Path to Munchies (Worm AU)

[Merle Corey]

First things first: This is an omake collection, taking place at various times throughout the story. Some of this is canon compliant, some is not; I specify before each segment to minimize confusion.

Second: Taylor doesn't directly appear in any of these. These are things that happen in the background because of her actions, some more directly than others.

---

This first scene is based on what would have been part of the 5th of the original PtM snippets. I had a long scene with Lisa and Brian doing a planning session on what to do after Coil's death. The biggest problem I had with it was mood whiplash – not much in the way of humor and a bit too much of a downer followed by a bit too much shiny happiness.

I think this scene is quite a bit smoother overall, but the original will appear below it in a spoiler.

This is canon-compliant, set just after Path to Cinnamon Rolls.

---

Lisa Wilbourn – Monday, January 17 – 12:30 PM

"Thanks for meeting with me on short notice." I smile awkwardly at the others, knowing this is likely to be the last time I see most of them.

Alec shrugs at me. "You brought lunch. Good sandwiches, by the way. I didn't even know there was anywhere to get poutine around here. New shop?"

"Something like that. But important news first: Our boss flipped, and he's singing like a canary."

Alec and Rachel seem mostly indifferent, likely not realizing the long term issues with that yet. Brian just… he deflates. He had too much riding on this, got too invested.

I read the letter to them with appropriately dramatic tone, then play the recording of Coil's confrontation as a follow up.

By the time it's done, Rachel is still indifferent, but Alec is howling with laughter. "Piggot? Seriously?"

Brian, however, is enraged. "So. Now we know just how much he appreciated our success. Fucking Lung." He pauses, closes his eyes, and takes a few deep breaths. "Right. Alright. So just how fucked are we?"

"Depends on whether we can get ahead of it." To emphasize my point, I start playing the recording of his confession that Taylor snagged for me. Listening to Coil detail everything he's done will be helpful background noise for this next part.

"Get ahead…?" He pauses, listening to Coil go on and on. "Christ, you're talking about having us flip too!?"

"On May 17, 2010, I assigned my mercenaries to hold a young runaway, a Thinker, at gunpoint. I offered her the choice between dying immediately and serving me. She goes by Tattletale now. She attempted to escape repeatedly, but the efforts have trickled off in recent months. I believe she had resigned herself to her fate, but expect that she would have gladly turned on me given opportunity."​

Huh. I didn't know Alec was even capable of feeling sympathetic. Sees it as a parallel to the situation with his father. Expects me to run. Is preparing to run. Is considering whether it would be worth running as a team. I shake my head at him. "Hold that thought, there may be a better option." Turning my attention back to Brian, I add, "You chose this Brian, I didn't. But yeah, I'm talking about flipping."

He's just staring at me, horrified. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"Because he would have killed her if she'd even hinted at it." Seriously, when did Alec get this insightful?

Still, I nod. "He's right. Any time I started to move, one of his mercs would conveniently show up as a friendly reminder. Took me a while to figure out enough about how to work around his power. I had to move in small steps and make plans over the course of months instead of days or weeks."

"His power…?"

"Precog. Sort of. Lets him make the best of two decisions. Doesn't matter right now, anyway." I turn to Alec, delivering the first of the talking points that Taylor gave me. "The PRT would fall all over themselves to get detailed intelligence on your father."

He snorts. "Right, because the heroes are going to be all kinds of excited to help…"

"You wouldn't be the first or the worst." I'm not sure what Taylor knows, but she was positive about that much. I knew about Assault, of course, but I hadn't realized how flexible they could be. Then again, I suppose everything hints at it – the Truce especially, but even the way they play softball with almost everyone.

"You're serious." He leans back, thoughtful. "You think they could actually…?"

I nod again. "Yeah, I figure they'd probably put you in Vegas – that's their…"

"Vegas?" He interrupts. "Sold." He gets up, unplugs the game console, and carries it off towards his room. "I've got a few things I want to take with. Later, losers."

I stare after him, then glance suspiciously at the poutine. Completely normal. No drugs. Not influencing decisions. Right, I know the power of the right words at the right time, but that's still damn impressive. Three sentences. Three fucking sentences to convince one of Heartbreaker's children to turn hero. Well, hero-ish.

Now I get to do it to Rachel. Turning to her, I begin the second talking point. "The murder charge was their attempt to prove dominance. They wanted to make you part of their team, but didn't realize you were strong enough to build your own pack."

She frowns at me. "You never make that much sense."

What?! But Taylor said…

She continues, "You've been talking to the new girl. She told you how to talk to me."

I blanch. Shit, shit, shit. "Uh… Yeah. She's the one who warned me about Coil…"

She nods, cutting me off to ask, "The dogs will be safe?"

"…what?"

"My dogs," she snarls at me. Impatient. Annoyed that I don't understand. "This is what I need to do to keep them safe?"

"…yes?"

She nods again and heads towards the door. A sharp whistle summons Judas, Brutus, and Angelica from where they were napping.

Brian and I both stare after her. After she leaves, he turns his attention back to me. "What the hell was that?"

"That girl is fucking scary, that's what that was."

"Rachel?"

"No, Taylor."

He sighs. "Yes, of course. Taylor."

"Sorry. She's the new girl, the one who took Hookwolf out Saturday night."

"Damn it, Lisa, that's not how it works. Even if you've figured out who she is…"

"What? No, seriously, she showed up at my apartment in her civvies this morning and introduced herself. I don't even know if she has a cape name yet."

He glares at me. "Right, the new hero just coincidentally showed up at the apartment of one of Coil's people to say hello."

I nod agreeably, adding, "And she brought me breakfast." Hey, if he's going to be a dick about it, I can give as good as I get.

There's an audible smack as his palm meets his forehead. I smile cheerfully; I've definitely still got it.

Finally, Brian looks at me again. "So, how long?"

It only takes me a second to understand, then I start laughing. "You think I was feeding her info? She triggered two fucking weeks ago, she just noticed Coil yesterday."

He stares at me for a minute, trying to decide if I'm playing him.

"Brian, I swear, I have always played straight with you. Yes, I'd happily carve Coil's heart out with a rusty nail, but I have never acted against the team. I worked with her this morning to find the best way out for us."

He slumps back into the couch. "Christ, this is such a fuck up. So, what, she just decided to help us out of the goodness of her heart?"

I sigh. "No, because I asked. She knew about my situation and wanted my help…" I trail off, suddenly realizing the truth. "Fuck me, she didn't need my help, she could've done it all herself. She wanted… Huh." She kept me so off balance that I didn't even notice until now. I shake my head. "Anyway, she basically didn't care either way about the rest of the team. I asked her for help because she could guarantee the best outcome."

"Guarantee how?"

"She's the best damn precog I've ever heard of. She basically takes her desired outcome and makes it a sure thing."

He rolls his eyes. "Come on, that can't be that powerful…"

I interrupt, "She took Hookwolf down in less than two minutes. She's a Thinker, not a Brute."

"So, what, like Uber? She gets skills?"

"Yes. No. Fuck." I think it over, looking for a good way to explain it. "She told me this whole thing. She figured out Coil's plan while she was making breakfast yesterday, then set things in motion for today. Without saying a word to him, without coming near him, she completely shattered him psychologically and got him to turn himself in."

Brian shrugs, "Alright, and?"

I wave at my phone. "Listen to him. No, really listen. He thinks this was his own goddamn idea."

He stares at my phone. "Jesus Christ, Lisa. That sounds more like a Master power. Are you…?"

I snort. "She's not a Master, I'm 100% sure." I blink. That's it – that's how I need to explain it. "Ok, look. Anything she wants is completely guaranteed to happen. Anything she needs to do, she can. Any skills she needs to have, she has them. Anything she needs to know, she knows. It's only a question of time and effort to make it happen."

He studies me for a moment before nodding. "Alright. So you asked for her help…?"

"To get the best possible outcome for us, yes. Happy, healthy, safe, free."

He sighs. "Fine. You know I'm in this for my sister. What do I need to do?"

Smirking, I tell him, "Get a job, you fucking slacker." Hey, she told me what to say, not how to say it.

"Oh, fuck you, Lisa. What am I supposed to do, join the Wards? Their money gets tied up in a trust fund…"

I roll my eyes. "You're about to turn 18, jackass. Between the time to sort out your probation, the time to get you prepared, and the need to rebrand you in another city, you'll be going straight into the Protectorate."

"I can't leave Brockton Bay, they won't let me take Aisha…"

"Your father has custody, technically of both of you. The PRT will pay to relocate your family and help your dad look for a new job. That also neatly keeps your sister well away from your mother. When the time comes, they'll probably even help transfer custody to you. They'll definitely smooth things over to make sure she stays with your dad when you move."

"It… No, come on, it can't be that simple…"

"It really is. Believe me, I know it's a little disorienting."

He shakes his head. "There's no way they'll go for it, I mean…"

"On June 22, 2010, I instructed Tattletale to begin assembling a team. I provided her with dossiers of several teenage parahumans that I felt would be easily manipulated into joining a villain team. I recommended Grue for the leadership role because his sense of responsibility would tie him to the team regardless of how their assigned jobs escalated, as long as I didn't force them to do too much too quickly."​

I smirk. "See? You even have a nice reference from your previous employer. Good leader, very responsible."

He mutters something under his breath, slumping back again. "I give up. How do I do this?"

Spoiler: Original PtM 5 Fragment

This is set shortly after PtM 4 and is completely non-canon to the full length Path to Munchies. It was originally written over two years ago, shortly after PtM 4 was finished; I continued poking at it until shortly before starting the rewrite. The eagle eyed will note bits and phrases that got used elsewhere in the rewrite.

---

Brian Laborn – Thursday night


"Thanks for stopping by. How bad is it?" Lisa looks awful. Probably hasn't slept since she found out, too busy playing shell games with our former benefactor's assets. Sporting a killer migraine, too, no doubt.

She shrugs. "Which part? Money? Financially, we'll be in great shape. I've got most of his liquid assets shuffling, wanted to keep it reasonably untraceable. It'll be another few days before I'm satisfied that it's safe to touch, then I'll split it between us, equal shares. I want to give a generous tip to my informant, too, but I'll take that out of my portion.

"Speaking of expenses, did you want to keep the mercs? Some were willing to stay on as long as they keep getting paid, others exercised the exit clause and are off doing whatever mercs do between contracts." She twitches. Too unfocused, probably just got an answer from her power that she neither meant to ask nor wanted to know.

Refocusing on the conversation, I have to ask. "We have mercs? Were they supporting us? Part of a longer term plan?"

She blinks at me, confused, then her expression clears. "Sorry, it's been a crazy day, I didn't realize I hadn't said. Coil. We were working for Coil, and they were his mercs. We were indirectly coordinating at times. He'd field them as a distraction for one of our jobs, or sometimes we were the distraction for theirs. But it's not like he was getting ready to send us out with a squad to hit a Merchant drug house or anything. They were basically his answer to matching manpower with the other gangs. In short, we were more plausible deniability for each other than coworkers."

"Any reason to keep them, then? Sounds like they're just draining our money and not particularly loyal to us."

"We can cover it for now, and I didn't want to change anything before talking to you. I figured you'd want to be in on deciding where things go from here. Keeping the mercs we have is easier than finding new ones on short notice, but ending their contracts is simple enough."

"Alright, thanks. I'm not sure we can use them, but yeah, I'll think it over. Any other assets worth mentioning?"

"A small arsenal of tinkertech weapons. I suggest checking to see if we can sell them back or dispose of them, not the kind of thing we want to hold on to in the long run unless we're keeping the mercs and want to outfit them to fight capes." She pauses, then shoots me that irritating smirk. "Wanna conquer the city?"

I groan. "No, can't say that I'd planned on becoming the warlord of Brockton Bay when I got up this morning."

She nods agreeably. "Sure, no problem. Moving on, we have one half-finished James Bond villain lair..."

I just look at her.

"No, I'm serious. This is some prime B-movie villain real estate. Hidden vaults, torture chambers, death traps with lasers. No sharks with frickin' laser beams, but at least two rooms that would make suitable habitats for them. Oh, and a self-destruct mechanism that would put a way-too-large crater in the city if it ever goes off, plus a secondary in case the first one fails…"

This isn't remotely amusing.

"I'm not remotely joking."

Ok, I'm starting to get creeped out. "Seriously?"

All hint of amusement is gone from her expression. "Yes, I'm dead serious. Yes, our boss was assembling a secret underground supervillain lair, apparently just because he could. He was literally a monocle and a white persian cat away from being a Bond villain. I suggest sending a map and blueprints to the PRT and letting them deal with cleaning it up."

"I… He… What the fuck?"

She continues mumbling distractedly. "Or we could rent it out to LARPers. Might provide a steady cash flow, downgrade the lethal traps to lethal looking, pull out the self-destruct..."

I take a moment to try to regain my equilibrium. "Ok. Right, yeah, dump it on the PRT. Not something I want to deal with. Or think about. Can you get them interested without getting it linked back to us?"

She frowns, thinking it over for a minute. "Best bet would be to drop them a tip, let them know that Coil has gone missing. Link the lair to that, get them investigating the whole thing."

"We want to be really careful with that, make sure they don't link us to him. We don't want them thinking we had something to do with his disappearance."

She bobs her head back and forth for a moment, considering. "Yeah, you're probably right. Don't want to make anyone think we killed him."

Something about the way she said that bothers me, but I can't put my finger on what. "Right. So where do we stand on work?"

"Not so good. Without Coil, we're not going to be nearly as smooth. We're really going to want to drop the casino job. Not postpone, drop."

"Wait, what? How much support were we actually getting from him? Aside from the money and intel?"

She grins. "Plaid." Damn it, she's doing it deliberately now. "It's hard to say. My informant, the one who tipped me off about his accident? She gave me a broad overview of how his power worked, and I'm still puzzling through all the implications."

I consider that for a moment. "He did have a reputation as a slippery bastard. What do you know for sure?"

"His power basically let him choose the best of two decisions, strictly an 'A or B' setup." She snickers at that, but I'm missing the joke. "So let's say we were waiting to do a job, the options are basically 'Start' and 'Don't start,' right? He could tell if the job would work before we started, and give us the go/no-go accordingly."

"Ok, that makes sense, especially with how many jobs got delayed or cancelled at the last minute."

"Exactly. But other times, he may have been using his power or not. When Shadow Stalker shot you, maybe the best result was you getting wounded instead of dead. Maybe he decided that you getting shot wasn't important. Maybe he didn't look far enough ahead and never knew you'd get shot. Maybe he didn't use his power for us at all that night."

I frown and prompt her to continue. "But he was supporting us with his power...?"

She wiggles her hand. "Sometimes yes, definitely. Sometimes not and played it as if he had, certainly. Sometimes not due to using it for something else, probably."

"Damn, so the fix was in."

"Yep, 'Undersiders, masters of escape' is entirely due to Coil wanting us to have that rep. If he'd wanted us to look strictly amateur hour, he could've done that, too. Hitting the casino without him means picking a fight with Lung without a safety net."

That… Okay, yeah, that would be a bad idea. Worse, with Coil cherry picking our successes, we're not nearly as good at this as I'd believed. "Alright, so we're basically back to square one. Working together as a team, setting up a clear chain of command, shoot for lower profile targets until we…" I trail off as she shakes her head.

"The team is pretty much done. It was a fun run, but it's over."

The hell? "What, just because he's not paying us any more, you're calling it quits? We've got his money, you're pretty good with intel, what's the problem?"

She studies me intently for a moment. Just as it starts getting awkward, she nods decisively. "He recruited me at gunpoint, Brian. Literally. I was pretty much living hand to mouth, lifting wallets and pillaging ATMs. He had a couple of his thugs corner me in an alley. I was given a choice between working for him and being dead."

I return the scrutiny. I'm no Thinker, but I know people, and I'm pretty damn sure she's not playing me. "Shit, Lisa. I never guessed. Why didn't you say anything? I would've..."

Shaking her head again, she cuts me off. "He'd have known, or found out. Every time I tried anything direct, any time I tried to run, to slip the leash, they'd be waiting for me. Sometimes it was just little reminders that he was in charge, but the more direct I was, the more direct he was. I didn't want to drag you into that, he would not have hesitated to use Aisha against you."

"I…" I pause, close my eyes, take a couple of deep breaths. Really consider everything she's been saying. "He was a real piece of work, wasn't he?"

She looks… I don't think I've ever seen her like this. Tired. Drained. Fragile. "He really was."

"He was never going to help me get custody."

She shrugs. "If it came with a way to tie you even closer, he might've. But no, probably not. Always another delay, just a minor nuisance that he'd be more than happy to help you work through."

"Fuck. Just… Fuck. The last eight months, we've been, what, patsies?"

"Eh, not entirely. We were the only capes working directly for him. Given time, we might have eventually become his enforcers. Moved up in his organization."

I smile grimly. "Right, moving up in the organization of, as you put it, a Bond villain. Don't they have a habit of shooting their own people?"

She smirks, then suddenly goes pale and peaky. Next instant, she goes running for the bathroom and I hear her being violently ill. I give her a moment, then follow when I hear the water running.

I knock quietly on the frame of the open door. "Lis? You alright?"

She's standing over the sink, splashing cold water on her face, and begins muttering quietly. "Not us. Not yet. Too valuable. Not valuable, just not easily replaced."

What set her off? I was just joking about… Oh, fuck no. "Who? When?"

She glances towards me in the mirror, but her gaze is distant. "Two choices. Anyone he wanted. Any time he felt like it. I'm about seventy percent sure he never did anything to us. Didn't want to risk anything going wrong. But every time I pissed him off..."

I shiver involuntarily. What kind of monster did I almost blindly chain myself to? "Right. So, here's what I want you to do..."

She tries to interrupt. "Brian, I…"

"No, hear me out. Get rid of the mercs. Get rid of the base. Everything he ever did, tear it down, burn it, scatter the ashes, and salt the earth. Pay your informant off the top, she might have only passed the news, but she did us a real solid. Also, take a full share of the money, donate it to anyone and everyone that'll really make a difference, make the world a little bit better in every way that he made it worse just by living in it."

She's still looking shaky and more than a bit watery, but she's also got the brightest, most sincere smile I've ever seen on her face. "You're a good man, Brian."

"I'm really not. I've let myself get caught up in all this, when I should've been focusing on my sister. This thing with Coil, it's a wakeup call. I need to do better, to be better. With this windfall, we have a chance here, this kind of thing isn't even once in a lifetime. All of us, we need to grab it, make the most of it."

"Rachel and Alec..."

"Yeah, she's going to need…" I pause, considering. "Wait, Rachel and Alec?"

She flinches. "Sorry, Alec's background is messy. Worse than "literally recruited at gunpoint" messy."

I sigh. "You're just the bearer of all kinds of wonderful news today, aren't you."[/hr]

---

This is a possibly canonical scene, set between Path to Cotton Candy and Path to Cookies, redux. More on why it's only possible in the note after the scene.

---

Citrine – Saturday, March 5 – 8:30 PM

I enter the office promptly when summoned, then wait patiently for my instructions. Accord is watching something intently on his computer.

He clicks a button and the large wall display springs to life, showing a teenaged girl with a particularly lovely mask. "I want her."

It is by pure force of will that I prevent myself from reacting. "Of course, sir."

"Look at her. She transforms chaos into pure, beautiful order. Arrange for one of our assets to make contact and extend an offer. She must be willing, I cannot emphasize this enough. I will not have her coerced."

I refrain from shuddering. I've not seen this side of him, never a hint of this kind of interest, but I dare not question him. "I will do so. What terms shall we offer?"

He pauses, considering. "I am a reasonable man. She is young, presumably still in school. That will limit both her availability and the amount of time she would be able to indulge in mutually pleasurable activities."

"Naturally, sir." Is this why…? Am I too old?

"A single meal on a weekend evening of her choice. We will provide the facilities and any ingredients she requires. We will offer $10,000 when she provides the menu and another $10,000 on satisfactory completion of the meal. Should it be agreeable, we will move forward with a long term arrangement."

I glance at the screen again, suddenly realizing that this is that silly food cape in Brockton Bay. He's talking about having her cook his goddamn dinner. It's all I can do to stop a relieved sigh.

"Yes, sir. I will initiate contact and keep you appraised of the proposed schedule."

Spoiler: Notes

This is more of a splash effect scene; something Taylor had no idea could happen, but was kind of inevitable given her ability to create the perfect dining experience combined with doing her cooking livestream. I haven't tied this into a solid plotline yet, and it could go anywhere from polite refusal to leaving Accord starving to death because he couldn't bring himself to eat the perfect meal, nor the imperfect alternatives after seeing the perfect meal.

I didn't assign a random "real" name to Citrine, mostly because there's not enough material here to strongly indicate who she is from context.

This segment could come back at a later date if I ever develop a plot for it – either as it appears here or revised to fit whatever I envision for it.

---

This is a non-canon scene, set in the same continuity as Path to Brownies and Path to Donuts. This takes place a week after the great road trip from Donuts.

---

Amy Dallon - Saturday, March 19 - 7:00 AM

"Hey, Ames, didn't you bring a new batch of brownies home for the weekend?" Victoria is rummaging through the fridge, scavenging for food since we're the only ones up.

I stare at her blearily. "It's way too early for that much sugar. At least wait until lunch." I need my coffee and a cigarette. At least I have a shot at the coffee. I fumble some grounds into the filter and fill the reservoir.

She turns back to me, looking confused. "Huh? Oh, no, I wasn't going to eat one now, it's just, there aren't any."

Ah, adrenaline. Always a decent substitute for caffeine. "They're gone?!"

She shrugs. "Or at least not in the fridge any more. Maybe Mom and Dad…"

Her speculation is cut off by Mark strutting into the kitchen, humming. The humming stops when he notices us, but the sheer level of perkiness carries through. "Good morning, girls! You're both up bright and early for a Saturday. Oh, you've got the coffee started already? Great! Hey, who wants pancakes?"

Victoria, clearly in shock, mumbles something that he takes as an affirmative. I know what I need to do. I can't guarantee detection of a Master effect, but I can definitely tell if something is off with his biochemistry. Well, more off.

"Sure, Mark, that sounds wonderful. Here, let me give you hand." I take the griddle out of his hands and set it on the stove, brushing my arm against his. It's just a split second, but enough to give me a snapshot impression. Oxytocin levels spiked, ditto dopamines. Dehydration. Buildup of lactic acid in his muscles, a bit of mild strain as well. It's like he's been enthusiastically working out all… night…

Oh God. I did not need to know that. Just when I think the morning can't get any more awkward, though, Carol leaps into the kitchen.

"Halt, evildoer! What nefarious deeds are you plotting…" She notices us and actually blushes. "Whoops. Good morning, girls!" She's wearing her old Brigade era costume, only not the one we've seen in pictures. This is a tad more… revealing. Not obscene, just more like a one piece swimsuit. Definitely not practical for field use, but it looks surprisingly good on her.

No. No, I did not just think that. Damn it, brain.

"Mom…?" Victoria looks so lost.

Mark hums merrily while preparing the batter. "Good morning, hon. Didn't expect you out of the shower for a few more minutes."

"Mmm. What can I say, I woke up hungry," she purrs. "I just wanted to get cleaned up first."

You can see exactly when Victoria makes the connection. In spite of that, she can't stop herself from asking, "Mom, Dad…?"

Carol turns her attention to her. "Oh, Victoria, while I'm thinking about it? Thank you for the brownies, though I'm afraid we finished them all last night. We were just going to have a couple, but we got to talking about the old days, and well…" She draws her into a hug.

Victoria makes a squeaking noise and points at me.

Carol figures out her meaning easily enough, releasing her and drawing me into a hug instead. "I'm sorry, Amy. My mistake, I had just assumed…" She sighs, then presses on, "You're such a good girl, and I feel like I'm never giving you credit for all that you do. Thank you for bringing dessert. They really were wonderful."

I hug her back reflexively, forcing myself not to panic. I'm not sure I can remember the last time she willingly touched me, much less initiated a hug. Unsurprisingly, she shows all the same… secondary symptoms as Mark. And… Oh God, her wrists are chafed, too. But all that aside, she actually seems to mean it, or at least, she's not lying or anything. "You're, uh. You're welcome. A friend of mine baked them, I'm glad you enjoyed them." I step back awkwardly and excuse myself. "If we're going to do a family breakfast, I should get washed up."

Carol glances down at herself and blushes again. "Yes, I should probably get changed as well."

I scramble for the relative safety of my room and whip out my phone to send a text.

WTF was in those brownies?

I get the reply in seconds.

Family bonding! ​

I stare blankly at my phone. That's… What? Wait, no, I guess from a certain perspective. But still…

Wrong word?

Oh. Oh, ew.
Uh… Family bonding now that your parents are feeling… Uh… Mellow?​

Good, as long as I'm not suffering alone.

Sorry?​

I wash up quickly, but when I get back to my bedroom to finish dressing, there's another message waiting for me.

Whatever you do, do NOT acknowledge the wig.​

...I don't want to know.

You really don't. Just ignore it, pretend it doesn't exist. You'll be much happier.​

On that ominous note, I brace myself for family breakfast. The fact that Taylor has started messaging me like she does Lisa barely registers.

Carol and Mark are murmuring quietly in the kitchen, but there's no sign of Victoria yet. Rather than interrupt them, I just grab the stack of dishes from the counter and begin setting the table.

Mark has just emerged with a platter bearing an unreasonably large stack of pancakes when Victoria comes flying down the stairs – figuratively, for a change.

"Oh my God, Ames, check this out, this is so awesome! Mom, why didn't you tell me you got a wig done like Amy's hair? Are we going to do a whole costume mix-up thing?"

Remembering Taylor's words, I do not turn to look. I don't want to see this. If I don't see it, I don't have to acknowledge it.

Carol has gone incredibly red, while Mark has gone completely pale. In a steely tone, she asks, "Mark, dear, did you forget to put something away?"

He sets the platter down and begins corralling Victoria back up the stairs. "Come on, let's just put that back where it belongs, alright?"

Carol and I sit in an awkward silence for a moment. Hesitantly she starts trying to explain, "It's not actually your…"

I arch an eyebrow at her and she trails off. "Victoria is obviously not quite awake yet and is just confused. I'm sure it was a perfectly reasonable misunderstanding."

She stares at me as if she's truly seeing me for the first time. Finally, she gives me a small smile and a nod. "Yes, I suppose it was at that."

We eye each other for a moment before she lets out a small huff of laughter. I try to resist for a moment, but the end result is me letting off a laughing snort. By the time Victoria and Mark make it back downstairs, I've got my face covered with my hands as I laugh hysterically and Carol has lain her head across her arms on the table, cackling gleefully.

Spoiler

Don't look at me, weird crap bubbles up out of my brain sometimes.

 

[Merle Corey]

An omake inspired by this post over at SB.

Carol Dallon – October 4, 2003 – 3:30 PM

Taking the girls shopping for Halloween costumes is always such a strange experience. I've spent so much of my time wearing a costume – fighting in a costume – that the idea of wearing one for fun is almost… alien.

And these seem so flimsy. Cheap plastics, thin vinyl, they'd go to pieces the first time…

I have to consciously stop that line of thought. These costumes aren't meant for combat, they're just children's toys.

Still, Victoria is so excited about dressing up, and I can't deny her anything. Amelia seems less enthused, but she's a quiet little thing. Some days I think she'd be perfectly content to do nothing but follow along in Victoria's wake.

The fact that Victoria absolutely adores her has made the last three years so much easier than they might have been. I still have no idea how I let Sarah talk me into adopting her…

"Momma, look! We found the perfect costume for Amy!"

"What did you find, girls?" I turn to look, and see a figure from my nightmares. I move.

The next thing I know, Victoria is desperately pulling on my arm, crying. "No, please! We're sorry, Momma, we're sorry!"

It's plastic, not bone. It's not him. She might be his daughter, but this… I release the cudgel I'd formed instinctively, allowing it to disappear. I stand up, then pick her up and set her back on her feet.

I take the cheap, silly plastic mask from her. I pick my sobbing daughter up, letting her cling to me and cry into my shoulder. I look down at Amelia. She looks up at me with wide, terrified eyes.

"Amelia… This is the mask of a very bad man. You should never wear such a thing. Where did you even find this?"

Wordlessly, she points towards the back of the store. I carry my daughter in the indicated direction.

What I see disgusts me. Allfather. Kaiser. Iron Rain. Various members of the Teeth. Not by name, of course, wouldn't want anyone to think they're entitled to royalties, but the similarities are unmistakable.

And, of course, Marquis. Or, as the sign claims, "Lord of Bones." A full shelf of them, complete with wigs. Wigs that look suspiciously like Amelia's hair. No wonder the girls thought it was the perfect costume; it looks like she was born to wear it, after all.

I wonder again if there's any real hope, if there's any chance we can teach her to be a hero.

Putting the mask back on the shelf, I sigh. "No villains, girls. Why don't we go get some ice cream, then you can look for another costume after we're done. Alright?"

I feel Victoria nod against me and head towards the door, Amelia following along quietly.

 

[Merle Corey]

This is all non-canon; QQ apparently lacks the "Apocrypha" threadmark category.

This is best summarized as an entire dropped plotline. The first piece is... bleh. It doesn't really add anything to the story, but I still like the interaction between the characters. The fourth piece is the second of a trilogy of "People watching Taylor's show," the first having been the Accord snippet; not a lot of places to take this one, but again, it was an inevitable reaction. The second, third, and fifth piece are the defunct lead-in to a sequel that isn't happening. It just failed to gel into a cohesive story for me; too much foreground drama/background humor instead of the reverse.

More notes after the story.

---

Colin Wallis – Monday, January 17 – 3:30 PM

My email chimes just as I have a free moment. A brief glance at the sender tells me that in light of today's ongoing events, I can't afford to ignore it.

From: ScrewCoil[at]anonmail.org
Subject: Action items (1/2)

Thought you might find these interesting. Nothing you have to act on, but you'll probably want to.

<3, Tt​

Tattletale. Just as he predicted, taking the first opportunity to betray him. Unsurprising, assuming his story is accurate.

Two attachments, compressed. They've already passed initial screening to get this far, but I'm still cautious – I open them in an isolated sandbox.

The first is an annotated blueprint of… I massage my temples tiredly. Of course Calvert was building an underground base. Why not? The notes suggest that it's months from completion. Perhaps most importantly, they suggest that the self-destruct hasn't been enabled. I'll hand this over to Director Piggot to deal with. While concerning, it doesn't require an immediate response.

The second attachment is slightly more time sensitive; dossiers on all of Calvert's mercenaries. Outstanding warrants, known activities, bodycam footage – all useful for building a case against them. Perhaps most importantly, their expected movements for the next week – which will run and how they'll travel; which will linger in the area; which are likely to attempt to sell their services to the other gangs.

Given their armaments, Protectorate assistance would likely be required if we decide to apprehend them. Her projections suggest we have at least 24 hours before they begin to scatter.

I lean back, close my eyes, and consider the situation. If Calvert was honest, then she was under duress, forced into villainy the same way so many young Tinkers are. An innocent taking the first available chance to strike back at her captor.

If Calvert was lying, this is the next move in whatever long con required him to be captured. Given the… circumstances, though, it seems unlikely. Why maneuver for escape when he's the one who surrendered in the first place? Why identify Tattletale as a victim and none of the other Undersiders? Why identify the Undersiders at all, given that we'd never attached them to Coil previously?

While I'm deciding how to react, my email chimes again.

Subject: Action Items (2/2)

You'll definitely want to do something about these. If you have any questions, this address will be valid for the next 48 hours. I'll answer what I can, though there may be a delay as I'm currently busy celebrating my freedom.

<3, Tt​

I transfer these attachments to a new sandbox, just in case.

The first is… A password list? I skim through; it seems to be every piece of account information that Calvert had for everything – PINs for multiple phones, online banking credentials, PRT credentials, email account info, encryption keys… All the information we'd need to access all his records. If accurate, this will be a tremendous help in identifying everything he's been involved in.

If it's accurate.

The second list is chilling. Names. Positions. Leverage used; bribery and blackmail are common, but some are advancing their personal or political agenda. Transaction history. Who they think they're reporting to. What information they've been providing.

PRT personnel. BBPD personnel. People in every organization from the mayor's office to the dockworkers association. She even highlighted the one who leaked Calvert's arrest, presumably the way she found out in the first place.

She's right, damn it. We can't afford to ignore this, even if it means playing into some convoluted plot.

I send back a one word response: Why?

I'm putting the final touches on my report when her reply comes in.

A lot of reasons. Because I can. Because I hate him. Because he has all this coming and more. Because I want to see everything he ever did torn down. Because I don't want to give anyone else a chance to pick up where he left off. Because this is the second fucking time someone has tried to use me for my power, and I won't let there be a third.

And yeah, maybe a little because I didn't want this. I'm no angel, but I never wanted to see the city burn.​

At least she's consistent, but we'll need to vet everything thoroughly. I finish my report and get ready to take it downtown when a thought occurs to me. I send another message:

Anything we can do about the first time?

I'm on my bike when her response comes back.

Ha, I wish. Not likely.

I'm retiring, but I might be willing to provide helpful advice once in a while. Consider this my C.V.​

Given that Quinn Calle is in town to represent her teammates, I doubt it's a legal matter – it's unlikely she believes her personal situation is less tenable than one of Nikos Vasil's children and I'm disinclined to think she's fleeing more serious charges than Rachel Lindt.

No, I suspect she's being honest and intends to keep a lower profile. She wouldn't be the first Thinker to work as an information broker.

If the Director accepts her… peace offering, if it's accurate, she'll likely be given a certain amount of leeway. Perhaps not full amnesty since we don't know her history, but we should be able to wipe out anything she did while under Calvert's influence. Beyond that, we can afford to take a wait and see approach. Better good relations with a rogue than another active villain.

If her information does pan out, I'll begin a quiet investigation into her background. At the very least, it should provide some insight into dealing with her. If it presents an opportunity to help her, convince her to join…? All the better.

---

Melanie Fitts – Sunday, March 20 – 12:30 PM EST

I hadn't expected the girl to come through on what had seemed an idle promise. Honestly, I'd considered the publicity to be sufficient payment. The box of apple turnovers, Elle's favorite, waiting outside my door says otherwise.

My office door.

As far as I can tell, nobody has been in the club. There's definitely nothing on the cameras, but that package wasn't there when I came in this morning. I probably wouldn't have found it for hours if I hadn't decided to head down to the kitchen to scrounge some lunch.

They're still warm, too. I look around again, carefully, but nothing else is out of place. I nudge the box back into my office and close the door. I check the ceiling in a fit of paranoia; nothing.

Inside the box – aside from the delicious smelling pastries – is an envelope containing a brief note and a thumb drive.

Everything we could lay our hands on about Gregor's and Newter's backgrounds, as promised.​

At worst, this might be some kind of elaborate ruse by Tattletale, a pile of unverifiable Thinker ramblings. Screening it before calling the boys is just good sense. Don't want to get their hopes up only to dash them again.

The first hint that this is so much more than that is the sheer volume of information on the thumb drive.

Pictures. Medical files. Family histories. Records of their… home Earths? Just when I start to think it might be a scam after all, I get to the media files. Audio recordings, even video files, interviews from before and after the changes. Power testing. Psychological screening. Some of it is little better than torture. Skimming through, it becomes obvious that the amnesia wasn't inherent to the procedure…

I see the word "deviation," and my blood boils. Failed experiments, that's all they see them as, the bastards.

I pull out my phone and dial without taking my eyes from the screen. "Gregor? Get Newter and get up here. She actually delivered."

There's a moment of silence before he hesitantly asks, "There is… Useful information?"

I snort. "I don't think I could give you this much detail about my personal history."

He's quiet for a long moment. "I see. We will be up shortly."

I end the call and continue to skim the material. Seriously, who the hell is this girl and how did she manage to get this?

My phone chirps.

Don't ask. Seriously, they use at least one precog to maintain security.​

Fucking Thinkers. Drama queens, every one. Although, them having a precog would go a long way to explaining why all our leads keep drying up…

Damn it. God fucking damn it. We finally get some of the answers we've been looking for, and we're going to have to keep it completely locked down or they're going to be after us.

Not for much longer. The situation has changed. Keep an eye on the news.​

I grin savagely. Well now, that is promising. Here's to hoping they get what's coming to them.

Another file catches my eye on the laptop. "Consent." No. No. That's duress, those bastards. Damn them.

Gregor knows better than to call attention to me wiping my eyes when he walks in. By the time Newter arrives, the tissue is safely in the trash.

---

Fortuna – Saturday, March 19 – 9:30 PM

We're in mid-argument about what to do about the test subjects when the Door opens. I start to reach for my gun until I realize I have no direct Path to react to the person coming through.

There's only one person I can't see now. I relax, but still use my model to confirm.

I start to smile as she steps through, but it drops right off my face when I see what she's wearing.

"I brought dessert!"

Legend covers a laugh with a cough, while Alexandria settles for a smirk. Number Man merely looks on curiously; of course, he wasn't here back then.

Doctor Mother, though, practically crows with glee. "Look at you, is that… What am I saying, of course that's just like the school uniform Contessa used to wear. I need to get a picture…"

"No!" I cough, clearing my throat. "No pictures."

Taylor ignores me completely. "I didn't think I could pull off the suit and hat look just yet, but I thought this would do for my first trip to the secret clubhouse."

Oh crap, that was practically a declaration of war, and they don't see it. Before I can say anything, she shoots me a wink. Well. I suppose it's a question of whether I trust her… I can't narrow down what she's doing, I don't have enough information yet to model it. But everything considered, maybe I should wait to see how this plays out.

Alexandria is all too ready to dismiss her. "Amusing as this is, we're rather busy, Miss Hebert…" She trails off as Taylor reaches through another Door and retrieves… a pie?

Alexandria is staring at it as if she's seen a ghost. Number Man has at least picked up on the general tone and is looking increasingly amused.

Taylor smiles innocently at her. "The first piece is yours, of course. Ice cream?"

Without taking her gaze from it, she takes a bite. "This is… Ma-maw's? But…"

"Your grandmother's award winning bourbon pecan pie, yes. She died without ever sharing the recipe with anyone. You haven't had it since long before you went into the hospital." Casually, she adds, "Thought you might like the recipe," and flicks an index card to her.

The glimpse I catch isn't Taylor's handwriting; given Alexandria's reaction, I'm inclined to think it's her grandmother's.

Alexandria stares at it in silence.

As Taylor slices the pie for the rest of us, she continues, "Sometimes it's about first steps rather than complete solutions. Here's what I'd like to do, and if you think it's a good idea, you can decide on the best way to do it for all the rest…"

That's my girl. If you can't take it head on, come at it sideways.

---

Sabah Al-Amin – Saturday, March 19 – 8:30 PM

I can't stop watching her show.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not attracted to her. She's really, really not my type. Also, far too young.

Her power practically makes her a walking stereotype, but I can't hold that against her without being a hypocrite. She obviously loves what she does and it makes her shine, makes her stream far more engaging than you'd expect. I wish more people had that kind of passion for their work.

But she apparently brings that same passion to being a vigilante, and I don't understand that at all. Why take the risk? Why bother when she has such a huge, obvious disadvantage? She doesn't seem to be trying to advance any particular agenda, she just… I don't know, goes out and gets into fights?

With a sigh, I turn to my current project. Some kid got sick all over my gorilla today and I'm still not sure whether I can clean it. Maybe it'd be easier to just cut that segment out and patch it…? It won't be a perfect match either way, but now that I think about it, a deliberate patch is going to look much better than a stain or a faded area.

My attention is pulled back to my laptop again. I don't even like cooking, even if the pie looks delicious. But still…

What if I talked to her, got her help to do a segment on clothing? Design, repair, tailoring… Show people that it's not as hard as they think it is, just like she does with her cooking. Share a bit of my passion with the world.

An exchange of services? I could help with those grandiose outfits she seems to like so much. And if it helps me get a little more exposure, bring in a little more business… Well, there's nothing wrong with that, right?

---

Hannah Monroe – Saturday, March 19 – 5:30 AM

I knock on the door to Colin's lab and wait politely for an answer. I hadn't expected him to ask to see me first thing this morning, but at least it will give me an opportunity to ask a rather strange question – one that I certainly wasn't going to include in my report.

After a moment, the door slides open. I take it as the invitation it is and enter.

The lab itself is a little more disorderly than I'm used to seeing it, but I know Colin has been away a lot recently. Some kind of secret project; after the Nine and Ellisburg, I suspect someone has prioritized the elimination of some of the deadliest threats.

Colin is hunched over his computer, reading something attentively as he takes notes on his tablet. His beard is unkempt and in need of a trim; his hair is matted and greasy, as if he hasn't washed in days. His workspace is surrounded by several mostly empty mugs. This is… worrisome.

I decide to err on the side of casual, given that he's out of his armor. "Good morning, Colin. You wanted to see me?"

He finishes whatever he's writing, then picks up one of the mugs. With a grimace, he slams back its contents. Finally he turns to face me; his eyes are obviously bloodshot. "Hannah. Yes. Good morning…" He trails off, staring at me for a moment.

I give him a moment before prompting, "You asked to see me as soon as possible…?" I can't remember the last time I saw him this sleep deprived.

He startles as if suddenly waking up. "Yes. Yes, of course. I saw your report. Fête. You saw her last night." He pauses for a few seconds, then asks with strange intensity, "Did she give you a message?"

I blink, surprised. "As a matter of fact, yes. It's…" I trail off, considering again just how I want to phrase this.

As if reading my mind, he interjects, "Word for word, please."

"Alright," I say as I nod hesitantly. "The conversation was a bit strange, but it led to me asking her if I should ask you whether Scion is a giant space whale…"

He immediately leverages himself to his feet with his cane, shouting "Computer! Initiate security lockdown, authorization omega theta nine four two." As the lab seals itself and some kind of metal paneling extends across the walls, he begins awkwardly pacing around the lab. One of his devices begins emitting a soft, steady tone.

"Yes, of course. Still underestimating her. Some kind of total threat awareness." Glancing towards me, he adds, "She saved me. She knew to save me because I was needed to stop it. Because I needed to see, to learn about them."

"Colin, what are you talking about?" I ask nervously. My weapon shifts – .45; 12 gauge; P90. I force it back to a billy club.

He stops his pacing and closes his eyes. After several long seconds, he pins me down with another bloodshot stare. "Yes, for lack of better terminology, Scion was a giant space whale. One of the sources of powers, and a threat of incomprehensible scale."

Oh hell, Colin has completely lost it. "Colin, look, why don't you sit down…"

He limps over to his helmet and activates… a projector?

Oh.

"That… thing is Scion?"

"Was, yes. Rather, Scion was a projection and that was the controlling intelligence."

"That's the source… No, now that I'm looking, I can see it. But it barely looks like it did in the vision…"

He frowns, then nods decisively. "Of course, that's why she sent you to me. Your recall, you remember the trigger vision."

"Yes. I stopped talking about it a long time ago, when I realized nobody else…"

He waves off my explanation, "I understand." He plays with the controls on his tablet, changing the projected scene.

"Colin.... Is that String Theory?"

"Yes," he snarls. "The Birdcage is compromised. The PRT is compromised. The Protectorate is compromised."

As I see Alexandria talking to String Theory, as the Siberian escorts a man I don't recognize towards a portal, I find it hard to argue with the idea. I find my world fundamentally shifting again. "What…? Why…?"

Colin snorts. "I've barely begun putting it together. I said Scion was one of the sources. There were two…"

Almost under my breath, I murmur Tattletale's words. "But the Librarian shanked one like a little bitch…"

Colin's gaze snaps to me in an instant. "What."

I blindly grab a chair and drop into it. "Tattletale, last night. She said that…"

Colin sighs and sits down as well. "Another of Fête's roundabout messages. Strange bedfellows." He gestures towards the projection again, explaining, "She's correct, of course. There's a Thinker, you can barely catch a glimpse of her in the background here. Black suit, fedora."

I nod, seeing her. "No better angles?"

Shaking his head, Colin confirms, "She somehow managed to only appear with her back to the camera. She's the one; the Librarian, apparently." He pauses, watching the projection. "She was the one who developed the plan against the Nine, against Ellisburg, but she never spoke to us directly. I was so damn naive."

I watch the Librarian speak to Alexandria and a thought occurs to me. "Colin… Library of Alexandria."

He slumps tiredly. "Of course. It makes sense, considering…"

"Who is she? What does she want?"

"They have extrauniversal transport capabilities. She is apparently the keeper of the Library of Alexandria." He pauses, sighing. "Working on this last project, I met Tinkers from four other Earths. Two were as similar to ours as Aleph, but the other two… The separation must have happened hundreds of years ago. One came from a world where a unified British empire was still the dominant power, the other from a world where Napoleon had successfully held Europe and allowed the First French Empire to stabilize.

"None of them have Endbringers."

My blood runs cold as I realize where he's going.

"It's an invasion, Hannah, and they've been softening us up for decades."

Spoiler: Notes on what's not going to be PtM2

The fundamental problem is that this isn't a story I want to tell. It doesn't excite me; in fact, I have some real issues with it. Consider it a dead path, the ghost of what might have been.

In summary:

Colin has apparently been lining his helmet with tinfoil. He has a bunch of right pieces, but managed to assemble them into a convincingly wrong picture. He's convinced that Taylor saved him so that he can move against these extrauniversal invaders.

Broadly, the concept was that Colin & Hannah both go independent, with a running joke of Colin interpreting Taylor's random bullshit as some kind of oracular guidance. As implied in both Faultline's and Fortuna's segments, there was going to be a wikileaks-esque "leak" of Case 53 background data; "leaked" data regarding vial sales was going to start trickling out afterwards. Colin would be leading the charge to remove known collaborators from positions of power.

Assault was going to be very, very confused.

This would have been, in essence, Cauldron housekeeping. How do you clean up your conspiracy once its objectives are accomplished? You get someone who sincerely wants to tear it out by the roots and nudge them in the right direction.

Ultimately, I can't see (this) Taylor buying into this kind of deception. Not at all. And without Fête acting as Colin's guide against the tyrannical Librarian, this goes nowhere fast. It could probably be massaged into its own independent story, but it completely loses the whimsical tone of PtM.

I like whimsy. Conversely, I have plenty of drama in my life, I don't need extra servings.

On a different note, I've been wanting to throw that Librarian thing in for ages, but I ended up never having anything to do with it in PtM as I never managed to squeeze Becky into the plot. It fit rather nicely here as part of Colin's so-right-but-so-wrong conspiracy theory, so I set the stage with Lisa (before I nixed the whole thing).