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Recoil (a Worm fanfic)

Discussion in 'Creative Writing' started by Ack, Jan 13, 2015.

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  1. Ack

    Ack (Verified Ratbag) (Unverified Great Old One)

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    Well, he's a member of Andrea's mercs, and a damn useful one.
     
  2. Zackarix

    Zackarix Hera's Divorce Lawyer

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    Lisa is OP and needs to be nerfed for game balance reasons.
    Actually, she's just using a walkthrough.
     
  3. Threadmarks: Part 8-5: Changing the Future
    Ack

    Ack (Verified Ratbag) (Unverified Great Old One)

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    Recoil

    Part 8-5: Changing the Future

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



    Somewhere in Florida

    Kinsey and I stepped off the ramp of the tilt-rotor and stood aside as the mercenaries, the members of PASS, and their rescuees congregated in their various groups. There were a couple of buses waiting for the latter, but they were understandably reluctant to be parted from their recent saviours. The capes were mingling with the mercenaries, apparently catching up on old times, and I saw Joanne trade a high-five with Crag.

    A fuel truck pulled up to the tilt-rotors and began the refuelling procedure under the harsh glare of portable floodlights. We'd almost run the tanks dry in a nap-of-the-earth dash over the last hundred miles or so, after Air National Guard jets had started sniffing around. They hadn't caught more than a whisper on radar, and none at all once we got down on the deck. It was good to see the low radar cross-section construction paying for itself.

    Kinsey, observing the coordinated activity, turned to me. "Ma'am, would I be remiss in assuming that this airfield wouldn't appear on any official registry?"

    "Why, Kinsey, I'm surprised at you," I replied, deadpan. "It's registered as a defunct installation, with several layers of obfuscation before anyone will get to the true owner."

    "Ah, of course. I stand corrected." He raised his head as the leader of PASS started in our direction. "It seems Ms Sanderson would like a word with you."

    She was moving a little stiffly as she came up to us, which didn't surprise me in the slightest. Near-impervious skin or otherwise, the sheer number of bullet impacts she'd absorbed had to have left her with significant bruising. "Hail the conquering heroes," I said lightly.

    "We're hardly the heroes of the piece." Her voice was upbeat, but I could see the drag of fatigue in her step. She was feeling the post-adrenaline crash, and I couldn't really blame her. "It's you and the mercenaries that pulled our asses out of the fire."

    "You did the real work," I reminded her. "You found the girls and got them clear. If these guys had gone in cold, against a prepared position, there would've been losses. Maybe serious ones. Your plan was a good one; you just failed to anticipate the bad guys having access to attack choppers."

    She nodded. "It's not really something we had to worry about, here in the States. So, what happens now?"

    "In general?" I smiled slightly. "You've sent a serious message to overseas interests that they aren't immune to being hit and raided if they mess with American citizens, just because they're outside our borders. This all turned out even better than it might have; sneaking away would've left them wondering exactly what happened, but coming in loud like we did and utterly wrecking the pursuit force will leave a lasting impression on everyone in that region."

    "Huh." She looked thoughtful. "I didn't realise we'd do that much damage. I just wish I'd gotten my hands on Señor Asshole himself."

    "No need," I assured her. "He won't be getting any more assistance from local law enforcement after losing that chopper. Also, you hurt him badly, just by taking the girls away from him. The fact that you got away clean lost him a ton of respect from his peers, but that's not the only backlash he'll be getting from this. See, he was leveraging access to the girls for unfair deals, and everyone resented him for it. Now, nobody's going to want to do business with him; or rather, they're all going to want some payback. The pound of flesh closest to his heart, and then some."

    "Oh." She blinked. "I hadn't thought about it like that."

    "Mmm-hmm." I grinned. "Add to that the fact that one of the buildings you torched held a major chunk of his current drug stockpile, and I figure his entire operation will be going into a tailspin fairly shortly. He'll crash and burn harder than the chopper did, in maybe six months to a year. Shortly after that, he'll be arrested on some bogus charge trumped up by one of his competitors, and then he'll be shot while 'attempting to escape' by one of the cops he's unable to bribe anymore." I didn't need to make the air quotes.

    Joanne brightened right up at that. "Good," she said fiercely. "He deserves nothing less. The others will be pleased to hear that." Such was the faith she held in me, she didn't even question the prediction. "I just want to know one other thing."

    I was pretty sure I already knew what that was. "Why was I there, when I could've stayed Stateside and given orders from afar?"

    "A question I'm interested in getting an answer for as well, ma'am," Kinsey observed.

    Joanne glanced at Kinsey then back at me, and nodded herself. "That's basically it, yeah. You didn't have to put yourself in danger along with the rest of us. That's twice you've personally gone into a hot zone to get us out. Why?"

    I chewed the inside of my lip as I thought about my answer. It had originally been intended to be brief and facile, but the way she'd phrased it made me wonder about my own motivations. "Part of it's about having skin in the game. Someone giving orders from two thousand miles away can more easily write off the wounded or dead left behind. Even though the guys absolutely had it in hand, me being eyes-on would've given me a lot better chance to step in if shit went sideways. Also, the guys think Kinsey and I are observers from the big boss, so us just being there gave them a morale boost. And …" I paused, unsure how to explain it. "The last time I went into a hot zone in a rotorcraft, I nearly died. I suppose, deep down, I wanted to make sure I had the nerve to do it again. Turns out, I do."

    "Damn." She shook her head. "I nearly forgot about that. I'm glad you were there for us, though. We'll be sure to do more deep-diving next time, make sure there aren't any other nasty surprises waiting for us."

    I almost smiled. PASS was turning out to be quite the nasty surprise for the people they went up against. However, there was something else I had to address that wasn't going to be any kind of laughing matter. "That's a very good idea. But there's something else as well."

    "Yeah?" she tilted her head queryingly.

    "Medical issues," I said bluntly. "They're all going to need checking over. You know who to take them to about the pregnancies, to decide what they want to do about it. The funds for all that will be in the usual account, plus extra for counselling." I didn't say anything stupid like 'if they need it'. Of course they'd damn well need it.

    "Gotcha." Joanne hadn't had to make that decision for herself in the aftermath of the Compound, but she'd been there for every one of her teammates when they had. And of course, she'd gone through the counselling for what had happened to her. I hoped that helping others the same way she'd been helped would be another step on her own healing journey. "Thanks. I appreciate it."

    "All in a day's work." I glanced across the tarmac at the jet still waiting for us. "We've got to get back now. Say hi to the others for us." I paused. "And just in case it didn't come across before: damn good work. We're seriously proud of you all." I held out my hand.

    She shook it, careful not to crush my fingers in her iron grip. "Thanks," she said again. "For everything. Both of you." Then she shook hands with Kinsey, who afforded her a measured nod of approval.

    We headed across the tarmac to the jet. At our approach, the engines began to spool up. The steps were down, so we climbed on board and strapped ourselves into the seats we'd occupied on the way down. Moments later, the hatch swung up and locked into place.

    I looked out the window as the jet taxied down the airstrip and began its take-off run. It was still dark out, but it would be broad daylight by the time we got back to Brockton Bay. I wasn't exactly looking forward to Andrea's displeasure at my sudden absence, but it was something I'd weather. And it was all for a good cause.

    With the howl of the engines barely audible in the cabin, the jet reached lift-off speed and the nose tilted skyward. I breathed steadily, even as the acceleration pushed me back into the seat cushions. "They're really shaping up well, aren't they?" I asked. The question was only partly rhetorical; Kinsey had far more breadth of experience than I did, and if he had any concerns, I wanted to hear them.

    "Yes, ma'am." Kinsey looked like a man with many questions, few of which he knew he'd get straight answers to at that moment. "And now I know where they got the training from. Also, where the gentleman with the rocky skin vanished to."

    "Correct on both counts." I smiled, reclining my seat. "It was nice to see them again."

    He followed my lead. "Have you put any thought into how you will deal with the redoubtable Ms Campbell, ma'am?"

    I chuckled and closed my eyes. "I'm pretty sure I'll go straight to 'grovelling'."

    "A wise course, ma'am."

    "I thought so."

    -ooo-​

    Brockton Bay, 10:05 AM, Saturday Morning

    The sun was (as predicted) well up when Kinsey pulled the car up into its usual parking spot. I got out and stretched, trying to get the kinks out of my spine. Comfortable though the plane and the car might be, it was wearying to spend so much time sitting still.

    "What are our plans for the rest of this vacation, ma'am?" asked Kinsey as he locked the car and came around to the footpath. "Will there be any more unannounced invasions of sovereign nations that I need to prepare for?"

    I glanced sideways at him. To anyone else, his face would've been as deadpan as ever, but I could tell that he was joking. Mostly. "With luck, that was a one-off. It was good to have you along, though. If the op had gone pear-shaped, you're one of the very few people I know I can trust to have my back without second-guessing me."

    "Lieutenant Piggot being one of the others, no doubt, ma'am?" Since Emily's transfer to the Chicago department of the PRT, Kinsey had associated with her from time to time during the normal course of their duties. As far as I understood things, they'd already formed a strong mutual respect following the incidents of the Compound, and the intervening time hadn't changed any of that.

    We started up the stairs. "Yeah, she's one of them. Before you ask, she's not in the know about this sort of thing." I had no doubt she'd throw her hat in the ring if I asked her, though. Emily never left a fellow soldier in the lurch if she could possibly help it. One of her defining traits, it had saved my life once upon a time.

    Gladys was the third person on my very short list. Although she wasn't career military by trade, she was still the best hand with a rifle I'd ever seen, and her long-range sniper kill on Heartbreaker had dealt with a great many potential problems, going forward. I was glad we'd patched up our differences over that particular incident; quite apart from being a great shot, she was also a good friend.

    Of course, her current position as vice-principal of Winslow (to Carrie Blackwell's impotent fury) would limit her availability, but I wasn't expecting to need the services of a deniable sniper any time soon. Besides, while she probably could snipe Screamer from outside the latter's one-mile range, I had other plans in mind for that one.

    My musings were cut off as the door opened in front of me, just before I would've put the key in the lock. Andrea stood there, silently fuming at me. I essayed a wave. "Hi, we're back?"

    "Yes," she said freezingly. "You are. Get in here."

    "Yes, ma'am." I wasn't being facetious; this was a point where she definitely outranked me. Kinsey and I entered the apartment, and she closed the door behind us.

    "You're not bleeding or bandaged," she continued in that same tone of voice. "No sharp bits of metal that I don't know about? No hidden bullet wounds? Kinsey?"

    "No, ma'am." He clearly had the same thought process that I did, about who was in charge right then. It wasn't either one of us. "We stayed out of the action. The mission was a resounding success. All assets secured and retrieved, only minor injuries, all easily treated." Trust him to keep track of details like that.

    She seemed to lose a little of the tension out of her shoulders. "Well, good. I'm glad." Her gaze fixed on mine as some of the previous glare returned. "If they didn't need you, why did you have to go racing down there? Why couldn't you have stayed in Brockton Bay and handled things from here?"

    "Technically I could have, yes," I admitted. "But I had several reasons for doing it this way. Soldiers react more positively and cut fewer corners when the higher-up who's sending them into harm's way is going into the hot zone along with them. Also, if the shit hit the fan and their leadership got wounded or killed, I could've taken over on the spot. And I wanted to evaluate their performance first-hand."

    The look on her face suggested that while she wanted to be angry at me, my logic was defeating her gripes. "So they got Joanne and the others out of there, with the girls they were rescuing?"

    "All fifty-three, yes," I confirmed. "Beamer blew her eyes out shooting down an attack chopper, but they'll regenerate in good time. Jazz was literally wading through concentrated autofire when we arrived, so she's going to bruised to hell and back for the next week or so. Nobody else got worse than scratches and bruises. The ones they rescued are essentially healthy, but they're going to need full medical workups for physical maltreatment, STIs, and things like that. There will be pregnancies. And of course, everyone's going to need counselling."

    "I've already put money in their account for that," she assured me. "If it looks like running low, I'll top it up."

    Kinsey was looking between us like a spectator at a tennis match. Andrea raised an eyebrow. "You've got something to say, Jim?"

    "No, ma'am," he hastened to say. "I know when something is well above my pay grade, and this is one of those times."

    She huffed and rolled her eyes. "Seriously, Jim? I'm not your commanding officer. I'm not a ma'am to you. I'm Andrea. You know, your boss's ditzy redheaded girlfriend?"

    It was his turn to raise an eyebrow. "Even without the events of the last twenty-four hours, Andrea, our relationship is far more complicated than that."

    "Only if you want to make it complicated." She wrinkled her nose. "You've both slept with me, but you've never slept with each other. See? Not complicated at all. Silly, but not complicated."

    "It's absolutely complicated when you factor in that I'm Kinsey's commanding officer, and I'm not supposed to be sleeping with women at all," I noted. "Also with my subordinates, so the fact that I'm not sleeping with him is about the only non-problematic aspect of this whole thing. Legally speaking, he should be reporting me for that specific breach of regs."

    "I have witnessed nothing of the sort, ma'am," Kinsey returned blandly. "Any rumours to the contrary are merely scurrilous gossip, easily discounted."

    "Well, I'm definitely scurrilous, so you got that part right." Andrea smirked at the both of us, apparently in a better mood now.

    "You know that's not how that word is used," I said carefully, then looked around. Alec wasn't in evidence, but he was still a young child so I figured he was asleep. However … "Where's Dragon?"

    "Is if I say it is. She's with her dad for the weekend." Andrea tossed off the deceptive statement so smoothly that I wouldn't have twigged if I didn't already know what was going on. The ongoing arrangement was that Dragon spent most days with Andrea, learning how to be a person, then transmitted her personality back to Richter's lab of an evening so he could analyse and record her progress. According to Lisa, he was fascinated by the networked associations she was creating within her own mental matrix, which were informing his ongoing research into artificial intelligence.

    It wasn't the weirdest relationship I'd ever encountered, but that was life on Earth Bet.

    "I see." Unzipping my jacket, I took it off then removed the shoulder holster. I hadn't had to fire it, or even draw it, but such things were far better to have in time of no need than vice versa. "Did you stay up all night, waiting for us?"

    "Went to bed, after I dropped Dragon off." She gave me the eagle eye. "What about you? You don't look as half-dead as you should, running in and out of war zones all night."

    "The jet had really comfortable seating, and in this business you learn to sleep when you can." I stretched. "But I do need another shower, and maybe an hour to lie down and get my head back in the game."

    "I believe I'll do the same, ma'am, once you've finished your shower." Kinsey had his own jacket and shoulder holster slung over his arm, and was reaching for mine. "In the meantime, I'll get these squared away."

    "Somewhere high up, please." There was a note in Andrea's voice that I hadn't heard before: maternal concern. "Alec isn't really walking yet, but he still manages to get around like wildfire."

    "High up and in securely locked cases," Kinsey assured her. "The Captain thought ahead."

    I snorted as I handed over my paraphernalia. "I told Kinsey to make sure we were prepped for staying in an apartment with a potentially inquisitive child, and without even missing a beat he handed me the requisition forms for the gun cases, already filled out and waiting for my signature."

    "Which is why you two would be perfect together," Andrea said blithely. "You're already more in tune than most married couples I know."

    I met Kinsey's eyes for a brief moment, and he shook his head fractionally. He was correct, of course: there was no way I was going to win that argument, for all that we'd hashed out every possible variation of it long ago. Andrea just didn't consider my points logical or viable. 'Not allowed to' only existed in her world as a precursor to 'challenge accepted'.

    "Whatever you say," I sighed. "I'm going for that shower. I'll be out in five, Kinsey."

    "Ma'am."

    -ooo-​

    Two Days Later

    Hebert Household


    "And you're sure this is going to happen?" George Hebert leaned forward over the kitchen table with an intent expression on his face.

    I met his gaze without flinching. "As sure as I can be. I've done the analysis, and it's got a better than eighty percent chance of going down the way I said it would."

    Danny, sitting in the living room with young Tyler in his arms, cleared his throat. "Dad, I'd listen to her. She's really, really good at that sort of thing."

    "So I've been told." George frowned deeply. "It's just hard to believe that it could get so bad."

    "The unions are starting to push harder," I reminded him. "You told me so yourself. Well, the shipping companies don't want to pay the extra wages, so they're pushing back. There are firebrands on both sides, and it's entirely too likely that it will escalate to a point where both sides lose. My money's on some idiot bringing guns along, and maybe a container ship being scuttled in a way that blocks the entire port from being used."

    "That would be bad." His expression set hard, into forbidding lines. "A lot of people would go out of work."

    "They would," I agreed. "The economy would nosedive, crime would go up, and the gangs would go from just getting by to flourishing. Supervillains would move into town. Upper-middle income areas such as where you live right now would become lower-middle. Schools and businesses that depend on these areas would either fold or cut too many corners just to stay afloat. The ferry would be mothballed by the city as an unneeded expense."

    "And the Dockworkers' Association?" His question was almost a plea.

    "It would probably hang on, but only as a shadow of what it's like right now."

    He took a deep breath. "Can the PRT do anything? To stop this, I mean?"

    "I'm sorry, but no." I gave him a sympathetic look. "What I'm telling you is based on research and analysis I did on my own dime, because I care about this city. We don't have an official presence here, except for one recruiting sergeant. Even if things do go down the gurgler, the earliest we're projected to establish a department here is 'ninety-nine, early two thousand. And that'll be far too late to pull things back into line."

    "What if you told them?" His keen gaze bored into mine. "You're their golden child right now, aren't you?"

    I chuckled. "More like enriched uranium. Valuable, but most Directors want to keep me at arms' length. However, even if I took it to my boss, he wouldn't be able to act on it, because the PRT's jurisdiction begins and ends with parahuman-related crime."

    His jaw squared. "Then it's up to us to make sure it never gets that far."

    "That's why I'm telling you." I tapped the Manila folder on the table between us. "These are the people on both sides who are most likely to go too far. I can't guarantee to be here when it happens, but I can get the information to the people who can do something about it. Starting with you."

    Placing one large hand on the folder, he drew it over the table toward himself. "Thank you, Captain Snow. I appreciate it."

    I chuckled lightly. "I have no idea what you're talking about. This is just a family visit, nothing more. The PRT isn't allowed to intervene, remember?"

    From the grim smile on his face, he got my point. The information I was giving him was totally deniable, and I was washing my hands of whatever he did with it. "Understood. We'll deal with it."

    I got up as he opened the folder and started perusing the information within. Kinsey was sitting in the living room with Danny; Anne-Rose had gone out shopping with Dorothy.

    "The ferry?" asked Danny. "They'll stop that, too?"

    "The Mayor's office will be looking at everything they can possibly cut costs on." I shrugged. "Plus, once crime starts to rise, they'll use the excuse that they don't want criminals riding the ferry to the Downtown area."

    He squared his jaw in the same way his father had. "I'm not going to let that happen."

    I nodded. "Didn't think so."

    -ooo-​

    Friday, February 23, 1996

    Brockton Bay

    Aster Anders


    Ruth stood looking up at the Medhall frontage through the oversized sunglasses she was using to conceal her mask. She'd been meaning to do this for some time, but between the needs of the service and the reluctance to interrupt matters until certain things happened, this was the first time when all the ducks had lined up in a reasonably steady row. Her actions here were almost certainly going to cause problems in Brockton Bay but as the saying went, a woman had to do what a woman had to do.

    Also, Taylor almost certainly knew of her intentions in this situation and she hadn't said not to do it, so … full speed ahead and damn the torpedoes, I guess.

    Drawing in a deep breath and resisting the temptation to check that her black wig was sitting correctly, she pushed open the heavy glass door with little effort and strode into the building. Deep within her, the wellspring of molten steel boiled and bubbled, ready to be unleashed at her whim. She'd never walked into the building back in the future, and the décor was entirely unlike what it would've been fifteen years hence, but it still felt oddly familiar.

    "Can I help you, ma'am?" asked one of the two (white; no surprise there) security guards sitting at the front desk.

    "Yes, you can." She smiled politely at him. "I need to speak to Richard Anders, please. It's very important."

    His expression never changed. "Do you have an appointment, Miss …?"

    "Anders. Aster Anders. I believe he'll see me." With all the confidence she was able to muster, she stood foursquare before the desk, clasping her hands behind her back.

    His eyebrows hitched up a notch, and he picked up a phone. "This is Peter, on the front desk. There's a lady here who wants to speak to Mr Anders. No, the Mr Anders. She says her surname is Anders, too."

    There was a pause. Ruth didn't take her eyes off the man. She felt vaguely bad for putting him in this situation, but she was fairly certain he at least subscribed to some of the beliefs of the Empire Eighty-Eight.

    "Aster, she says. Aster Anders." He scrutinised her features. "No, she hasn't said. But she kinda looks like she could be related to him. Maybe?"

    Ruth didn't let the smile she felt cross her features. Taylor had told her at one point that she did take after her father to a certain extent, mainly in the hair and the chin. It seemed the Anders jaw was a thing. Though Theo hadn't inherited it, which made her wonder briefly if that was why their father had been so hard on him.

    The guard put his hand over the mouthpiece. "What's your business with Mr Anders?"

    Putting the old bastard and his gang out of business permanently. Of course, she couldn't say that, not out loud. "Catching up on old times. He is my cousin, after all." Given her age, she couldn't realistically pull off being his daughter, but a slightly more distant relationship was perfectly possible.

    The guard relayed that information, then listened some more. When he focused on her again, his expression was harder. "Ma'am, I'm informed that Mr Anders has no cousin called Aster. I'm going to need you to leave the building, or we will be calling the police."

    It was time to play some of the cards she'd been holding closer to her chest. "Sure, I'll leave. But before I do, please pass on a message to Max Anders that I know all about his father. Exactly as I've said it, please." She favoured him with a brilliant smile.

    He gave her a dubious look, but she hadn't been argumentative, so he repeated her words into the phone. There was a long pause, and he sat up straighter in his chair. Aster breathed deeply; she wasn't as comfortable with physical conflict as Taylor was, but she'd been in a few scuffles while helping Contessa out. These had mainly ended with her spraying molten steel and plasma over whatever the problem was, thereafter rendering it no longer a problem.

    A conflict was brewing here, but she didn't want it to spread too far, or for innocents to get hurt. So she was going to have to play this one out carefully.

    The guard, Peter, stood up from the desk and picked up a metal-detector wand, leaving his colleague at the desk. "Step on through the archway, ma'am. Mr Anders is on the way down."

    "Thank you." Her heart was pounding, but she forced herself to speak normally and repress her powers as much as possible. Carefully, she stepped through the archway; the detector lights shimmied, but no specific alarm went off.

    The guard eyed the archway dubiously. "Hmm. Arms out to the side, please." When she complied, he ran the wand over her arms and torso, then down her legs. It buzzed, but only intermittently. "Do you have any metal on you, ma'am? Watch, jewellery?"

    "No." She pushed back the sleeve on her jacket, at the same time shoving her costume sleeve out of the way before he could get a good look at it. "I set those damn things off all the time. My doctor says I have too much iron in my blood. Here, check my arm, you'll see what I mean."

    When he ran the device over her forearm, she let molten steel surge through, but stopped it before it would reach her hand. She knew right now that an IR scan would show her arm lighting up like a flare, but fortunately they were only checking for metal.

    The wand buzzed, causing the guard to frown as he stared at her bare arm. "That's ridiculous," he muttered. "Shouldn't work like that." He ran the wand over her proffered arm again, getting the same result.

    "Told you. It's a family thing, apparently." She raised her eyebrows. "Richard's got the same thing, and I'm pretty sure Max does too."

    "I've never heard that about them before." But the guard was wavering, not helped by the way she was casually dropping the names of the boss and his son.

    She leaned into his indecision. "How would you know? Have you ever actually checked them through, or do they get to skip that bit?"

    This was a gamble on her part, but a calculated one all the same. While she'd been born long after her grandfather died and had no personal knowledge of him, someone who called himself Allfather had to have a certain amount of ego. It also helped that he'd named his gang an Empire. Richard Anders was a man with ambition. Someone like that would be unlikely to lower himself to the status of a common worker by going through regular security screening like everyone else.

    "Fine," he said sharply, and pointed at a chair across from the security station. "Sit there and wait for Mr Anders."

    "Thank you." Pulling her sleeve down, she did as she was told. She had what she wanted: a personal audience with the leader of the Empire Eighty-Eight.

    Only a minute or so later, the elevator dinged and two men entered the lobby. Ruth knew who they were immediately; there was no mistaking them. Leading the way was a tall, broad-shouldered man with dark blond hair and a neatly trimmed beard. Ruth fancied there might be a little gray mixed in with the blond, but it would take very close inspection to find it. Hi, Grandpa. I really wish you'd been a nicer person.

    Walking at his shoulder and a little behind was a more familiar face, though it was odd to see Max Anders as a teenager. His stride lacked the confidence he would take on in later years, and he had yet to reach his adult bulk, but Ruth would've known her biological father anywhere. (Her real father would always be Phil Goldstein, but that was neither here nor there.)

    "Ah," she said. "It's good to see you, Richard. And this must be Max." Rising from the chair, she stepped forward and held out her hand out in greeting.

    Richard Anders was a sharp operator. "Aster. Huh. I never thought I'd run into someone from your branch of the family." Taking her hand, he shook it firmly.

    What, the Seattle Goldsteins? Ruth suppressed the random thought and kept the smile on her face, even as Anders maintained the grip on her hand until he could take hold of her elbow. "Oh, you know how it goes," she said lightly. "I was in town, and I thought I'd drop in and introduce myself."

    Max was switched-on even at nineteen, because he stepped in without needing his father's prompting, flanking her on the other side. If she'd had the intention of doing anything other than going with them, she would've had to pull some violence out of the hat. As it was, she did nothing of the sort.

    "Well, that's just fine," Anders declared heartily. "Come on through and we'll compare notes."

    They hustled her into the elevator and Anders stabbed a button with his forefinger, then jabbed the 'door close' button. The elevator began to move—downward, not upward.

    "Huh," she said. "Concealed base under the building? I hadn't actually anticipated that. It must come in handy."

    "Shut up!" snapped Max, but Richard shook his head.

    "Let her talk," he advised. "She'll be telling us everything she knows anyway, including who sent her."

    Ruth smiled coldly. "Yes. Yes, I will." Anders' head would probably explode if she told him everything about her, including the fact that his granddaughter was a practicing Jew, but she had enough ammunition even without that.

    The elevator stopped and the two men hustled her out into an echoing room, composed mainly of raw concrete. She got the impression that construction was still ongoing. That was fine. She was where she wanted to be.

    "That's far enough." She flexed her power and broke Anders' grip on her elbow. It didn't even require much strength to throw off Max's hold on her forearm. She got the impression that they simply hadn't expected her to resist effectively. "Time for some home truths."

    "Truths? What truths?" Anders was watching her warily, apparently aware of the change in her body language. Max hadn't picked up on that yet, but he was young. There was still time for him to learn. "You're going to be telling us where you learned about—"

    "Oh, put a sock in it." Her tone was deliberately abrupt. Control freaks hated being cut off, which was why she did it. "My name really is Aster Anders. Richard, I'm your granddaughter from the future, and I'm here to shut down the Empire Eighty-Eight before it can do any more damage than it's already done."

    "Future?" Max glanced at Anders. "Dad, do you even believe this?"

    Richard's lips thinned. "If you're telling the truth, my only male offspring is Max. His wife is pregnant right now. I could order her to have the baby aborted—"

    He couldn't see it, but she rolled her eyes anyway. "Wouldn't do a damn thing. Time travel creates an overlay. Rewrites reality. I'm here to stay. Besides, she's having a boy. I don't come along for another fifteen years or so, after Heith gets killed and Max remarries. If any of that even happens in this timeline."

    "So if I'm to believe this …" Richard paused for a moment. "You've come back from what, fifty years in the future? To tell me to stop now?"

    No, I went back fifty years into the past. Idiot. "That's what I'm here for. Except that I'm not here to tell you to stop. I'm here to stop you. One way or the other." She flexed her power, letting the liquid metal fill the spaces within her without quite oozing through the skin. Her movements became a little more ponderous, and her eyesight changed, becoming shades of heat. "You can give yourselves up to the cops … or we can do this the other way."

    "Dad, we can't just—" began Max.

    "Shut up!" Anders glared at Ruth, his fists flexing. "And if I decline your generous offer? Are you going to simply attack us unprovoked?"

    Ruth snorted, recalling the faded photos of the Goldsteins and their relatives who had perished in the Holocaust. "You're a Nazi. That should be provocation enough. But I don't have to. I know your secret identities. If I drop the heroes enough clues, they should be able to figure it out for themselves." She gestured at the unfinished base around them. "I'm sure they'd be extremely interested in this place. I doubt it's on any plans held by the city."

    Anders folded his arms. "I see. Well, I have or two more questions. Are all people in the future idiots, or is the suicidal bravery confined to you? Or did you somehow think that the claim of being my grandchild would somehow move me to take your side in all this?"

    "None of the above." Ruth flexed her fingers, the heated metal lurking just beneath the surface. "I came here mainly to appeal to Max. He never does buy into the Nazi bullshit that you're feeding him, not like his sister does. He dies a hero in the future, did you know? So does my mother." She looked at the boy who would have potentially been her father. "It's not too late."

    Max acquired a sudden hunted expression, then flinched away as his father stared at him. "What?"

    "Tell me it's not true, boy. Tell me she's lying through her teeth." Richard Anders' tone promised no mercy.

    "Of course she's lying!" Max's voice was desperate. "I'd never betray you like that! She's just trying to divide us!"

    For a long moment, Anders stared at him. "… very well. But we will be having a talk, later."

    The elevator door dinged, and a woman emerged. Aster had never met her, but her features were vaguely familiar, even seeing her via shadings of heat. She looked to be in her early twenties, and exuded an air of menace. "Got your call. Who's this?"

    "You are never going to believe this," Anders said heavily. "She calls herself Aster Anders, and claims to be Max's daughter from the future. Wants us to shut the Empire Eighty-Eight down, or she'll do it for us."

    "Really." The woman came to a stop in front of Ruth, hands on her hips. "You know who I am, honey?"

    "Heidi Ferguson, born Heidi Anders," Ruth said promptly. "Otherwise known as Iron Rain. My aunt, once upon a time. You died before I was born." She glanced at Richard Anders, then back to Heidi. "Your dad is grooming you to take over the Empire Eighty-Eight for when he dies or steps down. Max is due to take over Medhall. How am I doing so far?"

    Heidi's eyes narrowed, then her hand lashed out in a slap that would've rocked Ruth's head sideways if she hadn't already been flexing her powers. Her sunglasses were knocked off, clattering to the ground. The wig was askew after the blow, so she discarded that as well.

    "Son of a bitch!" Heidi shook her hand vigorously. "What the fuck … oh, shit. Dad, you didn't say she had powers!"

    Aster, aware that her mask was now visible, smiled coldly. "I'm third generation, you moron. I've had powers almost from birth." She cracked her knuckles, her powers giving it a sharp, metallic sound. "One more time: are you going to give yourselves up to the authorities, or do I get to do this the fun way?"

    Richard Anders replied the way she'd been half-expecting since she stepped into the underground base. No words were spoken, but a heavy-bladed short-spear emerged from a hole in space, aimed directly at her throat. She caught it with one hand, held it still in the air, and directed the heat from her hand through it. Within seconds, the blade around her hand was glowing red, even as other metal items pattered off her back and fell to the floor.

    Iron Rain was the next to aggress on her; a series of needle-pointed spikes appeared in the air above her and fell toward her apparently unprotected head and shoulders. The way they dug into her skin was a little painful, but they didn't get any farther than that, falling off and clattering to the ground. As the blade in her right hand began to melt from the heat she was applying to it, she held out her left hand, palm out. "Hey, Iron Rain! Think quick!"

    <><>​

    Kaiser

    Max Anders was no stranger to super-powered combat, but there was little enough of it in Brockton Bay. His main sparring partner was Heidi, and she kicked his ass nine times out of ten. The combat started before he was properly ready for it, though he'd seen these moves before. Between them, Heidi and his dad tended to clean the clocks of everyone who faced them, and Max was rarely needed.

    This time … was different.

    He wasn't sure where she'd got the name Aster from. It wasn't a name he'd ever thought he might give to his daughter. That was if she really was his daughter from another timeline, and not just pulling a massive con on them all.

    But all the mental meandering went out the window when she caught the spear Allfather sent at her from the front, ignored the multiple knives clattering off her back, and weathered the literal iron rain delivered by his sister. And then the spear began to melt in her fucking hand.

    They'd never been up against a foe who could melt metal before. Max was starting to get a really bad feeling about this, which only intensified when 'Aster' held out her hand toward Heidi. That was so obviously a threat that Heidi was already moving when the jet of molten steel shot out toward her. She yelped, undignified, and retreated a whole lot faster.

    Max's brain finally caught up with the action, and he threw up a rough square box of metal around the intruder, growing a two-inch-thick wall directly out of the concrete floor, all the way to the ceiling, then bracing it on all sides. Panting from the stress, he looked at his father and sister for guidance on what to do next.

    "What the hell do you think you're doing, boy?" demanded his father.

    "Yeah!" His sister clenched her fists. "Now we can't get at her!"

    It wasn't like you were 'getting at her' before, he wanted to say, but wisely kept that bit silent. "But … she fires molten metal! How are we supposed to fight that?"

    Iron Rain shook her head. "Don't ask stupid questions. Just stay back. We'll handle this."

    Allfather pointed at the elevator. "Go on up to the first floor. Tell security there's a problem and they have to evacuate the building. We can't risk anyone witnessing this fight before we put this pretender down for good."

    "But … I can stay. I can help!" He knew he was the younger child, but he wished just for once they'd treat him with the respect he deserved. And he'd seen the woman's eyes just before he trapped her; glowing with their own inner light, they gave him reason to believe she was anything but a pretender.

    "No, you'll just be in the way!" Iron Rain echoed her father's gesture. "Get out of here, squirt!"

    "Go!" bellowed Allfather, even as the metal box began to glow faintly red. "For once in your life, do as you're told!"

    God damn it. It's like I'm a kid all over again. This is because of what she said, I'd put money on it.

    But he didn't have a choice. Retreating into the elevator, he hit the button for the first floor, then checked himself over for any telltale signs of battle. Nothing; he hadn't been touched.

    When the elevator doors opened, he hustled to the front desk. Peter, the senior guard, glanced around. "Yes, sir?" he asked.

    Not 'yes, Mr Anders?', because Mr Anders is my dad. Dammit. But that was the least of his problems.

    "We need to evacuate the building," he said, trying to keep his voice calm and level. "It's an emergency."

    Peter stared at him for a moment. "Evacuate the … whole … building, sir? What's the emergency? Why weren't we informed?"

    Max gritted his teeth. "I'm informing you now. Evacuate the building right now. That's an order." Was that a tremor he'd felt through the soles of his shoes? He thought he saw ripples in Peter's coffee cup.

    "Does Mr Anders know about this?" asked the other guard; Max didn't know his name. "Is this some kind of drill?"

    God fucking damn it. I can't do anything right. Max took two steps away from the desk, flipped the handle out from the fire alarm on the wall, and yanked hard on it. Sirens blared and red lights flashed over the doors. "Now evacuate the god damn building!" he bellowed.

    The two guards glanced at each other, then Peter shrugged. "Looks like we're evacuating the building," he decided, pitching his voice to be heard over the sirens. "But you're wearing this, not us."

    "Do I look like I give a fuck?" Max pointed at the phones, which were now ringing. "Do your damn jobs! Get everyone out of here!"

    It was more than just sirens, he realised as he stomped away toward the elevators again. There was a voice repeating the word 'Emergency', then directing people to leave the building in a 'safe and orderly' fashion. Yeah, right. If he knew people, 'safe and orderly' would last all of ten seconds.

    There was a deeper rumble through the floor as he neared the elevators. It seemed like the woman calling herself Aster Anders was still up and fighting, which was a worry. His father and sister were good at what they did, and if they couldn't double-team a single opponent into defeat in just a few minutes—

    Another rumble, accompanied by a scorched section of carpet, gave him just enough warning before the floor erupted, blasting hot masonry in all directions. He yelped, instinctively growing a metal shield out of the wall to take the impacts. Somewhere, something was on fire; he could smell the smoke from where he was. Who is this person? How is she doing this?

    Whatever had burst through the floor had also wrecked the elevator; the doors were half open, and the cable hung limply in the shaft within. More smoke billowed upward out of the hole that had been blasted in the floor. Suddenly, the sprinklers kicked into action, drenching him within seconds.

    I have to find them. I have to help. No longer caring if anyone saw him—between the smoke and the sprinklers, the security cameras would be picking up minimal imagery right now—he pulled back his sleeve so he could get access to his watch and grow the armour that he'd spent so much time figuring out. In time, he knew he'd be faster at it, but right now he just wanted to make sure the joints worked right. Heidi had laughed herself sick and called him 'Derpio' after his first few attempts left him barely able to shuffle along.

    There was more rumbling, then the floor shook badly enough that he fell over. Bits of ceiling panel crashed to the floor all around him, spraying water everywhere. As he pulled himself to his feet, using the wall for assistance, he saw a figure climbing the pile of rubble partly blocking the hole in the floor. Flames flickered farther back, outlining the person like an escapee from Hell.

    Aster Anders climbed the last few yards, carrying something in her hands that he couldn't quite make out. Despite the water spraying down over them both, she was dry, all the water hissing off her in billowing clouds of steam. Her eyes were still red-lit from within, giving her a supremely dangerous appearance. She tossed the two objects to the floor at his feet; they rolled to a stop, and he recognised them with a lurch of his stomach as his father's and sister's heads. The neck-stumps, as far as he could tell, had been seared off rather than sliced with a blade.

    "You—" he began, before she lunged forward, grabbing the front of his shirt and lifting him off his feet, up against the wall.

    "You will not speak." Her voice, almost metallic in nature, was clearly audible over the sounds of crackling flame, the sirens, and the hiss of the sprinklers. "You will listen. Allfather and Iron Rain are dead. So is the Empire Eighty-Eight. You will be a good man, and a good father to your son. Or I'll be back. Is that understood?"

    He didn't even try to kid himself that she wouldn't do it because she was theoretically his daughter. She'd killed his father and sister already, and he could feel the heat radiating from her skin, even through the soaked cloth. With an effort, he nodded.

    She held him there for another moment, then let him down onto his feet. The moment she released him, he collapsed to all fours. Vaguely, he was aware of her turning and walking away, but he was too busy retching up his last meal.

    There was no future for the Empire Eighty-Eight anymore, that was a given. Medhall itself might not survive, if the investigations turned up Allfather's true identity. Max Anders would have to survive and go forward on his own merits.

    It was just lucky that his identity as Kaiser hadn't really hit the public eye yet, mainly because Allfather and Iron Rain had overshadowed him so completely. So he could claim to have known nothing about it.

    Climbing to his feet, he staggered toward the main entrance, barely noticing when one of the security guards grabbed his arm and hustled him onward.

    If I go villain again after this, she'll come back and kill me. But what else is there for me to do?

    Could I be a hero?


    He had no idea. But there was only one way to find out.



    End of Part 8-5​
     
    Last edited: May 11, 2023
  4. Dragonslayer Ornstein

    Dragonslayer Ornstein Dragon layer extraordinaire.

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    Yes! Thank you for the chappy! Always a good read and I look forward to more.
     
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  5. Zackarix

    Zackarix Hera's Divorce Lawyer

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    Max really isn't the kind of guy who deserves a second chance. But I guess he's more salvageable than Allfather or Iron Rain? Was Aster right to spare him? Maybe, probably not, but she probably really wants him to turn his life around, so it makes sense that she'd give him the chance that most people wouldn't.
     
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  6. Gaemnomut

    Gaemnomut Well worn.

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    Damn, Ruth kicking ass. She really isn't to be messed with apparently.

    Also, he is still a teenager if I understood correctly, who was groomed into doing terrible things. (Not that that entirely absolves him of course) Even though she knows he will turn into a monster if he continues on this path, perhaps this version still deserves a shot at redemption in her opinion.
    And, if he truly turns around, who better to make sure the remnants of the Empire are never allowed to resurface. If she had just killed him, Gesellschaft might have just rebuilt the operations from the shattered pieces. Most of the unpowered members, the safe houses, and the connections are still here after all, even with the leaders and the HQ dead.
     
  7. vinzzz001

    vinzzz001 Know what you're doing yet?

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    I am not entirely sure but wasn't the decline of the shipping industry (caused by Leviathan) one of the root causes for what the unions did?

    With Leviathan never appearing the shipping industry shouldn't be damaged. With Behemoth's death, and the Simurgh not showing up, advancements in technology and out-of-country mass production should still be a thing. Both these should be preventing the decline in international trading which would eventually cause the poor conditions that pushed the unions so far.

    Am I confused with fanon? :confused:
     
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  8. Ack

    Ack (Verified Ratbag) (Unverified Great Old One)

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    This early in his life (he's 19 going on 20) he has the chance to turn himself around, especially without his father and sister pouring poison in his ear all the time, and the sheer expectation that he'll carry on the family business (that is, being a neo-Nazi asshole). He'll just be a regular asshole instead. And there's no shortage of asshole heroes in Worm.

    Bit of fanon going on there. From the timeline hints I have, the Lord's Port incident and the Boat Graveyard happened before Leviathan showed.
     
  9. Death by Chains

    Death by Chains За родину и свободу!

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    Do Americans use ‘gurgler’ as a synonym/in that phrase? Or are they more likely to word it as ‘down the toilet’?

    Welp... can’t blame Ruth for her venom on that particular topic, and she did handle the matter herself — loathsome or not, family deals with family — and giving Max a chance to change his mind and his path in life is possibly more mercy than others would’ve had in her shoes. I just hope that Taylor/Head!Lisa weren’t building any specific plans around Richard and/or the Empire being a significant factor in Brockton Bay, because you can stick a fork in ’em: they’re done.
     
  10. Impartial Panic

    Impartial Panic I trust you know where the happy button is?

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    Businesses have been working at eroding unions for decades,
    Leviathan causing destruction to shipping infrastructure just kicked things into turbo.

    Good old fashioned greed on the shipping industry and a few outside parties looking to profit from the chaos.
    Thinkers are a thing and while Taylor has and will continue to throw stones in the pond can cause massive ripples
    there may well be a counter weight to her actions, push and the universe pushes back.

    by the time anyone would have gathered the resources to fix the mess Leviathan appears and wrecks things so bad the bay got sent to the bottom of the list of things to fix.

    Here with the endbringers out of the picture possibly permanently the bay could have recovered from the riots in a few decades if the villain situation could be contained.
     
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  11. Ack

    Ack (Verified Ratbag) (Unverified Great Old One)

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    Oh, she would've dealt with them in her own time. Aster just did it more forcefully.

    Yeah, it was all a perfect storm of shitty circumstances. If the economy hadn't nosedived and crime increased and villains came into the city, they might have been able to recover Lord's Port. Levi just put the stamp on that one.
     
  12. Prince Charon

    Prince Charon Just zis guy, you know?

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    'Toilet' especially that far back. As an American, I didn't know what was meant by 'gurgler' until you pointed that out, though I probably could have guessed from context.
     
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  13. Ack

    Ack (Verified Ratbag) (Unverified Great Old One)

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    It's actually supposed to be a reference to 'down the drain'.

    But toilet works too, I guess.
     
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  14. Threadmarks: Part 8-6: More Changes
    Ack

    Ack (Verified Ratbag) (Unverified Great Old One)

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    Recoil

    Part 8-6: More Changes

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



    Sunday, February 25, 1996
    On a Bus, Heading South

    Max Anders


    Heith had had trouble getting comfortable on the Greyhound seat, not least because she was almost nine months along. Still, Max had done his best, paying for all three seats and bringing along extra pillows for her to rest on. She'd fallen into an uneasy sleep about an hour south of Brockton Bay while he sat up and fretted about the future.

    He was content to let her sleep. The pregnancy had been hard on her—the baby was a large one, the ob/gyn had informed them—and the sheer chaos of the last two days had caused her to lose even more sleep than normal. They were going to have a son, or so the enigmatic Aster Anders had informed him, which was also something to think about.

    He still recalled the sheer terror he had felt when his daughter from the future—thinking back about the powers he'd seen her using, he had little doubt she was telling the truth about that—had confronted him directly. 'Allfather and Iron Rain are dead. So is the Empire Eighty-Eight. You will be a good man, and a good father to your son. Or I'll be back. Is that understood?'

    He'd understood it implicitly. There was no doubt in his mind that if he ignored any part of her directive, he would suffer the same fate as his father and sister. The only thing that had saved his life was ironically the disregard they'd held him in, refusing to allow him any active part in the operational side of the Empire Eighty-Eight.

    Treating him like a callow youth, disparaging his efforts to prove himself worthy of the Anders name, they'd roused enough resentment in him that he personally began to reject the values that the Empire held dear. He was observant enough to see that mere skin colour made little difference to a man's physical and mental capabilities; access to proper nutrition and good education had far more to do with it. Of course, he was also smart enough to never speak aloud of this, and was quite willing to pay lip service to such views if it could just grant him access to the power and influence that he'd craved.

    Had craved. Past tense. The look of stark horror on his father's and sister's burned and decapitated heads had cured that urge in him, perhaps permanently. He just wanted to live; and if that meant giving up the money and celebrity lifestyle that went with being an Anders of Brockton Bay, then that was what he would do.

    He wasn't sure if it was the turn to the west that woke her up, but Heith roused as the bus rolled across the Alexander Hamilton Bridge. Blinking muzzily at him, she peered out the window. "Where are we?"

    "New York," he said with a smile that was only partly forced. "We're nearly there."

    "I hope so." She put her hands on her swollen belly. "He's started kicking again. He's really not happy in there."

    "He's probably as bored as I am," Max said lightly. "Long bus rides aren't my thing, either."

    "Yeah, talking about that." She gestured toward the aisle. "I need to go to the restroom. He just landed a good one on my bladder."

    "Okay." He got out of his seat and helped her to her feet. "You can handle it from here?"

    "If I'm not, you'll know about it." She put her hand on his cheek. "And we'll be okay. I know we will. A lot's happened, but we'll get through it. Together."

    "Together," he echoed, then sat back in his seat while she made her way down the aisle toward the restroom at the back of the bus.

    Her love was one of the things that had allowed him to keep it together over the last forty-eight hours. The secret about Medhall wasn't quite out yet, but the damage to the building had been extensive, and emergency services had uncovered a few anomalies which he knew they were looking into. It really was only a matter of time.

    He'd contacted the few members of the Empire he knew how to get in touch with—Krieg, Blitzen, Panzer—and told them what had happened. Their enthusiasm for him to step into Allfather's shoes would've been encouraging, were it not for their previous lack of recognition of his talents, not to mention his daughter's chilling words. The very last thing he wanted was to inherit the leadership of the Empire Eighty-Eight, for the very good reason that he had no desire to die.

    Even absent that, he knew damn well that the authorities would link the Empire to Medhall, and thus the Anders family, sooner rather than later. When that happened, no matter how he concealed his identity, Max would be outed as Kaiser and the Empire Eighty-Eight would lose its biggest cash haven. The writing was on the wall: there was no real future for the Empire, and especially not for himself if he maintained ties to it.

    Thus, the move to New York.

    The bus slowed as it negotiated the crowded streets of Manhattan Island; even on a Sunday, there were almost as many people out and about in a normal Brockton Bay weekday. And then, after taking a few turns that he would've sworn no bus could negotiate, they drove into what the signage proclaimed as being the George Washington Bridge Bus Terminal. Finally, after far too many hours on the road, it pulled to a halt and the driver killed the engine.

    They waited until everyone in the rows behind them had passed by before he got out of his seat and helped Heith to her feet. Once off the bus, he found a seat for her so she could rest her feet, then located a luggage cart. The unloading of the luggage was well under way by the time he had that sorted out, so it was easy enough to pick out the two suitcases each of them had packed. It wasn't much to start a new life with, but he figured they'd just have to make do.

    Making their way downstairs with the luggage was an adventure unto itself, but they succeeded without running over anyone's feet. Max was fully aware of the hazard of pickpockets and bag-snatchers, so he made sure his wallet was in the inside pocket of his zipped-up jacket, and kept between Heith and anyone who seemed to be trying to get too close to her. Finally, they made it to the cab rank that serviced the terminal, and he assisted the driver with getting the suitcases into the trunk of the taxi.

    The first stop was to be a hotel; Heith needed her rest. Max had made a close scrutiny of the Yellow Pages and written out a list of the ones that seemed to fit his requirements, but he didn't know enough to make the final choice. The cabbie, however, plied with careful questions, was a wealth of information about which places were good to stay at and which were just roach motels with good publicity.

    As they got closer to the city centre, Max began to see the scars of Behemoth's rampage, and the new construction that was taking place in the wake of the monster's attack. It had only been two years, but most of the essential repairs were complete and new skyscrapers were already reaching for the heavens to replace what Behemoth had destroyed.

    He turned to gaze out the window at a mural painted across the broad face of a building, showing the heroes driving the creature out of the city. Heith leaned across and looked as well. "They say the PRT warned the capes he was coming," she said quietly.

    "What, really?" Max hadn't heard anything about that.

    Heith nodded. "I've got a distant cousin who lives down here. She says there was a crack team of analysts working on it day and night for weeks until they figured out it was New York, about a day before it happened. She was warned to evacuate ahead of time, so she did. When she came back, her apartment building looked like a bomb hit it. They totally saved her life."

    "Well, damn." He shook his head. "I'm impressed."

    "Me too." She fell silent then, as the cab rolled through the streets of Midtown.

    When they reached the hotel that the cab driver had recommended, they unloaded the suitcases and Max tipped the driver ten bucks over the fare. Taking up two cases with each hand—not impossible, just difficult, but he wasn't going to leave them on the footpath for any length of time—he struggled inside with them while Heith helpfully held the door open.

    The hotel did actually look quite nice, but Max rode up with Heith and the bellhop all the same, to ensure that the room was up to the standard that she deserved. While it couldn't match up to the luxury of the Anders mansion back in Brockton Bay—he suspected quite a bit of that ostentatious wealth would just go away once the government figured out just how much stemmed from criminal dealings—it was neat and clean, with a nice view out the window. As soon as Heith saw the expansive double bed, she collapsed on it with a sigh and waved vaguely to let Max know it was good enough.

    Once he'd tipped the bellhop and sent him on his way, Max sat down on the bed next to Heith. "I'll be heading out in a moment," he said softly, putting his hand on hers. "Is there anything you need before I go?"

    "Pillow," she said, gesturing up behind her head from where she lay on her left side. "Tuck me in, please?"

    "I can do that." He retrieved the pillow and carefully tucked it under her belly until she nodded. "I'll order room service when I get back."

    "You're amazing." Her eyes were already drifting shut. "I'm gonna be stupid hungry in a few hours but right now, I just wanna sleep."

    He squeezed her hand, feeling the return pressure. "You do that. I'll be back soon."

    He'd just reached the door when she called out, her voice drowsy. "Max?"

    "Yes?" He paused, his hand on the knob.

    "Love you."

    "Love you, too."

    I should say that more often, he chastised himself as he opened the door and let himself out of the room. Heith could have cut loose from him and gone back to the Herren Clan, where there would surely have been someone willing to take care of her and their son. Or she could've insisted that he stay and take up the mantle of the Empire Eighty-Eight, come what may. But instead, once she'd heard what had happened, she'd chosen to up stakes and go with him, throwing away her old life just as thoroughly as he was.

    He knew of members of the Empire, capes and non-capes alike, who were so dedicated to the cause that they would stop at nothing to carry out its ends. There was no atrocity too horrific, no line that could not be crossed. But not one of them would have followed him to New York like she had; not one would've been willing to walk away from the Empire just because he asked them to.

    Still ruminating over the difference, he paused in the lobby to buy a tourist map from the spinner in the corner. Heith and he had been married for barely a year, and they'd been lucky; for all that theirs had been an arranged match, there had been an attraction and a liking between them even before the wedding. They barely argued, even about trivial things like asking for directions if they were lost. Not that they'd had the chance to get lost in Brockton Bay, with his father watching over the both of them like a hawk.

    A chilly breeze was sweeping down the street as he stepped out through the front doors; he turned his back to it before carefully unfolding the map one section at a time. It took a little juggling of the unwieldy folds, but he located his destination after a little scrutiny. If he was reading matters correctly, his goal was two blocks west and three north.

    I need to stretch my legs anyway. Refolding the map as best he could, he shoved it into his jacket pocket, re-checked the landmarks, and started walking.

    It was actually kind of pleasant, just walking somewhere. His father had always made sure he stayed fit with various types of athletic training, though he'd never been as good at them as Heidi. He was at least partially convinced that this was the reason why she'd been picked to run the Empire instead of him.

    That, and she'd had no idea how to run a business, or even how to relate to people who weren't already obliged to listen to what she had to say. His father had always been fond of the quote, 'Diplomacy is the art of telling someone to go to hell in such a way that they ask for directions,' and Max had taken it to heart. Heidi was just good at telling people to go to hell.

    A moment later, he was jolted by the direction of his thoughts. Had been. Jeez, I'm thinking of her like she's still alive. Coming to a halt, he leaned against the wall with both hands, head down, eyes tight shut. They were assholes to me, but every time I remember they're dead, it still hits me right where it hurts.

    He'd been right there, he'd talked to Aster, had seen the distaste in her expression when talking to Allfather and Iron Rain, but he still had trouble assimilating the fact that his daughter from the future had killed his father and sister. Even when telling the other members of the Empire about it, he'd left out her relationship to him, just that she'd known who Allfather and Iron Rain were and had given him the warning after killing them. He had no idea how they'd react if he told them, but belief would probably be worse than disbelief.

    "Hey."

    Jolted out of his thoughts by the voice, he looked around to see a rough-looking guy holding something in his hand. Max blinked, staring. "What?"

    The guy took half a step closer. There was the snik of a switchblade opening, and he gestured with the gleaming blade. "Wallet and watch, rich boy. Don't try to run. I'll be on your ass like white on rice."

    The hell? I'm being mugged? Max couldn't believe it. He'd never had to worry about anything like this happening back in Brockton Bay, because every mugger in Empire territory knew not to touch the rich people. The trouble was, he was no longer in Brockton Bay. Worse, if he used his powers to protect himself, the guy had already seen his face.

    For any other member of the Empire, that wouldn't have been a problem; 'leave no witnesses' was a time-honoured tactic. But he was actively trying to be a good man, as per Aster's directive, and he didn't think killing someone to protect his secret identity fell under the description of 'good'. What do I do? I can't just let him take my stuff. But I can't reveal I'm a cape either.

    "Good citizen, never fear!" He jumped, startled, when the chirpy voice came from just behind him. A hand fell on his shoulder, then someone vaulted over him to land in front of the mugger. He registered that it was a teenage girl, probably a couple of years younger than him, wearing a short cape and a helmet sporting large mouse ears. "Be of good cheer! Mouse Protector is here!"

    As the mugger took a step back, either in fear or total disbelief in what was happening, she whipped out a rapier and pointed it at the guy, then shot Max a cheeky grin.

    "Oh, shit." The mugger's tone suggested resignation and fear. "Fuck off, why don't you? Just fuck off."

    "You know I can't do that, with rats like you scurrying around and stealing all the good cheese." She advanced on him, waving the rapier in a way that suggested she had no real idea of how one was used and was making it up as she went along. "Now drop your stupid little knife, and I won't poke any more holes in you like I did the last time you tried to stab me."

    "Hey, you hear that?" The mugger looked past Mouse Protector (that had to be the stupidest name he'd ever heard for a hero) to appeal to Max. "She said she was going to stick me with that sword of hers."

    "I suggest you drop your knife, and she won't." It seemed clear enough to him. Stupid name aside, there was no way he was going to undermine the authority of someone who'd just bailed him out of the reveal-or-be-robbed dilemma.

    "Oh." The switchblade clattered on the grimy concrete, and Mouse Protector soon had the mugger sitting up against the wall with his hands flex-cuffed behind him.

    "May I ask you a question?" he asked quietly, after they'd been waiting a few minutes for the police.

    "Absolutely, citizen," she declared. "You mouse certainly can."

    He tried not to wince at the bad pun. "Your name is really Mouse Protector? Did you lose a bet or something?"

    "I said that, the first time you arrested me!" blurted the guy on the ground. "Didn't I say that?"

    She shot him a dirty look, then drew her rapier and tapped him sharply on top of the head with the tip. "Shut up, nobody asked you." Composing her features, she looked at Max. "I chose the name myself. For I am the protector of all mouseys, large and small. With my trusty sword—" she flourished the rapier with more enthusiasm than skill, making Max step back a pace, "—I keep the vicious rats and mangy cats of society at bay!"

    "Um …" He hesitated, but the fencing lessons his father had paid for in years past were causing him almost physical pain at this point. "Have you actually had any training with that?"

    "Training?" she asked artlessly. "It's a sword. Not that complicated. The pointy bit goes in the bad guy."

    "Yes, granted, but—" He broke off as a police cruiser chirped its siren before pulling to a halt next to them.

    It seemed the officers had a certain amount of respect for Mouse Protector, taking the mugger off her hands and getting a statement from him. He told them what had happened, only varying from the truth when he backed up her assertion that she'd never threatened to stab the mugger. Eventually, protesting that he was being railroaded, the mugger was loaded in the back seat of the cruiser, and it headed off down the road.

    "Thanks for that," she said briskly. "I wouldn't get in real trouble over it, but Legend's got a way of being disappointed at you that's even worse than console duty, ugh." She gave an all-over shudder to express her feelings about that sort of thing.

    "Hey, you saved my bacon, so I figured I'd return the favour." He gave her a grin and a shrug. "Does that happen often, around here?"

    "No, actually." She leaned down to pick up a small rubber puck from the ground, tucking it into her utility belt. He wasn't sure what that was all about. "I was just on my way back to base when I saw him and you, and I decided to wreck his whole day yet again."

    "Well, I'm glad you did." He decided to pretend ignorance. "How far away is it? I think I might just go there and put in a favourable review about your performance. Just in case there's anything else you've done that Legend might be disappointed at you over."

    She grinned. "You know me so well. But it doesn't really matter. Soon as I turn eighteen, I age out of the Wards, and Legend can pout at me all he likes."

    "They're not letting you join the Protectorate?" He tilted his head curiously. "I thought it was basically a formality at that point."

    "No, no, they've asked and I've told 'em. The day after my eighteenth birthday, bam! I'm outta here." She gestured vaguely down the street. "Still gonna be a hero, but on my terms, not theirs."

    "Should you even be telling me about this?" He frowned, not sure what was going on. "I mean, you have no idea who I am."

    She waved off his concern. "Pfft, I can tell you're trustworthy from across the street. Besides, it's not exactly a secret. I'm basically telling everyone. The Mouse will be leaving the House."

    "Right. So … if I wanted to get to the Protectorate building, where would I need to go?"

    "Oh, that's easy." She pointed. "Down to the end of the block, then turn right. It's three blocks up."

    "Thanks. I appreciate it." He hoped she wouldn't notice the map in his pocket; since his life had been turned upside down, he'd decided that being cagey was his best bet. It was a habit that was hard to break, even when talking to someone like Mouse Protector. Some part of his mind wondered if it was because she was a hero and he'd been on the cusp of becoming a supervillain in his own right.

    "You're welcome, citizen. Mouse Protector, away!" She drew her rapier, flourished it again, and vanished.

    Well, that was interesting. He continued his walk, paying much more attention to his surroundings than he had been before. Dad would've torn me a whole new asshole if he saw me get blindsided like that. Again came the mental wince when he recalled once more that Richard Anders would never again chastise him for a real or imagined lapse in his vigilance.

    Turning right at the end of the block, it was easy to see his goal, even three blocks away. The New York Protectorate building featured on the news on a weekly basis, was cameoed occasionally in TV shows, and had even shown up in one or two movies. Here, now, in real life, it seemed to loom larger in reality than it had on the TV screen.

    With every step closer, now that he could actually see it, he found doubts crowding around him yet again. My father was Allfather, my sister was Iron Rain. I am a supervillain, born into a family of villains. What the hell am I doing here? But he forged his way onward anyway.

    At last, he stood in front of it, looking up at the frontage with just as much apprehension as anticipation. Again, he asked himself the question. What am I doing?

    The answer was simple. Making a good life for my wife and child.

    Taking a deep breath, he stepped forward. The heavy glass doors slid aside; as he entered the lobby, the first thing he saw was a garish standee of Legend, slightly larger than life-size, bearing the hero's trademark grin and wave. Next, he saw the PRT troopers doing their best to be inconspicuous here and there. Interestingly enough, it seemed that their uniforms had been updated, featuring urban camo and transparent faceplates. This didn't make them look friendly, but it gave them a more human appearance.

    Here and there around the lobby were images of the more prominent members of the Protectorate, as well as a whole corner devoted to Behemoth; images from each time he'd attacked, and a bronze plaque inset into the wall with the names of all the capes who'd been killed by him. Max took his time looking over the exhibit, so as not to appear too eager. He had no doubt there was discreet surveillance on every person who entered here, in an attempt to get an inside line on would-be recruits. Walking in and going straight up to the receptionist would be like waving a flare and shouting, 'here I am!'.

    Finally, after several others had gone before him, he strolled over and fronted up to the desk. The receptionist, an attractive black girl with the nametag MELODY, smiled at him. "Can I help you, sir?"

    "Well, I hope you can." He tried to smile back, but it didn't really come out right. When he spoke, he lowered his voice. "Who do I speak to about recruitment?"

    Her expression never changed, but her voice also became quieter. "Wait five minutes then go to door one-one-two, just down the corridor past the restrooms."

    "Thank you." He stepped away from the counter and went back to his examination of the various exhibits, then took the time to read each of the cape names on the list of the dead, one by one.

    When he judged five minutes had passed—checking his watch or looking at the clock on the wall would've been a giveaway that he was actually waiting for something to happen—he looked around then wandered down the corridor. Room 112 was just another innocuous door, but when he tried the handle, it opened. Within, he saw an armoured figure with a distinctive weapon; a sword with a cannon barrel incorporated into the blade.

    "Come on in and close the door." The hero held out his hand. "I'm Chevalier. You're the one who wanted to talk about recruitment?"

    Max shook it, impressed by the articulation of his armour. "Yes, I am. I'm a cape …" He paused, then grimaced. There was no way he'd be able to hide who he really was, who he'd nearly become. Not if the PRT did any kind of due diligence. "Okay, cards on the table. My name's Max Anders. My father was Richard Anders, from Brockton Bay. In the next couple of days, it's going to come out that he was Allfather, and that my sister Heidi was Iron Rain."

    Chevalier's head came up. "I'd heard about something happening in Brockton Bay. Are you saying Allfather and Iron Rain are dead? Were you … part of their organisation?" Are you a member of the Empire Eighty-Eight, he was asking.

    "I never was one of them." Max knew he was skating the line between truth and lies now, but his course was set and he had to see it through. "I'm not a Nazi. I don't believe in that stuff. My father wanted to force me to become something I'm not. Then a cape came in the day before yesterday, killed them both, and told me to be a good man." He spread his hands. "So here I am."

    "Who was this cape?" asked Chevalier. "Had you seen them before? Do you know who they are?"

    "I'd never met her before in my life," Max answered truthfully enough. "She made claims that I've got no way to verify."

    Chevalier said nothing. The silence stretched between them.

    Max took a deep breath. "She said she was my daughter from the future. Her powers seemed to bear that out. She fought Allfather and Iron Rain at the same time and killed them both, then told me to be a good man and a good father to my son. After that, she just walked away. I haven't seen her since."

    "Wait." Chevalier tilted his head slightly. "She said she was your daughter, but she told you to be a good father to your son?"

    "That's what she said." Max shrugged; I have no idea either. "My wife is pregnant. I'm assuming it's a boy. I've got no real future in Brockton Bay, not as Max Anders. I want to be a hero. Do you think that's got a chance of happening?"

    Chevalier nodded, and clapped him on the shoulder. "I do. Welcome to the Protectorate."

    -ooo-​

    Monday, July 29, 1996
    Twin Falls, Idaho

    Jack Slash


    Something was going wrong, and Jack didn't like it. Not one little bit.

    While the Slaughterhouse Nine had not been his creation, he'd taken up leadership after King died and Harbinger left for greener pastures, and he liked to think he'd done damned well at it. A few members had come and gone in the nearly-a-decade since he'd assumed command, but in the last couple of years it had been more 'gone' than 'come'.

    Capes died in battle: that was a given. But unless he could replenish the numbers, the Nine would soon find itself nickel-and-dimed down to just himself. And maybe Crimson; the man was as durable as they came, when he was full up on blood.

    That part he could handle. But the most irritating aspect was that he somehow seemed to be running out of potential recruits. Or perhaps that was the second most irritating; losing Gray Boy to the fucking Faerie Queen was all the way up there.

    Nicholas had been one of his heaviest hitters, and to have her simply swoop in and harvest him when Jack wasn't even there was nothing short of infuriating. Now, recruiting her would be the coup of a lifetime, but she'd apparently gone and handed herself over to the authorities afterward. What her play was there, he couldn't figure it out.

    At the end of the day, there was exactly damn-all he could do about that, or about her. Which left the other problem: that of the dwindling supply of recruits. Or rather, of recruits who could make the grade. He'd had his eye on Winter for the last few years, looking to cross paths with her and make his pitch, only for her to die in mysterious circumstances in a grimy dive bar in Chicago.

    The last three people he had been able to bring onto the team hadn't lasted past their first encounter with the heroes, which meant the Nine was down to the Slaughterhouse Four. Himself, Crimson, Screamer and Breed. He had to pull more talent onto the team, and make sure they could take care of themselves—the last idiot had accidentally taken Nyx with him when his powersuit had unexpectedly exploded—or they were done for.

    It was faint consolation, but part of the reason for his loss of members could be laid at the feet of the PRT, not his own lack of leadership capability. Over the last few years, their operational security and the quality of their analysts had improved dramatically, making it harder and harder to slip through the cracks. He still wasn't sure what had happened to Nice Guy, but none of the other attempted infiltrations had worked either.

    Still, he was Jack Slash. There was nobody like him in the continental United States, and certainly nobody who had headed a villain team for nine years to such devastating effect. If anyone could turn this around and get the team back on top, he could.

    "Jack." It was Screamer's voice, resounding in his ears. "I need new clothes. I'm going shopping. Did you want anything?"

    "No, I'm fine." He shook his head, aware she wouldn't hear the gesture but doing it anyway. "Keep an ear out."

    "Oh, ha ha."

    She went silent then and he returned to his ruminations, trying to think more broadly. The world had been changing in recent months. Eidolon was dead, and Behemoth apparently neutralised as a result. Idly, he wondered if it was possible to get to Indonesia; if the monster could be shut down, it could be woken up again.

    Now, that would put the Nine on the map once and for all.

    -ooo-​

    Captain Taylor Snow, PRT

    Screamer posed a distinct problem for anyone wishing to take her down with standard special-ops tactics. She could clearly hear any sound within one mile of her, and could modify those sounds at will into anything … or nothing. Inside that radius, there was no such thing as 'soundproof' or 'secure'.

    If I'd been heading a strike team, comms would've been compromised the instant we stepped inside her range of effect—which covered a large portion of the town of Twin Falls, just saying—giving her the ability to both listen in and make us hear whatever she wanted us to. She'd done that more than once with the PRT and Protectorate both, sometimes leading teams to ambush each other with tragic results. So I bypassed all that by going in alone, leaving Kinsey waiting at the edge of town for me to give the all-clear.

    He didn't like it, a fact he'd made extremely clear when we spoke on the subject, but he'd acceded to my expertise in the matter. I personally didn't like it myself, but the first part of the op had to be up close and personal, and he was constitutionally incapable of appearing to be anything but a PRT sergeant, even when in civvies. The last thing we wanted was for Screamer to make us and warn Jack remotely; if that happened, many people would die.

    Which meant that I was already in the clothing store when she walked in. I was out of uniform, of course, wearing a light denim jacket and jeans, as well as a baseball cap. My Glock was holstered in the small of my back just in case, but I had no intention of using it outside of a dire emergency.

    As she strolled around the store, picking out the items she intended to steal—I was pretty sure that no member of the Slaughterhouse Nine even bothered to carry money anymore—I got ahead of her, meandering toward the changing booths. Inside my left sleeve was a long narrow sheath that I'd spent most of one night carefully stitching into place; up until a few minutes ago, there'd been what looked like an ordinary knitting needle in the sheath. Spoilers: it wasn't an ordinary knitting needle.

    Screamer undoubtedly knew all the myriad sounds of a firearm being readied for action and would be put on high alert by any of them. Lisa had assured me that she could even discern the whine of an electronic targeting system powering up, or the gentle creak of pressure being taken up on a trigger. So, I wasn't using guns at all.

    I got to the changing booths just at the same time as she did, and started opening my door. Giving me a cursory glance, she opened hers, and that was when I cannoned into her. I smashed her into the booth and caused her to drop her intended bounty, then flicked the needle around from where I'd been holding it against my sleeve and stabbed her with it.

    On its own, as a random stab, it wouldn't have done a great deal. I had it angled up through her heart, which made it more problematic but unlikely to be lethal if she was given immediate medical care. Unfortunately for her, I didn't leave anything to random chance that I possibly could. So the needle was coated with a batrachotoxin paste whipped up by Andrea's pet chemical Tinker; just a scratch would've afforded Screamer a fifty-fifty chance of survival, and she had a hell of a lot more in her bloodstream than a mere scratch would've given her.

    Her eyes widened as she stared at me. The irony was that the toxin had numbed her system as fast as I'd stabbed her, so she honestly didn't understand that she was already dead until it was far too late. By the time the realisation hit her brain that she was paralysed and unable to breathe, her body was in convulsions. I watched as the life left her eyes, trying to ask me a question that she would never now be able to articulate.

    Seating her in the cubicle, I pulled the needle out of the tiny wound and carefully slid it into the sheath once more. I'd dispose of the needle and the jacket safely later on, but right now we had the rest of the Nine to deal with. Casually meandering from the store, I took out the lightweight walkie-talkie from my jacket pocket and turned it on. "Daylight Actual to Daylight One. Sun has risen, over."

    Kinsey replied at once. "Daylight One copies sunrise. Proceeding to Point Midday. Daylight One, out."

    "Daylight Actual copies. Out." I put the radio away and started down the sidewalk to where I'd arranged to meet with Kinsey.

    Even though Screamer had been dealt with, there were still two other members of the Nine I needed to take care of before I confronted Jack Slash. Breed wouldn't be a huge problem, but Crimson couldn't be easily beaten down. Even when not powered up by drinking blood—seriously, what the fuck was his shard thinking?—he still had a moderate Brute rating, both in strength and durability. Not unlike Lung, in fact.

    I got to the parking spot I'd already picked out about thirty seconds ahead of Kinsey; as he pulled around the corner, I was removing the traffic cones I'd left there to reserve the spot. I'd found a long time ago that people rarely seemed to question the veracity of traffic cones, once placed. He nosed the van into the spot and came to a halt, then killed the engine.

    Opening the side door, I climbed in then closed it behind me. "Ma'am," Kinsey greeted me from the driver's seat.

    "Kinsey," I acknowledged. I slipped out of the jacket, wrapped it around the length of the needle, and stashed it off to one side. Kneeling next to the case containing the .308 Winchester hunting rifle, I opened the clasps holding the lid closed, then opened it and lifted the rifle out.

    This rifle didn't have nearly as much power or range as the .50 cal Gladys had used to assassinate Heartbreaker, but neither was it needed. The rear window of the van had a one-by-two-inch notch cut out of it, shielded by a piece of black cloth I could pull out of the way when I needed to. Kneeling, I pulled it out of the way and aimed out through the notch, then peered through the scope.

    Flicking the switch on the scope that turned on the IR capability, I watched as the picture formed and steadied. It had taken a little work to ensure that I could still get usable results, even in the heat of the day. The effort had been well spent; I could make out three distinct forms inside the motel room in question. Jack and Breed I couldn't tell apart, but Crimson was bigger and bulkier than either one.

    Lowering the butt of the rifle to the floor of the van, I took the bulky suppressor out of the case and set about screwing it onto the muzzle. It wouldn't make the damn thing silent—nothing made a bullet silent except reducing it to subsonic velocity, and usually not even then—but it would get rid of a lot of the initial report, and make firing the rifle in an enclosed space a lot more tolerable to our ears. With that taken care of, I took up my firing position again and worked the bolt to chamber a round.

    "Police," Kinsey warned.

    I lifted my finger away from the trigger. While it would've been nice to get the assistance, or at least the cooperation, of the local cops to take down Jack Slash and his crew, that path held two major stumbling blocks.

    First: I was technically on a fact-finding mission, sniffing out any chance that another Endbringer could arise; my remit did not include eradicating roving murderhobo bands. Hamilton would be somewhat displeased with me if he found out how creatively I was interpreting his orders.

    Second: I didn't want Jack dead, but instead handed over to Cauldron for safekeeping. That little aspect would involve a whole lot of explaining that I just didn't feel like getting into.

    "Do they look like they're in a hurry?" I asked, without turning my head. Kinsey's job was to be the lookout, and mine was to be the shooter.

    "No, ma'am. Going by the police scanner, it doesn't sound like anyone's found the body yet."

    "Good. Let's hope it stays that way for a little longer." There were no two ways about it; my little killing spree here in quiet Twin Falls was absolutely going to be the talk of the town. I just wanted to be out of the town before they got around to asking me difficult questions.

    Once Kinsey reported the police car to be out of sight, I lined up the scope once more on the motel room. The electronics dutifully gave me a picture of what was on the other side of the flimsy wall, and I panned over what was either Jack or Breed to the bulk of Crimson. Drawing in a deep breath, I let it trickle out of my lungs as I stroked my finger across the trigger. I told myself calm, calm, calm, and I could feel my heartbeat slow.

    The crosshairs steadied on his head. There was no more air in my lungs. My heart rate slowed even further. And then, in the interval between beats, I tightened my finger, squeezing smoothly.

    The rifle went off; even with the suppressor, it was nearly deafening. In my scope, I saw Crimson's head rock sideways with the impact. Dropping the rifle—not on the scope, I'm not a monster—I pulled in a huge breath of gunsmoke-laden air and yelled, "Go, go, go!"

    Kinsey and I erupted from the van and bolted toward the motel.

    -ooo-​

    Jack Slash

    "Cop car." Crimson gestured toward the thin curtains covering the window. The bright sunlight outside made it possible to see out without anyone being able to see in, exactly the way Jack liked it.

    "Are they slowing down?" Jack asked, flicking a butterfly knife through its paces without looking.

    Crimson shaded his eyes, peering. "Nope. No idea we're here."

    "So what are we doing here, anyway?" asked Breed. He had one of his little horror-pets on his lap, and he was petting it like a Bond villain's cat.

    "Lying low," Jack said patiently. "Taking the temperature of the region. If there's a cape in the region we can bend to our will, then we'll hear about it and strike. If not, we'll raise our usual mayhem and carnage, then move along."

    "Sounds like a plan." Crimson sighed. "Pity about that Winter chick. She was one hot—"

    The side of his head exploded, brains and shards of bone spraying out all over Breed, Jack and the wall. Accompanying it was a muted crack, but Jack wasn't sure if that was the original gunshot or the sound of the bullet coming in through the window or the wall. "Down!" he yelled, diving behind one of the beds.

    Breed, who had been sitting on the floor, had just gotten to his feet and was moving toward the other bed when the door crashed inward, propelled by a huge boot. The bug that had been on his lap let out a high-pitched skree, but instead of heading for Crimson's corpse as it normally would have, it launched itself toward the open door. Two shots sounded, almost as one; the first exploded the bug in a mess of insectoid guts, and the second took Breed in the middle of the face. His brains joined Crimson's on the wall, and he fell bonelessly, dead before he hit the floor.

    Lying flat behind the bed, a knife in each hand, Jack readied himself to strike at the first glimpse of the enemy. Two shooters meant two targets, but that was okay; he had two knives. He'd taken out multiple targets before.

    "Jack Slash!" The voice was that of a woman. "Drop the knives and raise your hands! I'm here to take you alive, but there's a whole lot of leeway between unharmed and dead!"

    He smiled. He'd always been able to charm the women. Some even said he had the looks of a movie star. "What guarantee do I have of that?"

    Something flew over his head and hit the wall, then dropped to the floor. A moment later, a thunderclap caused his eardrums to meet in the middle of his head, and a flashbulb seared his retinas to the back of his skull. As he writhed in agony, he was vaguely aware of someone disarming him then securing his hands behind his back, but he couldn't do a damn thing about it.

    Then he was roughly carried out the door, bundled into what he figured was a van, and they peeled out of there.

    Although he was still alive, he had a really bad feeling about this.

    -ooo-​

    Taylor

    We stopped an hour out of town. Jack had recovered from the flashbang Kinsey had tossed his way, but I'd gagged him and put a bag over his head because the asshole just kept talking. Kinsey had suggested breaking a bone for each time he opened his mouth, but the sad truth was, nobody had that many bones.

    "Kinsey, secure the perimeter. This next bit, you're not cleared to know about." The less he knew about Cauldron, the better.

    Lesser men would have argued. Kinsey just nodded. "Ma'am." Picking a direction along the highway, he paced off a hundred yards then stood, observing the horizon in that direction.

    "Okay," I said out loud. "I know you're here. Ruth would've given you the right time and place. Come on out."

    I'd never seen Contessa before, not in the flesh, but Lisa had shown me pictures. She walked around the side of the van and faced me directly. "You're not going to tell me what this is all about." It was a prediction, not a command.

    "Nope." I pulled open the van doors and dragged Jack Slash partially out. He struggled and mumbled through the gag and the bag, but I didn't give a shit. "Just keep him on ice until I need him back. Also, two things you need to know."

    She barely spared a glance at him before looking back at me. "I'm listening."

    "His agent is called Broadcast, just as yours is called The Eye. It's higher ranking than yours, and it will bend yours to its will if you give him a chance to speak to you or influence you in any way. Face to face, given anything like an equal chance, he will beat the snot out of you, and maybe even twist your viewpoint to join him. But his powers work only on capes. Don't let the Custodian listen to him either. She's even easier to influence than you are."

    She blinked, assimilating that, while clearly suppressing the urge to ask me how the hell I knew that. "And the second?"

    I snorted. "Don't let Doctor Mother near him either. She already hates me. He won't need powers to twist her into letting him come after me."

    Her jaw honestly dropped. "Okay, what the hell? How do you even know that name?"

    "I'm PRT Intelligence," I told her evenly. "It's my job to know. Don't let him talk to capes. Not even you. Understood?"

    "Understood." She glared at me. "And I call bullshit on that being PRT Intelligence. Nobody should know about that. Who's been talking?"

    I gave her a bland look in return. "Tick tock, Contessa."

    Getting a good grip on Jack Slash, she shot me a lethal glare. "Doorway."

    A portal opened in front of her, and I thoughtfully gave her a hand to lift him through. Then I waved as the portal closed again.

    That hadn't necessarily been the wisest thing for me to say, I figured, but I doubted very much that she would tell anyone. She'd be much more invested in finding out who was feeding me backchannel information. It would keep her busy while I was doing other stuff.

    After all, everyone needed a hobby.



    End of Part 8-6​
     
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  15. PerfectaCellerator

    PerfectaCellerator Getting out there.

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    Hah I've forgotten that this Taylor came from a bad Behemoth and never saw Contessa
     
  16. macdjord

    macdjord Well worn.

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    Kaiser owing Mouse the save is truly wonderful.
     
  17. Gaemnomut

    Gaemnomut Well worn.

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    Cool update, very satisfying seeing the s9 get eliminated.
     
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  18. Priapus

    Priapus Engorged member

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    How do you kill the Slaughterhouse 9 without superpowers?
    Meticulously.
     
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