One More Trigger
Part Twenty-Two: Suddenly, the Nine
"Yes, I'm calling on behalf of Amy Dallon. She's not feeling well, and she's staying home for the day."
Danny Hebert paused, holding the phone to his ear. "Yes, I'm aware who she is. I know that she doesn't get sick. It's not that sort of feeling unwell, Ms Howell. It's the other sort. Yes,
that sort of feeling unwell. No, I haven't enquired too closely. Thank you, ma'am. Yes, I'll convey your good wishes. Yes, ma'am, you have a good day too."
Hanging the phone up, Danny turned to Amy, who was sitting at the kitchen table with Lisa. "Well, I don't know if she bought it entirely, but she didn't protest too hard," he reported. "I hesitate to ask, but do you even
get that ... ?"
"Yeah, she does," Lisa answered, giving Amy a sideways glance. "But her power minimises any discomfort. Which is
totally unfair, if you ask me."
"Just a little bit," Amy protested. "It's not like I can actually affect my own body. Anyway, can we get off the topic?"
"Fine," agreed Danny, sitting down at the table. "So what, exactly, is it that you're doing with my best salad bowl?"
His question had a point; Amy was sitting with her fingers over the lip of the bowl Danny was referring to. Bugs of various types were crawling out of the goop with which the bowl was filled, shaking their wings free, and fluttering out through the open window. Amy herself was looking somewhat run-down; her eyes were red-rimmed, and she had several empty coffee cups at her elbow.
"They're booster bugs," she explained, then yawned. "With ... with various other abilities, because it would be stupid to make them with just one. They're sensitive to the booster effect in others, so they fly away from it until they're a certain distance away, but they'll keep in contact."
"A certain distance?" asked Danny.
"About seventy to eighty percent of the maximum range of the booster effect," explained Amy. "When Taylor comes into contact with one of them, she'll be in contact with all of them. If one moves, they'll all move to keep the network intact."
"Christ," he muttered. "And how long have you been at this?"
Amy yawned again. "All night. Lisa's been keeping me company."
Lisa rolled her bottle-green eyes. "Lisa," she replied to Danny's silent query, "has been napping on the sofa and fetching more garbage when Amy ran out. Also, brewing coffee."
"And it's been greatly appreciated," Amy told her. "Really, it has."
Lisa mustered a grin. "Hey. Friends, right?" She put her arm around Amy's shoulders and gave her a squeeze, careful not to dislodge Amy's fingers from the goop in the bowl.
"Wait, wait," Danny interjected with a frown. "Garbage? And what
is that stuff in the bowl?"
"This is a bio-organic slurry," Amy informed him. "It's basically alive, which is why I'm able to affect it. I'm using it to form booster bugs. It's composed of organic matter, and it breaks down anything organic dropped into it, turns it into itself. Like garbage."
"Yeah," Lisa confirmed. "Your neighbours for four houses in all directions can thank us later. I'm just glad it was trash night. Otherwise I would have borrowed your shears and gone pruning hedges."
"So how many bugs do you have out there now?" asked Danny.
Amy yawned again. "I have absolutely no idea," she confessed. "I've just been sending them out. Lost count hours ago."
"Fourteen thousand, six hundred and fifty-three, assuming we don't refill the bowl," Lisa recited crisply.
Danny's jaw slowly dropped open. "Fourteen
thousand?"
Amy shrugged helplessly. "I didn't know how many we'd need. So I just kept making them. Taylor took a bunch when she went to school. All different types."
She had her hand near the bottom of the bowl now. It was starting to thicken a little; without being asked, Lisa poured some water in, from a pitcher on the table. As Danny watched in fascination, the goop transformed into more and more bugs, until there was just a thin smear on the bottom of the bowl.
The last of the bugs perched on her hand for a moment, then flew out the window. She turned to Lisa. "Should we keep going?"
Lisa shook her head, and helped her to her feet. "That'll be enough for the moment. You need to get some sleep now."
"No, I'm ..." Amy staggered slightly. "Okay, I'll get some sleep. The sofa will be fine."
"The sofa will
not be fine," Lisa scolded her. "The sofa is hard and lumpy. Trust me, I
know this. You're going to sleep in the spare room upstairs."
Still mumbling protests, Amy allowed Lisa to steer her up the stairs and along the corridor; when Lisa came back down, Danny was scrubbing out the salad bowl in the sink. He looked up as she entered the kitchen. "She okay?"
"Out like a light as soon as her head hit the pillow," Lisa flashed her trademark grin. "She pushed herself really hard to get all those bugs out there."
"Will they be enough?" He looked at her with worry. "The Nine … "
"Currently have in their number at least two very distinctive individuals," Lisa reminded him as she took the bowl from him and began to dry it. "Even if Shatterbird refrains from using glass, Crawler and Mannequin cannot be mistaken for anything else. Taylor finds them, we bring the boom down on them, hard."
He looked at her curiously. "Why haven't you crashed like Amy?"
"Oh, she freshened me up a couple of hours ago. It's like mainlining caffeine; I feel like I could go for days."
"Hm. Better not try." He paused. "So, have you told the Undersiders yet?"
She turned to look at him; he was observing her, expression expectant.
"What makes you think I'd tell them?" she ventured. "I'm in a hero team now."
"Which means that you've already told them," he concluded.
Her expression was chagrined. "Damn it,
I'm supposed to be the Thinker here."
"I'm the father of a teenage girl," he reminded her, a corner of his mouth quirking a smile. "I don't need Thinker powers to tell when you're shading the truth."
She rolled her eyes. "Okay, fine, I already told them. They see anything, they call me."
Danny nodded. "Excellent."
She blinked. "Really?"
"Of course. We need every advantage we can get." He went to the fridge and got out some orange juice. "Any progress on ideas as to how the Nine would draw the Samaritans out?"
"It'll be something big and splashy," Lisa told him, holding out a glass so that he could pour. "Something that will draw a lot of attention, and let them destroy us publicly. Show us up. Kill us in horrible ways, while tying our hands so we can't hit them as hard as we might." She blinked. "Hostage situation. Big one. Helpless hostages. A school." She went pale, and her hand shook so badly that the orange juice sloshed over her fingers. "Winslow."
<><>
Winslow High
Taylor was sitting in first period, which happened to be math, when one of the network of booster bugs she had around the school suddenly linked into another booster bug. This one was linked to others, and those were linked to others and …
"Oh my god," she whispered, her eyes widening.
Mr Quinlan raised his head questioningly. "Yes, Ms Hebert? Did you have a question?"
Taylor shook her head. "No, sir. I'm good, sir." She let some of her attention remain on the lesson in progress, which happened to be algebra, while the rest of her mind went out to quest through the link that had just opened up to her.
It was like standing inside a vast and echoing auditorium, and then having someone turn the lights on. She could feel her booster bugs as tiny sparks in the massed swarms of bugs around the school. More booster bugs, farther out, each of them offering improved sight and hearing, as much as any bug could have good sight or hearing.
She was aware of the awareness spreading even farther; the bugs released by Amy were working their way outward until they reached equilibrium, which had not yet happened. Her little patch of awareness around Winslow was in the process of being absorbed, subsumed, by the vast invisible tide of a much greater ocean of awareness.
Amy, you're awesome.
The number of bugs she now had access to numbered not in the hundreds of thousands, or even the millions. Tens of millions of tiny bug brains were now part of her network, her swarm, and she set to work using them to sweep the city for the Nine.
Even then, having access to every bug, every mite, every fly, every wasp and bee and hornet and spider, it was not a swift process. Bug senses, as she had complained to Emma and Madison more than once, were mediocre to crappy. Amy could sharpen these, but only with the bugs she worked on. And for Amy to fix every single bug in Brockton Bay, just so that Taylor could see properly when she wasn't on site, would literally take longer than any human lifetime.
Her phone vibrated in her pocket. She didn't know who it was from, and her little outburst before had gotten her on to Quinlan's radar, so that she couldn't just pull it out and check.
"Uh, sir?" she ventured. "May I go to the bathroom?"
Quinlan looked irritated, and well he might. "Young lady, it's the first period. Surely you can hold it for a little while."
Taylor shook her head. "I'm sorry, sir. I really can't."
With a put-upon sigh, he waved at the door. "Go, then."
"Thank you, sir." She got up and hurried out the door; once in the corridor, she pulled out her phone. It told her that she'd missed a call from her father. She was just about to ring him back, when it vibrated again.
"Yeah, Dad?" she asked, while heading for the stairs. She'd given the excuse to go to the bathroom, so it was probably a good idea to at least pretend to go.
Just at that moment, her bugs registered a large motor-coach pulling into the school parking lot. Inside … there weren't any bugs. None whatsoever.
That's really weird.
"
Taylor," his voice sounded in her ear.
"Lisa has just told me that the Nine is most likely to attempt a hostage scenario in order to draw you out."
She was at the stairs now. "Does she know where?"
"
She thinks it'll be a school. Most likely Winslow."
Taylor's eyes widened. "Oh shit."
"
Exactly. So keep your eyes open for anyone suspicious -"
"No, I meant 'oh shit, they're here'," she panted, now taking the steps two at a time. "They just drove into the parking lot. Do Emma and Madison know?"
"
Lisa's already been on to Alan and Rod. They'd be calling them right now."
"Good. I'm separated from my costume, but I'm going to play this one safe. I'll be hiding in the girls' bathrooms, third floor. But don't worry. My bugs will come to the party anyway."
As she spoke, bugs crawled out of her hair and buzzed back down the stairwell.
"
Good luck. Stay safe. Kick ass."
"Will do, Dad. Love you."
"
Love you too. I'll call you back when we've got the conference call set up." The line went dead as he hung up.
I really hate not being there for them, but I can't very well duck back and grab my costume. Time to act like a Master and stand back while my minions do the work.
She had bugs ready to go, both speciality and regular.
Time to do my thing.
<><>
Outside the PRT Building
A bus had just pulled up at the stop when the pavement began cracking and heaving. The bus stop itself rose six inches, causing people to yell in surprise and vacate the immediate area. With a horrendous crunching sound, a large slab of concrete rose up and fell away, revealing the grotesque form of Crawler, hauling himself up out of a sewer line; a stench arose with him.
Within the PRT building, the guards were on the ball; they saw the supervillain and hit the panic button. The doors snapped shut and locked solid. The elevator doors opened, and the people inside the lobby were herded into them. The last thing they saw before the doors interleaved shut was the sight of the Slaughterhouse Nine member hurling himself against the outer doors.
Crawler backed up and tried again; this time, he burst through into the lobby, the Tinker-created toughened glass spraying around him in fragments. The PRT guards were waiting for him; their foam sprayers belched white globules of the yellowish-white substance, striking him, engulfing him, adhering to him. Still, he lunged forward, catching one unlucky guard off balance. The man's scream – and life – ended abruptly.
But the snapping jaws also burst the man's containment foam tank; Crawler's head was abruptly engulfed by the sticky mass. The remaining three guards backed up from the oncoming bulk of foam, being pushed forward by Crawler's straining legs. As sticky as it was, it was not preventing him from moving.
<><>
Protectorate Base
"Sir, look at the outside screens!"
Armsmaster turned and looked. There, hovering in mid-air, was the shape of a woman, clad in layers of glass, with great stained-glass wings on either side of her. He knew who she was. They all did.
"Christ, that's Shatterbird."
The PRT techs stared at him. "Orders, sir?"
He slapped the button that connected him to the entire base via PA system.
"Shatterbird alert. Shatterbird alert. Protect your eyes. Take off your glasses. Get rid of your phones, your electronic items, now."
And then, just as he had begun to hope that he'd warned them in good time, she opened her mouth and screamed.
Everything around him shook; he saw all the computer monitors blow out, random electronics and other silicates simply exploding with varying level of force. The lights went out; he triggered the night vision in his helmet visor.
He had, of course, spent the time to harden his armour's electronics against just this sort of thing, and to replacing glass with synthetics. Taking on the Nine, defeating them, bringing them down, was something he dreamed of doing.
The room was a mess. Techs lay here and there, some moving, others ominously still. All were wounded.
Pulling himself up out of his seat, he took stock. His armour's systems had held up, but nothing else in the room had. He chinned a control; LEDs on the surface of his armour flared to life, offering a weak illumination for the room. It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing. People were starting to groan and move. He moved to the side of the closest person who seemed badly injured, and started to examine him. At the same time, he activated his radio.
"This is Armsmaster … "
<><>
PRT Building
Piggot's intercom buzzed. She slapped the button. "Report."
"
Ma'am, we have Crawler slowed down in the lobby. He's not fully contained, but he's not going anywhere fast. Civilians and support staff have been evacuated via the underground garage. One casualty so far; Kendrick."
Her lips thinned. "Damn it. How long can you hold?"
"
As long as it takes, ma'am. How long till the capes get here?"
"I'm not putting the Wards against Crawler, not without Protectorate backup." She paused; other lights, blinking red with urgency, were now showing up. "I'll get back to you; someone else wants me."
Not waiting for his response, she hit the second button. "Piggot."
The voice was scratchy and barely readable, but she recognised it.
"Director, this is Armsmaster. The Protectorate base has just been hit by Shatterbird. We've lost most of our electronics, and we have multiple casualties."
Her fist hit the desk. "Fuck! Status of Protectorate assets on board? Location of Shatterbird?"
"
I do not know, ma'am. Velocity was supposed to be on patrol, but I don't have the range to contact him. Everyone else was on base, as far as I know. And we lost our eyes and ears when she screamed; I have no idea where she might be."
"Well, just for your information, we have Crawler in the lobby of my building," Piggot snapped. "So once you get yourselves sorted out over there, any assistance would be greatly appreciated."
She cut the connection and put her face in her hands.
And that's just two of them. Where are the rest? Fuck.
<><>
Winslow High School
The doors up toward the front of the motor-coach hissed open, and Jack Slash alighted. He held out his hand, and Bonesaw took hold of it, happily skipping alongside him. Behind them came the Siberian, imperiously naked, then Burnscar and Mannequin. Last out of the coach was Hatchet Face, his scarred, brutal features impassive as he followed the rest of the team.
"Look at this, will you?" Jack observed, gesturing at the school before them. "A melting pot of all that is horrific and despicable about humanity. Shoving all those delightful little victims – I mean children, of course – into close proximity with one another, letting them kick and shove and brutalise one another during their most impressible formative years. Is it any wonder that the world is such a depressing place?"
Bonesaw giggled light-heartedly; no-one else showed much in the way of emotion. "Mr Jack," she asked, "did
you ever go to school?"
"Not at a place like this, no." He pushed open the doors, and they entered Winslow High School. "I was … let us say, home-schooled. But I would have liked to have come to a place like this."
"Do you think I could come to school sometime?" the blonde girl asked next. "Just to … well, you know, see what it's like?"
"Really?" he responded, raising an eyebrow. "You would trade our life for the humdrum existence of a student?"
"Of course not," she assured him. "Just every now and again. I could experiment on their brains, see if I could make them learn faster."
He chuckled, ruffling her hair fondly. "Ah, poppet, I do like the way you think. But I think my way is better."
"What way is that?" she asked, as they proceeded along the echoing halls of academia.
"Why, I teach the class, and every three months I hold a sudden-death examination. The half of the class that got the lower marks is executed. I assure you, at the end of the year, those students I had left would be very fast learners indeed."
"I suppose," she mused, "but … "
He waited for the remainder of her statement, but it was not forthcoming. "Poppet?"
Her hand went slack in his, and he looked down with some surprise as she crumpled to the ground. "What the hell?"
Immediately, his knife was in his hand, and he sliced at the air; once, twice, three times. Tiny objects, caught by his blade, fluttered to the ground. As he did so, Burnscar fell over. And then he felt the tiny sting at the back of his neck. He slapped at the spot, but already he was feeling the lassitude. The Siberian took hold of his arm, picked him up, slung him over her shoulder. She bent to grab Bonesaw; through dimming eyesight, he saw Mannequin topple and crash to the ground.
Wait, his mind tried to tell him.
That isn't right.
And then everything just faded away.
<><>
Hebert House
"
Okay." Taylor's voice was tense.
"I got Bonesaw and Jack Slash and Burnscar with the toxin bugs. Mannequin seems to be down and out of it with the glue bugs. But Hatchet Face is too tough for the bugs to take out, and Siberian is carrying Bonesaw and Jack Slash out of the school."
"That's good," Danny praised her. "That's really good. You've hit them and you've hurt them. See if you can get a bug inside Hatchet Face's mouth; the tissues there might be softer."
"
If I can stay outside his nullification range," Emma suggested,
"I could maybe zap him into next week."
"
Better for you and Aerodyne to work together, Sparx," Rod Clements suggested.
"You hold him while she takes his air away."
"
Yeah, but what do we do about Siberian?" Taylor wanted to know.
"I hit her with my best shot, and she ignored it. Didn't even notice."
"
Ah, something else you need to worry about," Alan Barnes put in.
"I'm listening to the police channel, and Shatterbird just hit the Protectorate base, and Crawler's attacking the PRT building. So you aren't going to get any cape backup in a hurry."
"
Didn't Amy say she could put Crawler's lights out, given a chance?" asked Taylor.
"Uh, Amy's asleep," Danny confessed. "Pushed herself way too hard to put together your bug network. I could wake her up and get here there, but it'll take time. Time that he can use to cause a lot more damage."
"That's okay," Lisa told him. She pulled out her phone. "I got this."
<><>
Winslow High
Hatchet Face stomped through the school corridors. His memories of attending higher education were faded, but they were not fond ones. Bullying those below him, being bullied by those above. Kicking and clawing his way up the pecking order. Being the bigger bastard.
Now, he was one of the biggest bastards out there. He was a member of the
Nine, and people spoke his name in the same breath as that of Jack Slash.
He rolled his eyes. Slash had gone down, just like the little murder-girl, and the fire-girl. Hatchet Face wasn't sure how they'd gone down, or why. But they had, which proved that they were weak, and he was strong. Though Mannequin had also gone down, which was really puzzling. He didn't know how the man had fit himself into that shiny white armour, but he was pretty sure it was sealed against everything.
His brutally scarred features creased in what might have been mistaken for a smile. The naked bitch had taken Slash and Bonesaw back, probably to the motor-coach so that they'd recover. That left him alone, in a school full of the same little pricks who had laughed at him and taunted him, and made him want to smash all their faces in.
And, of course, the cape or whatever it was that had taken out all but him and Siberian. But whatever that cape had, it didn't affect him. So he didn't have to worry.
Now to make all the little piggies come out to play …
He hefted the massive cleaver that he carried in his right hand, and reached for a fire alarm tab.
<><>
Over Brockton Bay
Shatterbird arrowed through the air, toward Winslow High. She had done her job, and now she was required by Jack to join him once more. The Protectorate in this city was neutered, blinded, deafened. With the brute taking up the attention of the PRT, there were few heroes left to face them …
She barely registered the incoming form in time to put up a barrier. And even then, the impact was tremendous; glass shattered and she tumbled in the air. Catching herself, she looked around for her attacker; saw the lithe form arrowing around for another strike. A white costume, gold highlights, tiara –
she's just a girl!
But a girl who, nonetheless, was daring to attack her;
her, Shatterbird of the Slaughterhouse Nine. She formed her armour around her, leaving enough glass over to create a razor-edged sword. This was for the girl to see; what she
couldn't see were the glass shards, equally sharp darts, hovering behind her back.
Attack me, will you?
As Glory Girl bored in for the attack, Shatterbird waited for her, and smiled cruelly.
<><>
PRT Building
Crawler heaved and thrashed and bellowed discordantly, and spilled copious amounts of acid from his open mouth. This dissolved the containment foam where it touched, and more was eaten away every second. He dug his clawed feet into the floor and drove himself forward once more, trailing remnants and shreds of the yellow-white foam. The reception counter was destroyed; the PRT guards fell back, shooting more of the foam, but his acidic saliva dissolved it as fast as they shot it.
And then something latched on to his rear end. His eyes in that direction were mostly obscured by foam, but he caught a glimpse of a monstrous dog/dinosaur fusion. And then another one grabbed hold of him. His forward progress halted, and he actually began to slide backward. He dug in his claws, shredding carpet and ripping up chunks of concrete, but he still kept moving backward. These
dogs were dragging him from the PRT building, where Jack had told him to attack.
And then he realised; they were attacking
him. He had every excuse in the world to attack them in return. So he stopped resisting.
<><>
"Tell me again how this is a good idea," Regent muttered, as Crawler emerged from the frontage of the PRT building, flanked by three very large snarling mutant dog-monsters.
"We help the PRT, they don't hunt our asses down so hard," Grue supplied. "Plus, it's a favour to Lisa."
"
After she helped take down our meal ticket," Regent griped.
"Coil was an asshole," Grue reminded him. "We both know that."
"I don't so much mind assholes, so long as they leave me the fuck alone," Regent argued.
"Like your dad?"
Regent sneered. "Fuck you, Grue. Okay, let's get this show on the road. Holy fuck, does he have a nervous system or a bowl of spaghetti in there?"
"You're the guy who fucks with people. Fuck with him."
Regent shook his head. "Christ. This guy's nervous system is so redundant, it's not funny. Okay, let's see what happens if I pull a string."
Down on the street, responding to Bitch's whistles, the dogs were playing keep-away. Only those behind Crawler were actually attacking him; the one in front was distracting him, but leaping away when Crawler tried to close with it. Chunks were being ripped out of even the monster's armoured hide, but not large bits, and the holes were being replaced by new armour, tougher, harder, even as they watched. But then he lunged at a dog – and face-planted in the street, instead. Or chin-planted, given that he didn't really have a face any more. Coming to his multiple feet, he went to leap at another dog, and charged a street-lamp instead. The street-lamp promptly fell on him.
"Nicely done," Grue commented.
"Yeah, it would be, if I'd intended for that to happen," Regent muttered. "I'm pressing buttons at random, here."
"Well, keep pressing 'em," Grue urged. "You're doing great."
Regent shook his head. "You're buying the painkillers. I'm gonna have
such a migraine, after this."
"We'll bill the PRT."
"
Now you're talking."
Down below, Crawler tried to turn a somersault. It didn't really work.
<><>
Winslow High
"Hey."
His fingers inches from the fire alarm tab, Hatchet Face turned to face the two girls who had just rounded the corner. They were immediately recognisable, as Sparx and Aerodyne, of the Samaritans. The bitches that the Nine had come to this stinking pit of a hellhole to kill or co-opt. He grinned broadly, showing jagged and broken teeth.
Kill it is, then.
The redhead, Sparx, shook her head. "Seriously, do not do that. It is not a good expression for you." She sounded almost serious, as if she were chiding him for a misdemeanour.
"Fuck. You." He spat the words out, and started toward them, breaking into a run almost immediately.
Or attempting to do so. Something wrapped around his ankles, and he failed to make that first step. Measuring his length on the floor, he felt the cleaver skid free from his hand, and skitter across the floor. The petite one with lots of flowing cloth on her costume, stopped it with her foot.
Enraged, he snarled and leaped to his feet. That was when the tendril of hair that was still wrapped around his ankle sent a large jolt of electricity through him.
He staggered, but kept coming. More jolts hit him; he shrugged them off. And then, the smaller one raised her hands, and he felt himself struck by an irresistible force, slammed backward into the wall.
He pushed himself out of the shallow dent he had made, and started forward again.
<><>
"
Guys, move, now. Siberian's on her way back in."
"Roger that, Ladybug." Emma grabbed Aerodyne by the arm. "Let's go." Her hair formed a square of tightly-woven carpeting under their feet.
"Dammit, I nearly had him!" But despite her protest, Aerodyne did not hesitate. Wind blasted under the 'carpet' – not much larger than a hearthrug – and lifted them, conveying them forward at somewhat better than running speed.
Which was a good thing, because the Siberian arrived just seconds later, also travelling at somewhat better than running speed. She and Hatchet Face followed the fleeing heroes; every time they took a corner, she smashed
through the corner, cutting the lead significantly.
"
Guys, get out of there!"
"We can't do that," Emma replied grimly. "We leave, they go back to Plan A, being a hostage situation. We have to stay close enough that they think they have a chance of catching us."
"
You can't keep that up forever." That was Rod Clements.
"
Wait a minute." Taylor.
"I might have something."
"What?" asked Aerodyne. She was starting to feel the strain; normally, she pulled in air from all around her, and these corridors were stifling her capabilities.
"
Just keep ahead of them for just a little longer."
"Yipe!" Emma snagged a corner with her hair and pulled them around it, just in time to avoid a charging pounce by the Siberian. "I think she's done playing."
"Yeah," agreed Aerodyne. "Where's Hatchet Face?"
"
He got ahead of you, guys. You're heading into an ambush. I'm bothering him as best I can, but it's not a great amount."
"It'll have to be enough," Emma decided. "We can't face the Siberian. Whatever you've got planned, do it."
"
Just … hold … on … "
<><>
Moments ago, something had gotten Taylor's attention. When she had set the bugs of Brockton Bay to sweeping for the Nine, she had not told them to stop. And as the villains had begun their pursuit of her friends, the bugs had turned up something interesting. Unusual, even.
There was a van, parked at the side of the road, about half a mile away from Winslow High. The driver was doing nothing; just staring fixedly in the direction of Winslow.
On a hunch, Taylor sent a booster bug in his direction. It took a few moments for it to get there, which was what occasioned the delay. It perched on the dashboard and took a good hard look at the driver, using its Amy-enhanced visual senses.
The face looked familiar, from the extensive research she had done; Taylor frowned.
Could it be?
The idea that one of the leading lights of parahuman research, long thought dead, was alive and well, and in the vicinity of the Slaughterhouse Nine, was so far beyond being a coincidence that it was ludicrous.
"Dad," she stated. "I think I've got eyes on Doctor William Manton, you know, the parahuman researcher? He's sitting in a van, not a mile from Winslow, looking that way."
"
What, do you think he's somehow connected with them?"
And then another voice broke in; Lisa's.
"Take him out! Take him out now! He's a projector! Projecting the Siberian!"
Taylor didn't hesitate. She already had two toxin-bugs on hand. Manton didn't even notice when they landed on his skin. The bugs injected their venom.
Batrachotoxin, otherwise obtained from the 'poison arrow frog' of South America, is so deadly that an amount equivalent to two grains of salt will have a fifty percent chance of killing a healthy adult. The toxin bugs Amy had created bore a modified variant of that; one sting would cause grogginess or unconsciousness, depending on the size and health of the recipient. Two stings would cause unconsciousness or death. Three would bring death to all but the largest and toughest of victims. Taylor used two bugs; she wanted to give him a chance to survive, but not a chance to stay awake.
<><>
They had almost avoided the ambush. Almost, but not quite.
Hatchet Face had gotten too close, too quickly. Emma's summoned hair had disintegrated under them, as had Aerodyne's wave of air. They had been travelling too fast, had no time to re-establish their flying carpet. Aerodyne was winded, unable to focus. The Siberian was stalking toward them, murderous intent in every line of her being. Behind her, Hatchet Face was following along.
Emma shielded Aerodyne with her body, for what good it would do. She lashed out against the Siberian with her hair; it crumpled, disintegrated against that tiger-striped body. Defiantly, she looked death in the face. The sharp-nailed fingers reached for her -
- and the Siberian popped like a soap bubble.
Emma reacted before Hatchet Face could. Her hair lashed out, covered the distance to him, wrapped around his arms and legs. And then she gave him every volt she could muster. Her hair crackled and fluoresced, and she lit him up like the Fourth of July.
He
screamed.
<><>
Over Brockton Bay
Glory Girl was still flying, but she didn't know how. Blood ran down her face from a scalp wound; more stained her once-white costume from cuts shallow and deep alike. She pulled a glass dart from her arm and tried to hurl it at her opponent. With insulting ease, Shatterbird caught it with her power, brought it to her, and then licked the blood off of it, slowly and lingeringly.
"You can't beat me," she taunted the teen hero. "You won't run. What are you going to do?"
"Hold on," Glory Girl panted. "Hold on … "
"Until what happens?" Shatterbird sneered. "Your wounds miraculously heal, and you gain the powers of Eidolon?"
Glory Girl shook her head, holding her ribs. She was fairly sure that some of them were broken. "No."
Shatterbird rolled her eyes. "What, then?"
The three blasts hit her in the back, at almost exactly the same time. Her eyes opened wide, just as a blackened hole burst open in her chest, the three lasers blasting straight through her body.
She half-turned as the life left her, to see Lady Photon hovering there, flanked by Laserdream and Shielder. The teenage boy blew imaginary smoke off of his raised index finger.
"That," Glory Girl managed, as Shatterbird began her long fall toward the ground. Then she passed out, and began to fall herself.
<><>
PRT Building
Vicky opened her eyes. She sat up, looking around. Amy, looking remarkably tired, sat nearby, with a familiar-looking blonde girl kneeling beside her, an arm around her shoulders. As she watched, Amy leaned into the blonde girl for support. She felt a stab of jealousy; Amy had always depended on
her for support, before.
Off to the side was … Crawler, of the Nine. He didn't seem to be doing much, however, just standing there, slowly drooling acid which was eating away at the asphalt. PRT techs, flanked by guards with oversized containment foam guns, were crating him up for transport. Slowly, Vicky climbed to her feet, staring in fascination.
"Hey," she heard from behind her. "You feeling all right?"
Turning, she saw Danny Hebert, standing next to Sarah Pelham. Vista, in full costume, stood next to them. Sarah stepped forward and hugged Vicky; she still had smears of blood on her costume that no doubt matched those on Vicky's.
"Yeah, I am now," Vicky confirmed. "Thanks for the save. She had me on the ropes, once she figured out the one-two punch."
Sarah nodded. "I thought as much. I'm just glad you're alive."
Vicky tilted her head toward where Amy was leaning against the blonde.
Fairly certain that's Tattletale. At that moment, the girl looked up, directly into her eyes. A fox-like grin made that identification certain. She looked away.
"Thanks to Amy, I take it?" she asked, somewhat belatedly.
Danny nodded. "Thanks to Amy. I got on to Vista, and she was giving us the express route into the city so that Amy could deal with Crawler, when Sarah called up. I answered, and Sarah dropped out of the sky, carrying you. You were in a pretty bad way."
Vicky nodded. "I remember. The rest of the Nine?"
He smiled, very slightly. "They attacked Winslow. They're now in custody, or dead."
Sarah nodded. "I'm not proud of what I had to do. What
we had to do. But if we'd given Shatterbird a fair chance, she would have taken us all down."
Vicky nodded. "I get that. Not arguing."
Vista stepped forward. "It's a big choice, to take a life. But in any case, they would have done the same. They were an S-class threat."
Vicky swallowed. "Did ... did many people die?"
Vista nodded. "A dozen or so, on the Protectorate base. One PRT guard was killed here."
Vicky's shoulders slumped. "Damn."
Sarah gave Vicky a squeeze. "It could have been a lot worse."
Vista shaded her eyes as she watched the techs box up Crawler. "It's kind of funny, in a macabre sort of way."
"What is?" asked Danny.
She smiled grimly. "They came to Brockton Bay to take out the Samaritans. It really didn't go well for them."
Danny nodded. "Ain't that the truth."
Sarah turned to Danny. "Which begs the question."
"Yeah?"
"Does this make the Samaritans an S-class team?"
End of Part Twenty-Two
Part Twenty-Three
