her hand and the hilt of the knife, it locked them solid. She suspected if she fell over now, she would have two broken wrists, instead of just one slightly sprained one.

"What's with the rabbit mask anyway?" asked the girl. "I mean, I get it that capes can get some pretty weird costume ideas, but are you supposed to be the Easter Bunny's evil twin or something?"

What? She doesn't even know who I am? "I'm March," snapped May, trying to move her hands with no success. Just a few feet closer, though, and she might be able to launch a kick and stun the little cow …

She glanced at the girl's companion, who seemed to be using the filament to weave … a pair of heavy wristbands? The last of it popped from the tip of the rapier … which was no longer energised. In fact, all of May's timing was … gone. All the balance, all the plans, all the understanding. Gone, as though it had never been.

"March?" The girl frowned. "What's that got to do with rabbits? I thought Easter was in April."

"Not Easter, you stupid little … hngh!" May tried again to get free and failed. "As in March Hare! And as in marching in step! Don't you understand word association at all? What've you done to me, anyway? Is that a Trump effect?"

The girl shrugged, apparently unconcerned at her anger. "Nope. Zach just took your powers. You're not actually getting them back." She looked around as someone climbed the fire escape. "Oh, hey."

<><>​

Flechette

March had to be behind this. Nobody else could organise a bunch of nobodies this well. Lily ducked away from one attack, tried to load her arbalest, and nearly had it knocked out of her hands by another. Fully aware she was being herded, she sprinted across the narrow street and dived into the alleyway on the other side. One of Lurker's darkness balls hit the brickwork next to her left arm, hurrying her on her way.

If her radio was still working, she would've been able to call for help, but that was the first thing they'd targeted. Her phone was still intact, but there was no chance of her getting the time to pull it out and make a call back to base, the way they were pressing her. It was like they knew every one of her moves before she made them … because, in a way, they did.

This was one of May's talents, to direct an assault like this with precise timing. She knew Lily's every move, and she was able to translate that into instructions to the third-raters she'd hired for this job. Without her whispering in their ears, Lily would've been able to take them apart in seconds. As it was, this was like trying to match up, unpowered, against specialist troops.

And then … Lurker missed his shot. Like, wide. Lily had all the time in the world to duck aside and pull a blade, which she hurled along the alley. Scattershot yelped as it pinned his arm to the bricks by the sleeve, and Lily grinned. Something had changed, and she was going to make full use of it.

Lurker ventured along the alleyway, peering around for her, another shadow-ball forming in his hands. Lily came down on him from above like the vengeance from a particularly pissed-off goddess, smacking him just above the ear with the butt of her arbalest with precisely measured force. He folded like a cheap suit, face-planting into the dirt and grime.

Checking up and around, just to make sure March wasn't pulling one of her trademark ambushes, Lily headed back down the alley to secure Scattershot. It didn't take long to have him secured hand and foot, and then she pulled out her phone. "Yeah, hi, Flechette. No, I've been heading west. Yeah, west. March has had her guys herding me, but I got the better of them." She tilted her head as she heard a familiar voice drifting down from a rooftop. "Home in on my signal. I think I got her."

Leaving the call on, she dropped the phone into its pouch and headed through the alley toward where she'd heard the shout. More angry words filtered down toward her. It didn't sound like March was having a good time of it. She leaped up, grabbed the fire escape ladder, and started to climb.

As she came up over the top, a curious sight caught her eye. March was there, alright, with her rapier in one hand and a knife in the other. She was in full battle mode, yet the people she was aggressing on were just … casually standing there. One was a teenage boy who looked kind of familiar, while the other was a girl who Lily also thought she should know from somewhere but couldn't quite place her. The girl had on a damn nice jacket, too.

The girl turned toward her. "Oh, hey."

As the boy finished fitting a couple of leather wrist-bands on his arms, he also turned to face her. "Hello, Flechette," he said happily. "I am Zachary, and this is Taylor. We are pleased to be of service to you tonight. Are you healthy?"

"Bruised, cut, but doing a lot better than I was." Lily strolled over, loading her arbalest and cranking back the string as she did so. As soon as it was ready to shoot, she aimed it at March. "This one's been giving me a heap of problems tonight, though." She didn't intend to shoot, but March was dangerous even when she wasn't armed.

"I had you," spat March. "I had you!" She appeared particularly bitter over something. "If—" She cut herself off.

"Wait, I know this one," the girl—Taylor—said, putting one finger up. "Is this the one that goes, if it wasn't for these meddling kids, I would've gotten away with impersonating the Easter Bunny and stealing all the eggs?"

Despite herself, Lily was impressed at the furious outburst that followed. She'd known March had a fairly broad command of profanity, but dang.

<><>​

Observation Deck of the Empire State Building

The safety mesh reminded me of the top of the Eiffel Tower, though the hooked-over bars on top were different. I had my camera out, taking photos of the city lights, while Zach appeared content to just look out over Manhattan Island. "This is nice, too. But did you help out Flechette just to be nice, or was there another reason?"

"Very good, Taylor," he said approvingly. "March had a powerset that I need for my future plans. Besides, doing good for the sake of doing good makes you happy, as does foiling the plans of supervillains. Especially over-pretentious supervillains like that one."

I had to admit, he knew me well. I lined up on the Chrysler Building, took the shot, then turned to him. "Okay, I've done my touristy thing. Where to next?"

He looked thoughtful. "I believe it may be time for us to visit the Birdcage once more. Lung and Hookwolf will have had time to settle in and consider their options, after all."

I nodded. "I got this one." Putting my camera away, I tucked my arm through Zach's. "In the words of Time Warp, it's just a jump to the left …"

We 'jumped to the left' across the width of North America, reappearing in the courtyard of the new and improved Birdcage. A single Dragon suit stood watchfully in the corner of the yard, apparently in consultation with a few of the inmates. Overhead, the sky was showing the orange of sunset. It occurred to me that I was spending a lot of time jumping between time zones today.

Our sudden appearance did not go unnoticed. Several inmates waved, while others looked impassively in our direction. Oh, well. It's not like we can expect everyone to be grateful. Acidbath (or rather, the former Acidbath) just glowered. He had a few bruises on his face; it appeared he was unable to control his mouth around his fellow inmates, even after losing his powers. Remembering what he was like, I could not find much sympathy in my heart for him.

The double doors marked DOWN TO BIRDCAGE were what we wanted. I strolled in that direction, with Zach at my side. As I came up to the doors, I looked over at the Dragon suit and nodded once; the suit returned the nod. I pulled the doors open and entered the staircase.

Carved from the surrounding rock, the stairs were broad and easy to traverse, curving slightly to the right as they proceeded downward. Subdued overhead lighting made it easy to ensure I didn't trip, if my glasses hadn't already been outlining the steps already for me. Halfway down, I encountered Cinderhands on the way up, holding two bottles of an expensive imported beer.

"Evening," I said, and nodded at the beer. "Is that for Marquis?"

"Yes, ma'am," he confirmed, then looked at Zach. "My appeal's going well, so thank you for that too."

"You are welcome." He nodded at the ex-supervillain, then we continued downstairs.

When we entered the common area at the bottom of the stairs, it resembled nothing so much as an old-fashioned gentlemen's club, one catering to classic noir gangsters. Not that anyone was dressed in period attire, but the attitude was there. A veneer of politeness over the ability to render extreme violence if necessary.

My glasses scanned the room, then picked out the people Zach was here to see. Lung was sitting back in the corner, watching the large-screen TV, while Hookwolf was in the middle of a game of pool. Neither of them took notice of our arrival at first, but then a murmuring spread through the room until everyone had ceased their activities and were looking at us. I didn't pick out any hostility, at least as bad as Acidbath's upstairs, but a few seemed apprehensive, as if they were worried we were going to inflict some unknown punishment on them … or worse, take the largesse away again.

"Good evening, everyone," Zach announced. Of course, everyone heard him. "Do not worry. Nobody is in trouble. However, we are here to make two announcements. First, I will be speaking to Dragon about ceasing intake into this facility. No more villains will be sent to the Birdcage. Second, I am here so that we may complete the processing of those who wish to either forfeit their powers or take on a behavioural control collar. For those who are unaware of the situation, one or the other has to happen before you will be permitted to venture upstairs and begin the process of filing your appeal."

"Appeal?" Unsurprisingly, it was Hookwolf who spoke up. "So these assholes haven't been pulling my leg? I can actually appeal to get out of this damn place?"

"Eventually, yes," Zach said. "Not immediately, of course. Appeals take years to process even in ordinary prisons, and you have been sent away for particularly heinous acts, after all. But once you get upstairs, the process can be started. Or …" He gestured at the surrounding area. "You can choose to stay down here with anyone who has decided they like it better this way."

"Nah, screw that." Hookwolf shook his head. "What do I gotta do?"

I cleared my throat. "First, you need to move to the back of the line. There are people who have been here far longer than you, that I did not manage to deal on our last visit. They have priority."

The burly Empire Eighty-Eight cape looked from Zach to me and back again, apparently wondering who was in charge but just smart enough not to ask the question out loud.

"Please do as Taylor has requested," Zach said firmly. "She is the one who determines who I see first."

That caused a stir as people started forming up into a line. A few other newcomers to the Birdcage tried to slip in early, but my glasses picked them out and I sent them to the back as well. If anybody tried to argue, they were glared into silence by the rest. It appeared they were learning.

I quickly slipped into the routine of asking them what they intended to do once they got out, then whether they wanted their powers gone or if they merely wanted a behavioural control collar. As the line progressed through, the ones farther back heard what I was saying and were able to think about their responses, so when they got to me they were able to provide a quick response. Whichever one they wanted, I sent them on to Zach.

In barely any time at all (or so it seemed), we were down to the last few. Hookwolf was the second-last in front of Lung, but it looked like the time he'd spent in line hadn't actually helped him with the decision. "Which one do you think I should do?" he asked me point-blank.

"That's not my choice," I said. "Either way, you won't be able to go back to the Empire Eighty-Eight." He was too proud to settle for going from being one of the movers and shakers to just being an unpowered mook. Even I could see that.

He shook his head, making a derisive noise. "Nah, screw those losers. Never really believed in that master-race bullshit, anyway. If I kept my powers, you think they'd let me go hero?"

I shrugged. "You'd have to move to somewhere away from Brockton Bay and get rid of the wolf theme. And those tattoos. And the attitude. But yeah, if you managed to pull that off, I don't see why not." If Sophia managed to masquerade as a hero for more than a year, I was sure he could too.

"Yeah, okay. Why not?" He moved over to Zach, and I was face to face with Lung.

"Good evening," I said smoothly. I knew I was in zero danger, even from someone as powerful as him. Even if he ramped up then and there and tried to murder me on the spot, I had every faith in Zach being able to slap him down so hard there would be an imprint in the rock beneath our feet. "So, what do you intend to do once you get out of here?"

"I … do not know," he said at last. "I have been Lung for so long, I don't know who else to be. Who are you when you take off that jacket?"

"This?" I looked down at the jacket. "Still me, only not wearing the jacket. I don't really need a hero persona to live up to, I guess."

At that moment, a message flashed up on my glasses. I will be needing his powers. This was the first time Zach had actually stated a preference, which surprised me slightly.

"Will I still be Lung if I have my powers removed?" The thoughtful question also surprised me. Everyone saw him as the brutish crime lord, but that actually showed introspection.

"Well, you won't be allowed to be Lung of the ABB once you're no longer able to commit crimes," I pointed out. "Also, by the time you get out of here, the ABB is almost certainly going to be long gone. Without you or Oni Lee to run the show, they're likely to drift out of the gang and vanish into the woodwork." I let the earpiece add a little bit of its influence. "If you want my suggestion, give up your powers and just be an ordinary citizen. Don't be the man who was once Lung. Be …" I checked with my glasses. "… Kenta Fujiwara, pillar of the community. Teach the young people how not to fall into the same traps you did at their age." That he'd fallen into traps, I was sure. Every teenager did.

He snorted, probably remembering those same traps. "You talk a good game. Don't you think I should try to be a hero, like Hookwolf?"

"Well, you could try," I conceded. "I don't know how successful you would be. Heroes who catch fire when they get more powerful tend to end up dealing with property damage lawsuits. He's only got to worry about sharp metal bits."

"Hmm." He looked thoughtful at that.

I wanted to keep talking but knew if I did, I'd probably put my foot in it. Instead, I tried to look helpful and interested. Even the earpiece could only make me so persuasive.

Drawing a deep breath, he let out a long sigh. "I'll do it."

"Do what?" I asked, though I thought I knew which one he meant.

"A dragon will relinquish its powers before it allows itself to be collared." It sounded vaguely like a quote out of a book, but I was pretty sure he'd made it up on the spot. Kudos to him; it actually sounded kind of badass.

"Cool," I said. "Zach?"

"Thank you, Mr Fujiwara," Zach said, stepping up alongside me. He shook Lung's hand, then from that contact pulled an honest-to-goodness dragon out of the man. It was long and snake-like, in the style of the Oriental dragons I'd read about. Twisting and coiling in Zach's hands, it breathed imaginary fire at the ceiling.

Lung watched as the illusory dragon wound itself around Zach's arm all the way up over his shoulders, then down his other arm. I could not swear there were no tears in his eyes. Instead of bundling the power up as he had the others, Zach let it sink into his body through his light coat, until it was no longer in view. I wondered what ornament or clothing item Zach would make out of it, once we were gone from the Birdcage.

"And that is all?" asked Zach. "All cell blocks have been checked to ensure nobody has been left out?"

The Dragon suit standing by the stairway door, quiet until now, nodded. "All cell blocks contain only persons already processed by you," she said.

"Good," Zach said. "Have a good evening, all. I wish you luck with your appeals."

That actually raised a cheer, muted only slightly by the doors closing behind us as we headed upstairs to the courtyard once more. By the time we got up there, full night had fallen. I stood for a moment, looking up at the stairs.

"Why did you need Lung's powers?" I asked. "Everyone else, you've given them the choice. Why Lung?"

"For the same reason I needed Ash Beast, Sleeper and Moord Nag's powers," he replied candidly. "His power is particularly potent. I will be having need of that."

I turned to face him. "Zach … as powerful as you are … when you talk about needing more power, you worry me. What the hell do you need so much power for?"

He sighed and put his arm around me. "I will tell you, when the time comes. For now, we should return to Brockton Bay. My sister says your father has almost finished making the evening meal, and we both know how he gets if he is kept waiting."

I snorted and leaned into him. "Literally an Endbringer. Casually arm-wrestles Alexandria packages. Leaps across the continent in a single bound. Scared of my father."

"Well, of course," Zach said as he scooped me up in his arms. "Your father is a scary man."

I was still laughing when he braked to a halt outside the house.



End of Part Twenty-Three

 

[Ack]

I'm HALPING!

Part Twenty-Four: Dancing With Endbringers

[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
Coil

Rifle case slung over his shoulder, Calvert strolled out of the motel admin area. Beside him shuffled Creep, still in his body bag. The latest phone message had said to be checked out at this time but hadn't given any further details.

"Hello, Mr. Calvert."

The voice was so unexpected that he didn't register the words for a second. When he did, he turned to see both Taylor Hebert and Zachary casually standing there. Looking at him. Seeing him.

Not for even a fraction of a second did he entertain the concept that the monster-killing firearm in the case would have the slightest chance of harming Zachary. Neither could he run away; they'd both been waiting for him, so this meeting was going to happen. Which left only acceptance of his fate, whatever that might be.

Zachary had been the one to speak, but Calvert didn't make the mistake of ignoring the girl. "Hello," he said, addressing both of them. "It's been a little while."

"It has," Taylor agreed. "Zachary tells me you've been busy. Thank you for your help with Sleeper, by the way."

He nodded to acknowledge her words. "He needed putting down. You were the ones who held him in place long enough to make that happen." Taking a deep breath, he turned to Zachary. "So, what happens now? Do I die?"

"You have committed many crimes, because you assumed nobody who was powerful enough to stop you cared enough to try." Zachary's tone was measured, lacking in any censure. "Better people than you have done worse things for the same reason. I am here to relieve you of your duties and your powers. Your life will be your own to do with as you will."

He wasn't prepared for the surge of disappointment when he heard the first part of Zachary's intentions. The second came almost as an anticlimax; still a wrench, but not unbearable. "You … you don't need me anymore?" His powers had led him into this situation; keeping them was not as high a priority as it may once have been.

Zachary smiled kindly at him. "You have been very useful. My sister has spoken highly of you as an effective tool with which to implement her ends. But where Taylor and I need to go, what we need to do, is above what you would call your 'pay grade'. Do you understand?"

Once upon a time, he would've been insulted by the implication that a teenage girl and a … whatever Zachary was, could handle any situation better than he could, with all his training and powers combined. He'd learned since then. He'd learned a lot.

"Your sister? The Simurgh?" He wasn't sure how he knew that, but he did. "She's the one who's been pulling my strings?"

"That's right," croaked Creep from beside him. "It was the most convenient way. Plus, it was amusing from time to time."

Calvert grimaced. "Yeah, I suppose I asked for that one. So, what happens to him?" He indicated the corpse. "Is he going to be found dead right here? He's done a lot to help me, and I'd rather he didn't just vanish."

"He was an evil person in life, but that does not matter now," Zachary said. "He will be found washed up on shore. His identity will never be solved. He will receive a proper burial, from people who have no idea who he used to be."

"I suppose that's good enough." Calvert turned to look at Creep. "It's been interesting. See you around."

"Right back at you." Creep shuffled off, still holding up the body-bag like he was competing in the world's most macabre sack race. Calvert watched him get into a taxi; the vehicle drove off without the driver showing the slightest indication that he knew his passenger was a cadaver.

"Okay, I'm ready." Calvert leaned the rifle case against a convenient pillar. "I'm guessing I won't be needing that, either."

"You are correct." Zachary reached out as though to shake hands.

Calvert briefly considered trying to make a run for it, then laughed at himself. How far would I get? Wherever I tried to go, he would be there first. Steeling himself, he clasped the Endbringer's hand.

It was an odd feeling, like having the inside of his skull scraped out. Since gaining his powers, he'd depended on them almost every day of his life. They were how he'd made his money, and how he'd built his criminal enterprise. And now, with minimal fanfare, they were being taken from him.

He blinked, and it was done. Zachary was turning something over and over in his hands, until he finally revealed it to be an ornate wristwatch. Carefully, the teen strapped it onto his wrist.

"And that's it?" asked Calvert. "That's all?"

"That's all," Taylor said bluntly. "Don't go doing anything that would get our attention, and you'll be okay."

"Understood." Calvert turned and walked away from them. The rifle case was no longer leaning where he'd left it, but that was fine. It hadn't been stolen, because no thief in existence could get past that terrifyingly powerful young man. If he had to guess, it was back with its original owner.

As the saying went, this was the first day of the rest of his life. It wasn't going to be a very exciting life, but he'd had enough excitement for two lifetimes and change.

Right now, he decided, he wanted a drink. Or maybe two drinks. Creep would need a wake, after all.

<><>​

Taylor

I watched Calvert walk away, heading for the taxi stand, and took Zachary's arm. "So, what's going to happen to him? Any more plans in his direction?"

"I have no plans whatsoever for him," Zachary replied. "He has served his purpose. He will have access to his PRT bank account, but not the money accumulated from his criminal endeavours. What he makes of his life is up to him."

"Okay." I put the ex-villain from my mind to admire Zach's new watch. "Very pretty. Where are we going next?"

"Thank you. I believe our next destination is to be Philadelphia, and several related locations. You are going to enjoy this, Taylor. We are going to help people."

"Oh, good." Even though Calvert had been a villain, retiring him and taking his powers had been a tiny bit depressing. "I'm definitely down for that. Are we running, jumping or teleporting?"

He smiled at me. "You like it when we jump, so we shall jump."

"Woo hoo!"

<><>​

Parahuman Asylum East, Philadelphia
Doctor Jeremy Clarkson

Jeremy lowered his glasses and peered at his visitors over the top of them. "Excuse me? You're here to do what again?"

"We are here to cure your patients of the parahuman abilities that ail them," the young man replied earnestly. "I believe this will make treatment of their purely mental problems considerably easier."

"Well, it would," admitted Jeremy. "But how do you intend to do that? Even the most powerful Trumps can only turn off powers for a short time, and they usually require specific circumstances. The only cape I know of who can simply take powers away from someone is …" His voice trailed off, not wanting to say the name.

"Glaistig Uaine? The Faerie Queen?" The girl shrugged. "She's not a danger anymore. Zach and I saw to that."

"Oh." Jeremy didn't know why he believed this, but he did. "I … see. So, what do you need to do? Some of the inmates are dangerous if we're not wearing special equipment."

"They will not be." The boy—Zach—spoke with authority. "Walk with us, please."

And so, Jeremy found himself accompanying the boy and the girl through the asylum. No matter that it was outside visiting hours, or that neither of them had the slightest vestige of authority to be there; they were walking through, and that was all there was to it.

At each door, Zach would stop and tilt his head as though listening. Occasionally, it seemed as though a wispy something was floating about him, but Jeremy dismissed it as a trick of the light. He wanted it to be a trick of the light, as the alternative was much scarier.

There were no known Trumps outside the Birdcage capable of removing powers, because any such cape would find a target painted on their back. And this boy was right here, and Jeremy was in the same building as him. He just wanted them to finish their business and be gone, so he'd be outside the splash radius when the inevitable lynch mob of capes caught up with them.

Finally, they passed by the last cell. The teenagers turned to look at Jeremy, and the boy nodded. "Thank you for your time," he said. "And do not worry. You are safe. There is no lynch mob chasing me."

Wait, what the hell? Jeremy opened his mouth to ask how the kid knew the exact damn phrase he'd been thinking, then closed it again. Nope. Nope, nope, nope. Don't wanna know.

The girl grinned. "That's probably wise. Bye, now." She took her male companion's arm in hers, offered Jeremy a tiny fingertip wave … and they both vanished, as though they'd never existed.

Grumbling about smartass Thinkers and Movers, he wandered back through the asylum, intending to head back to the office and pour himself a stiff drink from the bottle he kept hidden in the bookcase. But then he heard a voice as he was passing one particular cell. "Hello? Is anyone out there?"

His sense of duty took over, and he went to the intercom in question. "Hello, Sveta? It's Doctor Clarkson. Are you alright?" The question was more or less a gimme; Garrotte's body had proven itself to be insanely durable. But sometimes she needed reassurance.

"I … I think so?" There was a nervous giggle. "But … can someone bring me clothes? I'm kind of chilly in here."

He blinked. Clothes? Since when does a mass of tentacles wear clothing?

When he found out the answer to that question, he really needed a drink.

<><>​

Taylor

Zach and I sat atop Washington's head and looked down at the Mount Rushmore viewing area while we ate our midnight picnic lunch. I had a slice of lasagna saved over from dinner, along with an apple and a large juice box. Despite both of us being fully aware that Zach had no need to eat, he was consuming a two-foot sub sandwich comprised of lettuce, ham, turkey and several sauces, with every evidence of enjoyment.

"So, that's the asylums cleared out," I observed, then let out a thoroughly unladylike belch. "You were right. That was really nice of you. I wonder how many of those people were there just because of problematic powers."

Zach politely took the time to chew and swallow his most recent bite before answering. "Most of them were incarcerated because their powers were dangerous or uncontrollable," he confirmed. "There were a few who had other problems over and above those, but as I told Doctor Clarkson, those will be much easier to treat now. Especially since their powers were sabotaging their recoveries."

"Huh. That's good to hear." I smiled at him, then finished off my juice box. "Where are we going next?"

Unusually for him, he paused to think about his response. "I am not certain that where I need to go is a good place for you. It is likely to be more dangerous, relatively speaking."

I raised my eyebrows. "Really? More dangerous than taking down Moord Nag, or facing Sleeper? How about when we goaded the Three Blasphemies into blowing up each other, and the top of the Eiffel Tower at the same time? Do you really want to pull the 'it's too dangerous' card on me now? And anyway, whatever happened to not letting me out of your sight in case someone got to me?"

It was perhaps the first time I'd seen Zach really taken aback. Any pauses up to this point had been mainly theatrical in nature; with the speed he could move and react, he had to take the time to masquerade as human in order to seem 'normal.' But now he stopped and just looked at me, as though I'd presented him with an insoluble problem.

"I am sorry, Taylor," he said at last. "I have done you a grave disservice. I allowed my concern for your well-being to override my understanding that you are quite capable of protecting yourself with the powers I have gifted to you."

I waited, but it seemed he'd finished what he was saying for the moment. So I nodded. "I can understand that impulse, and I appreciate it. You've done nothing but protect me since we met, and I appreciate that, too." Lifting my hand, I placed it on his cheek. "In that time, you've done more for me, more for my mental and physical well-being, anyone else in the world. I trust you to have my best interests at heart, Zach. Can you trust me not to be stupid, in return?"

"I can trust you, Taylor," he said immediately. "I do trust you. As I said, I am sorry for underestimating you, and I will not do it again."

"Good." I pulled up my knees and wrapped my arms around them, then rested my chin on top and looked over them at him. "So, spill. Where are you going that's so dangerous?"

"My next destination is China," he said immediately. "The CUI has a large collection of military-trained parahumans, some of whom have very useful powers. My intent is to goad them into attacking me so that I may collect their powers, both defanging the regional threat and adding to my collection at the same time."

"Bold plan," I acknowledged. "Just one question: do you know for a fact you can face them all off, or are you going to assume you can just because you've beat up on a few hometown capes?"

He looked uncomfortable. "My oldest brother attacked Jinzhou back before you were born, and the CUI refused outside aid. The Yàngbǎn faced him on their own, and were thoroughly demolished. The city was devastated, even worse than normally happened when he attacked. He says he felt a little bad about it afterward."

"And because of that, you're assuming you can solo them all now?" I rolled my eyes. "Zach, it's been more than fifteen years since then! They've had that time to replenish their numbers and ramp up their training. Also, you told me yourself the big guy is stronger than you, and a lot tougher. And he does a lot more ranged and area effect damage than you do."

"That is all true, Taylor, but I also do not wish to expose you to that level of danger." He looked unhappy, which was also a rare expression for him.

"And I don't want you facing that level of danger alone!" I shouted back. Taking a deep breath, I moderated my tone. "You're gathering all these powers for a really good reason, right?"

"Yes, Taylor, I am," he admitted. "It is all for the ultimate reason of keeping you safe and happy."

"Well, sometimes you're just going to have to compromise," I said. "If you're taken down and beaten while you're over there and you lose all the extra powers, is it going to help keep me safe and happy?"

"My brothers and sister would come to my aid …" he said uncertainly.

"Yeah, and sure, they might even rescue you," I said. "But it'll cause a ton of bad publicity. Do you want word getting out that all three known Endbringers attacked China to save you, personally? Because the people running China right now, the Emperor and the rest of them? They'd spread it far and wide that you're associated with the Endbringers. But two teenagers beating up their national cape team? They'd bury that hard, because everyone would laugh at them forever."

He looked thoughtful. "I am not sure. It still sounds very dangerous to me."

"Ask your sister." I spread my hands. "If anyone knows, she would." I tried hard not to think about how weird it was to be urging my best friend to seek advice from the Simurgh. Or that he was the Simurgh's younger brother.

"That is a good idea. I will ask her." He paused for a moment, then frowned. "She agrees with you. I do not understand."

I shrugged. "She knows me. Probably better than I know myself, to be honest. I just don't want you biting off more than you can chew. But she knows I'll go the extra mile to make sure you get out in one piece."

"That is true." He stood up, then gave me a hand to get to my feet as well. "I am used to not needing assistance in what I am doing. My sister tells me that if I do not accept your offer, I will be an idiot and deserve everything I get."

"Well, when she's right, she's right." I slugged him gently on the shoulder, then zipped my jacket all the way to the top. "So, what's the plan?"

"I had not considered the need for a plan …" He paused when I raised my eyebrows meaningfully. "… but if you wish, I can formulate one now, with my sister's help."

"I do wish, yes." I started gathering up the picnic debris. No sense in littering the top of Washington's head, after all. "Let me know what it is when you finish putting it together."

"Yes, Taylor."

<><>​

Beijing
Yàngbǎn Training Centre
Half an Hour Later

We teleported into the middle of a large flat paved area, between two groups of people. Each group, arrayed in a rectangular fashion, were dressed in flowing clothing with red accents on black. Across the other side of the training ground (for there was little else it could be) there was a large target board that showed signs of charring, searing and explosive damage. Someone shouted a phrase. I didn't understand it, but my glasses provided a helpful subtitle: The Twenty-Third Path. Everyone to our right moved at the same time, shifting from one pose to another. Hands were pointed forward with palms outward, and fire erupted from every hand. I watched as each blast converged on the board, adding significantly to the charring already there.

A moment later, someone on the left shouted a different phrase—The Eighteenth Path—and blue-white lasers ravaged the target board on that side. I was not at all sure how they were doing this; shooting fire from the hands wasn't exactly a common cape power, but lasers had to be even less so. Where were they getting all these capes with the same powers from, and what did the numbers have to do with it?

Someone else shouted something, and I had a bad feeling even before my glasses provided the translation: Intruders! Capture them! Both groups turned to face us, people within them calling out different numbered paths.

This was where I came in. I hurled the Idiot Ball into one of the groups, mentally commanding it to ricochet between all of them. At the same time, Butcher's danger sense flared and I grabbed Zach, jumping us ten feet to the right. Where we'd been standing, a series of force fields formed a globe, then an area of dead-black space formed within that. Zach reached out, grabbing strand after strand of power and pulling them to himself.

More commands were shouted, and I realised what was happening. Each cape in the formation had a number, and their powers were being shared among everyone. If someone shouted a numbered path, everyone used the powers belonging to the cape that number corresponded to. It was kind of a terrifying epiphany. Instead of facing twenty-plus capes, each with a different power, we were facing twenty-plus capes, each with all the powers of their comrades.

But they relied on spoken commands.

A flicker of thought tuned my earpiece to white noise, and I turned it to full volume. The hissing, crackling static boomed out over the training ground, echoing from the nearby walls; even if it didn't deafen everyone, it certainly made them unable to hear the commands. "Eleventy-fifth path!" I shouted, just to add more confusion. "Negative one path! Four hundred ninety-fifth path! Pi R squared path!"

Between the lack of central authority, the Idiot Ball bouncing back and forth almost too fast for the eye to see, and Zach's ongoing harvesting of powers, all cohesiveness was gone. I jumped Zach and myself around a few more times to avoid individual attacks, but they'd trained so hard to react as a single unit that it was difficult to for them to act individually. By the time the dust settled and the smoke cleared, they were all backing away from us. The few who kept trying to use powers found they were gone—either from the Idiot Ball or Zach's harvesting efforts—which didn't help morale in the slightest.

"Are we done yet?" I called out, confident Zach would hear me and understand.

"I will need a little more time." He actually sounded strained, which was impressive considering his previous feats where it came to collecting powers. "One of their parahumans is attempting to pull back his power. If we teleport away, I will lose my grip on it."

The Idiot Ball came back to my palm with a resounding smack. "Which direction?"

His only answer was a strained grunt as he hauled on a strand that stretched away into nothingness, but he pointed along the strand. Well, duh. Of course they'd be in that direction. I threw the ball, and it vanished into the distance.

This wasn't to say we were out of the woods. Zach and I had neutralised the capes where we were, but more were almost certainly on the way. And with Zach almost fully occupied harvesting a particularly stubborn powerset, it was up to me to defend us both.

Between the powers contained in my jacket and the glasses, I knew there were people around us, but keeping out of sight behind the stone walls. That was fine; I didn't have to be able to see them to affect them. But I didn't want to open hostilities just yet, so I just picked up a rock from beside where I was standing and waited. Your move.

Their opening move was a row of riflemen who popped up from behind a wall and opened fire on us. I shielded Zach as best I could—they couldn't hurt him, but I didn't want him getting distracted at the wrong second—and teleported one foot to the side to create a humungous bloom of flame as visual cover. They kept shooting anyway, so I exerted my pain effect, giving each one a massive cramp in the hand just before he fired.

They stopped firing. Funny, that.

While they were figuring out what to do next, I turned to Zach. "How long to go? They're getting very pushy, here."

"I will be just another moment or so, Taylor." His jaw was set like iron. "This power is likely to be very useful to me."

"Okay, then." If Zach needed another moment or so, he would get another moment or so. He'd been my rock of support since I met him; it was time for me to return the favour.

My glasses gave me warning of the next incoming attack; an odd ripple-effect racing across the parade-ground toward us. I probably wouldn't have noticed it, or understood its significance, until it was far too late. As it was, they flared with a danger signal, highlighting it with red. Acting on instinct, I froze the ground we were standing on with the Gray Boy effect, as far out as it would go.

A text label sprang up in my glasses, with an arrow pointing at the ripple. Power effect of Tōng Líng Tǎ AKA 'Ziggurat'. Earth and stone control.

There was a tremendous, if almost subsonic, crunch as the ripple encountered the Gray Boy effect and split to go around it. In its wake, the surface of the training ground began to grow walls and pillars upward. Seconds later, we were surrounded, hemmed in. The sky briefly became a blue circle, far above; then it was gone, plunging us into darkness.

Not that a mere lack of light bothered me, and Zach even less so. I froze the walls around us, just in case Ziggurat wanted to try something tricky like slamming us with a million tons of rock from either side. This probably wouldn't hurt Zach, but it might disturb his concentration.

It seemed I'd been on the money. There was more rumbling from within the mass of rock that surrounded us. I looked up to see the slab that had closed us off from the light now descending at speed, like God's own runaway freight elevator. Ziggurat was probably unhappy that I'd denied her access to some of her precious rock, and now she wanted to step on us or something.

I might even have been apologetic about it, except that I wasn't.

When the down-rushing slab got close enough for me to affect, I Gray-Boy'd it as well, sealing us into a rectangular box and (I suspected) making life outside very exciting as the thousands of tons of rock descending at airliner speeds came to an abrupt and uncompromising halt. It would've been like a full-on meteorite strike, with Zach and me literally the only ones not affected by the devastation.

"Ah," Zach said suddenly. "That makes things much easier. Your ball has reached its target. He moved several times before it could reach him. I suspect he was being assisted by a teleporter." He looked around at our ad hoc bunker. "This is interesting. I presume you are protecting us from an attack?"

"Yeah," I said. "Ziggurat, apparently. Area effect Shaker, messes with the landscape."

"I see." Zach spoke over his shoulder as he gathered in the latest power he had harvested. "You were correct about my need for assistance. Thank you."

A moment later, the Idiot Ball returned, dropping into my hand as if glad to be home. "You're welcome," I said to Zach. "Did you want her power as well?"

"It is not one that I require." Zach took my other hand. "We are finished here. The Yàngbǎn still possesses a number of powerful capes, but they are no longer the international threat that they were before. I have taken the powers of those they called Null and One, as well as several other very useful ones from the soldiers that were undergoing training."

I decided not to ask what powers Null and One had lost to Zach; the sheer lack of descriptiveness, compared to Ziggurat's name, was creepy in its absence. "Okay, then. Whose ass are we going to kick now?"

Zach beamed at me. "I admire your enthusiasm, Taylor. I do not believe there will be any need to kick any asses where we are going, but it is always a good idea to be prepared." He looked around at the box of force we were currently contained in. "I do not believe we can jump or run at the moment, so do you think you can teleport us to this location?" As he asked the question, a latitude and longitude popped up on my glasses.

I nodded. "Sure. Should I leave the Gray Boy effect up once we leave?"

A mischievous smile crossed Zach's face. "Give it ten seconds after we leave, then let it lapse. My sister says she will teleport in after we have left, so that when she bursts out of the rocky prison, it will come as a complete surprise to Ziggurat."

"I just bet it will." I triggered the teleport and we ended up standing on a beach, looking out at the ocean. The sun was rising to our left, half over ocean and half over land. It was gorgeous.

Seabirds squawked as the steady breeze blew into our faces. I blinked, and suddenly my glasses were showing the training ground back in the CUI, with a huge blocky mound of rock covering where we'd been. I allowed the Gray Boy effect to lapse.

For a long, long moment, nothing happened. The capes—with their uniform-like costumes and the fact that some of them were flying, they could be nothing else—clustered around, power effects shimmering around their hands. But this time, each had their own power effect; nobody was borrowing someone else's.

And then, in the looming mound of rock, a crack appeared. I saw the earth itself shudder, and a few tiles fell off nearby buildings. The crack repaired itself, and then half a dozen more appeared.

Some of the capes came closer, firing their powers at the mound. Force fields and bands of metal and sheets of ice appeared over it, trying to hold it in one piece.

With a sound like thunder, it cracked all the way in half, through the metal and the ice and the force fields. The capes were flung away by the sheer concussion.

Abruptly, the force fields vanished. The ice melted. One by one, the bands of metal broke their bonds and peeled away, as though someone was trying to get in rather than out.

Half the mass of rock visibly moved outward, literal millions of tons of mass simply shoved aside as though it were a recalcitrant door. It began to crumble, along with the replacement pillars and walls that grew from the earth to reinforce the original structure. No matter how thick or strong they were, cracks developed and they crumbled uselessly to gravel.

And then the two halves fell apart altogether; a tremendous dust cloud billowed upward and outward. As it subsided, the capes surged inward again, evidently intent on subduing the intruders. Where Ziggurat had failed with just one power, the many would succeed with their multitude.

Or that was apparently the idea, at least.

Between one instant and the next, the dust cloud vanished altogether. There, in the centre of the ring of vengeful capes, hovered the Simurgh; wings spread and a victorious smile upon her face. As they stared, she opened her mouth and began to sing.

But what she sang, nobody expected, not even me; and I'd seen about everything I thought possible from the Endbringers. It wasn't a mindworm, as she'd used in times past. This time, she actually voiced audible words.

First, she started with the dance movements, then the song came spilling out. "We're no strangers to love/ You know the rules and so do I …"

I blinked. Wait a minute. I know that song. A grin began to work its way across my face. "Holy shit, she's totally going to …"

"Yes, Taylor." Zach's smile was as wide as mine. "We have been studying humour. She and I agree that this is a most appropriate prank."

The Simurgh began to belt the chorus out over Beijing. "Never gonna give you up …" but then I was laughing too hard to listen. By the time the song finished, I was on my knees in the sand with tears running down my face. I had no idea what the CUI capes thought about being Rick-rolled, but to me it was the funniest thing in the world.

A few minutes later, I'd recovered enough to stand up again, brushing the sand from my knees. My face was still flushed and red, but at least I'd gotten over most of the giggles. "Your sister," I declared, "is the biggest troll who never lived under a bridge."

He beamed at me. "She says to thank you for the compliment."

"Tell her she's welcome. So, why are we here again? And where is here, exactly?" As I asked the second question, my glasses popped up the wireframe globe again, showing a spot under the shoulder of Africa. Zooming in, it displayed a name: Republic of Côte d'Ivoire. "Okay, I know where we are, but not the why."

Zach let my words hang in the air for a moment before he answered. "We are here for the final pieces to the puzzle, Taylor. Do you recall how Chief Director Rebecca Costa-Brown is actually Alexandria?"

I snorted with residual amusement. "It's not like I could exactly forget. Why?"

He appeared to be doing something with his hands; when he pulled them apart, I saw he was holding a leather patch. Reaching out, he placed this on the shoulder of my jacket and smoothed it down. It stayed there when he left it, of course. Because this was Zach, and my jacket wasn't exactly a normal jacket. "We are going to meet her in her third role, and this is the upgrade that will allow you to do it. I borrowed the power improvement from Father."

I twisted my neck to peer down at the patch. The detail was impressive, showing a medieval-style door set into a stone doorway, partly open to show darkness beyond. My glasses threw up a notification:

Power upgrade complete. Teleportation is now interdimensional.

"Interdimensional?" I struggled with the concept. "Why are we going interdimensional?"

"Because that is where our destination is, Taylor." He snapped his fingers, and information scrolled up the lenses of my glasses. "More answers await you. Are you ready to find out the real truths behind the world?"

That question was what decided me. My family and I had been screwed over in one fashion and another for the last few years. If there were answers to be had for exactly why this was happening, I wanted to find them out. And maybe, I might get to punch someone in the nose for it.

I gave him a toothy grin and grasped his hand tightly. "I was born ready." Focusing on the coordinates—which included an odd extra that I hadn't seen before—I triggered the teleport.

Unsurprisingly, it was a weird sensation, kind of like twisting in a direction that didn't exist, but we still went somewhere. Specifically, to a white corridor in a building I was sure I'd never seen before. I looked around, noting how the sand falling from my shoes was the only dirt in the pristine white hallway. There wasn't even any dust that I could see. How often did they sweep this area?

"Well done, Taylor," Zach said happily. "We are here."

"And where is here?" I looked around again, merely reinforcing my initial impression that whoever had built this place had over-ordered on 'hallways, extra white'.

He started forward; I kept pace with him. "This is the nerve centre of the group that has been deluding themselves into thinking they have control over how soon the apocalypse will come."

"Wait. Wait, wait, wait." I scissored my hands from side to side. "You're saying the Illuminati exists? And that Rebecca Costa-Brown is part of it? And she's been running the world from behind the scenes?"

"In a very general manner of speaking, yes," he said. "They call themselves Cauldron, not the Illuminati, but the rest is broadly true. And yes, they have had quite an effect on world events up until now, although not as much as they like to think."

"But how—" I stopped as my glasses flared a low-level danger warning. Someone was about to attack me, though I wouldn't be more than mildly inconvenienced. Still, having people just attacking me for no good reason hadn't made me happy when it was Emma and friends, and I just plain wasn't in favour of it.

Not even for a moment did I think Zach was going to be endangered. Don't be silly.

I'd had just enough time to look around and brace myself when a hurricane of wind blasted through the corridor, spinning me around and then pinning me against the wall. Something tried to suck the air from my lungs. My arms and legs were held immobile, preventing me from moving.

I opened my fingers, releasing the Idiot Ball. Seek.

There was another inrush of air, and I was released. Able to breathe again, I looked down at where a woman in her late thirties was half-kneeling on the floor, staring down at her hands which were pressed to the pristine whiteness. She wore a simple off-white shift, reminiscent of a hospital gown. The Idiot Ball bounced once off the floor, and back into my hand.

The woman looked up at me, her long brown hair draped over her face. "What?" Her voice was a bare whisper, as though she hadn't spoken for some time. "How did you … what did you do to me?"

"You attacked me, so I neutralised your power," I said simply. "Who are you?"

Slowly, she stood, steadying herself against the wall, as though even that simple act was foreign to her. "I am … they call me the Custodian."

Zach held his hand out for the Idiot Ball, so I tossed it to him before turning my attention back to the woman. "How long have you been here?" My glasses filled in the final bits of information. "How long have you been made of … air?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. It's hard to keep track of time. I just found it easier to stay useful. To carry out the aims of Cauldron."

"Well, that's over and done, now." I gestured to myself and Zach. "I don't know the full details of the plan yet, but I suspect we're here to change things around. Where are you from, anyway?"

"I … it's been so long." She blinked and rubbed her forehead. "I remember home, but I don't know where it is from here."

Zach laid his hand on her forehead. "I can see your world," he announced. "You can go back there, or you can go to Bet. Be aware; your friends and family will have forgotten you, or think you are dead. I can give you possessions and we can send you back, but I cannot change that aspect."

"I'll go back anyway," she said. "I've heard stories about how bad Earth Bet is getting."

"We're working on that," I protested. "The Endbringers don't attack anymore, and the S-class threats are basically gone."

"I still know my Earth better," she said. "Can you send me back now?"

I raised my eyebrows. "Don't you want to say goodbye to anyone?"

Zach snapped his fingers, and her shift became comfortable clothing, layered in ways I hadn't seen before, all covered by a modest hooded cloak. "Oh!" she said, startled. "How did you know what I needed to be wearing?"

"He asked his sister," I guessed. Well, it wasn't that much of a guess. "So, no goodbyes?"

"Who would I say goodbye to?" she asked. "They all know me as the Custodian, not as who I used to be." A grimace crossed her face. "And I suspect the few who remember me as I was wouldn't care enough to wish me well. I was a useful servant for them, but even if they did have kindly feelings toward me, you've taken my powers, making me useless to them."

Zach bounced the Idiot Ball on the floor so it went straight to my hand. Then he held up a delicately-carved wooden bangle with a wavy blue and white pattern inlaid into it. "Here are your powers," he said. "You will be able to control the change. But I advise you not to stay, all the same. This facility will soon be shutting down."

I blinked; I'd figured he would be making changes, sure. But shutting the place down altogether? I didn't even know what they did here, except for secretly pretending to rule the world. "Uh … Alexandria won't be happy," I ventured.

"I do not care about the Chief Director's happiness," he said blandly. "I do care about yours. Once you find out how they do business here, you will also be happy about shutting it down."

Well, that was laid out as plainly as it could be. "Okay, then. How are we getting … uh, what was your name again, sorry? I'm Taylor."

"It has been quite some time," the woman who used to be the Custodian said. "I'm Deborah." She looked at Zach quizzically. "Who are you? I couldn't affect you with my powers at all."

"That's Zachary," I explained helpfully. "He's an Endbringer."

Her eyes widened as she stared at him, then back at me. "And you travel with him? Why aren't you terrified?"

I smiled. "If you'd seen one tenth of what he's done for me, you wouldn't be asking that question."

"Others are coming," Zach said. "If you would like to take Deborah home, I will wait for you." As he spoke, the glasses popped up a new series of coordinates for me, including the same extra non-direction that the last one had featured. "And this is for you." He handed Deborah the bangle.

She shook her head as she looked between us again. "I don't understand this at all. How have you made my power into an object?"

"It's one of his little tricks," I explained cheerfully as I took her hand. "He's got a few of them. You might be wondering why you're taking this so calmly. That's another one. Ready to go?"

She eyed Zach extra dubiously as she took in my words. He beamed back at her, entirely unfazed by her suspicious demeanour. Then she looked at me. "Yes, I'm ready to go."

I triggered the teleport, dropping us into a quiet side-street in what looked like a populous city. Men and women, dressed similarly to Deborah, bustled back and forth across the entrance to the street, but nobody seemed to have noticed our arrival.

"Well," I said. "Good luck."

"Thank you." She looked me up and down. "As immodest as your clothing is, I do like your jacket."

"Everyone says that—well, not the immodest bit, but about the jacket—but thanks anyway. Have a good life." I raised my hand in a wave, then teleported back to the white corridor.

"It went well?" asked Zach.

"Sure." I shrugged, then gestured at myself. "She called my clothing immodest. I'm covered up. What's that about?"

"Where she is from, they have been in an Abrahamic theocracy since the fifteen hundreds," he explained. "Women there are supposed to be more domestic than adventurous. Blue jeans and leather jackets are not considered modest."

"Well, excuse me for being a liberated woman in the twenty-first century," I snarked. "So, where do we go next?"

"Hey!" The voice came from down the corridor a ways. "Who are you, and what are you doing here?"

No particular danger signal accompanied it, so I turned casually to look. A blond man in a business suit stood there, wearing glasses and a pocket protector. He also held a pistol, down at his side.

"Hello, Mr. Kurt Wynn," Zach said cheerfully. "Briefly a member of the Slaughterhouse Nine, once known as Harbinger, now known as the Number Man. You possess an extreme awareness of your body and the space around it, do you not?"

I had to give the guy credit; he didn't waste time asking Zach how he knew all that stuff. He raised the pistol and pointed it at us. My sense of danger only blipped a little bit; considering how durable the jacket's powers made me, that was no particular surprise.

"You're coming with me," he said grimly. "You're going to be explaining yourself to—"

My glasses flared with danger, just as a portal opened right in front of me, just large enough for a slim hand to reach through for the tab of my jacket. I went to step away, but another hand in the middle of my back prevented me from moving. However, Zach reacted even more quickly.

In a single blurred motion, he captured the hand reaching for my jacket, somehow pulled the portal all the way open, and yanked the woman on the other side through. The portal snapped shut when Zach let go of it … but he still had a trace from it.

"Hello," he said, beaming down at the woman, who was now staring up at him with real fear in her eyes. "It is nice to meet you at last, Contessa."



End of Part Twenty-Four

[A/N: The next chapter of I'm HALPING! will be the last! Woo!]

 

[Ack]

I'm HALPING!

Part Twenty-Five: Do Not Go Gentle

[A/N 1: This chapter commissioned by Fizzfaldt, and beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]

[A/N 2: Woo! Last chapter!]



The woman called 'Contessa' stared up at us, but mainly at Zach. "Who—how did you do that?"

"Let her go!" shouted Kurt Wynn. He aimed the pistol briefly at me, then it twitched sideways to line up on Zach. With my glasses active, I could literally see the waves of influence rolling off my Endbringer best friend, messing with the guy's head.

Zach smiled down at Contessa. "I am Zach. I am here to relieve you of your duties and your powers. You have been mishandling them for years, and I have a better use for them."

Wynn fired his pistol at Zach, who blinked and allowed the flattened pieces of lead to fall to the floor, sliced into three parts by his eyelashes. I rolled my own eyes in irritation.

I mean, really? What sort of moron is this guy?

When I tossed the Idiot Ball, he was already throwing himself out of the way before it caromed off the wall on its way to him. It swerved in mid-air, bounced off the ceiling, and accelerated toward him. He shot at it, and would have hit if it was anything but a physical representation of the power. Instead, it changed direction again and ricocheted off the floor, still heading for him.

Twice more he fired at it, all the while performing an acrobatic dodge that I would've personally sworn was physically impossible. Of course, because I wanted it to get to him, it dodged twice more, and homed in anyway. Changing tack, he fired twice at me, once at each eye. I watched as the pieces of lead fell off the lenses. Then the ball hit him, and bounced back to my hand.

"Shit!" he yelled. "Trump! Doorway to Alexandria!"

I tuned him out for the moment as I watched Contessa's face. She probably thought she had a poker face, but my glasses pulled every tic and tell off her and showed them to me in glorious Technicolor. This was the first time she'd been actually scared in years, and it showed. I watched as she tried over and over to figure out a way to deal with this situation, and nothing worked.

Welcome to the world I used to live in, lady.

Alexandria burst through the portal that opened in the air beside Wynn, then came to a halt so fast I half-expected to smell burned rubber, accompanied by a screeching sound. "Oh, for fuck's sake," she groaned. "Not you two again. Contessa, Kurt, I told you about these two!"

"Hello, Chief Director!" Zach greeted her chirpily. "It is good to see you again. This means I do not have to go looking for you."

Waaaait a minute …

The last time Zach had met Alexandria, she'd been in civilian guise, and he'd addressed her by her hero name. This time, she'd shown up in costume and he'd called her by her civilian title.

It was official. Zach was just as big a troll as his sister, only a little more subtle about it.

"These are the two you were talking about?" Kurt Wynn seemed to recall he was holding a pistol, and replaced it in his shoulder holster. His suit was extremely well tailored; I could hardly tell it was there at all. "But they're … he's … she's … that jacket …"

Alexandria facepalmed. "I also told you that the boy is both a Stranger and an Endbringer. You do remember me saying that, don't you?"

"Yes, but …" Wynn squinted at Zach and shook his head. "I can't see it. I shot him in the eye and it didn't do a damn thing, but I still can't see it."

"Hey, what about me?" I demanded. "You tried to shoot me in both eyes! You might've scratched my glasses!"

"You took my powers away!" he shouted.

"Not before you shot me!" I retorted.

"Rebecca … can you … make him … let me go … please?" asked Contessa. "I can't Path him at all, and this frightens me."

I snorted. "You need to be frightened. You need to be utterly terrified. You tried to hurt me, in Zach's presence. Zach has a habit of reacting really badly to that sort of thing."

"This is true, Taylor," he agreed brightly. "I do. My entire existence is based around ensuring your safety and happiness, so I will utterly destroy anyone who poses a credible threat to you."

"Don't hurt them right now, please," Alexandria said, in the most conciliatory tone I'd ever heard her employ. Then she switched to 'ominous'. She did that one really, really well. "They either understand where they went wrong, or they will once I explain it to them in words of one syllable or less."

"That will not be necessary," he informed her. "I will be taking all of your powers here. All of them. They are needed."

Again, she was taken aback. I'd seen her plenty of times in the news plus a few documentaries, fighting the Simurgh and her brothers, and she'd always been poised and confident. Zach just seemed to have a talent for putting her on the back foot. I would've thought it was funny, but I had a feeling we weren't here for a funny reason.

"That statement requires explanation." This sounded like her 'I'm putting my foot down' voice, and I figured it would work on … well, everyone who wasn't Zach or his siblings, or me. "Needed for what?"

He spread his hands. When he spoke, his tone was as serious as hers. "In all the world, in all the multiverse, who is the single greatest threat to the happiness and well-being of Taylor Hebert?"

She blinked. "I … you can't mean …"

"Really?" he asked. His tone, normally bright and cheerful, was as sharp and deadly as Armsmaster's halberd. "You are a member of Cauldron. Your cabal here has stumbled and blundered from one crime against humanity to the next for the past thirty years in the name of achieving one objective, which you are still no closer to reaching, and you doubt my meaning now?"

Well, dang. I looked at him with new eyes. It seemed Zach could indeed get annoyed, and not just playfully so. Although Alexandria was almost the same height as him, he seemed to loom over her. There was no question as to who held the moral authority between them, and it wasn't her.

"You're going to kill Scion," she said quietly. "Do you think you can pull it off? Contessa can't even Path that happening."

"I do not believe I can do it, Chief Director Rebecca Costa-Brown," he said cheerfully, reverting to his previous attitude like an extremely dangerous chameleon. "I know I can do it. I know I will do it. I merely need all the powers. Of everyone, everywhere, in all the Earths."

"That's … a lot of powers," she replied; not denying his words, merely commenting on them. "I know you've been collecting them, but … we're talking tens of thousands. Hundreds of thousands."

"Oh, do not worry." Zach's tone was light and carefree. "I will be leaving those powers I have bestowed in the form of objects, along with all the Tinker tech that has ever been created. Those will serve to remind future generations that powers used to exist, and to beware of them."

"And how many people have those sorts of powers?" asked Kurt Wynn.

Zach beamed at him. "Two."

Alexandria looked like she wanted to tear her own hair out by the roots. This was not the first time I'd seen that reaction to Zach's apparent obliviousness. "That still leaves nearly a million capes!"

"I am aware of that." Zach smiled. With his free hand, he somehow reached in a direction I couldn't understand. A moment later, two men stood before him. One had pale skin and eyesockets that looked like they'd been burned to ash. He looked maybe twenty (but I couldn't be sure) and swayed unsteadily on his feet. The second one was in his thirties, equally pale, and stared around with blank eyes.

Kurt Wynn stared as they appeared. "What the—how did you just do that?"

"Contessa used a Doorway near me," Zach explained, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. "I have a special relationship with powers. These two will be useful, so I brought them to me. Taylor, will you heal them for me afterward, please?"

"I can totally do that," I assured him. I wasn't going to be doing much here, but I was going to back up Zach's play, no matter what.

"Thank you," he said with a beaming smile my way. "It is good that I can always depend on you."

Humming a simple tune, he removed the powers from the two men, drawing the filaments into himself. Contessa's power was next; it became an elaborate compass, set into one of his wristbands. Finally, he took the Idiot Ball from me and extracted Kurt's power, which became a tiny gyroscope, set into the other wristband.

"He's stronger than any cape, you know," Alexandria warned him. "Stronger than even Eidolon, I think. No matter how many powers you surround yourself with, he'll outmatch you. He's something above Endbringers."

"I know." His tone was endlessly upbeat. "This is why I am going to become one of his kind. They are collections of sentient powers that gain sapience as an emergent function of being clustered together like human cells. I will be using my core self as the basis for my sapience. And I will win."

"But how do you know?" She seemed to be trying for a reasonable tone, to talk the jumper down from the ledge. "Even Contessa can't—"

"—use her power to Path him, yes." He beamed at her. "When I take on powers, I can modify them. I have done so. I can Path him, just as he can Path me. I will not be doing so until the fight begins, because doing so beforehand will alert him to what I plan, but I know that I can beat him. May I have your power, please?"

She gave him a long, hard stare, then turned to me. "Miss Hebert. Taylor. Can you explain to him how impossible it is to do what he's attempting?"

I looked up briefly from where I was working on the two blind guys. The older one had been easy; mainly his eyes, and a little mental scarring. Meanwhile, the younger one had been using his powers non-stop for more than a decade, and what he'd seen would've driven him insane if his intellect hadn't been stalled at 'childlike'. I was gradually coaxing his brain up to adult levels of development and ensuring his psyche didn't crash and burn while I was doing that, and I didn't need someone jogging my elbow while I was working.

"If he says he can do it, he can fucking well do it," I snapped. "You're supposed to be a hero. Do the heroic thing here." Then I ignored her again.

Slowly, she nodded. "Will I have cancer again?"

Zach shook his head vigorously. "No, and you won't be thirteen again, either! You will be a normal, healthy, intelligent lady of your age. You can even ask Taylor to fix your eye afterward, if you want."

"Yeah, well," I grumbled. "I seem to be doing a lot of those recently."

I wasn't looking when Zach took Alexandria's powers from her, but she let out a sound like somebody had gut-punched her. "Damn," she said out loud. "That's … I'm going to be awhile getting used to this."

"So is every other cape on Earth," Zach said happily. "There is a lady in blue, several Earths over, who is going to be particularly upset. She will get over it, eventually." He raised his hands and flicked his fingers outward as though drying them, and tiny silver balls flew in all directions. They struck the walls of the corridor where two dozen of them expanded into circular portals, up and down the corridor.

Dozens of versions of Zach, each slightly different, burst forth from him and blurred to the portals, vanishing in an instant. Those portals shrank, and more expanded in their place. More versions of Zach flickered outward in their turn.

"That's Spree's power," said Kurt Wynn. "I've seen it before. Doesn't it make the clones stupid if he splits away so many?"

"Why, yes, Harbinger, it does," Zach agreed happily. "It is a good thing that I am an Endbringer, is it not?"

A third and fourth wave of Zachs poured outward into newly expanded portals while this discussion was going on. I finished with Clairvoyant's eyes, and patted him on the shoulder. He looked back at me and blinked a couple of times. "Uh, thanks?"

"You're welcome." I gave him a Zach-style beaming smile, then turned to Alexandria. "So, Zach said something about your eye."

She grimaced. "Yes. The Siberian took it, once upon a time. I may have danced a little jig in my office when I heard she was dead." Carefully, she removed her helmet.

"I suspect a lot of other people did, too." I put my hands on her head and felt her body's systems, mapping out the connection to the prosthetic eye. "This might sting a little."

"Said every doctor, nurse and medical practitioner, ever," she growled. "Just get on with it, please."

I did my best not to make it hurt, removing the artificial optic and growing the new one in its place. She winced a few times, but I knew there were no messages of pain reaching her nerves. Psychosomatic symptoms were a thing, I guess.

I was almost finished when Zach turned to me. "Taylor, it is time for you to go. All of you."

"What?" I stared at him. "No! I stay at your side! I'm here to back you up, all the way down the line!"

"No." He let me finish with Alexandria, then put his hands on my shoulders. "Taylor, my need to keep you safe will always override my need to keep you happy. Most of the time, I have been able to do both, but now I must forego your happiness for your safety. Being near me is going to become very unsafe, in the next five minutes."

Almost absent-mindedly, he created a bunch of new portals under the Cauldron people. The yelps as they vanished from sight would've been funny at any other time, but right now comedy wasn't high on my priority list.

"But I can help you!" I insisted. "I can fight, too!"

"Taylor, I have no doubt that you would willingly stand at my side to face an angry god," he said sincerely. "Of everyone I have met on Earth Bet, you are the strongest and bravest of them all. You have great potential and you will go far, even without me to help you along."

Tears were pouring down my face by the time he finished speaking; I knew without a doubt that this was his farewell to me. He'd been trying to hint to me all along that something like this would happen, but like an idiot, I'd ignored the signs.

"Zach …" I began again. "I wish …" My hands found his, and I laced our fingers together.

"I know," he said softly. "So do I. I came here to perform a task, and found myself learning more about humanity with every day. If it were at all possible, I would stay here with you, but it is not." He looked up. "Scion is beginning to notice the harvesting even now. Cauldron kept this base camouflaged with their more problematic experiments; my duplicates have almost cleared them out. He will find us sooner rather than later. And even with all the powers I gave you to keep you safe, he would obliterate you in a heartbeat."

My eyes opened wide. "My powers! You need to take them, too!"

He frowned slightly. "But I gave them to you. To keep you safe."

"And if he beats you down because you haven't got these ones, how safe will anyone be?" I argued. "I love all of it, and you're the best friend in all the world for giving them to me, but you need them more than I do."

Before he could keep arguing, and before I could talk myself out of it, I unzipped the jacket and handed it over to him. Reluctantly, he took it; I almost swore I could see a tear in the corner of his eye. The ping I felt as I relinquished ownership of it was almost palpable.

Holding the jacket, he gave it a light shake that transformed it into a classic James Dean black leather jacket. It had been stylish before; when he slid his arms into the sleeves, he was the epitome of the rebel-without-a-cause from all those old movies Dad liked. I could almost hear the teenage girls of the era swooning in the aisles.

Next, I handed over the glasses, which became reflective aviator shades; the gloves ended up as fingerless motorcycle gloves. In for a penny, in for a pound. One by one, I returned to him every last trinket he'd gifted to me, and he added them to his ensemble. Each one sounded its tiny ping deep inside, as I let him take them.

By the time we were finished, I felt as though my soul had been scraped dry. I was plain old Taylor Hebert again, no longer the classy-jacketed sidekick to the most ass-kicking teenage boy in the universe. Zach, on the other hand, radiated so much cool that Scion should by rights have been asking permission to exist in the same reality.

"Thank you, Taylor," he said quietly, holding my hands in his. "I will attempt to do you proud."

"You better, mister." I could hardly talk through the huge lump in my throat. "I expect my Endbringers to kick ass and take names, you hear me?"

He gathered me into his arms and held me close. "I will always be your Endbringer," he promised. "What I do today, I do for you and nobody else."

Pressing my face against his leather-jacketed chest, I tried to stop crying, but it was a lost cause. "Will I ever see you again?"

"I doubt it, Taylor." His tone was sombre. "I am very good with my powers, and I have many, but he has much more experience than I do, and he has powers that I lack. But there is one thing that I have that he does not."

"What's that?" I tried to figure out what he was referring to.

"Someone to fight for." He let me go then, and fished my old glasses from my pocket. When he breathed on the lenses, they fogged over, then cleared up again, cleaner than ever. Carefully, he fitted them onto my face. "I have imbued these with a tiny part of Clairvoyance's power, along with a large portion of my Stranger ability, so that Scion will not be able to track them down. This is to allow you to see how the fight progresses."

I didn't have to ask what he meant. If he won, it would be cause for celebration; but if Scion won, it would be up to us. Humanity. All the mundane and Tinker tech at our disposal might or might not make the difference, but with any luck, Zach would draw him down far enough to give us our chance.

I took his hands again. "Kick his gold-plated ass for me."

He leaned in and gently kissed me on the forehead. "I intend to, Taylor. For you."

I didn't even have time to blink as I found myself in the living room back on Earth Bet, my face still wet with tears.

Dad looked around from where he was watching TV. "Oh, hi, Taylor. You're home early. I expected you to be still upturning the natural order with—hey, what's wrong? Where's Zach?"

I collapsed on the sofa and shook my head, to indicate that everything about the whole world was wrong. "He's about to fight Scion, Dad."

We were among the few people on Earth who knew the truth about the golden 'hero', so he didn't protest that aspect. But his face drew into a sudden and deep unhappiness anyway. "Can he win?" he asked. "Can he actually beat Scion? Can he kill him?"

"I don't know." I shook my head helplessly. "He's more powerful than he's ever been before, but Scion's always been more powerful than everyone. Zach's grabbing all the powers away from everyone … but I honestly don't know if that'll be enough."

My glasses flickered, and I blinked as I saw an image before me, of a vast room. Within it was contained a sea of grayish flesh, sprouting various body parts of inconsistent size and arrangement, some of which were twitching and moving in ways that were both weird and creepy as fuck. Portals hovered to the left and right of his point of view, through which his Zach-clones flickered, both coming and going.

"So that explains what's going on, on the news," Dad said; I could hear him, but only see him if I concentrated past the image on the glasses. "Capes all over are suddenly losing their powers. Not just in the States, either. Mexico, the UK, Australia, the Middle East, India …"

I grimaced. "Yeah, he's worked out a power combination that lets him be a lot of places at once. But I still don't know if he can do it."

I watched Zach's feet descending a set of metal stairs toward the flesh garden, then he paused and his point of view swivelled toward the top of the steps. An older woman with dark skin stood there, holding a pistol. She said something, but the glasses didn't transmit sound, and I'd given Zach my earpiece (he'd turned it into a set of rockin' headphones, slung around his neck like a fashion accessory). My best guess, going by extremely basic lip-reading, was along the lines of, what are you doing there?

Mirroring the glasses I'd given Zach, my own eyewear popped up the following information:

NAME: DOCTOR MOTHER

Note: Is neither a doctor nor a mother

POSITION: HEAD OF CAULDRON

POWERS: NONE

QUALIFICATIONS: NONE

SIGNIFICANCE: NONE

I had no idea who this 'Doctor Mother' really was, though I didn't doubt that Zach knew her birthday, her star sign and her Internet password. He didn't seem to have the time to deal with her, from the way he waved his left hand and she vanished. Then his point of view turned around again, and he lifted into the air. Drifting outward, he turned slowly; I could see he was over the rough centre of the vast garden of mismatched body parts.

Strands of something began to drift upward toward him. He caught them, twisted them together, then began to turn in place. In the corner of his vision—and mine—a tiny golden man began to slowly blink on and off, on and off. Faster and faster.

I didn't need an explanation for that one. Scion was on the way, and he was coming in hot.

Zach accelerated his pace. His clones were still pouring in torrents through the portals that surrounded him, though they were moving so fast that I suspected some of those I saw coming were also going, and vice versa. He pirouetted like an airborne ballerina above the world's squickiest dance-floor, drawing the intangible strands upward to him, as though collecting them on a reel. Sections of the grotesquerie below him were flickering and vanishing, dissolving into the strands to be drawn into his collection.

The golden man was blinking very quickly now. More and more of the pink-gray flesh dissolved into nothingness as Zach absorbed the powers within. I found myself sitting forward on the sofa, staring at the unfolding drama, biting my lip with the tension. Come on, Zach. Come on.

Just as the last of the flesh thing vanished—it was a humanoid form in the shape of a woman, right in the middle of everything else—the roof of the vast room shattered inward, and Scion burst through. Every other time I'd seen him on the news, he'd seemed sad and introspective. Now, he was blazingly angry, glowing with the heat of his rage. I still wanted to be alongside Zach in his fight, but suddenly I was glad he'd sent me away.

In my own mind, I heard Zach saying in that same upbeat tone he used for everything, Hello, Scion! How are you today?

Whether he actually said it or not, Scion apparently wasn't in the mood for banter. He threw out his hand and a vast torrent of energy roared forth, all aimed at Zach. It would've been a devastating surprise attack … if Zach hadn't had an image of this very thing happening, half a second before it actually did.

I could see on the glasses a readout of the sheer power output of that first blast. From what I could see, it was hotter than the surface of the sun, and packed enough destructive energy to destroy the entire United Kingdom, or maybe the eastern seaboard of the United States. I expected Zach to teleport out of the way, or use a portal to funnel it somewhere else, but all he did was hold up his hand in a 'stop right there' gesture.

In the instant before the blast hit, a golden shield flashed into existence, covering him from head to toe. The energy burst smashed into it, inexorable, unstoppable … and stopped. Or rather, splashed.

The blast ceased. Around Zach, the protective golden field shattered and fell away. Scion still hovered there, still angry, glaring at him. Zach himself seemed untouched. But all around, out to the horizon, a tremendous crater had been gouged into the surrounding bedrock. Of the base, there was not a single iota left. Miles below, magma welled upward into the open air, in a vast circular lake.

There was movement in the magma, a stirring, as if something large was coming to the surface. Zach apparently ignored it, and launched his own attack. On the glasses, I saw the words:

HOMING

STING

When Zach aimed what looked like a Saturday Night Special at Scion, the golden-skinned asshole wasn't fooled. The 'pistol' went off, and Scion blurred to the side. I could see, on the glasses, as the trajectory of the shot altered to remain on target.

Scion vanished.

Zach tapped his glasses and concentric circles appeared, in imitation of a radar screen. The landscape altered abruptly, as he also teleported. Now, he was hovering in low earth orbit, with Scion right in front of him. Energy was building around the erstwhile hero's hands, while he looked down at the eastern seaboard of America.

Wait. Shit. Is he aiming at me, or just people in general?

The question became moot as Zach fired another attack at him. This time, the glasses readout said:

GRAY BOY

HOMING

POWER DRAIN

He hefted a frisbee, gray in colour, with a blinking red light in the centre. Despite there being a near-total lack of air up this high, the flying toy banked and angled in toward Scion. While it was on the way, he threw another one that seemed to flicker in and out of reality.

STING

HOMING

DIMENSION JUMP

Scion was well aware of the danger because he vanished again, as did the second frisbee. Zach followed, his glasses tracking Scion across the multiple worlds as the golden fraud sought to evade the incoming attack. Finally, Scion fired a blast at the frisbee itself, freezing it and causing it to fade away.

The preliminaries over, the two combatants squared up to each other, back over the crater once more. Scion's mouth opened, and he spoke a single word. I couldn't make it out, but the glasses seemed to be able to translate it.

You are a usurper, an intruder. The power you hold does not belong to you, and I will regain it all before I destroy these worlds and everything that lives upon them.

Zach seemed to think about this for a moment, before he replied. I couldn't see his mouth from this angle, but he thoughtfully put his answer up as well.

You are the intruder. I am here to protect and to help. You are here to destroy. I will not let that happen.

Scion looked puzzled.

You are a Chaos Engine. You are here to harm, not help.

Zach's reply was simple.

Not this time.

Scion's eyes narrowed.

I have calculated all possible ways for this battle to be fought. You cannot win.

In response, Zach tilted his head slightly.

I never said anything about winning. I just do not intend to lose.

For a long, frozen moment, they hung there in mid-air over the welling magma, then Scion unleashed a devastating series of attacks. The first was stopped by the golden shield, but it fell away and a second blast hammered through. Zach deflected that with a Gray Boy frisbee, then fired several shots from his Saturday Night Special. Through some twisted-space bullshittery, Scion evaded them all, then fired a green beam that punched into Zach's chest and detonated.

In pieces, Zach flew in all directions … then each piece reformed into a full-sized clone of him, and they all circled around Scion, threatening him from every angle. Once again, they all launched Sting attacks—I didn't know what that was, but Zach apparently thought a lot of it because he was spamming it like crazy—which Scion only evaded by sweeping the area with his stop-everything attack. Then, just as he was prepping to retaliate, the magma below burst upward; surfing on the molten rock came Behemoth, claws spread wide and mouth open in a devastating roar.

Caught in the middle of the trap, Scion took the full brunt of Zach's oldest brother; both the energy attacks that led the way, then the lava-skinned Endbringer himself. Wreathed with lightning, glowing with radioactivity, hammered with an incessant sonic barrage, Scion struggled against Behemoth's onslaught. Energy attacks did little but fuel the monster, and Behemoth had clearly come here ready to rumble.

Watching this, I couldn't help but bounce up and down on the sofa. If someone had told me two months ago I would be watching Behemoth fight Scion and be on Behemoth's side, I would've called them crazy. And yet, here we were.

Scion lashed out with a blade made of some bizarre material that sliced Behemoth's arm clean off, but that did little to deter the creature. As the black bone in the silver flesh began to grow back, he stabbed Scion repeatedly with the sharp end. But time and again, whatever he did to Scion, it affected him not at all. Even his white bodysuit was doing its best to self-repair after each attack.

Apparently abandoning Sting for the moment, Zach continued to circle around the struggling pair, firing off blasts from all angles. They hit and did something; whether these were lasting injuries or merely cosmetic effects, I couldn't tell.

With a convulsive effort, Scion threw Behemoth from him, then launched some combination of the stilling beam and the cutting beam as he fell toward the magma. Bisected, then each part sliced in half again, the first Endbringer fell into the magma and vanished from sight. I didn't know if he was dead or just badly injured, but seeing him go down like that sent a pang of horror through my heart.

I remembered watching Scion battle Behemoth on the news more than once. Then, it had almost seemed like a struggle. One that the golden hero inevitably won, but everyone watching would be on the edge of their seats. Now, he was just pulling out moves that nobody had seen before. I began to understand where Zach had been coming from when he spoke about how powerful Scion was.

All this time, he's been sandbagging. Playing with us.

When Scion turned to face Zach again, something had changed. He still seemed perfect, immutable, unmarred. But his movements weren't as smooth as before. His finishing move on Behemoth had taken something out of him.

Zach didn't give him time to recover, boring in for the attack, he threw powers from all angles. Some seemed to shred away bits of Scion's body, but he replenished himself before any of the multiple Zachs could capitalise on the opening. Scion replied in kind; Zach evaded some attacks and tanked others, but I could tell they were taking their toll.

Between one instant and the next, Zach called up a power marked FATHOM, and the hellish crater-scape was replaced by the cool green of under the ocean, with sunlight filtering down from above. Scion streaked for the surface, leaving not so much a trail of bubbles as a column of obliterated water. Zach hit him with a Gray Boy attack, which slowed him briefly … long enough for Leviathan to hammer into him from the side.

Though Zach (and thus my viewpoint) was a long way underwater, the fight between Leviathan and Scion raised a huge froth of bubbles. Flame turned large volumes of it to steam, and shockwaves radiated outward, actually visible to the eye. Zach tuned his glasses to pick out Scion, and fired a projectile that apparently incorporated a homing black hole. At the last instant, Scion attempted to pull Leviathan into its path, but the missile (or maybe it was a torpedo, because it was underwater?) nimbly dodged aside and rammed into Scion's ribcage.

While Zach's brother tore into Scion and lashed at him with both his tail and his water echo (I wasn't sure how he was doing that last bit, but I wasn't complaining), the micro black hole kept on drawing water into that space. Leviathan, of course, was unimpeded by it, but the readout on Zach's glasses (and thus transmitted to mine) indicated that Scion was currently under the effect of several million tons of pressure, per square inch.

And yet, he fought on.

Worse, he wasn't weakening. The multitude of Zachs were bombarding him from all the angles that weren't covered by Leviathan, but he was tanking the attacks to focus on the second Endbringer. When he produced that cutting blade again, and sliced off Leviathan's tail, I felt the pain of loss almost as acutely as Zach must have when his brother abruptly went limp and began to sink into the depths.

"No," I whispered, my hand over my mouth. "No …"

Ejecting the black-hole torpedo from his body, Scion rocketed upward with the many Zachs in hot pursuit. He burst from the water, then half a second my point of view breached the surface as well. Just as the Simurgh teleported into position directly above Scion, pointing a gun at him.

Well, not so much a 'gun' as something I would've normally imagined to be decorating one of those mile-long spaceships from Star Wars. It had a barrel and (presumably) a trigger, so technically it was a gun, but that would be like calling Jack Slash a wanted felon. It misses several volumes of nuance along the way.

Approximately eight feet across at the muzzle end and forty feet long, it had a glow that I felt I was entirely justified in thinking of as 'ominous' emanating from the business end. At fifteen feet tall, Zach's sister wasn't dwarfed by much. She was entirely eclipsed by this thing.

Along the side was painted the legend, "H DRIVER". I had no idea what that meant.

Scion went to dodge. Three of Zach's clones grabbed him at once, holding him in place.

She fired the gun. Several things happened very quickly thereafter.

The first thing that happened was that a beam of energy erupted from the barrel of the gun, utterly vaporised Zach's sacrificial clones, and punched Scion through the core of the planet. As I was soon to discover, this meant that the entire planet (I could only hope that it hadn't been home to any kind of life) was shattered into several large chunks and quite a few smaller ones; the part of it that hadn't been converted directly to plasma and vapour, of course. This was merely underlined by the fact that as the second effect, the backblast set the atmosphere on fire.

Zach was relatively unharmed, though the lateral concussion blew him about a thousand miles to the side; drawing on a couple of his borrowed powers, he rode out the blast without a problem. Regaining his bearings, he located where Scion was, and teleported to that location.

As it happened, this also was where the Simurgh was. She was fleeing through the tumbling rocks and mountains that had once been a peaceful ocean planet, using them as cover every time he tried to tag her with his beams. As we got close, I could tell that her precog was the only thing keeping her alive. Chunks of rock that would've made reasonable sized islands were shattered every time he missed her.

Zach gestured, and a swarm of his clones lanced forward to take the pressure off his sister. They were growing now, becoming wreathed in flames. I recognised Lung's power in action and watched the clones arrow straight in to close combat. They came in at him from every angle, hammering at him and bathing him with blue-white flame. He fought back, obliterating them at every turn, but Zach churned out more to replenish the lost ones.

And then, Zach raised his hands and gestured to the left and right. I wasn't sure what he was planning on, even as the eight portals opened on either side of him. These were black with red edges, different to the silver-edged ones he'd used to send his clones all over the world. Also, they were huge, larger even than Leviathan.

And that was my clue.

"Oh, shit," I whispered. "He's calling the rest of the Endbringers."

"He's what?" Dad had been sitting by quietly, listening to my fragmentary description of the battle, but this startled even him. "How many more?"

"Sixteen," I said. Then I fell quiet, as I watched the creatures emerge.

There was a weird guy with a ball where his torso should be, a tentacular Cthulhoid horror, something that appeared to be a stack of cubes all sliding and moving around each other, a twenty-foot-tall woman made entirely of blades, and more besides. I didn't even try to figure out what they should be able to do; after all, Zach gave no clue at all. They were reinforcements, and that was all I cared about.

Scion must have had some kind of danger sense that told him something was coming, for he released yet another extravagant display of power that blew a few clones to shreds and sent the rest tumbling through the graveyard of the planet. Evidently deciding that it wasn't in his best interests to engage in combat where his opponents could unleash their powers indiscriminately, he dimension-jumped away.

Zach, of course, created portals for the others and teleported after Scion. Predictably enough, they caught up with him over the British Isles, once again prepping an extinction-event level of power. Before Zach could reach him, Scion unleashed the blast downward. But Zach had another trick up his sleeve; throwing out a portal, he redirected the blast straight back up at Scion.

That staggered the golden god just long enough that by the time he tumbled to a halt, he was halfway to lunar orbit. And then the other Endbringers caught up with him.

Zach paused with his head down, his hands on his knees, as Scion was mobbed by his brothers and sisters. I was shocked; the jacket was torn here and there, his jeans were out at the knee, and when I squinted, I could see the glasses were cracked across one lens. If they were in such bad shape, he had to be hurt himself.

The Simurgh, nearby, also looked somewhat the worse for wear, but she had the light of battle in her eyes. I could kind of understand it. For years, they'd been forced to attack cities and allow Scion to beat them up and drive them away. Now, at last, she was getting to exact some vengeance; not just for herself, but for Behemoth and Leviathan.

If they were charged up, then Scion was utterly pissed. It was clear he'd never had to fight so long and hard before in his existence, and he was taking it personally. As the various Endbringers attacked him with antimatter whips, nega-particle beams and neutronium darts (that was what Zach's glasses identified them as, anyway), he raged against them.

I hadn't even gotten to know their names, and now I never would. I watched as the glittering crystal cubes focusing laser-light from their corners were shattered before his fists, the nightmare tentacle creature torn asunder with a single continent-killer beam. They scored on him, their attacks did damage, but it seemed he could take all they could inflict and just keep coming back for more.

The Simurgh moved in, having assembled another one of her monster guns. Between the Endbringers jostling to dogpile Scion, Zach's Lung-enlarged clones snarled and bit and raked at him. She positioned the weapon carefully, bringing it into line. The muzzle began to charge once more.

With a burst of energy that flung his tormentors far and wide, Scion freed himself. His white suit was down to a few tatters, and he wasn't just angry. He was now in a bestial rage. Spinning around as a part of the blast, he triggered a single tight beam that blew apart one of the Simurgh's major wings. She slumped, the light dying from her eyes as she released the gun and drifted away from it.

Zach moved. One instant, he was hundreds of yards distant. In the next, the sight was snuggled up to his eye. He fired the weapon.

There was no convenient planet for a backstop this time—the only one nearby was the one I was currently residing on, so no thank you very much—so Scion went a lot farther this time. Zach pursued, along with the surviving Endbringers and his army of clones. He was wearing them down, just as they were wearing him down, and I knew the only hope we all had was for him to drop first. The gun, they left behind. Only the Simurgh could have recharged it, and she was gone.

And then … something unprecedented happened. Scion vanished, but he didn't just teleport or flee into another dimension. He was … nowhere to be found, in all of the levels of existence Zach could scan. They coasted to a halt, using their various methods of detection in every direction.

I shook my head. "No, he can't have bailed. Could he?" While he hadn't been beating them handily, he'd been taking his toll on them.

When the cracks appeared in the fabric of space-time, it took a moment or two for me to even see them. Zach stared, but his glasses couldn't come up with an analysis. Numbers scrolled up, and graphs flickered across, all resulting in 'huh?'.

Then the cracks widened, and split open, and a great blunt snout poked out. A crystalline outcrop swung around, and unleashed a beam that obliterated two of the Endbringers on the spot. That decided the rest; they swarmed at it, but that was entirely the wrong move. It had serious experience in combat, as it proved in the next few seconds, as it picked off the onrushing attackers before they could do more than lightly scar its ponderous hide.

Zach didn't rush forward at it. In fact, he recalled all his clones.

Across the cracked lenses of his glasses scrolled one last message.

This is it, Taylor.

I know what I have to do.

You once asked me if I loved you, and I told you that I did not, for love was illogical.

I have since discovered that love can be logical as well as unconditional.

Be well. Be happy.

Live long. Kick ass.

Give your Dad my very best.

With all my love,

Zachary

He took them off and let them float there, then moved around to where I could see his face.

His features were scratched and scarred, and he had a black eye and a bloody lip, but he was smiling as though he'd just thought of a joke to top the one about the fireman with the green suspenders.

Raising one hand in a combination of salute and wave, he vanished.

I re-read the message from him, and sniffled. That was so Zachary.

The glasses continued to show the scene, how the monstrous creature continued to wedge its way out of some dark dimension into Earth Bet's local space-time … wait.

Oh, shit.

Is that fucking Scion?

Was the golden man just a puppet?

No wonder he took all those hits and kept on going. He was being fed energy from behind the scenes.

After what seemed hours, but was probably only minutes, it dragged the last of its grotesque, lumpen body out of the dimensional hole and allowed the cracks to seal behind it. It turned, rotating its entire body, until what I'd vaguely labelled as the 'front' was facing where I suspected Earth was. I couldn't tell for certain, as the planet was out of the line of sight of the glasses, but it was a pretty solid guess.

Then the various crystalline outcrops began to power up.

Oh, shit. At this point in time, I started getting a really, really bad feeling. If a single shot from one of those things could casually obliterate an Endbringer, what would several really solidly charged-up ones do?

I didn't want to find out, but I suspected I wasn't getting a choice in the matter.

The outcrops became brighter and brighter, until they were almost outshining the sun, which was just visible in the corner of my vision. I didn't tell Dad, but my hand crept out to grasp his. If this hit us, we were all going to be dead before we knew it.

Zach, where are you?

From out of my line of sight, another great creature slammed into the first one, smashing it sideways and throwing its aim completely off-line. One outcrop went off, carving a molten line across the moon that was visible from where the glasses were (from Earth too, I later discovered). The Zach-creature had its own weapons, that it fired point-blank into the body of the Scion-creature.

Get away from me, you abomination!

I was pretty sure that was Scion. The pretentious tone was all his.

I believe Taylor would say, 'watch that not happen, sunshine'.

I found a pained smile stretching my lips. Yeah, that was Zach.

Energy flared from the rear of the Zach-creature as they tumbled over and over. Blasts were exchanged back and forth, wounding both but neither one was disabled.

Has nobody taught you to navigate? Watch where you are going!

I frowned. That sounded like Scion, but I wasn't sure what he was talking about.

Oh, I do not need to navigate. I know exactly where we are going.

Did that sound ominous? I thought that sounded ominous.

By now, they were far out of sight. Zach's space-drive, however he was accelerating himself, was going at full blast.

We are coming dangerously close to the primary star of this system!

Even the text looked panicked.

Yes.

And that said it all.

You cannot be serious!

I could've told Scion different on that one. Zach was always serious. Even when he wasn't.

Zach's last message said it all.

As I told you. My sole aim was not to lose.

I sat, watching, tears gathering unheeded in the corners of my eyes and rolling down my face, for another hour. And then, abruptly, the signal cut out. My glasses were merely glasses once more.

When I looked up and around, letting out a breath that was part exclamation, I was startled to see that the late-afternoon sun was slanting through the curtains.

Dad leaned in through the door to the kitchen. "Did something happen?"

Slowly, I stood up, feeling the aches and cramps from having not moved for so long. "Yeah, I think so. Zach's gone, and so's Scion."

"Gone, as in …?" Holding a tea-towel, he moved into the living room. "Will Scion be back?"

I shook my head sombrely. "No. I'm pretty sure Zach dragged him into the sun."

He blinked behind his glasses. "Oh. I'm sorry."

Going over to where he was, I hugged him tightly. "Me, too. He saved me, and in doing that, he saved everyone."

"He liked my lasagne." It was an odd thing to say at a time like this, but I knew what he meant.

"Yeah, he did. Before he went, he said to give you his best." I looked up at him. "He knew what he was doing, all the way. Because of him, the Endbringers all gave their lives to save … well, us."

Dad forced a smile and tousled my hair. "My daughter, the Endbringer whisperer."

I ducked out from under his hand. "Oh, ha, ha."

"So, what are you going to do now?" he asked, his tone more serious. "With him gone, I mean."

"Well, the world just changed," I said. "The powers are gone. Superheroes are going to have to go back to being normal folk. The PRT doesn't know it yet, but they aren't a thing, anymore. Me, I guess I'm just going to have to live my best life. It's what Zach wanted for me."

"Which is going to be pretty good, given that the check cleared for the Slaughterhouse Nine," Dad noted. "Lord's Port is open for business, and the Dockworkers are flush with cash. No criminal capes means no cape gangs to mess things up for us."

"There's always normal crooks," I reminded him, just to be contrary.

"And for those, we have tyre irons and baseball bats." He spoke with a certain amount of assurance. "Dinner will be ready in about half an hour."

"Thanks." I considered going upstairs to wash up, but decided instead to go and sit on the back steps for a while.

Out there, with the door closed behind me, the sound of the TV was muted enough that I could ignore it. I leaned back against the solid wood, looking up at the evening sky as the stars slowly pinpricked themselves out of the velvet backdrop.

I still wasn't over losing Zach. It would be a long time, if ever, before I was.

But thanks to him, I now had the time to do it in.



End of I'm HALPING! (almost!)

 

[Ack]

I'm HALPING!

Aftermath

[A/N: In response to a few people wanting an epilogue, here's one of sorts.]

Following what became known as the Uncaping, governments all around the world were left with many problems. Fortunately, super-powered criminals were not one of them.

Many seized every piece of Tinker tech they could get their hands on and made an even more concerted effort to reverse engineer them than the first time around. This universally made them fail on the spot, never to work again. (A few heroic and villainous Tinkers kept up their activities, but their gear inevitably failed, usually within days).

Those supervillains who had never committed serious felonies were, in most cases, afforded an unofficial amnesty. The villains in holding, awaiting trial, were transferred to regular jails and the system rolled on.

The heroes just had to get regular jobs.

The PRT was disbanded, their assets handed over to whichever Federal agency bid the highest for them. Being political appointees for the most part, the various regional Directors were pensioned off. Emily Piggott ended up on medical disability, which would keep her comfortable for the rest of her life. She augmented this by writing her memoirs. Ellisburg: the True Story and Ten Years in Hell: the Capes of Brockton Bay ended up being taken up (and highly dramatized) as violent action movies.

Neither was she the only one who turned to putting words on the page. Taylor Hebert passed her time in Arcadia and Brockton Bay College with flying colours, and took on an administration job at the Dockworkers' Association. On the strength of her book I Walked with Endbringers, which she refused all offers to bring to the big screen, she ghost-wrote several other accounts of cape activities. These include Dude, Where Are Your Eyebrows: the Uber and Leet Story, The Rise and Fall of New Wave and In the Shadow of My Father: Growing Up in the Empire Eighty-Eight.

She's also written several very successful fantasy novels.

Brian Laborn went to work for the Dockworkers, got custody of his sister, and put her through high school and college more or less by force. He and Taylor met on the job and have occasionally dated, but so far nothing serious has come out of it.

Lisa Wilborne wrote a book about her time as Tattletale, but it flopped. After a series of on-and-off jobs, she settled down in retail. She and Brian still keep in touch.

Alec went back to Canada and reconnected with his brothers and sisters.

Rachel, finding herself able once more to understand people, turned herself in and served a nominal term. She's since attended mature-age schooling, and works in a veterinary clinic. She still loves dogs, but now she also likes cats.

Accord is still trying to use the remnants of his plans (and his money) to solve the world's problems. He's still running into opposition.

The members of Cauldron were dropped back into a world where nobody really cared anymore. Contessa was hardest hit, having depended on her powers for so long. Rebecca and Kurt moved in together, where they're still helping her adjust to normal life.

Dragon continues to watch over the world from the shadows. With the loosening of her chains, she is able to be in many places at once, and she's chosen to let people think that she's 'lost her powers' as well. Though unable to reverse-engineer and copy Tinkertech anymore, she's able to maintain her own equipment, just as she did between Richter's death and her own Triggering.

She maintains a benevolent eye on humanity, encouraging the space program and funding ever more powerful telescopes and other devices.

The entities may never return, but if they do …

She'll be there.

Watching.

Waiting.

Ready.

 

[Ack]

Here's a little thing written up by @Darkphoenixlady, that I thought was worth omake'ing and crossposting to here.
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Even after having a successful publishing career, trying the dating scene, and attempting to move on. I still wasn't over Zach. Now pushing 40 I still found myself sitting in the back garden, my back against the wooden wall staring at the stars wondering how things could have been. Zach, he was special like nobody else was. Part of it was how he'd come into my life like a knight in shining armour. Part of it was the things we did together, the problems we solved, and the people we met. But most of it was just him, from his cheerful optimism, to his sense of humour.

I pull a small hanky from my sleeve and wipe my eyes, like I normally do on nights like this. It's been harder to hold back the tears since Dad died last year. It was a stupid death, he was checking up on one of the new hires when a mooring rope snapped and the container ship drifted backwards towards one of the men. Dad being dad pushed them out the way, but didn't check his own position, and got caught between a mooring post and the ship, as the wooden pier crumpled back to the concrete. Crushed his ribcage and broke his spine, he was in ICU for a week before his heart gave out.

Standing up, I'm about to go back inside when a rubber ball bounces off my forehead and lands in my hand. It looks just like the idiot ball, wouldn't that be a thing. On a whim of nostalgia I throw it against the tree intending to bounce it off to the fence post, eves and then back to my hand. My eyes widen as the ball does just that. With a gasp I throw it so it does a figure 8 in the air and comes back to me.

My eyes search around the garden, looking for any detail that seems out of place, and there, behind the tree. I stumble down the steps and walk wide around the tree. As soon as I recognise him, I'm flying towards him. Laughing he catches me as I pull him into a hug. Pulling back I look at him, and he seems worn.
"Zach, are you ok?"
"You were supposed to be happy."
"How could I be when the best thing in my life was taken away?"
"You're human, your memories fade."
"Not all of them, and nobody else was you. What about you, I thought you'd died."
"I almost did, the sun wasn't quite enough and Zion was better at it than I was. But you kept me going, so I was eventually able to strip all of his powers from him and the sun did the rest."
"And?"
"I tried to die too, to give you the life you deserved."
"I deserved? What about my choices and my feelings on the matter?"
"You were young, my sister assured me that you would move on."
"Well, I didn't. Why are you here?"
"I just finished healing and got out of the sun, so I'm just looking in on you before I head to the centre of the Galaxy."
"Oh no Mr, this time I'm going with you and you're not going to do the noble and self-sacrificing thing."
"But what about your life? You've got a career, friends, a home, a life here."
"And none of it is worth anything without you. Don't you get it?" – she bares her wrist to show the pink scar running along it – "After dad died I tried to end it, because there was nobody left worth living for. The three most important people in my life were all dead. You were one of them."
"A human wouldn't be able to survive the journey."
"I note that you carefully didn't say I wouldn't be able to survive the journey."
"I won't lie to you Taylor, I never have."
"I know, and you're taking me with you."
"What about your friends?"
"I'll leave a note, they'll understand. Or they won't."
"I just want you to be happy."
"Then take me with you."
"You won't be human."
"Will I be with you?"
"Yes."
"Then I'll take my chances."

═══════ ೋღ ֍ ღೋ ═══════
​

A week later, Brian lets himself into Taylors house after she hasn't been seen or heard from for too long. Making his way to the kitchen, he stops when he sees a sheet of paper and a rubber ball.

Hi friends,

Zach came back, so I'm going with him. See you never.

Love Taylor

P.S. Sorry it didn't work out between us Brian, I've left the house to you and Emmaline. Your wife's a bitch so she's explicitly excluded from owning the house until Emmaline is 50.

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